Commedia Dell’arte
Dr Gareth K Vile, great friend of mine and brilliant thinker, recently ruminated on the great Scottish theatre debate, because some critics hadn’t been invited to the musical version of ‘One Day’ : is it dying? I can’t speak to a broader academic discourse, as I’m a university dropout, and not a doctor like wot he izzz, but I’ve seen enough art, and written professionally about it over the last fifteen years, to understand the class divide, as well as the intellectual discourse centred around the purpose of various artistic disciplines.
Too many people don’t. In short, theatre is for the oft- referenced “chattering class”, the bourgeoisie/industry bods who “get” the theme, subtext and ideology presented to them. This could be what the chairs represent to Ionesco, or why Pina Bausch’s dancers thrash frenetically around in evening gowns in soil. Saying that, both Vile and I have seen some idiot joy audience reactions like “that was sexy” when it was in fact sexual violence being portrayed in a Scottish Ballet adaptation of ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’. Duh. So much for the bourgeoisie. Sexy? Consent is sexy. Just ask Blanche and Stella.
Broadly speaking , there are three strands to Scottish theatre right now in the 2020s. There’s populist (your touring companies and another unnecessary ‘Hairspray’ or ‘The Lion King’) esoteric adaptations by Stewart Laing or Vanishing Point (the kind of knotty, meta shit me and my chin -stroking buddies are into). Then, there’s even more experimental fare, usually featuring nudity, explosions, intertextuality and a fuck ton of noise. This usually takes place in an uncomfortably close arts centre, full of hipper than thou haircuts and nouveau riche hippies who wish they were still 35 . I know that feeling, but for the “nouveau riche hippy” bit. There’s usually 100 people in the audience – 50 of whom are their whooping friends and lovers, 20 of whom got press tickets.
As an art critic , my taste runs mostly to the latter two categories. I want a little excess, excitement and sexiness, sure, but it has to speak to me. I want to be moved, to feel altered or thrown around a little. As Lydia Lunch has often said, “I want something that boils my blood”. And as the late Alexander Lee McQueen said after one of his notorious fashion shows got mauled by critics:” I don’t want you to come away from my shows feeling like you’ve just had Sunday lunch”. Yup.
So where does that leave Scottish performance? Ballet and dance, despite wee Timothee Chalamet ‘s recent assertion, is in rude health. But theatre and opera, not so much. He’s fucking Kylie Jenner though, what does he know? The latter has the canonical usuals to put bums on seats; the former at least often allows in new voices. I’m thinking of the recent Scottish Ballet adaptation of ‘Coppelia’ by Jess and Morgs, which had a set like a Chris Cunningham video and a dystopian re-telling of the classic ballet. Pretty and frilly, it was not. And I loved it. I think of it often. That’s great for an ephemeral art form.
Theatre, as with ballet, has to modernise, or it will twitch its last. We need new voices, and we need something that straddles different disciplines: live art, theatre, club culture, cabaret. The most satisfying work crosses genres and feels like something deeper is being explored, blurring performer and audience: 85A, I’m thinking of you. We may sadly, never see their likes again. Don’t make me nostalgic. Bring on the new voices.
PS: I’m the smiley one in the mask and vintage grey coat in the queue, standing with Dr Vile at the start of this video. Just sayin’. Ah, 85A…
Hit The North 