TIME OUT *
* * *
(Selected quotes)
“Zecora Ura have put
Shakespeare through a surreal imaginative mangle,
complete with flippers, magic oranges, and wind-up metal frogs,
and
emerged with a strangely compelling piece of multilingual theatre…
…a revealing
interpretation…
…Agnes Brekke performs it,
and every other character she inhabits,
to
perfection.
…the brassy, rough and
ready inventiveness of this talented company
never wanes…
…the central
characterisation is brilliantly and hilariously done,
and it’s ultimately
impossible to remain impervious to the charms
of the
indefatigable theatrical spirit on display here.”
Lucy Powell
THEATRE ZECORA URA: THE TEMPEST
Greenwich
Playhouse
Saturday 18 March [Tue to Sat at
7:45pm and Sun at 4pm]
189 Greenwich High Rd., SE10 T:020.8858.9256 Tube: DLR to
Greenwich
general £11 | concessions £8
Zecora Ura takes us to
Brazil for a physical theatre adaptation of
Shakespeare's
play. The minimal but effective set gives a sense of wilderness
and heat and reinforces
Agnes Brekke's
Miranda's lustful yearning for
Caliban who, acrobatically played by
Lopez de Armentia, has the strength
of a monster and the
dangerous look of a primate. His relationship to
Prospero,
vigorously played by Lopez
Ramos, is one of respect and colonial resentment.
A live music tempest
strikes, and throws on the shore of the island three Italian
princes sporting stylish
black coat and flippers. At break-neck speed the trio
brings the third and most
colourful set of characters, introducing
Trinculo in drag
with full feather
head-dress, macho Stephano by Brekke and spaghetti-glam
Ferdinand by Armentia. With
scenes ranging from high-speed chase to samba
catwalk pastiche, the show
is fuelled by high physicality and laughter.
In just over an hour and
thirty minutes this brilliant cast takes us from the thrills
of sex to the sweetness of
first love all under Prospero's generous and
protecting
bi-spectacled-eyes. The direction is sharp and the actors bring such
conviction that you cannot
help but be "dragged" into this exhilarating performance.
NB:
runs till 02/04.
The Tempest
One of the many great things about Shakespeare’s final play is that it’s
robust
enough to withstand wild liberties in interpretation.
The international Zecora Ura Theatre, directed by Gabriel Gawin, rewrites
The Tempest for three energetic performers speaking four languages to convey
the
strangeness of Prospero’s kingdom and the darkness and light in all its
characters.
The decision to transform dainty Ariel into a tomato helps to emphasise the
primeval,
rather than the ethereal, though it’s magic nonetheless.
What we gain is exuberant comedy, even if it verges on farce and the
sub-plot looms
too large.
Instead of the traditional demure virgin, Agnes Brekke’s spoilt brat Miranda
is prone
to
tantrums and sexual advances on the relatively innocent Caliban and
Ferdinand,
both played by Unai Lopez de Armentia.
Jorge Lopes Ramos as Prospero in ripped tailcoat and home-made spectacles,
is
authentically dishevelled after years in exile.
Far from reluctant to remove the cloak of power, he seems happiest wearing a
dress
to double as Trinculetta.
Such is the concern we should distinguish him from the sub-plot’s other
buffoons that
they have their names written on them - the one crisis of confidence in a
production
that so refreshingly dares to assume we already know the story.
Barbara Lewis
Wednesday 15 March 2006 03:50 PM
February, 2005
http://weltnachrichten.twoday.net/20050219/
Dringende Empfehlung: Der "Anarchoclown"
Leo Bassi
wird am 29.3. im Wiener Orpheum und am 2./3.4. im Berliner Traenenpalast
mit seinem Stueck "Vendetta" auftreten. Falls es noch Karten gibt: bald
reservieren. Der 50jaehrige ist ein Wahnsinniger. Mit unglaublicher
Radikalitaet und Koerpereinsatz geht er gegen kapitalistische Verbloedung
vor und arbeitet mit allen Techniken der Irritation. Ich habe Leo Bassi
selbst noch nie live gesehen, aber nachdem was meine ClownmeisterInnen
erzaehlen macht er ungefaehr das wo ich irgendwann hinwill. (Die
True Stories auf
seiner
Homepage stimmen uebrigens wirklich.)
Ich nehm grad an koerperlich und emotional sehr anstrengenden Kursen in
der brasilianischen Theater- und Clownmetropole Campinas teil. Neben
Arbeiten mit den wunderbaren Clowns Adelvane Néia und Cid França habe ich
auch Mimik und einen Kurs mit
Jorge Lopes Ramos vom Londoner Zecora Ura Theatre belegt, der die
japanische Tanzmethode Butoh lehrt. In Summe bedeutet das mindestens acht
Stunden taeglich harte Koerperarbeit. Ich bin quasi permanent am Limit und
habe mich selten einer Arbeit mit so absoluter Hingabe gewidmet. Gestern
hatte ich meine erste Solo-Performance als Taenzer auf einer Buehne. Geil!
PICK OF THE INTERNATIONAL CULTURE NIGHT OF REIKJAVÍK
Once upon a time, the theatre used to be the strongest vehicle for social commentary and
contemporary criticism. An entertaining and popular play could sway the public one way or
the other and was a force to be reckoned with, even for members of royalty. Today that tradition
lives in thanks to Eyrún Ósk Jónsdóttir whose play, Beauty, places emphasis on multiculturalism,
peace and environmental issues from Icelandic folk stories, religious history and modern politics.
Relive the glory of theatre at 18:00 at Tjarnabíó, Tjarnagata 12
BEAUtY
http://195.157.100.32/reviews/review.php/4916
This supposedly modern folk tale from
multi-national theatre group Zecora Ura, which takes its inspiration from
Icelandic and Greek mythology to tell the story of a young boy drawn into a
unjust war and away from the love of his mother, is understandably a bit of a
hotch potch.
The company’s grab bag approach also extends to its tone,
which flits wildly from feverish comedy to straight-faced and impressionistic
melodrama. The end result is suitably woozy and dreamlike but sacrifices much
of its meaning in the process, particularly, when the narrative peters out
partway, almost completely giving way to an oblique symbolism.
Not that there isn’t plenty to enjoy before we lose the
plot. Icelandic writer Eyrun Osk Jonsdottir and Zecora Ura’s production team
have created some truly striking and witty images. Standout moments include
Sammy Metcalfe - also doubling to great effect as a Puckish satyr/troll -
gleefully shredding pictures of stickmen as the army’s unhinged commanding
officer and a centaur bowman, ingeniously realised by designers Marie
Dahlstrom and Peter O’Dowd, being separated from his equine back end.
The classical setting sometimes clashes with the modern,
although sometimes jarringly Anglo-Saxon, vernacular and you are never quite
sure which parts of the action - or, especially, the odd nursery rhyme-style
songs, delivered with a half-grin by Kristjan Oskarsson as the boy soldier -
are meant to be funny. But the casts sets about whatever is thrown at them
with gusto. What whatever is thrown at them is ultimately meant to be about
is, however, anyone’s guess.
Chris Bartlett
Hildesheimer Allgemeine Zeitung
(The Hildesheim Daily Post, Germany)
'The small insanity of loneliness'
Svea Lena Kutschke
Guest performance "Life Through Dying" Zecora Ura Theatre from
England in the Theaterhaus Hildesheim
A well dressed horse sits in the foyer of the theatre house.
Relaxed (Eased) it crosses the legs, barefoot in suit and tie, supports itself
by its umbrella and looks round, the other visitors not considering. Wherever
the horse (Jorge Lopes Ramos) appears, it is alone, veiled into an own quiet
world. It slowly disappears in the stage area, and then is admission.
About 20 spectators distribute themselves on the meagre (scanty)
benches in front of the dismantled stage. A man (Ian Morgan) lays on the floor,
a cloth over his face, a woman (Eleanor Bernardes) stands next to him. In the
next scene the two performers faces each other in underclothing, acting like two
old people, touching themselves carefully in the face, themselves other making
sure: "If I asked you your name, would you let me empty?"
They want to spend a last, apologetic (timid), cold, soft night
in the arms of death. The question about the condition of death and the struggle
of man and woman for proximity draws itself through the piece like a red thread.
There is a man and a woman, like so often in life. One time (Times) they are
mother and son, another time lovers (times loving), (times suffering) sufferer,
aging, the whole kaleidoscope of male-female relationship.
And there is death. Is it a tone, which shrill comes through
like a spirit from the bottle, is it the black crack in the wall, under which
Ian curves himself fearful? And how can one escape from death? At the best in
the arms of a lover.
In artistic (artful or aesthetic) body choreographies the small
insanity of loneliness is transferring. The narrow man jumps again and again
into the arms of his strong partner and lets himself be held like a baby. In an
erotically motivated scene he unbuttons her blouse, and however finally jumps on
her back. She (shuffling) carries him over the stage, visible only in short
spots, which throw humpy creatures of shadows to the wall, apart from that it
remains dark. The load (the burden) of the unfertile (fruitless) coalescence
(unification).
In another scene he hatches (slips) under her dress, a two heads
amorphous body creature arises (develops), suddenly he falls out of her dress, a
sudden birth and the woman holds the dress over her empty chests. Dress changes
on stage are program, point to the different layers of the piece. Looking
vulnerably to the audience, Eleanor liberates from her dresses, piece for piece
holding out to the spectators, "Is it yours?"
A thought at Kafka forces itself upon (imposes itself), waking
up in the morning in the wrong body, not getting along in the own world any
longer.
And then the horse comes back, moves barefoot over the stage and
turns its stretched umbrella, stops the time. In the last scene we can see the
two old people again. He carefully unbuttons her blouse, she kisses him on the
forehead, and he falls down, the face covered with her blouse. The circle
closes.
After the piece the group, which was invited by Annedore
Bergner, sits together with the audience. Jorge told, his grandfather has
Alzheimer, sometimes he goes to a door and simply would forget the next step,
never arriving at the door. Jorge says, his grandparents are not confused
(scatterbrained), everything what they're saying, makes sense for them, but he
cannot understand it.
It is similar with the piece. One can see into a closed,
confusing world, which isn't always accessible, but one can feel the internal
logic. The physical vitality of the performers is amazing, their unbroken
presence on stage and their sensuous (sensual) power of representation
(presentment) is marvellous. And one goes home, filled with affecting
(impressing) pictures.
I
was asked to 'follow the horse', so duly I set out to find it. I enlisted a
friend, maintaining a strict ambiguity about the location of the play and my
instructions, hoping that an air of mystery would generate enough intrigue,
opposed to suspicion, for him to want to tag along.
By
the time we'd wobbled past Canary Wharf on the sweaty DLR and began to head into
the no-man's-land of East London, intrigue was not enough and a round of drinks
by the Cutty Sark after had to be promised: It's easier to spend a few quid on a
round than explain that we're going to Mudchute station to 'follow the horse'.
We arrive at Mudchute at 7.45pm.
'So… where's the theatre?'
'Hang on, let me have a look around…'
'There's a sign pointing to a youth centre here, perhaps that's it?'
'Well, maybe, but we need to hang around here until 8pm.'
From his frown, I knew it was time to drop the air of mystery and come clean.
'Look, these were my instructions: to show up at 8pm at Mudchute and 'follow the
horse'.
My friend looked at me and then looked around at the empty station.
'You what? Shit, I feel like I'm in The Matrix or something!'
'Look we're here now and I'm a bit intrigued, let's hang around until 8.05pm and
if the horse doesn't show, we'll head to the pub. I promise!'
There was then a long silence and I was hoping he wouldn't get me to reveal that
the play was called Life Through Dying with the blurb beginning: 'two
bodies, fragmented by pain, age in front of and with the audience and move
towards death…'
This would, inevitably, have snapped his final short straw and begged the
retort, 'So you want to experience being fragmented with pain then? You don't
have to worry about that, mate!'
Fortunately, we were distracted by a family of foxes who were taking advantage
of the empty station and having a good frolic on the grassy verge.
'Look, there's a sign for a local petting farm here with a picture of a sheep on
it. You sure it wasn't a sheep we had to follow?'
'Nope, definitely a horse…'
A
week or so later, lured by a mix of senses of intrigue, obligation, the promise
that 'this could be the New Hamlet' and the fact that it was in a more definite
and infinitely more central location, I finally managed to hunt down the horse.
OK, so it was hardly a Trojan horse, but a bloke wearing a pretty impressive
almost live sized horse head mask, the horse's eyes wide as if in terror. The
'horse' was striding through the pub as if Herne the Hunter had grown weary of
being a mythical symbol and decided to hang up his antlers and join the lads to
watch the footie with a pint.
But
this was no postmodern Herne, and theatre group Zecora Ura have by no means
tired of symbolism. As soon as the audience had packed into the tiny theatre
space, we were almost immediately submerged by a flash flood of symbolism in an
hour-long torrent.
It's not that I'm adverse to symbolism, far from it: it can often be very
necessary and, indeed, far more significant to use symbols to represent objects
and meanings that could not otherwise be made present within the play. Life
Through Dying, however, eradicates all that is human about living and dying
by forcing its protagonists, in both the dialogue (a series of recurring phrases
repeated like mantras) and their physical movements, to become symbols.
The
actors undertake these proceedings well enough, skewing the meaning of the
'mantras' with varying atonal utterances and a range of physical gestures. They
do so throughout in the utmost spirit of seriousness. Trust me, if there had
even been a momentary whiff of irony emanating from the stage, the audience
would have honed in on it immediately. But, hey, let's save our knowing smirks
for Kill Bill - these are big issues that are being presented to us:
human intimacy and mortality. Shouldn't we give a warm welcome to an exploration
of these that doesn't hide its soul behind an ironic veil?
Not
in this case. Life Through Dying tries to articulate the human condition
in such an abstract form that the protagonists become unavoidably hollow, and it
is impossible for us to project ourselves into their situation. An important
task of any effective theatre production is to forge a bridge of common
understanding between the audience and the actors onstage. Even Shakespeare
threw in enough vulgar humour to keep the peasants happy. Despite the tiny
environs at the White Bear, Zecora Ura manage to leave an unbridgeable gap
between the audience and the stage.
It's fascinating how the mind, when faced with immersion in such gluttonous
symbolism begins immediately to search around in desperation for something real.
In this case my eyes settled on two large transparent bottles made of rough
glass, placed to the left of centre-stage. One was seemingly empty, the other
two-thirds full of milk. The limited lighting did interesting things as it hit
the bottles, sometimes passing through them, other times glinting on the
sporadic dents in the glass. These bottles cast tall dark shadows on the stage
floor that jumped with the changing of the lights, leaving a momentary
afterimage in their place.
The
greatest depth of feeling I experienced during that long hour was a sense of
loss when these bottles were eventually used as props, their simple reality
being molested into enforced symbolism. I was then left alone with my thoughts
to figure out how I was going to write all this up….
Alternative theatre company, ZECORA URA are back with their inimitable shows this month. Life
through Dying (Two) is an abstract piece that explores both fear and pleasure in ageing as well as the
painful and joyful rebirths encountered throughout life. Performed at the Japanese KOOSA festival in
2003, the play focuses on Robert, a dreamer who has talked to the birds since he was seven and now
wants to learn to fly.
When his mother refuses to let him, his ageing process quickens and he begins his descend to death.
A small international cast performs this interesting study from next Wednesday at The Space in Muchute
and the White Bear Theatre in Kennington before the company take it to Germany for the Junges Theatre
Festival in Bremen.
Performances last 70 minutes and will take place at 8pm every night from next Wednesday until
Saturday, May 15 (Mudchute) and on Sunday, May 23 at 7pm and Saturday, May 29 at 3pm (Kennington).
The British Theatre Guide
December 17, 2003
'DON'T FEED THE LIONS'
Gill Stoker (reviewed from video)
With the title Don't Feed the Lions you'd be
forgiven for thinking that this production is set in a zoo, but remember, this is Zecora Ura, well known for its zany locations! A while back,
performances took place on Connex South-East trains (Sidcup to London and return); this one is set in a Gents' Toilet on the college campus.
The show begins as director Jorge Lopes Ramos,
speaking Portuguese, greets the necessarily small audience, offers them a drink from a tray, then ushers them politely towards the entrance to the
performance space. The smiling and semi-embarrassed audience, sipping their drinks, encounter a sign on the door flashing "Do Not Enter". Despite
this, they are invited to go in. It's dark inside; a tap can be heard dripping. Gradually, accustoming their eyes to the dark, they see a sign: "Don't
Feed the Lions".
Music plays ("When I'm 64"), and there is the sound
of a whirring hand drier. A light flashes on and off. There is a man in drag (Alfonso Rodriguez) in a white blouse, white tights and knickers, huddled
and gesticulating like an animal in a zoo. There is a knocking sound. The outline of a window is visible. Another man in drag (Will Hudson) becomes
visible, also wearing blouse, tights and knickers. There are bloody scratch marks on his face and on his blouse, which is torn at the back as if by an
animal's claws. He uses exaggerated facial expressions and melodramatic body language, and calls for "Gerald!" He (evidently playing a woman) is
rebuking the unseen Gerald for taking 'her' orgasm pills. The lines are a mixture of cliché and absurdity: "I can't have babies -- only lions". Then
purely cliché: "I need to be alone for a while", "It's been one of those days", "You know me better than I know myself", "I always loved your tea". A
woman's face (Eleanor Bernardes as the Toilet Manager) can now be seen in profile through an orange-lit window, eating a banana.
Are you still with me? All of this was compelling
and hypnotic -- waiting for the next line, wondering what's going to happen next, wondering what it all means, listening with bated breath in the hope
or despair of discovering some meaning. But Absurdity with a capital A is the key word with Zecora Ura, so 'meaning' in the conventional sense of the
word is beside the point (the point being that there isn't a point).
Anyway, that's enough philosophical diversion: let's
get back to the show. A pair of yellow plastic washing-up gloves hangs on each of the two cubicle doors - the men in drag now rip the gloves off the
doors and put them on, looking at first like surgeons or crime investigators putting on surgical gloves, then playing around for a while, flicking and
snapping at the rubber. They have moved away from the cubicle doors and are now standing by the urinals, which have flowers sprouting out of them.
Suddenly we see there are flashing lights in their crotches. They run on the spot, turn their backs, one of them recites a Raymond Chandler-style
narrative, and we hear another song: Elvis's "Blue Suede Shoes". There was perhaps 2-3 minutes' too much material at this point - the tension seemed
to sag a little, there was less sense of compulsion, and I felt my concentration flagging.
Then another change, another song: "This is a man's
world", and the two guys in drag transform themselves into a stereotypical long-married bickering couple, the conversation full of deliberate clichés
as before: "Do you love me, or are you in love with me?". Their argument over, the 'husband' goes into a cubicle, and the 'wife' follows suggestively
for the usual form of reconciliation.
Surprise surprise, the other cubicle door opens -
has someone been in there all this time? Who ever can it be? Ah, it's Jorge again, and the surrealism is broken, for he is playing the role of an
ordinary bloke in a men's toilet. As he moves to the basin to wash his hands, he looks round in disdainful surprise at the group of people, male and
female, standing there watching him. With poker face he comes towards them, his eyes averted in true English manner, says "excuse me", edges past them
and leaves. After a few seconds the audience realise this must be the end of the show, there is applause, and the two guys in drag come out of their
cubicle to bow - of course bowing to the audience at the end of a show is a longstanding convention in the theatre, but in this absurdist-surrealist
context it seemed a bit too conventional.
All in all, this is a compelling show which could tour the
world and never have difficulty finding a venue. I'm just wondering where Zecora Ura will choose to perform next!
Bexley
Times
October
23, 2003
'GARAGE
ROCKS'
Emma Durdle
A Garage in Sidcup is the latest venue chosen for ZECORA URA's new production. The
innovative Brazilian and British theatre company will perform Ibsen's A Dolls House from the 'exclusive' venue (only ten tickets are available
for each performance). Four performers will act out Ibsen's portrayal of the ignorance of the human condition from the confines of the garage.
The British
Theatre Guide
July 25, 2003
'YOBS
FORCE OPEN AIR THEATRE CANCELLATION'
The ZECORA URA Theatre has cancelled its planned performances of of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland in
Sidcup's Lamorbey Park on 20th and 27th July.
"After several violent attacks during this year against students and people that cross this park (even in daylight)," said director Jorge Lopes
Ramos, "one member of our cast was hit by an egg as we tried to rehearse last Sunday.
"The lack of security provided by the local police makes the risk of attacks to audience members and cast much bigger. And not to forget our
audience is mainly children, we would not risk the safety of families in Lamorbey Park in Sidcup."
The nearby Rose Bruford College suffers from what a correspondent calls "a theft problem" because of the open nature of the campus.
In the past two years ZECORA URA Theatre has performed seven different shows in London, Edinburgh, Madrid and Rio de
Janeiro. Their site-specific productions were set in trains, streets, toilets, old sheds and theatres worldwide.
This is a visual/physical version of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, inspired by Carroll's book and will be performed in the U.K., Brazil
and Japan in 2003, 2004 and 2005.
South London
Press
Wednesday, June 18,
2003
'CATCH A TRAIN FOR A THEATRICAL TREAT'
Dan Hancox
HAVE you ever sat on a deathly dull commuter
train, just wishing a troupe of actors and musicians would start doing their thing? Take the London-Sidcup line this week and you might just get
lucky, as DAN HANCOX found out from Sidcup-based Jorge Lopes Ramos...
"We WERE worried they'd say no the first time we
did it, so we didn't tell Connex. We thought they'd be looking out for us. But since last year we've got official permission, and they're really
supportive now; the staff all come out and watch."
Twenty-one-year-old Jorge Lopes Ramos is talking
about an event which is rapidly developing a cult following among the travelers on the London-Sidcup line. This week Sidcup-based company ZECORA URA,
of which Jorge is artistic director, takes to the trains for the third year running to perform its specially adapted version of Debora Levy's 'Honey,
Baby'.
The idea of staging Levy's usually stationary play
on a train was conceived by Montse Triola, a friend of Jorge's, and although it may seem pretty 'out there' and absurd, very few alterations were
required.
Jorge told me: "The character of the customs
officer was converted into the ticket officer, but as far as the script and plot go, it's pretty much the original."
'Honey, Baby' is subtitled 14 Studies in Exile, a
reference to the 14 scenes which comprise the play. The themes of love, loneliness and homesickness are played out at a rate of one scene per stop,
by a cast with diverse international backgrounds: Jorge himself is Brazilian, and other nations represented include Spain, Finland, Germany and UK.
As if there wasn't enough daring in this
production already, there is the added bonus of an accompanying clarinet, violin, guitar and singing. ZECORA URA's ideas are novel, radical, and
infused with a sense of fun, yet there is one question that has to be asked: why?
"The only reason we continue to do this is the
excitement and challenge it provides.
"The advantage of a train setting isn't just spatial. For us, theatre has to be based on risk. We want challenges, we want audience involvement.
Interaction is one of our main objectives."
If it sounds like Jorge is issuing an improvised
manifesto for exiting theatre, then he's certainly convinced me. But without the benefit of prior warning and explanation, what are audience
reactions like? Shock? Confusion? Embarrassment? Jorge's answer is emphatic:
"The audiences' responses are amazing. In the
past we've had some stand up and start singing along, we've had people start arguing with the actors, because they didn't fully understand what was
happening. No two performances are ever alike."
If they generate a mixture of shock and awe on
their audience's face, what's it like to be performing al fresco from the actor's point of view?
"It's one of the most amazing experiences I've
ever had. Because you are physically moving, you know the action has to keep going; you are always moving forward. Once a train stopped for 10
minutes between stations, and there was just absolute silence from the audience."
Jorge himself came to England three years ago to
study at Rose Bruford College in Sidcup, and although ZECORA URA seem to acquire and loose new cast members fairly frequently - because of their
global roots - a few of the actors are based in Hither Green and Lewisham, so will know the territory.
Indeed the company is sticking in south-east
London for its next project, which is coming soon as July. A new performance of 'Alice in Wonderland' will be performed at the Barn theatre in Sidcup
and then outdoors in Lamorbey Park, and the shows will be accompanied by a series of children's workshops in the local area. Assembling the cast for
Alice seems to have taken place in typically ad hoc fashion.
Jorge said: "All the cast is involved because
they'd seen a previous performance - either in Edinburgh, or in the trains, or the one in the toilets."
This is another statement that ought to bring a
collective 'I beg your pardon?' from those uninitiated into ZECORA URA's adventurous spirit, but the truth is they seem happy to surprise people.
Jorge is referring to 'Don't Feed the Lions', a performance that took place entirely in a gents toilet. Similarly, a previous production of 'The
Kingdom of Ubu' took place inside three old sheds in Sidcup's Lamorbey park.
It's this theatrical buccaneering which seems to
suffuse ZECORA URA's shows with a zesty, exhilarating spirit.
See you on the platform.
Bexley
Times
June 19,
2003
'LATIN TRAIN TREAT'
Emma Durdle
Boring train journeys could become a thing of the past thanks to the ZECORA URA theatre
company. The performance is based on Deborah Levy's Honey, Baby and include a series of 14 studies in exile that they will perform from Sidcup
to Charing Cross and vice versa with live music played by invited musicians - all for the price of a train ticket.
The actors and musicians are constantly influenced by the space, time and relationships
between the characters - and of course from the reactions of the traveling audience.
Surprises at each of the seven stops to Sidcup at the train's destination are promised and
although ZECORA URA will not be held responsible for train delays, they promise a reaction if a train is cancelled. No booking is required, just turn
up at platform one at Sidcup railway station.
Culture Wars
March,
2003
Honey, Baby
14 Studies in Exile
Shirley Dent
Confusion, embarrassment, disorientation, and trepidation all go towards
making this performance work. And that's just the audience.
Arriving at 15.30 on a Sunday at Sidcup station, I quickly joined a
band of fellow spectators - 'You here for the train-theatre thing?' 'Yeah.' We were nervy at the start. There was a near miss when the audience almost
got on the wrong train. This was followed by about fifteen minutes of waiting and sussing: waiting for the next train and sussing out if anyone
loitering on Sidcup's murky station platform was an actor in cognito. At moments I had misconceived urges to sidle up to people and whisper 'You a
thesp then?'
However, when the cast arrived it was obvious they were the cast, dressed in
self-consciously absurdist attire. This was the one moment I felt disappointed. I had somehow wanted the actors to be seamless with the loiterers, to
suddenly emerge from within us.
However, this feeling passed. The cast really used the station. Very simple things, like
the physical separation of two platforms helped to heighten confrontation and desire. Cardboard boxes collapsed and folded (portability counts in this
performance), banners were literally in your face, and there were looks of 'Fucking weirdos' from a few. Then we got on the train, accompanied by
beautiful singing and haunting clarinet playing.
There is one distinct advantage of performing a play on a train: an audience reaction is
almost certainly guaranteed. In this performance you can't help notice the audience as part of the performance and this is rather rewarding. People
got into it. Some teenage girls took the momentous decision to 'Stay and watch the freak show'. I burst into real, spontaneous laughter with the woman
sitting next to me, who had unsuspectingly walked in on this. Our laughter was induced by one actor trying to catch up with the train as he brandished
a sign saying 'Ernie meet me at the end of the platform.'
This may all sound like highbrow busking and jolly good fun. Well it is. But the quality
of acting and writing also made it something more. The actor playing Ernest James (complete with Mittel European accent) made a terrific job of his 'I
am the middle' speech, in which the confidence of donor-card carrying middle England breaks down into the blandness of repression and racism. People
nodded, smiled, smirked and recognised we were part of this middle as well as Ernie.
Some may go away and ponder that some more. But even if you weren't so inclined, well, it
gets you out of the house, hey.
The Edinburgh
Guide
August,
2002
A Pornographic Fatality
(Edinburgh Fringe 2002)
If
one were to describe Zecora Ura's production in three words only, it would surely have to be wacky, bawdy and lip-smacking.
Upon entering Gateway's Pend Studio you are greeted by a company member who will try to entice you to take a swig out of
what he swears to be a bottle of good wine. This is followed by a true Beckettesque opening, in which two performers discuss the meaning of dying and
making tea in the microwave.
Have you got the picture by now? What follows is a succession of non-linear scenes in which performers question their
identities and explore different ways of theatrical representation. They fall in and out of character, they talk to and about the audience, they
stutter, they stumble, and generally make a show out of themselves. Theirs is an improvisational, gritty, irreverent, in-your-face kind of humour
where no stone is left unturned and no taboo untouched.
Oh yes, for those hopefuls who judge the book by its cover it needs to be said: Sorry guys, there is no hint of porn in
this one. Only Frosty the Snowman.
© Ksenija Horvat 15
August 2002