bitchesball2.txt

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Title: The Bitches Ball - Penny Dreadful/SCAMP
venue :: Assembly, Hill Street
see links :: http://www.pennydreadfultheatre.com
category :: theatre
Review 2 :: by Ed Stack
5 gold bats

Knowing me and drafted in as I was, to review shows only a few days 
before the close of the festival, I must admit that I did not expect 
to be reviewing a five star show. But the Bitches Ball ticked every 
five star box more than once. 

The Bitches Ball tracks moments in the life of esteemed poetess, 
actress and early feminist, Mary Robinson, a woman of controversy
and contradiction. Having been concubine to Prince George (King 
George IV) her life is stuff of drama already and she is a character
who demands a nuanced treatment. She is also very relevant to feminist 
and alternative poetry readers today worldwide. So already we had 
five stars for ambition.

We begin at her suffering at the end of her life, once she has 
contracted an infection after miscarriage rendering her paralysed 
from the waist down. She sits wrapped in rags, reaching for a bucket
painstakingly. This is good acting, the expression on her face 
genuinely bleak, well balanced so it does not tip to melodramatic
at this most crucial moment of the play. This genuineness is 
emphasised throughout the play by her remaining 'herself' in 
appearance, to the point of having no wig, in juxtaposition to all
the other characters who change roles and costume several times and
are almost always in wigs, focussing her as central character of 
interest. Such is a mark of thoughtfulness in conception of a 
biopic.  

Once she has the bucket she slides it under her chair and a hint of 
mischievousness immediately breaks the dark suffering atmosphere as
she acts the facial expressions of urination in time with the play-
back of a recorded piss. With a kind of balance, restraint and
suggestion, this device succeeds in causing a few muffled and guilty 
giggles from the audience. Here is where the ensuing tussle between 
comedy and tragedy is signposted, and from here on both proliferate in 
more and more exuberant ways. 

She pulls out a vial of some drug to kill the pain; the comedy and
tragedy are mixed, and we are cast into the world of her 
hallucinatory memory, which will provide the context and to some
extent justification for all the historical manipulations inevitable
in any successful hour long biopic. The use of this device disarms
the usual criticism of biopics into a boon for even the most 
conservative of cynics, as it encourages us to see the play as always
only as an allegory of memory in all its patchiness. The 
hallucinogenic licence provided, allows unfettered creative 
inspiration for numerous off-the-wall and hyperbolic character-
isations, anachronistic costume choices, and exaggerated accents.
All which combine to give a real sense of unity of vision in the
theatre company, by medium of the highly proficient and committed 
cast. 

Through parallels with today that the plays formal manipulations 
suggest, e.g., Georgian wigged journalists sporting 1950s horn
rimmed spectacles along with their quills. The portrayal of 
hypocritical forces of authority in society. Juxtaposing scandal 
sheets and the contemporary tabloid press, both as obsessed with 
lurid headlines. The production happily played along with the notion
that the memory of the person at the centre of a story is surely 
the only final and sovereign authority on events. When memory is 
by nature patchy, it gives rise to the guiltless opportunity for 
speculation and representation based on something other than facts
- but perhaps arguably more to the point, so do the vestiges of 
personality left behind by a person's work. This approach was 
exemplified, in one instance, by the ladies finishing school 
scene's succinct critique of 'poshness.' This really filled me 
with a sense of meaning and affirmation, despite being deemed 
spurious and faux by the play's caricature. 

The set is constantly moving which gives a real sense of passing 
time, as the actors themselves, sometimes deliberately visible, 
move the set around, shroud it in velvet or rags and even change 
costume in full view. In defiance of the stage’s size they make
it something greater than itself, be it a room, a bed, a theatre or
a horse drawn carriage. Even the transmission of letters and tokens
is used to transcend the limitations of space. How Malvern the servant 
flicks the letter behind a gauze and it instantaneously appears 
in Mary Robinson's hand at the other side of the stage was sleight
of a director's wand that had to be seen to be believed. The humour,
energy and pace that characterised the performance meant that when
this device didn't seem to go so smoothly the next time, you were 
genuinely unsure whether is was a mistake or scripted. The change
of Tom Robinson's fake money then being picked up in the next scene
and all being littered with unpaid bills as another example of 
someone's creative dexterity was nothing short of genius in its
simplicity.   

However none of this ingenuity in sets, costumes and props would have 
excused poor performances.  Indeed, because of the integration of
costumes, scene-changes and acting, there was no room for amateurs,
and amateurs were there none. The colourfulness and versatility of
all the other actors at times seemed to eclipse that of Mary 
Robinson. Despite the absolute command she held at the beginning, 
they took a turn at centre stage, while we were encouraged to 
experience Mary's initial 'outsiderishness' in the London milieu
alongside her. An experience as equally foreign to us in time, 
as to her, in provincial distance. 

But it was clear from the moments where the frenetic action stopped
(e.g. when the whirlwind of her rise and fall culminates in a picture
of a miscarriage, the moment she is paralysed...) that she was the 
woman for the job of anchoring the play. With an ability to transform
a wanton or frivolous atmosphere with a single expression, so as to
focus us on the tragic element of Mary's life. A proper depiction 
of all of this is lynchpin to The Bitch's Ball's considerable 
emotional impact. Credit is also due to a shrewd script structure.

To single out does not sit well with Penny Dreadful's thoroughly 
cooperative enterprise. While Malvern, Tom Robinson and Prince 
George were all stellar, the team ethic was so palpable and
successful and so all of the cast and crew deserve to be named
with praise. 

No creative stone was left unturned, and the sound was cutting edge.
Mixing whispers with echoes of previous dialogue the sound people 
were not averse to entering into quotations of contemporary 
electronic clicks and beats to emphasize the urgency and relevance
to today of the person and the play. It did not stop here as 
there were several hilarious set pieces sung on stage which 
structurally galvanised the anarchic moments of the play, and 
tempered the pace appropriately, whilst being thoroughly entertaining
and larger than life at the same time. The cartoonesque slapstick, 
costumes and period make-up also made a serious point – in this 
case, about the superficial nature of Georgian aristocracy. 

The result of their efforts is that the relevance of the figure 
of Mary Robinson as a dramatic focus today is emphasised.
All faithful to Penny Dreadful's motto, which is to bring into 
significance characters otherwise left behind by king-and-queen
revering history textbooks. The dramatic significance was 
dependant on more than enough historical events to suggest 
sound sources for the feelings recognisable in her poetry, when it 
came through the sound system trippily and wistfully at the 
end. This indicated an integrity that sets Bitches Ball apart
from other young and lesser fringe productions that have too 
quickly slung the name of an historical figure into a script, in 
the name of cheap, instant theatrical art or sales. 

To end it all, a black-out with Mary Robinson's face in a picture 
frame, quite still, stern, just like her portrait. This was a 
good motif for the end - but then she winks in defiance. 

It is confirmed that this was a production of consummate confidence, 
class and entertainment, three things which all too rarely go 
hand in hand. 

By Ed Stack