Reviews
of Moments of Madness
South Wales Evening Post, 9 May 2000
Moments of Madness
Taliesin Arts Centre
Do
we really need any more stage productions which seek to define the role
of Wales in the 21st Century? Well, frankly, if they could all be as
wild and as witty as this one, the answer would have to be yes.
I
have never been totally convinced by physical theatre, partly because
its manic energy can often conceal a vacuous inner core. But Volcano
Theatre are undoubtedly a class act and fully deserve the critical praise
that has been heaped upon them.
This
bizarre piece of absurdist theatre, in which five characters meet to
discuss a new cultural agenda for Wales and find themselves in the middles
of Eisenstein's Battleship Potemkin, may be nonsense. But it is, for
the most part, highly disciplined and mature nonsense, which is why
it works so well.
The
risible and unsatisfying finale, which left the audience so dazed and
confused that they remained in their seats long after the performers
had disappeared backstage, is rather a shame therefore. But in spite
of this there can be little doubt that this is destined to become a
classic of its kind.
Graham Williams
The
Guardian, 9 June 2000
State of the Production
Moments of Madness
BAC, London
The
past few months have seen an unusually large number of theatrical dispatches
from Wales. The message they have sent has largely been bleak, depicting
a country and a people suffering from confusion, depression and indifference.
The agony continues with this latest production from Volcano, a company
with many admirers and imitators. Volcano has been a treasure because
of its ability to physicalise not just feelings but also thought, and
use text - from Shakespeare and Ibsen and Tony Harrison to Marx and
Baudrillard - with rare intelligence. Its work has never just been about
bodies slamming against walls.
But
something has gone badly wrong with this state-of-the-nation piece that
instead of opening out debates about regionalism, nationalism, self-determination
and national identity and culture actually shuts them down. Set during
a conference on arts, culture and the state, it feels suspiciously like
the company's argument with itself. It is exclusive rather than inclusive,
incestuous rather than accessible. After a while it make you yawn and
long to go for a walk on Clapham Common.
Ron
Davies is just one reference point: Julie Christie, Rudolf Hess, Edward
II and Eisenstein's Battleship Potemkin (the piece apparently takes
place in the hull of a ship) are others in an evening that feels increasingly
pretentious, and for all its talk of revolution is astoundingly decadent.
The target here is not capitalism, or exploitation, but Arts Council
bureaucrats, smug academics and agenda-wavers.
A
lack of theatricality is a major problem and if the 90 minutes finally
achieves some momentum in its murderous If-style fantasy sequences,
by then the production has become so obscure that you wonder whether
it might be intentionally parodying itself. And if it were, would it
know?
Lyn
Gardner
