Saturday 3 March 2012

"Prometheus". A kind of review.

On 8th December 2011 I went to my first performance of physical theatre: “Prometheus, a river stained with iron”, held at the Pateley Bridge Playhouse.   

I meant to attempt a review and offer it to the local press, but this ambition faded over   time as I realised I had written not a dispassionate review, but a summary of how I experienced the performance and what I thought of it. 

Since 9th December this piece sat in my hard drive, forgotten, but is now posted.  

Prometheus
“A River Stained with Iron.  No one dreams of civilisation in Paradise.”

Devised from a series of poems written by Philip Knight, a practitioner of physical theatre, “Prometheus” is a meditation on the story of fire being stolen from the gods and explores the idea of freedom in a universe filled with mystery and power.

Philip was alone on the stage, accompanied by experimental musician Mike Gosling.  

The performance begins with Mike playing haunting melodies on guitar whilst Philip sits with his back to the audience.  The music continues as Philip flings himself to the floor and then – as Prometheus – uncoils from his sprawled position to stand up.

“Hero,” the first of the fifteen poems has started with Prometheus sitting at the centre of the story, where the hero must stay – “at the very eye of the legend” – or become nothing.  There were hints of a Creation myth where Prometheus talks of his role.    

“Opportunity” is more urgent.  Music imitates the “bedspring sawing of the crickets”, hinting a warning.  Prometheus is alone amongst the scent of pine, within sight of Olympus and watching the fire.  Hypnotised by the fire, seeing its opportunity, he reaches out and seizes a burning branch.     

“Panic” is fast, driven by a chunky riff and powerful chords.  The fire branch glows red in the moonlight, shedding a trail of sparks.  Prometheus is pursued by the fire’s guardians to the shingle beach.    

“Forethought” starts with slow music.  Prometheus talks of sea frets tangy with salt as he moves through a cloud; experiences scents of fennel, liquorice and incense.  Wisdom feverish with ideas.  Murmuring of surf.  Reflection and lack of forethought.  Without fire, civilisation is a dream. Prometheus steps forward into the camp of men and the Age of Iron.       

“Trick”: A faster, rocky rhythm as of someone running or fleeing.  “This gift will carve a pace in history”.

“Handed over” has louder words and quieter, chunky, choppy rhythms.  Prometheus talks of his crazy grab for freedom that brought him to his quest.  Even as he rides the tide of History, does he have a choice he can make and still remain at the story’s centre? He must “hand over this phenomenon, this gift, this knowledge . . . ”  Fire will weave itself into mankind’s being. Prometheus must hand it over.
    
“Man” starts with powerful rock chords and riff.  Prometheus shouts “Man!”  His speed of thought, star-bending potential, blend of earth and light.  What an idea, to separate light from dark.  Power and danger.  Opportunity to test belief itself in the thundering cataract of FREEDOM then more power guitar. 

“(Wo)man”, “Faces in the Moon”, “Ritual”: couldn’t separate these three!
Quiet start, voice only.  Interlocking myriad forces crushed into idea that somebody, somewhere, is not happy.  Have I become a reflection of the cause?  Hounded, kneaded, pummelled into shape by habit.  I got lost in the human maze of phantasms and horrible imaginings.

Guitar alternates with words, then adds support.  “Howling at the moon with its human face.  What am I to man?  What punishment?  They glance at my reflection in the moon”.

“Pandora” is haunting, lost, romantic.  “Her footsteps in the sand would make men weep”.  “Sliver of power in female form, wired to the wyrd”.  Mild lust and eroticism, an idealised female.  “Curled in on herself like a sleeping cat”.  Complicated.  Men stumbling from their new ambitions, dazzled, bemused crazy.  Are woman a race apart?  Filled with awful magic and wired to the wyrd.  Complicated.    

“First Whisper” Barefoot on new grass.  Smoke curls, scrawling a message in clean air.  Something precious given up to the flames.  Pathway to the gods.  Much missed.    

“To make a move”  Discordant music, squeaks, sawing and grating.  Start again, with a new white page – made from pine forest, mashed, pulped and bleached white.             
 
“Stone” Quiet start, guitar and voice.  Demons “jostling for runes at the edge of your soul”.  Important not to offend the gods.  The eye watches the stone.  It does not move of itself.  The stone is both free and not-free. 

“Ravens”  Haunting, Middle-Eastern sound to the music.  The birds circle out of the rising sun each morning.  He tracks their movement at the edge of vision, as they hang in the air, seemingly motionless.  Perhaps one day they will pass on, but the steady light will not deflect them from their awful purpose .  The Universe has not shifted for Prometheus.  There is a ragged flap of wings . . .

The voice stops as music continues to fade out.

The whole physical aspect was powerful, with Philip demonstrating strength, balance and great control over his movements.  Mike’s music was at times almost heavy rock – a reminder of early Black Sabbath (or was it Zeppelin?). At others surreal, haunting and downright weird-sounding with his clever use of a slide. 
                   
When I first read the words “physical theatre practitioner” and “experimental musician” I flew back to the eighties and the seventies with memories, respectively, of bad progressive rock and not-funny alternative comedy.  I confess to feeling no great initial appeal, but I had just met Philip as the latest member of Nidderdale Writers Group and was interested in what he described as an evening of performance poetry.       

I was - and am - pleased I made the effort.  The performance was stunning and I was entranced for the whole fifty minutes.  The 73-seat venue was full of atmosphere, despite the tiny audience of just nine!  A missed opportunity for the people of Pateley Bridge and surrounding area.

Amazingly, as it seems to me, there is no current version available on cd, the poetry remains unpublished and “Prometheus” has been performed in public on just a small handful of occasions.  In addition, I have failed to find any detailed reviews.     

So, this will have to do! 

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