6thursdaynoff09

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o the entire Tech Crew that worked on Never Enough, as a company we would like to say a massive THANK YOU to all of you. Our show wouldn't have been possible without your hardwork, dedication and general lack of sleep. We felt constantly supported by you throughout; nothing we requested was met with anything less than absolute enthusiasm. You have made our experience here an utter pleasure and have made us feel really comfortable.

Sorry to wreak havoc on your perfectly painted black floor twice a day....those rainbow drops are little buggers!

JEN AND TOM - YOU ARE THE DREAM TEAM!!!

With lots and lots of love, and cake, Abbi, Emma, Helen, Katie and Marc xxxxx (RashDash Productions)

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o all the truly fantastic techies: a massive thank you for being so tolerant with us. We really appreciate how hard it is to shove that sand!

Massive thanks to you all. Without you the show could never achieved even a quarter of its full potential.

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emi Elufowoju jr. has lost his Packard Bell notebook. It went missing sometime after the start of Me and my Friend at 2.30 in the SJT McCarthy. If you happen to have seen it or anything, do let us know.

Femi Elufowoju jr.

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e may have implied in yesterday's (April 1st) interview with Simon Stephens that he has written for the Cbeebies programme: In The Night Garden. We have been informed by Mr Stephens's lawyers, Thretten, d'Nye and Wynn, that he has, in fact, never written for this programme. We apologise for any confusion caused.

Editorial

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response to Will Swaney's bafflement at the 'beginners' lighting workshop.)

Yeah, fair enough. You got us there.

We've tried to make the technical workshops as accessible as possible to the whole festival (for starters, we're actually telling everyone that they exist!), but sometimes we may get carried away. So today at 3.30pm we'll be having an informal drop-in session in the Spa cafe where you can join us for a cuppa and ask any of those things you wanted to know. We promise not to bite, and we won't be speaking in binary. So whatever it may be, feel free to ask and we will try to answer in a chilled, open and jargon-free environment. And if you're very lucky, we'll show you our podgers...

Nic Watson

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Sincere thanks,

s everybody knows, yesterday (Wednesday) was 'Bring a Sibling to NSDF day'. I would like to say a big congratulations to Keri and Jack Penfold-Baker, Helen and Antony Poveda and Charlotte and Luke Binns.

Poor show everybody else.

All the Elephant's Graveyard Cast and Crew

Try and match the siblings in the photo below: Keri Penfold-Baker

ear Tech,

I see you've run out of gaffer. Shall I pop to the shop?

Felix Trench

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here is no such person as Alec Duncan. There is even less of a person as Sir James Michael Hillary Duncan, who, if he were real, would be dead. As he informs us.

The actual talent behind these two (of a good half a dozen characters who sprint about the stage in the course of The Wake) is one Jonathan Brittain who also wrote the script - ably assisted by Ashley Booth. The success of this show rests entirely on the talents of its actors, as however witty the script, it would not sustain a poor performance. A bad actor taking on this challenge would swiftly lose the patience of the audience and the half hour running time would stretch into a self indulgent eternity. Fortunately Brittain is a dextrous comic performer, switching through his myriad of characters at bewildering speed.

There is even time for a little genuine pathos to shine through as the breakneck performance rattles on toward its conclusion.

Ashley Booth is a no less able performer. The Wake would be fatally unbalanced if its other actor were unable to keep up with Brittain's pace and happily, Booth is more than capable of giving him a run for his money. It might be easy to overlook her performance - it's Brittain's face on the flyers, but she is definitely his equal not merely in the comedy of the quickly assumed impression but also as a serious actor. It is her constant refrain of 'ask me as Alec' that grounds the show in its flights of high speed absurdity, and gives it a heart and emotional truth.

The script is tight and wittily written managing to explore family relationships, comment on actors and acting and deliver a constantly twisting plot full of reversals and surprises, all at about nine hundred miles an hour. It's a magnificent feat of writing for which Brittain deserves full praise. If I have one reservation though, it is that the script treats acting merely as impersonation Brittain's actor is an impressionist, his play an attempt at a documentary reconstruction of his father's wake.

Though there are elements of ambiguity in the piece, taken entirely seriously its argument appears to be that theatre should reflect reality as exactly as possible and the ideal actor is a Michael Sheen-esque mimic. This is not a play to take entirely seriously though, and quibbles should be pushed aside in favour of rejoicing in this genre of black comedy and identity farce.

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very so often you see a play which is just the perfect accompaniment to your theatrical heart. Four years ago, I witnessed Risky and Fluke, a one-man, 15 minute performance which was, in my eyes at least, theatre perfection. I have a peculiar love of short theatre, perhaps it is simply that it's over quicker and requires less thought, or perhaps it is because that a piece of short theatre can be so perfectly polished and be so short and punchy that the message it delivers has to ring home. Today, I found a play that, while not exceeding Risky and Fluke, has certainly given it a run for its money. Alec Duncan's Wake contained many of the same elements as Risky and Fluke, a lead character played by the man who wrote the play, a supporting role from, in this case an actress, which elevated the performance to a new level, and a surprise ending which completely shifts the mood of the piece, and because of this it has comfortably become my favourite performance I have seen at NSDF this year.

Jonathan Brittain plays Alec Duncan, who performs to the audience impressions of all the family members

present at his father's wake. The idea that Alec knows he is performing to an audience adds real intrigue to the performance, as the audience are given the impression that he is in complete control. This illusion is shattered however when Alec's wife appears from the audience, and gives Alec a real run for his money, all the qualities of an embittered wife, played superbly by Ashley Booth. The script is unbelievably strong, not a second is wasted on stage, and this combined with the performance of both the actors means the pace does not drop for a second. The combined result of all these factors is simply spectacular.

As I said, maybe this is simply because I have a soft spot for short one-man shows (and this is for the most part a one-man show, despite Ashley's excellent performance), but I doubt it. If you have not yet had the privilege of witnessing this superb 25 minutes of drama, make sure you don't miss it, as it may well be the best 25 minutes you'll watch this week.

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akes and funerals are usually pretty downbeat affairs, where swathes of people loosely connected with the deceased float around exchanging anecdotes and generally looking miserable. There are two major ways in which The Wake, performed by Ashley Booth and Jonathan Brittain, is different. Firstly, there are very few people milling around, and secondly there is far more laughter than one expects at a wake. Oh, and those stories are rather more prominent than normal, because the deceased chap actually makes several appearances.

The problem with Alec is that he can't be himself. Interestingly, 'himself' is probably the most realistic (but boring) figure onstage. Beside him we have the lecherous lord, the gay, brash and arrogant heir, the weedy twit of an aristocratic brother and the brother's American trophy wife. Oh, and not forgetting Alec's own wife.

But the fact that they are all played

by Ashely Booth and Jonathan Brittain means that the stage feels incredibly empty for all these people. For all their enthusiastic jumping around the stage and into each character, they try to make up for the lack of physical bodies with sheer energy - and it just can't do the job.

But that allows an audience to focus in more closely on the incredibly metatheatrical nature of Brittain's writing.

This is very much a play aware of its own status as a play. Irritatingly so.

The entire thing is set up as a performance by the younger brother who spent all his time practising impressions in his bedroom. The relationship of the husband (Alec) and wife (Mary) is central, but weaved in with the possibility that Alec is the father of his uncle's baby.

Unfortunately, it is a relationship in which one of the people can't quite decide who he wants to be, and this rubs off on her. If only the distinctions between each character were more clear - they're introduced well, but once both these performers are bouncing around yelling at each other and swapping parts in less time than it takes to hop an inch or so to the left, it gets harder to tell who they're supposed to be.

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've been meaning to write something all week so here we go.

I'm a member of the tech crew and today I got to Op both the shows in the Ocean Room theatre, so who better to review them than someone who has seen them twice? The Wake's story tells of the life of an actor called Alec (Jonathan Brittain) and revolves around a family incident that was revealed at his father's wake. The comedy runs for 25 minutes and is full of laughs and much witty comment.

Alec, an actor spends his life impersonating people and finds comfort in pretending to be someone he's not. This life style of continuing impersonation leads onto the discovery of Alec's problem. He's a compulsive liar and tailors his story to get him out of the shit with his wife Alison played by Ashley Booth. Alison bursts from the audience in an argument with Alec causing plenty of shock for the whole audience, much to my amusement. The plot was a little confusing in the first show today but the second showing saw the relationship between Alec and Alison improve to very emotional heights.

The constant changing of characters, albeit a tad confusing was portrayed well, however I felt that there could have been more definition between some of the characters for both of the actors. Overall it gave an extremely entertaining show which I thoroughly enjoyed.

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ou often find that the most powerful theatre is not the longwinded, three hour historical dramas, or yet another rehashing of Shakespeare. It is often smaller shows found at the Edinburgh Fringe or NSDF that will long after linger in the minds of an audience.

Despite having to lean awkwardly against the railings (worth it just for the movable seating), I was delighted to finally gain access to the show that had been raved about repeatedly. I was not disappointed. I was drawn into the world of neurological disorders, portrayed through different mediums.

The use of a handheld camera highlighting the key elements for the audience to focus on helped me understand what a particular character was experiencing. At the same time it made the scene correspond with the disorders by adding confusion while the audience tried to both focus on what was being portrayed on the screen as well as what was happening on stage.

I was genuinely impressed with the time and effort that had clearly been put into this well polished piece. The

show was able to draw the audience directly into understanding the brain, and the lighting helped explain the different brain functions. One moment that I found particularly effective was the description of how Parkinson's disease can be altered by certain types of music. The simplicity of using small red lights moved by the cast was incredibly effective in relation to this.

The control and precision of the actors throughout was pivotal to the success of the piece. I was alarmed when one actor stripped off his clothes and proceeded to cover himself in paint.

While this looked like immense fun, I did find myself worrying about his eyes, and almost gagging when he squirted it into his mouth. That's dedication for you.

I found myself bombarded with information and wanted to absorb it all, but sometimes there was so much going on it was impossible to keep up with everything. I found it fascinating how they managed to incorporate all these facts with a fluid performance.

The show was an incredible piece of theatre with an amazingly emotive musical score. Perhaps too emotive, as, when leaving, I was shocked to see

several grown men with tears running down their faces. Now admittedly, with the exception of The Green Mile and the occasional episode of ER, I'm not much of a crier. But still I was quite confused as to why everyone was leaving in this stony silence, some furiously wiping their eyes, others sobbing uncontrollably. Was it the music that made people react that way? Perhaps it was the personal stories intertwined throughout the piece? As much as I enjoyed the performance, I found it more interesting and theatrically impressive than driving me to tears.

I'm struggling to fault this piece, as the acting and theatrical style was flawless. I was quite disappointed that no one fainted though and bewildered that everyone cried, but maybe it's just me being cynical, either way I'd take theatre like this over Shakespeare or Brecht any day.

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nce I stepped into the large space of the Potter, which I hadn't been in before, I instantly felt like a child.

The paper stuck on walls, the voices, and colours reminded me of Eureka, the well-known museum; the human body section in a grown up version. I entered feeling a bit distorted as the voices around became a part of me.

Once I was led to my place I was unaware of what to expect. People dressed in blue and white indulged themselves in the space writing frantically.

The piece grasped me with its beautiful movement and constant energy to fulfil the characteristic of a powerful brain. I can't deny that I felt frustration due to the undoubtedly great idea of moving the audience, I was not able to get a full grasp of a theatrical experience as I constantly found myself looking at a screen rather than the actors in action.

However this did not overtake the feeling I felt towards the end of the piece, the movement and text became in sync and the raw emotion of not only myself but the audience came out. This was the first theatrical performance where I came out silent, and there was silence around me; no complaints nothing and i want the cast to know what a great achievement this is. Not only did they manage to shut up the audience, but they also educated them with such raw emotion that everyone had fear and tears. The cleverness of this piece, I feel, shocked the audience, and I am pleased that they were able to put across the power of a brain in the space of over 60 minutes.

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here's something mildly terrifying about the idea that one misplaced neuron out of 100 billion can completely screw up a human brain.

Columns have already been written on the fact that the Return to the Silence audience is warned about the seating arrangements. A message like the one that greets the waiting masses outside the Potter should elicit a tiny thrill - just think, unconventional seating! They're only letting us in in small groups! Why? What's going on?

Frankly, the whole seating thing is pretty exciting. There can't be many shows where the audience get to roll about the floor in small chariots. That in itself is worth the wait outside and trusting a stranger with my possessions outside. But most importantly, the variable staging in the Potter leads us directly into the human brain. Those billions of neurons swirl around the seated audience - who sometimes swirl themselves. Handheld camera work and moving audience seating makes it hard to get hold of references points and the whole thing can be rather disorientating.

That disorientation is central to Warwick University's Return to the Silence, their play being a catalogue of mental health disorders. Some of them are more interesting than others, and have more effect than others. Whatever the level of audience interest, this is a committed cast who seem to have done a fair bit research into the conditions they portray.

At times the catalogue is highly sympathetic; the tears and fainting of audience members being evidence enough of that. But at times it feels like the audience is being invited to laugh at the disorders - just how funny would it be if you actually heard music every time you touched something? While the light relief is welcome, it seems out of place in a show so fantastically sympathetic elsewhere.

complemented the others' performances to create exceptional harmony.

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ngels can fly because they take themselves lightly. Sad Since Tuesday combined a poignant story of human, and super-human, connection with technical and musical innovation to create a radiant and intelligent whole. This devised piece was, from the moment of entry into the room, visually and aurally enticing. The cyclorama at the back, onto which were back-projected reds and turquoises, created an otherworldly but unthreatening quality that pervaded much of the play. The musicians' cage, coated with chicken wire, echoed the chicken hut in which the fallen angel was confined during its time. Moreover, it allowed the musicians to be onstage without intruding on the acting space or interfering with the acoustics. Slick musicianship, such as Tom Figgins playing a pair of bongos with his feet during the preset, added a great deal to this production, as did the composition of a tender and poetic score that complemented the text perfectly.

Tom Coxon's portrayal of the elderly angel fallen from the face of heaven was both physically and emotionally beautiful. The exasperation with which he leapt across the stage in his attempts to fly before crashing to the floor was effortless and belied immense precision. The shimmering ball of physical wonder that was Tom Coxon did not have many lines but this only added to the sense of disenfranchisement the angel received upon his coming to earth. However, arguably his co-performers felt they were playing second fiddle and thus their characterisation in some places was weaker. Despite this, each

The play was an incisive and critical portrayal of the human approach to the arrival of strangers and the use of Gabriel Marquez's story that brims with magic was embraced by this production musically, technically and by the actors. Apart from some appalling pseudo-Brechtian signs held up by the poor guitarist; 'Time Passes', at which the audience could barely conceal their mirth, this production was an absolute blinder.

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nyone who has seen A Matter of Life and Death (either the David Niven film or the Kneehigh stage version) may suffer a touch of deja vu when watching Giggleswick School's Sad Since Tuesday. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it does mean they're treading territory that's already been explored.

There are many sweet and interesting ideas - in the first ten minutes.

Unfortunately, they aren't followed up through the rest of the piece, and dry up somewhat after the opening. This is a shame because there is evident skill and love on display here.

Crucial to the story of Sad Since Tuesday is the child who ought to be "collected" at the start, but he is not

developed enough through the rest of the piece. His cosmic position has become pretty tenuous, and this makes him the most interesting part of the story. The relationship between this child and the angel that should be collecting him ought to be much more central.

How disorganised must this Heaven be if they let an angel go missing for several years without bothering to check where he is? In the time the fallen angel spends on Earth, the child has time to grow up and learn to talk.

Frankly, I don't think much of God's Angel Resource department.

There are plenty of good ideas here, and a lot of skill - but Sad Since Tuesday feels like a rough diamond waiting for a crafting hand to hone its rough edges and polish its shine.

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t NSDF08, there were two particularly impressive pieces which managed to take the audience from the theatre and expose them to a surreal 'dreamworld' in which one could lose oneself. Lost in the Wind and When You Cry in Space Your Tears Go Everywhere were two wellexecuted, slick pieces which managed to portray quirky, different characters whilst also meaning something different for everybody. In the latter, many people were taken back to their childhoods through the use of toys and fairytales throughout the piece. By linking into something people recognised, the audience became immersed in the piece and made what they wished from it.

It was clear that Giggleswick School's Sad Since Tuesday was attempting to replicate this.

With an almost bare stage and characters in ghostly white makeup flitting silently over the stage, they were obviously trying to create such a dreamworld from the off. Unfortunately it did not seem to click. In last year's two pieces, there was a hidden something which made them engaging and interesting.

This seemed to be lacking in Sad Since Tuesday. It was hard to connect with the characters (them constantly flicking between different personas and iffy, differing accents) and I eventually felt both physically and psychologically separated as an audience member. In the programme, the group noted how they wished to immerse the audience throughout the piece. Yet on most counts they failed; if one wishes to 'immerse' the audience, one must do this convincingly from the start. In Sad Since Tuesday, immersion was far too unconvincing and sporadic. Most

audience members I talked to did not feel connected to the performers, and believed that the attempts to link with them were half-baked and futile.

This view carries a great deal of weight. Even from the start I felt unconvinced by their attempts to connect the with the audience (the descriptions of the dead people through artistic mannequins was a good idea on paper, yet once again it lacked the kick and drive of the equivalents last year in putting the message across), and by the time two members of the ensemble bleated at the audience, 'Why don't you help us?'

It was too late as we had already been alienated as opposed to immersed.

The whole concept of a falling angel could have been good on paper. Yet it seems rather like the company were clutching at A2devised-piece straws when finding stimulus or justification. Previously I have argued that theatre does not need constant justification, yet it certainly needs an objective and end purpose. When this goes missing, the show tends to lose direction and, in turn, the attention of the audience.

This may have been a fundamental flaw in the construction of this piece, since at points the acting was very impressive (especially the portrayal of the angel as animalistic and desperate when penned inside the chicken coop being harrowing and reflecting its caged freedom).

Clearly Sad Since Tuesday had potential, yet this was just not realised, and this can probably be traced back to the piece's very beginnings as a piece to perform for an examiner.

So far, live music has been successful and enjoyable in the NSDF09 shows, especially in Return to the Silence. It was a clever idea to keep the band onstage throughout as it incorporated them into the ensemble nature of the piece. Yet in other pieces, the music has been but the topsoil sprinkled onto the already solid bedrock of acting. In this piece (with the band always starting and ending onstage) they began to detract from the acting.

This could have still worked, if it was not for the ill-advised choice of music, especially the rather cliched ending in which a typical slow guitar song was played, trying to sap more emotion from the audience. The musically great thing about last year's equivalents was that the background tracks were understated, relying on subliminal provocation of audience emotion. Having this music forced upon the audience was both intimidating and very obvious in trying to make us think.

This, it must be said, sums up the production's flaws. Although encompassing some very promising elements (especially for a school performance), it was sadly let down by its conception, its wish to mimic last year's successes and intention of provoking an obvious audience reaction.

outside of any other, drawing on its own internal reference points and stylistic features. The water-soaked umbrella is a particular visual highlight of their simplistic style.

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arning: this play contains scenes of mild bathing.

In the University of East Anglia's production of Tub, Olivia Vinall has her hair washed several times by an inquiring young man whose clothing seems a little damaged. He's missing most of a sleeve and the leg of his trousers, and also has a rip below his arm. Her costume has been similarly mutilated, as perhaps has her mind or at least her memory.

What is so beautiful about Tub is that it allows an audience to make their own stories, use their imagination and work out for themselves what they think is going on. Different audience members probably have different ideas of what on earth they think happens, and that's no bad thing.

Theatre encouraging and feeding the imagination of those watching is theatre that has succeeded. That's not to say theatre companies should be allowed the excuse that their audience draws its own meaning from performance, and so performers needn't bother putting in the work themselves. That isn't success: it's laziness.

The Smoke and Mirrors theatre company responsible for Tub certainly aren't lazy; Tub has a story to it, and a style of its own, if you just make the effort to follow it. Their audience has to be willing to make the connections that are offered up by Vinall and costar Matthew Hassell, otherwise this play would be incomprehensible.

At just twenty minutes long, Tub is concentrated and fluid. It has a potent little mix of short scenes that flow from one to another easily and smoothly. Dialogue is terse and to the point. Tub exists within a world

In the repeated hair-washing and the scenes that follow, Vinall's nameless character can be seen trying to piece her life back together, delving deep for memories of a special event; a date with Hassell's character. We aren't told why she can't remember exactly what happened, or why she puts this particular day back into her mind. But that's what's so good about Tub; we're given the chance to think something up for ourselves.

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f Tub signifies anything it's that human civilisation has officially run out of viable metaphors for love. It's love, OK? That's what the bathtub represents, that's what Woman (Olivia Vinall) is drowning in, that's what she's searching for deep down, that's what the repeated statements and questions are all about. There, twenty minutes of your precious life saved. If you want to experience the play yourself fill a bathtub up with water, drop some random items in there and spend twenty minutes staring at a photo of an ex-loved one, weeping as you half-heartedly masturbate and try to remember the good times.

'It's not there. Is it?' the play asks in a totally non-pretentious way. Yes, it is there. It's there from the start. Just because you take 20 minutes to finish your sentences doesn't mean it isn't patently obvious from the off what it is you're trying to say. It's bound to be about love or some other 'deep' emotion because it's conceptual student drama and making it about the worsening economic situation in Burkina Faso would be stupid.

Tub takes the form of ambiguous statement from Woman followed by ambiguous statement from Man (Matthew Hassall) followed by blackout then rinse and repeat,

possibly with an extra line of dialogue or perhaps a glare if it's a good four seconds. It builds at a frustratingly slow pace, by the time the actors get to the end the audience are already there, tapping their feet and looking at their watches, while those that care feel uneasy about the fact that Woman has been physically forced by Man to take his love.

Is Man real? Is it all in her mind? Is he the Man she really loves? The actors haven't given the audience anywhere near enough material to make us ponder these questions, let alone come up with answers. It's totally shallow, but no less deadly for that.

It's possible to drown in an inch of water after all.

Full credit though has to go to Bathtub, which played its part with professionalism and aplomb. From its opening retching up of Woman to the fact that it managed to hide all those items so cunningly away in its enamel belly, it never once seemed phased or put off by the fact that props were being pulled out of its arse like it was a device in a Paul Daniels magic show.

Instead it proved itself to be a valuable central addition to the piece.

Would the show have suffered much if the actors had slipped out during a blackout and the audience were left to sit and enjoy the gentle sloshing sound of the water? Doubtful.

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wo characters in a bath. They finish each other's sentences.

They can't seem to find anything. He washes her hair. He washes it again. A candelabra's fished from the bath, a bunch of flowers, a handbag. Fingers crawl along the side of the bath towards each other in the tiniest gesture of love and reconciliation.

This a simply beautiful piece exploring love, control, loss and hope. A world where water drowns everything where it is impossible to be without each other yet suffocating to stay together.

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his production has a distinct and charming visual style. The stage is covered in old luggage, packing cases and boxes that instantly create the dusty, over-crammed old house the human characters inhabit. The animals, a series of beautiful puppets, live in a world separated from the stage, and therefore from the house, by gauzes. This allows for some artful and effective lighting, showing off the technical team's talents (unsung heroes, the tech team, worship them).

The play tells the story of a brother and sister who have reunited in the wake of their father's death. This has brought them to the mountainside village he died in, halfway between the peak and the jungle in the valley below. Into this tender yet spiky relationship intrudes a little feral girl, who they find themselves caring for despite their better instincts. And her occasional attempts to eat them. This girl, represented with a haunting but

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angolin’s Teatime’s The Last Yak has a tiger, two bears, a parrot and, yes, a yak. It has puppets and it has creativity leaking from every orifice. It also has an unacknowledged elephant in the room (unlike Elephant’s Graveyard... sorry... cheap shot.) The show begins with a tale of “when the jungle was young.” The problem is that the story ends up in a place where the jungle is not young.

The jungle is old. The jungle has been colonized, raped and pillaged.

Or so I assumed from the smattering of colonial iconography that litters the stage. These items—a gramophone, a china tea cup, a chess set— belong to the recently deceased father of young English siblings Raymond (Paddy Loughman) and Lucinda (Alice Bonifacio). Their story weaves in and out of the folksy yarns of the animal kingdom, facilitated by the arrival of strange child Dharla.

Dharla (expressively portrayed by Ishbel McFarlane and a wonderfully

slightly grotesque looking puppet, has a secret history. Her character can be interpreted as a Messiah figure sent by a god-like Yak to help the animals in the jungle.

The story is an unlikely mix of The Jungle Book, and The Last Battle by CS Lewis. While it is briefly diverting, the plight of the animals, their governance

by Yak and the plot to overthrow it is simply not substantial enough to maintain the interest of the audience for the hour running time. The framing story of the brother and sister is more interesting and Paddy Loughman gives a measured and compelling performance as Raymond, but this thread is not given enough space to prove itself.

The performances in general are unsatisfactory. None can doubt the discipline and skill that went into the puppetry, but the actors’ vocal work was patchy and unclear. At times

crafted puppet) is an oddity. On the one hand her super-human movements and quasi-religious communion with the Yak suggest she should elude debates of race and class. Yet she can also be interpreted as an organic emblem of her native country. She does, after all, share her name with a Bangladeshi river.

The relationship between Dharla and the English characters is problematic.

Raymond and Lucinda both patronise and mistreat the indigenous child in their own ways. Not that this is ever addressed by the script. Is it really necessary or credible for Raymond to call Dharla “monkey face” and “jungle girl”? And should these moments really be played for laughs?

There is no doubt that this show wants to make you chuckle. Industrialstrength silliness takes the form of a couple of old duffer bears (pitch perfect buffoonery from Leonie Hamway and Gwendolen von Einsiedel) and a crocodile that sounds

simple errors were made, like actors talking over each other, or delivering lines quietly offstage so that they were lost to the audience. Such basic technical errors are simply unexpected from an NSDF selected show, and sold short the obvious work that went into bringing to life the child Dharla and the jungle animals.

The show does contain occasional moments of brilliance – while the death of the Yak is overplayed and almost laughable. The following realisation that the gauze barriers have been dropped and the tiger and humans are sharing the same world is oddly powerful – which make it all the more disappointing that The Last Yak is simply unremarkable. The show has everything in its favour, yet it feels tired and unexciting. The cast have simply failed to uncover the magical show that must be lurking inside somewhere.

like it was born and bred in Slough (Simon Ginty). But on closer examination these knowing stereotypes sit awkwardly with an intellectual engagement with the show.

We tell stories because we need them, according to Emma Rice, the Artistic Director of Kneehigh Theatre. So what cathartic need is driving The Last Yak? The death of the Yak at the end of the play prompts the bereaved siblings to confront their feelings. This suggests that the self-consciously twee jungle stories are little more than a vehicle for the more naturalistic journey of the human characters. The emotional life of Raymond and Lucinda ultimately supersedes that of the puppets in who we have invested so much. This in itself seems an act of colonisation.

I kept waiting for an interrogation of the many post-colonial tensions in The Last Yak. Yet none materialised. And this is more than a little naive.

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angs, crime, bullies, drugs. These are what teenager Billy Russell (Simon Longman), faces every day. A child of separated parents; an abusive mother and a father on benefits, he feels trapped in a life of no hope, and longs to escape. In the scene where the realisation dawns on him that he may never get away from this life, his agony and utter devastation is so passionately raw, it's impossible to feel anything but compassion and pity.

Although living in circumstances many cannot understand, Billy is a teen that lots of young people can relate to. He gets frustrated by his parents, likes a girl, is scared by the kids that taunt him. With his father rumoured to have 'grassed up' the murderers, Billy gets violently and relentlessly bullied. Scott Cooper is very much the stereotypical bully, but Edward Franklin's acting makes him positively intimidating, and the perfect callous, rough leader of the gang.

Amidst all the intensity, Cooper's sidekicks act as light relief, performing as a comedy duo. Charlie Russell, Billy's dad, played by Mark Weinman, stole the show, with some truly hilarious dead- pan acting.

Prop-wise, the play doesn't use much, the set remains the same throughout, and the tech is quite basic. The performance doesn't require any of these things to be improved upon however, the lack of them compliments the storyline, and any addition would almost take away from the poignant acting.

Underneath the coarse language and shocking violence, this play is about growing up, the importance of family, and the fine line between bravery and cowardice.

here are great things to be said of the quality of acting in Herons.

Mark Weinman has garnered deserved praise for the balance between tragedy and comedy in his portrayal of Charlie Russell, and Simon Longman and Edward Franklin turned in solid performances as the play's hero and antagonist respectively. Special mentions should also be made of Ellie Rose and Lisa Gill, who put their backs into an uphill struggle against the flatly-written female roles.

Herons is an exceptionally bleak play, and in bringing it to the stage, bleakness was clearly one of Falling Leaves' first concerns. However, through stale direction, boring lighting and a set that still managed to be clumsy despite being almost nonexistent, this production confused being bleak with being desperately bland.

Stephens's script succeeds in realising character, and in this production, the audience were led to understand their enclosure in a cycle of violence and viciousness through well-pitched, realistic dialogue, which the cast delivered well, hitting their beats. But that was it. The theatre offers a director a plethora of tools to breathe life into a text, but Falling Leaves

appeared to shun all of them in the pursuit of a sense of emptiness – a brilliant aim that failed to be realised because it was approached in an entirely unsuccessful way. A scene that is dully lit, where two characters barely move, barely change their tone and that lacks any kind of pace inevitably falls flat – and Herons delivered scene after scene in this empty, uninteresting style, leaving the audience without a sense of place, time or urgency, and teasing them with a cast who were clearly capable of a great deal more.

Simon Stephens has won praise for his biting portrayals of grotesque society, and Herons' central punch to the gut, a scene where a fourteen year-old is graphically raped, is symptomatic of what makes him so successful, and so compelling: his refusal to turn a blind eye. But after an hour of static scenes and slow dialogue, even this graphic shock couldn't revive Herons, and seemed in retrospect a lot less powerful than the murder that occurred offstage, all the stronger for being left to the imagination. A play about violence, psychological torture and the importance of family ties, Herons should indeed leave an audience feeling empty. But not like this.

F

rom the moment I entered the auditorium, upon seeing a minimalist set littered with bricks, crisps and chavs, I thought to myself, “Oh God, another A-level devised piece”, another run of the mill, clichéd, social commentary based on how shit modern teenage life is in Britain.

Instead, generic stereotypes, such as bullies, victims, and unfit parents, were broken down and moulded brilliantly into characters of great depth and vulnerability. Mark Weinman’s standout performance gave Simon Stephens’s ‘Herons’ a beautiful mixture of comedy and pathos, executed through a wonderful command over facial expression and vocal projection. His longing stare across an urban wasteland, which we as the audience inhabited, not only captivated us, but created an atmosphere of desolation and decay. It is an environment where a man can be condemned for his actions, even if they are honourable and just.

Credit has to be given to Edward Franklin’s visceral portrayal of ‘Scott’, which added a stomach churning

T

wo plays, one university: No Wonder and Herons. While I did not intend to compare the two performances, I could not help but notice a trend running through the drama offered up to us by Manchester University this year. Both teams have taken a script, given it to talented actors to perform and that, really, is about it. While I did thoroughly enjoy the portrayals of all characters, giving particular praise to Mark Weinman, Ellis Rose and Edward Franklin, I couldn't help but feel disappointed at the lack of experimentation and indeed, any attempt to do anything visually exciting with the texts.

No Wonder began with the electrifying image of a terrified Franklin hidden in a wardrobe, surrounded by cuddly toys and porn, but offered little else from then onwards. While the three backing ensemble members used microphones effectively to add an interesting dynamic to the long monologues, little creativity was used in the aesthetic, and I couldn’t help but feel that the

performance would have been more effective as a radio play. Indeed, a wrapped up cloth representing a baby and the use of a toilet seat to represent a toilet was about as good as it got. In addition to this, the moments chosen to be repeated seemed incredibly disjointed, and numerous opportunities were missed.

In addition, the climax of the piece was represented with the poor execution of a Barbie doll, lit by a torch, falling from a wardrobe. Nice. Unfortunately, the few attempts made to be visually interesting often distracted the audience rather than complimenting the wonderfully delivered monologues.

The backing ensemble were unable to match the characterisations of the actors in front, and the attempt to reenact the child's experiences at school came across as lazy and made the whole sequence unnecessary: Franklin's face alone was far more engaging.

Herons was much the same. While the script could have been significantly shortened, it was absorbing, and

intensity to the production that fed off Simon Longman’s ‘Billy’ - another beautifully restrained performance.

Franklin’s grotesque henchmen provided a comedic input that I felt was unnecessary to the play’s overall tone of impending doom, but on whole didn’t prove detrimental to the play’s message.

I felt the script fell down towards the end, as major issues, such as Billy’s participation in the presumed killing of Scott, and Bergsy’s imminent release from prison, elements that will inevitably contribute toward even more horribleness, were sidelined to accommodate an unexpected fatherson reunion.

All in all, strong and believable characterisation from a solid ensemble overshadowed a narrative that unfortunately ran out of steam.

Stephens' play draws upon the gritty social realism seen in the films Loach and Leigh, but forgets to tie up its loose ends. I’ll never look at a bottle of Stella in the same way again, but this bird’s got wings.

again, the performances were outstanding. All actors worked bloody hard to maintain energy and they should be proud of their achievement, it's just regrettable that the language was all they had to work with. We knew that they wanted to do simplicity but this doesn't mean a drab setting and no directional input to boot. The opportunities the script offered were abundant: repeated violence, a decaying family unit and repeated references to nature, but instead, the audience was offered uninteresting lighting fades and a questionable brick display.

Both directors have done a fantastic job of bringing out poignant performances from its actors but we want more, Manchester! We want to see the creative potential you have, which doesn't rely on script but rather the director's ability to show text in performance through original, innovative and interesting means. I wanted these remarkable texts to push the boundaries, not tickle the edges. Bang? Not so much.

L

et me briefly preface this piece by saying that Tuesday's production of Simon Stephens's Herons saw some beautifully well-observed performances from the actors, Mark Weinman and Ellie Rose deserving special recognition for their depiction of Billy Russell's wretched, empty-eyed parents.

It was a pity that despite the stunningly understated character depiction by Weinman and Rose and the quality of acting provided by the majority of the cast, the play itself that let them down that night.

Having sat in the stalls of the SJT gladiatorial arena for Wednesday's discussion of Herons with my hand held terminally aloft for their half-anhour Q&A slot, I wanted so much to ask one question of director Clive Judd; "Why this play?"

As I waited patiently for my moment to strike, which invariably never came, I listened intently to Judd, and his cast, hoping that they might somehow inadvertently justify their decision. I was saddened and unbelievably frustrated by what I witnessed.

Consider this an open letter Mr. Judd, and please feel free to respond...

I look to a director to lead a company in their discovery, depiction and often reinvention of a play when they bring it to the stage.

A good director, if responsible for choosing a play, should certainly be able to substantiate their choice and at least be able to answer questions on how and why they realised their vision for the piece.

However, I was greatly disappointed by the answers provided by the director to almost all of the questions posed yesterday.

An audience member's comment that they considered the play's characters to be obvious stereotypes (acknowledging that this may simply be a deliberate choice by the playwright) was met with the confident retort: "The only time I mentioned the word 'stereotypes' in rehearsals was

when I said to steer clear of them!"

Well, I could certainly see the presence of very strong stereotypes in the piece. Consider the inane, clunking sneers and the sparse but supposedly hilarious and surprising eloquence (so often typical of a Vinnie Jones character - see 'Lock Stock...' or 'Gone in 60 Seconds') of the textbook bully's side-kicks, which provide comic relief.

Consider the bully's transparent strong facade erected to hide his insecurities, or the heavy presence of gold-hoop earrings, chains and matching tracksuits in the wardrobe department, which served to emphasise these stereotypes further.

The audience member's assertion was certainly watertight to my mind.

Later in the discussion someone praised the way that the opening tableaux of what appeared to be a troupe of A-level stereotypes lulled the audience into a false sense of security and then consequently subverted expectations, transforming them into more well-rounded characters, and after categorically denying the use of stereotypes, the director swiftly backtracked and claimed that these stereotypes were in fact created deliberately to achieve this effect.

He continued, with utmost sincerity, to make the preposterous claim that the play could not possibly be considered an A-level work "...because the fifth word is cunt."

A statement so outlandish and laughable that, for me, it almost singlehandedly undermined his entire explanation of Falling Leaves' production.

In the process of rehearsing for Sarah Kane's 4.48 Psychosis for my A-level drama exam, I certainly relished the opportunity to venomously spit the 'c' word in the direction of the visiting examiner. Was I immature? Was I alone in embracing the exciting new shades of language I found in the palette of my post-watershed years? I don't think so. I assure you A-level students are allowed to swear as much as the rest of us, Mr. Judd.

I will waste a minimal amount of time discussing the director's opinion on stage directions, suffice it to say that any praise that was heaped upon Clive Judd for imaginative staging or interesting sequences was quickly attributed to Stephens's stage directions, and any inquisitive souls that wondered why there weren't more moments of staging ingenuity were met with a shrug and the mantra "Those were the stage directions."

All credit for the honesty, but a little initiative wouldn't have gone amiss, instead of what was rapidly beginning to sound like a paint-by-numbers production. The final insult in this circus parade of abysmal, frankly ridiculous, justifications was our director's claim that he didn't "do set".

In response to a quite innocent question regarding the minimal use of bricks as a set design, I heard a silent scream in the auditorium from set designers and layman alike: "Then get a set designer!" And this was the actual response whispered in my ear from a nearby companion.

Despite unanimously claiming that the lack of set was supposed to "let the words stand out", it soon transpired that the more elaborate set that the company had used in a previous run was deemed "shit" by their selector, further reinforcing my assumption that at least one member of the production team had merely become lazy and simply given up on the presence of any set at all. An easy solution.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I just misinterpreted what was said. Maybe the director has trouble articulating his thoughts, or was simply having an offday.

I stand to be corrected, and I sincerely hope that I am. But from where I am sitting, it looks as if a play was chosen solely for its 'gritty' and 'hard-hitting' content and then a hugely talented cast was roped in to act it all out to the letter. But maybe all the directorial input was in characterisation? I hope not. I thought the cast were just really that good.

O

ld NSDF hands may remember one Ivor Benjamin: a burly, bearded, leather-clad gentleman who approached his fight workshops lovingly and his loving combatively.

If Ivor were here, he’d make this point far better than I can, but what the hell, I’ve got the beard, some of the leather and twice the gut, so…

Yesterday’s discussion included a question about the gender politics of Never Enough, and the danger that it might be seen as condoning sexual violence. This is an issue on which we should be wary of excessive generalisation, because it can end up being every bit as repressive as its intended target.

To portray someone as desiring, or fantasising about, experiencing sexual domination is no more to condone the non-consensual sexual domination of people than portraying someone as desiring to have sex is condoning Rohypnol-rape, or showing someone with an interest in sex toys is endorsing the kind of bottle action portrayed in Herons.

OK, so the “consensual” element is key here. But that’s part of the point: fantasy is by definition consensual, since there’s only one party involved, the fantasist. And when fantasies are acted out between a couple…

Look, here’s a thing that not many people realise: in a consensual sexual power relationship, whether it’s outright sadism/masochism, or bondage and domination, or just a bit of rough, the crucial element of control lies with submissive party – the “bottom”, as they’re known in BDSM parlance.

Because it’s the bottom who determines beforehand how far things will be allowed to go, and the bottom who can call a halt to activities at any time. (The concept of a “safe word”, and its absolute power to stop things, is central to such shenanigans.)

It’s also possible for a bottom to initiate even non-consensual activity.

If you watch season 3 of Buffy The

Vampire Slayer, for instance in a "slashy" frame of mind, always alert to sexual tensions between characters that aren’t acted out on screen, you’ll see that in a lot of ways the character of Faith is what’s known as a "pushy bottom", always trying to manoeuvre Buffy into whaling on her with the possibility of sweatiness developing from there.

Arguably the character of Lizzi in Never Enough has elements of pushy bottom: she is in control of her fantasies about being the object of the others’ attentions, and ultimately it is she who is in control of the action that develops.

It’s about control. It can be liberating to one’s personality and life as a whole to imagine a temporary ceding of control to another party, because in the act of imagination one remains in true control. Likewise acting out such dynamics in agreed situations.

And this is why complaining simply about portrayals of power imbalances in a sexual context is a dubious thing to do. Unless you are very, very sure of your ground, you’ll probably end up at best arrogating to yourself the power to speak for victims, and thus disempowering them from speaking for themselves, so that all you’re doing is being patronising.

Worse, it’s easily possible that you declare a class of victims where there in fact aren’t any, and so create a normative expectation that such people should be treated, and even treat themselves, as victims, so that you end up being an agent of oppression precisely where you intend to be one of liberation.

Admittedly it’s of course possible that such portrayals may unintentionally endorse reactionary and/or abusive views, but no more and no less than any portrayal or piece of information can be misunderstood or misused by those predisposed to do so.

The question of whether [not taking action to eradicate] a view is the same as [acting to perpetuate] it is a vexed one, but I think that in general the presumption must always be in favour

of freedom, or permission, and in this case we’re in danger of creating a category of thoughtcrime. But we should all have the freedom to roam where we want in our own minds.

A powerful argument for this view is marshalled by Avedon Carol in her book Nudes, Prudes And Attitudes.

Among a variety of other cases, Carol cites the instance of a man brought up in a strict religious code, who then entered into a marriage in which his wife denied him any form of sexual release other than for purposes of procreation. With such a mess of moral stress inputs, the man evolved a belief that it was a lesser sin to rape his own daughter than to visit a prostitute or even to masturbate.

That’s shocking, but you can sort of see how he might have come to such a warped conclusion given the already warped framework in which he had been forced to live. That’s what prohibitions can do to you. Before we ever use those three dangerous words “Thou shalt not” – whether in a religious or secular, even a supposedly liberal context such as the matter of sexual power dynamics - I think we should always think twice, then think twice more, and then keep stumm anyway.

The moral of it all being that there’s nothing wrong with feeling like a bit of rough now and again.

PS: on the subject of being roughed up, I’m quite prepared to be bent over and thoroughly trunked by Mary the elephant as a result of my short comment on Elephant’s Graveyard the other day. It was based on the assumption that African elephants (whose females have tusks, whereas Indian cow-elephants don’t) have never been used in circuses because they are too difficult to train.

In fact it’s rare to use Africans, but not unknown. The great Jumbo himself was in fact African, and so, I’m assured, was the historical basis for Mary. I’m thick-skinned enough to admit my error. As for my smug comments this week, I shouldn’t have pachyderm in so eagerly. Sorry, all.

S

o you have created a show that has been praised by the critics, applauded by your peers and colleagues, and now you want to get it seen by as many people as possible.

Perhaps take it out on tour around the country, and get a run in a London venue.

However, would this year’s festival’s shows actually survive in the current theatre climate, where artistic integrity and critical acclaim are not as important as getting bums on seats?

Theatre is an expensive business and theatre managers need a guarantee that they will sell tickets, lots of tickets for every show they put on.

Some of the biggest Edinburgh Fringe successes have failed to have a life beyond the festival either in the West End or tour regionally, because they have been perceived as too niche and therefore too difficult a sale at the box office (of course every so often a Les Mis slips through the net, critically panned, but a word of mouth hit).

Even the most established companies suffer from this cautious conservatism from venues. At a recent Arts Council Meeting about UK touring, a representative from Frantic Assembly spoke about how they struggle to get offered more than a split week (3 days) in a regional venue, despite being the leading company in their innovative theatre/dance hybrid.

Tour bookers are often told by venues to not even bother pitching dance.

Dance doesn’t sell. Venues stick with the same old companies they host each year to tick the box for dance on their Arts Council Funding Application.

Which is bad news for Never Enough.

Regional or West End theatre is about guaranteeing a good night out for your audience. Thought-provoking is all very well but what venues want to know is will your show give the audience such a positive feeling, that they will book to come to another show at the theatre, probably something with someone who used to be in Heartbeat in it. And this is where Normal struggles, as an intelligent play about a brutal rapist and murderer isn’t exactly the fodder for the regions

or tourists in the West End, and could never be described as feel good.

The only possible solution for a producer (with money to burn and a sadistic bent to rival the show’s protagonist) would be to get a friendly TV name attached to it to increase it’s appeal. Kurten played by someone who used to be a doctor in Casualty, Ross Kemp or Les Dennis perhaps.

Terrifying in an entirely different way.

Similarly cast Herons with Nicholas Hoult as Billy, Robert Carlyle as his Dad and Billy Piper as his Mum. Sold.

You will also need to convince a venue to buy your show in at a price that covers your costs. Elephant’s Graveyard has fifteen people on stage, so it is unlikely that this show would make it as a touring production. A big cast show means one thing, a big wage bill and high touring costs to cover hotels and travel for everyone.

A co-production with a receiving venue might work to split costs, but it is rare that they underwrite shows so big that aren’t musicals (which have the potential of a West End transfer, long term revenue via rights and soundtracks etc. as well as repeat viewings by audiences.) The National could potentially cope with such a big play, although even they skimp on bodies to cut costs.

Their 2006 production of Peter Shaffer’s Royal Hunt of the Sun had the entire Aztec nation played by about 6 people doing a lot of costume changes. Also tour bookers for this show need to be ready to hear this question a lot, “You are going to sweep that sand up after every show, aren’t you?”

No Wonder has 5 people on stage, which is still pushing it for touring, so perhaps you could cut those three people speaking into the microphones, then you can get the cast of 2 and a stage manager in one transit van.

Sorted.

Something that all the festival plays need to bear in mind is that you might have an excellent piece of thoughtprovoking and moving theatre, but you have to have an interval. Venues really

like intervals. It’s when they make their money on drinks. Pitch a show to them without an interval and they will push you very hard to put one in. Sod artistic flow, it can be a deal breaker.

Venues have been lost to shows refusing to put an interval in. This is also when they sell the bulk of any merchandise, which brings us to the Last Yak. Kids like puppets, so the Last Yak seems an ideal family show for a venue to book.

Those puppets are so cute. Except they aren’t off the telly, are they? TV tie-in theatre shows not only bring in theatre-going yummy mummies with their little Camillas and Freddies, but also Mums who would never think of taking little Charmaine and Tyrone to the theatre except when the real life Roly Mo and Sportacus are in town.

Adding value to your show is also a sensible way to make it more commercially viable. Vowel Play could offer venues special late night performances when the letter U and all the words that that letter allows will make a special appearance.

Of all the shows at this year’s festival, the most financially viable is probably Return to the Silence. Despite the fact it has a large cast and complex and expensive technical requirements, such a hopeful and informative play about neuroscience could probably attract a substantial grant from the Welcome Trust, who love giving cash to arts projects that explain science.

The bitter truth is that funding follows funding, so after a short run at say Battersea Arts Centre, the company could probably secure a short run at the Lowry and a booking at a conference for neurologists in Frankfurt.

So there we have it. The moral to this story - make plays about science. Or better still plays about how great MacDonalds is or how Shell aren’t that bad, preferably with no more than 2 people in them and no dance. Or more importantly, do the big and exciting stuff now while you are student, because you can.

TW: So, Vita, both you and I had misgivings about the end of Herons.

For my part, I was pretty depressed by the play, as it didn’t seem to offer a way out of the situation that the characters had found themselves in.

Billy - whether he did fire the gun or not - is still vulnerable at the end of the play, still open to repercussions, and hasn't really escaped as he wishes he could. What were your initial reactions to the end of the play?

VH: I felt pretty shattered. Although I think that the performances were excellent, I couldn't help feeling uneasy about what Herons was really trying to say. Can the company justify making a play which is so incredibly bleak? It's not that I believe that the audience at NSDF shouldn't be exposed to the issues it portrays. Nor do I deny that things are that bad. Its just that I think that the play has a responsibility, both towards its audience and those people it is trying to represent.

TW: I absolutely agree about the performances, which were incredibly committed. I guess my uneasiness arose on two levels - firstly, uneasiness about what the script was offering the audience in terms of explaining the characters and their situations, and the perception of hope being a potent force at the end; and then secondly, an uneasiness about why the script appealed to this company, and what makes it useful for us as a Festival to understand about the social factors that lead to its situation. When we talked we said that the bleakness undermined any entertainment, and that the script didn't really offer any education about how to prevent this situation from recurring. Is that right?

VH: I don't think that Herons was entertaining. And if a play isn't entertaining, then what is it for? What is its purpose? Is the purpose of portraying negative issues to engender change? I don't think that we are meant to swallow all that bleakness and just accept it as 'the way things are'. It felt like Herons was saying that these people are born to

suffer, and suffer they will and there is no way out. Offering the characters no hope and by leaving them locked in misery seems so negative. I think that Herons carries a message that is actually quite unconstructive.

TW: Then the question is: how would the play be different if it was looking to engender change? I was interested in the company's position in the discussion. They pointed out that the play wasn't an educative play about bullying by pointing out that the word 'cunt' is the fourth (or was it the fifth?) word in the script, and they did this with a kind of... well, 'superiority' isn’t the right word, but it seemed like they were aiming for something higher than just saying "Hey, people in rough neighbourhoods aren't always nice and it can be difficult for people to escape bad situations". That kind of thing where it's high art if you're really miserable throughout the experience!

And I don't think either of us are averse to a little misery, are we, Vita?

So, how would we prefer a situation like the one presented in the play to resolve itself?

VH: I'm not sure I can answer that.

Bear with me. There is a really amazing charity based in South London called Kids Company. They work with children and teenagers who have been affected by violence and neglect - people whose situations are very similar to the characters in Herons. As well as direct support Kids Company exhibits their art and performance work. A lot of it is pretty harrowing, based on experiences of violence and abuse often far worse than those in the play. But instead of just focussing on all the bad things, a lot of their work is very positive, very hopeful for the future. I think that the people who run the charity understand that they can't just labour the negative, that a sense of hope is vital.

It makes people less inclined to just sweep the issues under the carpet.

And I don't think that there was enough hope in Herons. Sure Billy and his dad may have seen a bird and hugged but the situation hasn't really changed for either of them. I have a question - Do you think Herons is just a

story about a series of terrible events, or do you think it is trying to represent a wider issue in society? Is it a political play?

TW: Well, we saw a student production but Herons was first performed in the Royal Court. Should we assume that it isn't really intended to be performed for the type of people it portrays? In which case, is the play only meant to be a story – not a socio-political work, but a personal one? I know there's an ongoing issue at this festival about whether or not you can stick certain social groups on stage without making a larger symbolic point (as with Vowel Play – if you stick four women on stage, do they represent all women, or just those specific ones?). When we look at the people in Herons, I think I do see types (not stereotypes) of people in desperate situations, in sink estates, in social care, and so I'm less inclined to say "Yes, this is just a story". I think that makes it even more icky. I don't think it is saying that all people from estates are murdering, violent, vengeful psychopaths, but suggests that these situations CAN produce these aforementioned psychopaths, which leads me as an audience member to wonder why. It drags the play into the socio-political arena that it is perhaps trying to avoid. Similarly, Billy trying to escape this horrible place he lives in, again provokes me to question why – and again forces me to look at the small-p political reasons behind urban deprivation.

VH: I think you're right. There is also the issue of the responsibility Herons has towards its audience. How does the company feel about a play that leaves the punters feeling so miserable? That despite its fantastic performances I felt shaky for the rest of the evening? I'm not sure I would pay to be depressed.

TW: I have paid to be depressed in the past, but I don't listen to those albums much any more.

VH: I just keep wondering: is despair really preferable to apathy?

W

hen done properly, characterisation, as opposed to content, is the most potent weapon in making a play terrifying. This was made very clear in Normal through Paddy Loughman's excellent portrayal of Peter "The Dusseldorf Ripper" Kurten, a monster of a man whose shocking crimes in Weimar Germany made him one of the 20th Century's most infamous mass murderers.

In this interpretation, Kurten is clearly in control. He patrols the stage slyly, calmly masking his bestial nature with a facade of savoir faire and vanity (immediately seeking to check whether his hair is in a good state). As the play continues, he becomes ever more confident and is able to get inside the head of the naive, inexperienced Justus Wehner, taunting and provoking him as if he is just waiting for him to make an error. This psychological battle is reminiscent of Mephistopheles in Goethe's Faust, up to and including the similar ending. Although Kurten is eventually executed, he has harangued and intimidated Wehner to the point of madness.

the 1930s National Socialist movement in Germany, culminating ultimately in the Final Solution murder of six million Jews, and Wehner divulges to the audience that everyone in Germany 'was all guilty' of such crimes 'in the next ten years'. Yet why is it that so much German-based literature is linked to the Nazis? Yes, in this case Fritz Lang's 1931 film 'M' (based on the Kurten affair) was used by Joseph Goebbels to promote the execution of violent criminals yet, as Stephen Jeffreys wisely pointed out at Normal's discussion session today, the link between the two is tenable at best.

Wehner's moral platform, created with dedication over years of Prussian conservative morality, is rapidly whipped away by Kurten's brutal reality. Everything he has learnt pales into insignificance when placed against Kurten's horrific childhood, the condemning, sadistic murderer noting in sickening detail the brutality of his father's incestuous tendencies. The exposition of this sordid underbelly of pre-Third Reich German society is much like Phil Jutzi's 1931 film Berlin Alexanderplatz about the seedy criminal side to the German capital.

Indeed some would believe (namely Daniel Jonah Goldhagen) that the German population were 'willing executioner' poised for Hitler's every command. Goldhagen uses the actions of Reserve Police Battalion 101 (a group of middle-aged happily married nonNazi party members), exploitative industrialists in Jewish 'work' camps and SS Camp Guards during the last days of the death marches as evidence. This feels like the view portrayed in Normal - Justus' declarative statement of 'for the next ten years we did terrible things, we all did terrible things' serves as evidence.

Yet it would be silly to say that all Germans were on the front lines of Himmler's answer to 'the Final Solution'. To quote Ian Kershaw, 'the road to Auschwitz was paved with apathy'. On the whole, the German people as a group wished rather to protect their own interests from sporadic government policy in political, economic and social spheres during the years 1933-45. They chose to get through a period of immense hardship in the 1939-45 era by remaining on the whole either silent, indifferent or complicit with the regime.

Kurten's technique of hypnotising and almost puppeting Wehner into imagining the act of murder has often been linked to the coercive power of

As a result, this perennial comparison between Nazism and seemingly all German theatre from 1920 up until 1945, and even beyond, seems both

unjustified and unnecessary. Saying that the swan somewhat represented the German eagle, and this linked directly to Nazism, is absurd. The eagle was the German national symbol throughout its existence and was only retrospectively coined into a stereotypical Fascist image.

Furthermore, the comparison between Kurten and Hitler is at base strained.

Although a guilty mass-murderer, Adolf Hitler can hardly be compared to a man whose one aim was to see the spilling of blood on a floor, gaining sexual pleasure from this.

It cannot be denied that the character of Kurten was precise, methodical and exact in his actions. Hitler, especially during the Wehrmacht withdrawal from the Eastern Front in the latter stages of the war, made his key decisions on the whim of a mixture of chance, gross misreading of various situations and manipulation of his closest advisors. They were very much 'Working Towards the Fuehrer' (Kershaw) as they had been for the previous decade, but this time it was for gross personal gain. Hitler was a megalomaniac whose actions were irrational and based on consolidating his own power. Kurten was very different, being a cool, calculated killer focusing on bloodlust rather than total power.

When a contemporary German set piece of theatre is performed, the audience are inevitably drawn to compare it with the horrors of Nazism, despite the connections being vague or even non-existent. Audience members should always be aware of the facts, as opposed to being led by prejudice and national culture. The results will be refreshing and, hopefully, drag British audiences kicking and screaming out of the rut of the stereotype that it has comfortably found itself in with regards German theatre.

I

T

he Festival is having a weird effect on my perception. I keep getting the feeling that I' seeing double.

Faces, names, places, they all keep repeating themselves in front of my eyes. I hallucinate shows that my deluded brain tells me I've seen before. Am I going insane? Has the crushing, exhausting pressure of sleep deprivation and misguided alcohol consumption finally cracked my tiny little head? Or are eight out of the twelve shows really from the same four universities? The pink elephant that keeps following me around assures me that it's the latter.

Even out of those with a feeble single entry, Dartington are Festival staples and University of Hull's Never Enough is basically the new and improved Strict Machine of last year. Meanwhile, despite a year's absence, Edinburgh's Last Yak is a fully-automated Haozkla redux fitted with surface-to-air missiles.

It hasn't gone unnoticed either; last year there was a Judges' Commendations award for Promoting Student Theatre that went to York, Warwick, Nottingham and Sheffield. An award that was a bizarrely unnecessary 'Thanks for turning up.

Again.' gesture, and also a tacit acknowledgement of the fact that the Festival is fed by a thin drip of student bodies.

This isn't meant to undermine the quality of the shows that are on this week, nor am I trying to second-guess the selection process. Choosing what you think are the best student shows and what would best represent the

Festival is undoubtedly a nightmare, and if the best shows happen to come from the same universities then so be it. But why are we being treated to the same companies doing plays that are conceptually identical to the shows they've done in previous years? Either there are no better examples of puppetry and physical theatre in existence out there or they're just not being seen.

Under the pressure of Arts Council shenanigans at NSDF08 the question was asked about what NSDF could do to reach out to a wider range of students. Now a year on and that appears to have been forgotten. When the cast of Herons tell you that they only discovered NSDF by accident and that they wish they could have submitted shows the previous three years it can't help but confirm the nagging thought that there's a whole wealth of inspiring student theatre that we're not privy to.

I hesitate to say that we're owed some kind of explanation as to why there's such a thin selection of shows because there isn't necessarily anyone to blame. But the distorted representation and the still widespread ignorance of the existence of NSDF among the wider student body have to be openly addressed by someone higher up, one of those official types who organise these things, even if it is to say, 'The quality student theatre is limited to a small range of places and that's just the way it is.' Then at least we can look at what those places are doing well and how other student bodies could learn from that.

In the meantime I've decided to cut cheese out of my diet and see if that clears stuff up.

s there anything more entertaining than a discussion in the SJT Round?

In this room I've had some of the comic and tragic highlights of the week. Some audience members come to take their revenge on performers who've put them through hours of tedium by asking questions that couldn't be vaguer if they dissolved them in water and strained them through a sieve. On the other hand, some with brains larger even than my own get their own back on vagueness and inconsistencies of scripts and performances by asking questions that puncture a faĂƒÂ§ade like a bullet does the skull of a small rodent. Many murderers derive pleasure from watching the light die in the eyes of their victims; I recommend they ask a searching question at a discussion and watch as the final flickers of passion fade in the face of a director as they squirm and wriggle to convince the audience they've though about it beforehand. Then there are those so inebriated with the exuberance of their own verbosity that they will contentedly waffle irrelevantly and irreverently for a whole two minutes before a savvy audience member coughs pointedly to wake them from the slumbers into which their ego has lulled them and actually ask the question to which they've been building up with such marvellous clarity and forethought.

Yet more tedious even than these are those who really take the biscuit of boredom when they launch into a long spiel about why the play was so outstanding and yet still manage to begin every sentence with the pronoun 'I'.

Ah well. Funny old world.

I

'm worried. Since attending my first Festival in 2000 I have written a lot of articles for NOFF, some reviews, comments, general rants about theatre and response to controversial statements from discussion. This year, not so much as a whiff of annoyance or inspiration. What's wrong with me?

Have I lost my theatre mojo? Have I no artistic soul?

The pieces of work this year have been quite good. This statement upsets me. I am angry that I feel this way, especially because I know how much work and creativity goes into each piece, I respect and applaud every single piece of work here. Let's face it, my work was never selected and my passion for the theatre gets its fix here each year because of the work these young artists bring. Yet I still feel my artistic thirst has not yet been quenched. This year the spoken text dominated the opening of the Fest for Green Route. A tirade of vowels, similes and the C word led to hours of straining ears and tired eyes.

I was surprised by my response to Herons. This is not a piece I would usually choose to see but I enjoyed the experience. The language hit me with a sledge hammer in the first few seconds of the piece and I was engaged throughout. This piece questioned my opinion and taste in theatre and for this I thank them. This company made me rethink my prejudices towards this subject matter and also the type of performance I expect to see here at the Festival. This is a good thing. It can only be a great

I

f you haven't heard of flash mobbing, then you probably haven't spent a very large amount of time on YouTube. The art of instant improvisation has been something that has surged in popularity in the last few years, due in part to advancements in video capture and distribution technology. Where once we would have found video upon video of gangly teens slapping/injuring each other for the greater viewing good, we are now finding flash-freezes, slow-motion gunfights, and trouserless shenanigans that would make Dom Joly blush. One of the largest self-styled improvisation groups,

thing, yet I still feel artistically void of a gut response. The only piece this year that has instilled so much excitement in me that I could "crap myself" has been Return to the Silence. The phrase "unconventional seating" and "leave your bags outside" sent me giddy and I knew that the Festival had begun.

That magical feeling of the unknown and the innovative washed over me so much that I could not sit still. The mobile platform was moving from my inability to prevent myself from craning to see just what we were in store for. That's what this Festival is about - that's why I bring students here each year.

Discussions used to be a fuel for my outrage or praise. I used to be so angry I could fly across the Round and hurt someone. Over previous years, discussions have been slowly by surely fizzled out, students tip-toeing around their opinions to avoid ridicule and insult. The discussions have begun to breathe life back into the Festival this year and although there has been a distinct lack of disagreement and strong debate, there is now a feeling that you can speak, which is essential for meaningful discussion.

I began writing this article at 10am it's now 1am and I've seen another 3 pieces each equally accomplished yet without the magical element that I have become accustomed to. Perhaps I am spoilt - or perhaps we just aren't making theatre that has a strong enough voice.

and widely thought to be the creators of flash mobbing, is the New York based group Improv Everywhere. They have certainly brought what they've done to a wider audience with over 20 million views of their "Grand Central Freeze" video in which 200 "agents" freeze in place for exactly five minutes; it's hard to deny that there's a strong public appetite for the unexpected.

It's been described as "Guerrilla acting," but the uncontemplated nature of improv seems to have resonated with a younger generation of performers. The very beauty of flash mobbing, however, is that there really is no skill involved, with enough people and a strong enough idea, any act

can shock and amaze. I'm actually disappointed by the lack of organised chaos that has presented itself at the Festival this year. Call yourselves actors?

Cause a scene. Gather a group of friends who'll be prepared to do the same, and turn some heads. With our national debt getting larger and the world getting smaller, I think we're going to see much more of acting break boundaries and conventions. Got no ideas? Segue seamlessly into slow motion of one of your workshops. Scare the locals by pointing at non-existent meteors. Stir up a little anarchy. You won't regret it.

M

y small contribution to this magazine has absolutely no relevance to any shows or workshops or anything really. Yes, I am a festival Virgin and the whole experience of being here is far too overwhelming to even think about reviewing or giving any kind of sensible opinion that would merit a place as an article. At the moment I'm just trying to organise cooking and cleaning for myself in a less than luxurious flat; battle through freezing cold weather in a slightly inadequate set of clothes designed for warmer weather - such as Dorset, (I used to think it was cold there) and pushing myself to the limits in as many challenging workshops as I can cram into one short 24 hours. All with a bloody miserable 4 hours sleep. You might think that a sane person's reaction would go something like "What the fuck are you doing that for?" I couldn't tell you, but I can say that really I'm having the time of my life. The experience of the bad bits pale in comparison to the good. I have greatly underestimated its educational value, not just for me as a student, but as a person. I am learning far more

than I thought possible in a short space of time, not to mention meeting some really lovely people. I think I speak for my entire group when I thank our teacher Andy Rogers (better known to us as Rodge) for giving us the opportunity. Andy Rogers - ring a bell? Yes, Andy Rogers seems to have quite a celebrity status here. The sheer number of people who have approached me on hearing his name is astounding. It's like the Rodge association. The annoying way we have to stop every five minutes to chat with an old student, friend or colleague leads me to highlight the amazingness of this bloke. I mean, how many people have such a fan base - I don't know how many teachers, that's for sure, and I suppose it's one of the main reasons I decided to have a go at writing. Give the guy a bit of credit for putting up with us. Not often a good old teacher like Rodge comes along. I can honestly say if you haven't had the privilege of having him as a teacher - Unlucky!

T

oday’s mission was to recreate Shakespeare’s stage direction “Exit Pursued by a Bear.” We were looking for as wild a bear as possible.

We had entries with some quite tame looking bears pursuing people to port as the bard requested.

T

oday’s winners (below) showed great attention to detail.

They opted to note the direction that the exit is being taken. (Good practice in keeping 'the book' girls, well done).

And they chose to depict a terrifying bear pursuing Stage Left personified aka Sophie Lenski. (See what they did there!) Sophie was based at the SJT today, together with Emma “ that bear was scary” Moate, Emma "that bear is terrifying" Gregory and Claire Moate. The not-very-scary bear (previously appearing in No Wonder) was quoted as saying “Rar.”

O

ur final round of Technician Impossible: Mission 6 which is should you choose to accept it: Recreate a scene from recent greatness in British theatre history –e.g.; The Sultan’s Elephant; Samuel Beckett’s Breath; No Regrets: the Take That Musical. No actors involved please, only technicians. Make sure it is obvious what you are recreating.

Proof of your mission accomplished should be brought into the NOffice by no later than 1am on Friday.

2:35pm Why is it the one sunny week that Scarborough has, it only serves to taunt me through the huge windows?

T

he time is 2pm. I am now on my second bag of Skips (there are many other melt-in-the-mouth crisps, but, frankly, I like these). A sure sign I'm bored. Just on cue James runs in with some bits of paper for me to hang on to. Included in these are some to do with the computers. Now, I am not the most technically minded of people, so if the computers don't work anymore, blame James for leaving me with something to do with them.

Seriously though, during shows and workshops there is nothing for either myself, or Pam on workshops, to do.

The highlights of these times are as follows: -Eating -Reading NOFF -Doodling worms -Staring into space -Sorting Though today I did a display using the rock (I wanna rock... ROCK!). Also, the mask which I wore for about half an hour, until it dug a deep furrow in my nose.

2:36pm Can someone please come down?

2:40pm Seriously, where is everyone?

2:43pm I now have Part of your World from The Little Mermaid in my head.

2:45pm New posters! Yay! Something to do! *Happy Dance*

2:15pm If anyone wants to come and do a funny dance near reception, please do. One guy did earlier and it really brightened my day.

2:20pm The mask is back on.

2:25pm Wow, I just noticed the sea and the sky are exactly the same colour right now. Pretty.

2:32pm Ow, the mask really hurts!

2:33pm Chocolate time!

Whistled for the van and when Chris came near Concannon came with more kit for the Ocean rear If anything Gaffa tape's getting quite rare But I said nah forget it LX won't tear.

I pulled out loadsa cable soca I now hate And I yelled to the VC "is this plot now late?"

Looked at the plans some lanterns weren't there, But the plans were drawn at 4am so please be fair!

2:50pm Whoever's lunch vouchers these are, has 10 minutes to collect them.

Giggle.

2:55pm Up where they walk, up where they run!

2:57pm Jim Worm and Bob Worm now have a friend; Fred Worm.

3pm Oooooh, people!

N

H

eadin' to the Potter, going to rig me a lot of parcans I'm headin' to the Potter, going to rig me a lot of parcans I'm headin' to the Potter, going to rig me a lot of parcans Headin' to the Potter, going to rig me a lot of parcans.

Decking came from a van, it was put there by a man, with a fucking forklift!

If I had my AJ, I'd rig speakers every day, Then play frisbee in the shade.

The main entertainment, however, comes from the LC's on the radio.

Speaking - well, writing - of the radio.

It is incredibly tempting to say into it "Reception to everyone... I just lost the game." [FUCK. I just lost the game. -Dep. Ed.]

Said "I hope you've checked the plans cos aren't those channels paired?"

ow this is a story

All about how The trucks got tipped Hardboard went down Thought it'd take 3 hours but the Wolfe came down In 30 minutes said Pete in the bar as beers went down And up in the Holbeck Sad Since Tuesday's bound To take a long time but the crew were great they hit the ground No chillin', channel maxin', lanterns lackin' lamps popping, sound boys fiddlin' with the desk until the amps peak and it's toppy Then a coupla TA's Whose intentions were good Said that half the lanterns in the rig were dud I rigged a coupla lights and Watson got scared

Headin' to the Potter, going to rig me a lot of parcans I'm headin' to the Potter, going to rig me a lot of parcans I'm headin' to the Potter, going to rig me a lot of parcans Headin' to the Potter, going to rig me a lot of parcans.

I took a little nap where the cables twist, Got a new lamp from Rich Van Bitch.

And dreamed about a Congo, I put my draping down the side, making room for cast to hide, With my podger in my hand not my belt.

Millions of parcans parcans for me, Millions of speakers speakers for free.

Millions of parcans parcans for me, Millions of speakers speakers for free.

Repeat - Black Out

B

ack in early 2008, when I started my techie course, I had a very interesting lesson with the music technology students. The teacher had split us up into two groups the (experienced and the inexperienced) and had taken the experienced group out the room to do something else.

The first year music students and I were left with a basic PA system and some instructions on how to set it up, so we all got to work and plugged it all up according to the teacher's instructions.

All was ready, we started a sound check, I pushed the fader up on the first channel, but what came out of the speakers was not a guitarist strumming his electric guitar open, as what I saw in front of me, no what we heard was country music, with a country singer, a country guitarist and a country drummer. Now, unless these music students were ventriloquists and could play instruments without moving, something was up. We listened until the end of the song and then a DJ announced "you are listening to BBC Radio 1" and on those words we leapt into action checking the whole of the PA system over for any aerials/radios or if it had been plugged in to an aerial on the roof. We found nothing and because the PA system is all hardwired. It made no sense that we were picking up radio waves with microphones, speakers, wires and a mixing desk. So we all sat and listened to Radio 1 until the teacher got back. When the teacher returned, he looked at it and laughed at us. He was an experienced sound engineer and he could not understand it.

I found out later that week how it worked and what we did wrong from an OCD music technology student who had left with the other group. If you want to know how it worked then find me and ask me.

S

mell me! It is the musk of importance, for I am Andrzwej Haidonsk reporting from the National Slovenian Post-Drama Festival here in Ljubliana, where the women are women, the men are moose, and the moose are post-dramatic. Hey, boys!

They are! They stand doing nothing but lowing. What is lowing? I don't know! I heard it in a Christmas carol!

I have just planned to meet you. It is a meeting for friendly social reasons."

All the talk at this year's NSPDF is about characters. There are, we can all agree, far too many of them. We must have many fewer characters and replace them with concrete slabs or breezy blocks. In one of the plays the other day, I almost cared about a character in it, and I want this not to happen again. My friend Pyotr once accidentally fell in love with a character in a play and tried to marry it, but then the actor who played her was all like "Um, no!" and Pyotr was all like "weepy weep". He then killed a dog with diabetes by feeding it too much chocolate*. It's true! This is why post-drama is best. No characters.

"Well," said Pyotr, "have a look in the sack."

The first play we saw today was Me & My Friend. This was in a coffee shop in town, not a theatre, which is the sort of fricked-up shit that we do in the post theatre world. When I arrived, I saw my friend Pyotr there. He had a brown sack by his feet. I called out to him "Pyotr! What are you doing in this play?" and he said, "This is not a play,

I did not want to look in the sack. It would have been another dog.

Although if I think of a dog in that bag, it creates drama in my head, and that is the last place I want it!

I was excited by this. But I wondered what was in the sack. This made the meeting not post-dramatic.

"What is in the sack, my friend Pyotr?

And how did you get our coffee meeting in the NSPDF programme?"

"I do not want to, Pyotr. To look inside the sack would create a dramatic situation which I, as a fan or big fan of post-drama, would find not good."

"Look inside the sack," said Pyotr.

"I do not want to, Pyotr. You have put this event in the brochure of the NSPDF. I cannot be involved in any drama. Leave me alone, Pyotr. Leave me alone," I said, in my calmest voice, so to avoid any drama at all, and ran from the coffee shop.

I ran from the coffee shop to burst into the installation piece The Last Yak. A cow was tethered to a steel post. It

has two party hats on its head in the place of horns. A painted sign reads "Yak". I am guessing this is the last yak in the world, or the title would be meaningless.

A man then came in and said, "This is the last yak in the world. Because of a simple virus, the yaks are dying. And now, they have called me, a veterinarian doctor, who will cure the yak with simple antibiotics. However, the antibiotics are on a train and shall soon arrive. I hope they do before the yak dies."

A nurse then came in and said, "The antibiotics are on their way, but there is a delay on the train and the antibiotics may arrive later than expected."

The man then said, "Well they had better hurry up. Unless this yak gets antibiotics in the next 90 minutes, it will surely die!"

They then waited for the antibiotics, but I left soon after. I was shaken up like a can of Tab Clear because of my interactions with Pyotr, but also... The Last Yak had characters in it who I had empathy with, a plot that would be resolved in the course of the play, and drama! Stinking drama!

What has happened to this postdrama festival?!

* And of course I know that Pyotr would have killed the dog with chocolate even if the dog was not diabetic. Fucking keratin! Of course. That dog would be one sick dog. I knew that as I am not a king dong.

O

NE play in the discussion tomorrow?! ONE?! Monks have better things to do than levitate over to the SJT to discuss ONE play. And what's this you say?

FIVE plays on Friday? Wassup with that?! What's with the ridiculous organisation? If the Monks can organise train tickets surely people who are paid to organise this festival thingy can work out how not to have 12 minutes per play in the final discussion. Monks are angry. Monks want to rearrange everything. Monks have no power. Damn.

MONKS HAVE NO POWER. I

s this the real life

Or just the festival?

Stuck up a talley No escape from our hard hats Open the barn doors Look up to the rig and see You've got a lamp out And there is no safety chain I think its badly rigged Certain death We will sue NSDF Any where the speakers go Doesn't really matter to me To me Gordon just killed a man Dropped a lantern on his head Undid the wing bolt now he's dead Techies the rig has just begun But we really think its time to hit the Cask Watson, oooooooohhh Didn't mean to get so drunk And we've got to do it all again Carry on, carry on As if last night never happened How long will it take Izzy From being standing by the bar

To being standing at the bar To being naked in his car (20 mins) Come on everybody, we've got to go Back to 44 to drink for several hours Techies, oohh, I don't wanna die I wish this scaff tower wasn't so fucking high (Guitar Solo) I see a massive northern smile on that man At the desk At the desk Oh wait, it's Matt Chisholm, Pyros and strobe lighting Very very frightening to me Gaffa Tape Gaffa Tape Magniffiicoooo I'm just a poor techie Nobody loves me He's just a techie in a massive venue Busting his guts in the dark - no glory Long hours, zero play Will you let me go?

The VSM says no He will not let you go (let him go)

He will not let you go (let him go) He will not let you go (let him go) No No No No No No No! My ratchet spanner Ratchet spanner Ratchet spanner Will not turn Go down the spa And get a beer put aside For me For me FOR ME (Solo) So you think that you can rota me I'm tired - I won't lie So you think that I can unload an arctic till I die Oh steelys, can't do this without steelys Just gotta get out Just gotta get out of Scarborough Nothing really matters Anyone can see Nothing really matters Nothing really matters After a bevy Anywhere the van goes...

Andrew Haydon – Brideshead Revisited Tom Wateracre – Hateful smart-arse Chris Wilkinson – Beardy director Phil Mann – Swinger John Winterburn – Chris Wilkinson Claire Trevien – French Richard Dennis – Charlie Brooker fan Sarah Dean – Brown Owl Ben Lander – Honorary Jew Richard T. Watson – Northerner Jennie Agg – Qualified editor Alex Watts – Philosopher Henry Ellis – Mummy’s boy Gareth Thomas – Public Schoolboy Matt Thomlinson – Painfully Middle-class Euan Forsyth – Scot Aaron Cryan – Further Northerner Sam Stutter – 80s heart-throb Ian Shuttleworth – Theatre Critic Emma Gregory – Techie Zoe Hughes – Actress Mike Franzkowiak – Teacher Theo Hopkinson – Young Hamptonian Lorna Westmanboat – Inflatable Dingy Attendant Robin Richardson – Blonde Fran Bonsey – Hot Air Balloon Salesman Beth Moxon – Artichoke Connoisseur Helen Lindley – Mary Poppins Annabelle Haigh – Bee keeper Tom Walters – Duck Jack Penford-Baker – Batman Sympathiser Keri Penford-Baker – Robin Extremist Stuart Learmonth – Philatelist Louisa Claughton – Philanthropist Nic Watson – Dandy Bella Phillips – Psychic Hannah Smith – Gladiator Sarah Leeming – Fox Hunter Lettie Ball – Loose Women Watcher Anthony Poveda – Climate Change Denier Martyn Andrew – Uber-techie Tom Figgins – Musician Grace Stead – Magician Eleanor Blower – Technician Onai Bikaishoni – Electrician Lauren Bettyes – Patrician Gordon Nimmo-Smith – Trekkie Matt Thompson – Comedian Dave Larking – Neurotic Matty Beck – Matty Beck