The Dreadful Hours
Written by Mark Thomson
Rhythm. All stories have it. Most of the time it is buried in the drum of dialogue, silences and action, but when your storytellers are also dancers – then the hidden rhythms are painted out in the brush strokes of their bodies.
Such has always been the case with the
Tmesis Theatre Company and their physical theatre. After their highly acclaimed and highly surreal 2008 production of
Anima (an exploration of the conscious and subconscious) Yorgos Karamalegos and Elinor Randle have had a reputation in Liverpool for their impressionistic style but their new production,
The Dreadful Hours at the
Everyman Theatre, promises something entirely different. This collaboration with playwright Chris Fittock (
Constrained Things 2004) and director Javier Marzan (Goose Nights 2001) focuses on a single narrative exploring the corrosive effects of life on a loving couple.
It is certainly ambitious Karamalegos and Randle play out the gradually more stifling rigmarole of the relationship, with a routine of movement and dialogue that is then repeated in different scenarios around the single unchanging setup of a dining table. A simple phrase such as
‘It’s satisfactory’ takes on a different meaning with every repetition as the couple’s love turns to annoyance and then to aggression. It’s like watching patterns of music.
This process of layering demands patience from the audience, which is occasionally rewarded with some dark humour or a moment of shear drama, but these moments are so sparse that the required patience can become too demanding. If this really were a piece of music then the tune would be fragmented.
At these times when the plot dances away from the audience, the skill of Karamalegos and Randle provides some much needed distraction, and the thrust stage of the
Everyman throws their movements into sharper contrast then every before. Once you forgive the occasional prop they pull from their pockets like magicians at a child’s party, it is clear and enjoyable to see both performers exude grace and strength in even the smallest of gestures. However, the shorter more static motions of Randle, which in
Anima contrasted her partner so successfully, now seems almost timid and pale to the confidence in Karamalegos’ long sweeping movements that prove so rewarding to watch.
Although the beauty and physicality of the duo cannot be denied, it can only do so much to save the performance and is eventually stunted by the two-dimensional characters that they have been handed. The story’s protagonists (an alcoholic French teacher and a white collard European) seem to fall in love, become disillusioned, and end up hating each other merely for the sake of furthering the plot. The life that is apparently meant to be choking the relationship is only ever glimpsed at, leaving the audience somewhat bewildered as Karamalegos and Randle jump on and off the dining table while a kaleidoscope of noises, such as the chat and laughter of a crowded room, the blowing of a gale and the inexplicable sonorous echo of spinning plates, vibrates over the stage. If Fittock and Marzan are attempting to show a gradual progression with so many small snapshots from the couple’s life, they have done so while sacrificing the depth that fewer longer sequences might have offered.
The Dreadful Hours is a brave effort at mixing a story of gritty realism with the surreal aspects of physical theatre that succeeds in some parts and fails in others. Inevitably though, the suspension of disbelief is brought crashing down and so as the piece culminates, an alienated audience might be forgiven for finding the changes in stage lighting more entertaining than the action beneath it.
