At The Power Station Lonsdale St until April 27, 1996
Spitfire: the remote miaou of a cat (Spitfire 1), the long
auburn tresses of a woman talking seductively into a microphone (Spitfire 2)
and a World War Two pilot dressing in leathers and goggles on camera (Spitfire
3). Rooms one, two and three.
Lyndal Jones' theatre is never obvious, always challenging
and is sometimes gaspingly evocative. As we moved from room to icy room in the
desolate old power station, images float in and out, some demand attention,
others allow us to muse on the space, the concept, the artist.
Room One has multiple
video screens showing the remembrance poppies "in Flanders field". In
Room Two there is a "noise concert" with vocalising, rock guitar and
video all overlaid with film footage and a soundscape of flying. It is
difficult to engage with, but interesting to watch.
Room Three was my favourite probably because it was more
theatre than performance art and more emotionally engaging than observational.
Here ten actors shift from couple to couple, following the ebb and flow of
sexual attraction, relationships and alliances.
They speak about sex, they kiss, they touch, they walk in
unison, move in canon, gaze and tease. It is titillating without being crass,
sexual without being seamy, provocative not exhibitionistic.
The company works in ensemble but there were exceptional
presences on stage (Milijana Cancar, Nadja Kostich, Boris Rotan) while Deanne
Flatley's soprano is transporting.
The finale is in the lane. After waiting to escape through a
cyclone wire gate, ten actors (plus extras) run up the lane, stop in tableau
then return slowly for a curtain call. I was moved by the despair of their
failed escape, perhaps influenced by the body of Slavic actors and audience
members.
It felt like a war
zone in this desolate environment of the Power Station.
KATE HERBERT 14.4.96
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