Lisa Buckby responding to Domestic Labour, A Study in Love by 30 Bird

It’s a rare thing to see a piece of contemporary theatre with so much meat to it. Socio-political context sits alongside a stunning set consisting of retro household appliances. Throw in a dense text, an eclectic soundtrack, movie clips (with a squinting audience leaning in to watch from a handheld television screen), megaphones and three female performers and that just about makes up the entire myriad of parts which make up this hour long show.

Domestic Labour, a Study in Love by 30 Bird, to me, is an exploration of home life, what it means to be a doting wife, and the resentment which can develop amongst those who spend their days cleaning up after a husband and children. The show also explores what it feels like to live in two culturally different countries, Iran and the UK, and the contrast between male-female equality in East and West.

There are some wonderful vignettes to cherish and which have left an imprint in my mind since the show. Visually, the glorious eruption from an exploding vacuum cleaner, showering dust over the performers, a bicycle pedalled, propped on a radiator and convoluted contraptions in the form of electronic whisk helmets, with metres of cables and leads. There are also rough little jewels of anecdotes about holidays in the south of Spain, an Iranian Grandmother and a rather twee but well delivered account of cycling in Cambridge.

Despite the richness of content, I did encounter some problems with watching the show.  For the trio of performers, the complexity of the staging and text seem overwhelming and so there are some moments of hesitation which break magic on stage. The slight disjointedness also gives the impression that the performers don’t fully own or believe the text for themselves. Such a strongly feminist text about domesticity coming from a male director, performed by a cast who look so youthful doesn’t quite win me.

For me, such density in a show starts to detract from the effectiveness of the message and the sentiment of the work. This is a piece which is packed full of everything, and this evening also included a historically contextualising post-show talk. I can’t help but feel that with half the content, this piece could have had twice impact.

That said, the multitude of levels and media at work here mean that it is accessible on many levels, so allows everyone who sees it to take from it what they can glean. The wittiness in the delivery helps the challenging context to be easier to approach. On the whole, I found this piece to be hard work to watch, but perhaps the intensity of the ideas is actually a reflection on the thought processes of this fatigued and fraught narrator.

John Bourassa responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

Negative reviews strike me as pointless, and damning with faint praise as futile.

My ideal reviewer is a matchmaker of sorts, a yenta (not a pander) who helps a show find its audience and an audience find its show. Maybe it’s not a match made in heaven, not entirely free of challenges and failures, but it’s rewarding for both in the end. The audience finds the challenge engaging: not so easy that it bores nor so difficult that it alienates. The company finds an audience that welcomes the challenge and will come back for more. The result, if not true love, might be Flow. Everybody wins.

Which brings me to GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN’s Jennifer Pick and Lucy McCormick offering to “open up and let [me] in, right in” to an “evening with conversations, songs…shit like that”. Not the most auspicious invitation, a bit bathetic, but let’s keep an open mind.

From the outset we don’t hit it off. Two youngish women in tawdry dress and hair extensions wander before a bank of superfluous tech on an undressed stage, fitfully burbling banalities and playing air violin to miscellaneous show tunes. I come smack up against my expectation that a performer should try to win my trust, try convince me early on that she knows what she’s doing. The pair already have shit daubed on them. My brain, responding at some pointlessly visceral level, duly stops looking for subtleties and stuffs the show into the pigeonhole of painful parodies of mainstream entertainment, post millennium. Blunt. I feel blunted. That was quick.

From then on, I fail miserably to silence my inner critic, a hectoring bastard at the best of times. I just can’t relax and have a laugh at Number 1's fierce, layered parodies. My bad. By the end i’m just feeling cranky and well, stingy.

The problem with parody is that the audience needs to be intimate with the work, form or practice being parodied. The more references we can catch, the more the piece coheres and resonates with us. If we fail, we’re left feeling excluded by an in-joke. At a loss for a frame of reference, we probably just end up comparing it to work that did manage to engage us - better work as far as we're concerned. Everybody loses.

My problem is that not only am I not sure what they’re making fun of, I’m not at all convinced that they know either. They certainly cast a wide net: mass culture, musicals, reality TV, theatre, “performance art”, “failed art”, each other, themselves, us, me. The one aesthetic rule at work seems to be "go further, push till it breaks." Apparently, everything is one big fail.

The way performance art generally escapes the traps of mainstream narrative - the constant chasing after what will happen in the end, or at least what will happen next -  is to force us to ask “What’s happening now?” It’s a ploy that was mainstreamed years ago by TV shows like 24 and Lost.

OK, I’ll bite. I’ll just give them my trust anyways and ask: if they're not just trying tease a response out of me with a cattle prod, what are they doing?

Surely it’s not irony all the way down: one can only reassure oneself that “that’s the point!” so often before it all starts seeming pointless again. You can only undermine and undercut so much, can’t you?

Of course their target isn’t mass culture. After decades of exploring ever cheaper and easier ways to push our most basic buttons, mass culture is reduced to parodying itself, it doesn’t need performance art’s help.  From TV to the West End, from productivity to food, it’s all porn now and we all know it.

As for just making fun of us, I don’t for a second believe that Jen and Lucy are that mean spirited. They may not be letting me in, may be refusing to give me my expected dose of theatrical intimacy and vulnerability porn, but they’re nowhere near stupid and mean, for all the show of being stupid and mean.

Maybe they’re making fun of themselves by questioning an artistic process that has invaded their homes and their lives, leaving its mess everywhere, making it impossible to connect after all. Maybe they’re really wishing private was private, fuck off was fuck off.

I can’t help searching for answers in subtleties, hoping for something that can actually resonate, not just clang around my brain and gut. Of course expecting subtlety from a company whose very name screams GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN in all caps risks missing the point.

Maybe they’re telling me that subtlety is overrated. I no doubt overrate it; I love smugly patting myself on the back for catching a subtle detail or two.

As for the shit…

I’ve changed (...quick estimate)1812 nappies in the last 2.5 years; and as far as I’m concerned 1972 was the last time anyone said anything funny or interesting about shit on stage. “Literally eating shit!” (while of course not literally eating shit) is hardly subtle. If anything, it’s way too on the nose.

Hmmm.

Come to think of it (which took a while) an awful lot of the details of this show are way, way too on the nose. The pretentious address of the title, the weird literal aptness of using “Send In the Clowns” (lyrics here) and “Tell Me It’s not True” (the team anthem of cheesy ploy merchants), the “stools” brought from home, the red door and the mimed window, the bra, the telling us to fuck off by saying “Fuck Off” a hundred times or just leaving the stage, and of course the shit that’s literally shit, only not really, all of it hilariously too on the nose.

Finally there’s the show’s failure itself; and it does fail, right on the nose. It’s not even just looking to fail, not just chasing the fading fashion for shows that holler “Look at my glorious failure! Isn’t it fab!”, it’s actually daring to fail.

Maybe the subtlety was under my nose all the time.

I kind of like the uncertainty of all these maybes, it’s been a while since a show has left me floundering this badly. Good. I wouldn’t mind seeing it again. I might find a way to let my guard down. Well, maybe next year.

Georgie Grace responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

The first part of experiencing getinthebackofthevan takes about an hour and involves watching a performance; the second part happens in your head and may go on for days afterwards. Neither part is comfortable. At times you might get really annoyed. In the first part Lucy McCormick and Jennifer Pick will, amongst other things, call you a twat and tell you to fuck off. During the second part you might wish you had fucked off, or told them to, but by then it will be too late.

At the time you’ll be too polite for that. After a while you’ll be feeling a bit awkward. Also they will distract you with humour. Sometimes it will be very funny. It will also be annoying, and uncomfortable, and then funny, and then annoying again. You’ll be quite busy reacting to things. There’s shit on the stage; how are you going to react? Lucy McCormick put her face in the shit; how are you going to react? Lucy probably isn’t wearing any pants; how are you going to react? Lucy and Jennifer are wrestling on the floor, everything is covered in shit, and Lucy definitely isn’t wearing any pants; where are you going to look? When are they going to stop? Where are other people looking? Why are you worrying about where other people are looking? Are you looking at them to avoid looking at her fanny yourself, because that would be voyeuristic? Isn’t that voyeuristic anyway - now you’re looking at other people looking - where are you going to look now?

Have I spoiled it for you? Would you have been shocked?

Did they plan to make you feel awkward, voyeuristic, disgusted, annoyed, amused, embarrassed? Of course they did; they got there before you; you walked right into it. Your reactions are just material. Your disgust, your annoyance, your desire to stab yourself in the eyes just so you don’t have to spend any longer looking at Lucy McCormick’s fanny: you’re going to be dealing with this for some time and it’s all part of the work. That’s what makes part two so frustrating (and potentially lengthy): the show is tricky; it resists evaluation. It makes your reactions part of itself. Which is clever, if annoying, but eventually leaves you neither here nor there. Maybe that’s intentional too. Maybe now you want to stab yourself in the head just so you don’t have to spend any longer thinking about it.

getinthebackofthevan say they want to transport you. Do they? They will disconcert you, annoy you, make you laugh. Initially No. 1 The Plaza achieves an excruciatingly taut balance between discomfort, annoyance, and humour. It felt like being in a vehicle with a drunk driver: they’ve told you they’re fine, but after a while you’re ricocheting from one side of the road to the other, fingernails in the upholstery, and about to get into an argument. But as the show progressed, cleverly ambivalent hospitality gave way to a long drawn out hostility towards the audience and Lucy McCormick’s fanny fell victim to the law of diminishing returns. It annoyed me a lot, and then it carried on annoying me, and then I got bored of it and took a moment to be annoyed by the interlude of girls licking cake off each other, and then I just got bored of being annoyed and began to think are we nearly there yet? By this point they were yelling at me to fuck off home, and I was ready to, but it felt like the van was slowing down to a crawl and the doors were still locked. Even so, there was a lot to like about this show - a chimeric, degenerating double act, an underwhelming smoke machine, show tunes, and shit all over the place. It was provocative, manipulative, funny, and infuriating. To a point, all those uncomfortable reactions were doing something really potent, but I could have done without the fanny overkill and anti-climax - even if it was an anti-climax about anti-climax. If you’re going to transport me, keep your foot on the pedal. Tell me to fuck off if you want to, but do it at speed, as we’re approaching a corner - and then just open the door.

Natalia Coe responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

If such an offer were to come up, I'd usually politely decline any invitation involving excrement being thrust down someone's throat and being robustly informed I'm a cunt, but I was blissfully ignorant that this was on the cards when I stepped into the Junction to watch No. 1ThePlaza by Getinthebackofthevan. I'm pleased I went nevertheless.

I'd personally never seen anything like this. At first, I comfortably chuckled along to what I'd decided must be an arty stand-up comedy show- as the witty, scantily-clad, flat-sharing, co-working performers interrupted each other in comedic banter and broke out into skillful musical theatre song. After a while the claustrophobia of their bickering clamps down on you- the vile pooh incidents occur (enough said), we're asked to pack up and fuck right off. The performers retreat behind the sound system, swigging Chardonnay. It was like a door slamming in your face and a switch in genre. No longer a jolly evening at the theatre- but a disgusting, confusing one.

It was effectively alienating and moved me to reflect on the brutality and claustrophobia of certain relationships. Despite the extreme humiliation that occurred, their show and relationship carry on- culminating in a hollow sexual act.

At times raunchy, hilarious, self-mocking then uncomfortably hostile, this show contains some little treats and some thudding blows. If you're feeling adventurous and might enjoy being left pondering its meaning, I'd recommend this show.

And from Matt Trueman...

The discussion before and after Number 1, The Plaza was led by Matt Trueman whose own response is here: http://matttrueman.co.uk/2014/04/review-number-1-the-plaza-cambridge-junction.html

Tamsin Flower responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

At first glance, ‘No. 1. The Plaza’ presents a conventional product of the performance art cannon. Filing in and sitting, we observe - a stage space devoid of all context other than its own. Furthermore, a sound and lighting deck are nakedly exposed upstage, surrounded by wires and gubbins. To our right is a refreshment table with a kettle...and DSL are two young women on bar-stools, wearing shiny, short apparel, playing air keyboard and violin to tunes from the musicals.

Lucy and Jen of ‘Getinthebackofthevan’ consummate an atmosphere of seedy cabaret - a suspicious brown substance is smeared all over their limbs and Essex-girl dresses. This tone of debauched clubland is built on by their first performative proposition - they will, we are told, be performing renditions of songs from the musicals. Their game of playing invisible instruments to a soundtrack of Sondheim and Lloyd Webber is built on by Lucy breaking into the perfectly pitched highs and lows of the ‘ballads.’ As she does, Jen interjects with flat-one liners or well-timed reiterations of the hyperbole Lucy wails...the song ‘I know him so Well’ from Chess is framed in such a way.

As Lucy gabbily introduces herself as the chatty, happy-go-lucky one and Jen monosyllabically cements her role as the straight-man, their dynamic as a comedy double-act becomes quickly evident. And it is this relationship dynamic that forms the foundation for each episode of this playful exploration. Throughout, cyclical thinking is manifested in repetitious physical or verbal games...They swing each other on the bar-stools, demonstrate how Lucy pretends to be a cat on Jen’s lap when vulnerable and muse on how the word ‘Sondheim’ can be emphasised differently to achieve different meanings. Much of the first half could be likened to the surreal antics of Green Wing, Smack the Pony or traditional female acts such as French and Saunders.

Predictably, the subtext of No. 1.’ is a sequence of questions ‘What is this really about?’ and ‘does it matter? Fortunately, the clues are not concealed...A central episode, in which Lucy and Jen show us around their invisible shared flat to the drone of seventies lounge music, is significant. The duo’s presentation of their poo in little lunch-boxes and subsequent tactile playing with it is also telling. During the last third, a push-pull tussle between the pair in which Jen tries to keep Lucy out of the boundaries of the kitchen, results in the beginning of Lucy’s exposure; her vagina is on display. It is also left hanging there, the desire to cover-up being markedly absent from the scenario.

From this point, repetitious push and pull and verbal loops descend into what appears to be free improvisation - the performer ‘experiences the space’ and follows exhausted impulses...Lucy ambles off stage after a final burst of exuberance mimicking flash-dance, Jen swings around on her bar-stool making childish noises. Our protagonists have reached the rock-bed of primitive behaviour and finally disappear into blackout.

No. 1.  The Plaza will undoubtedly try the patience of the uninitiated Live-Art viewer. It teases our attention through repetitious games which reflect psyche rather than concrete situation. The effect of this will be liberating or horrifying for the audience member depending on the extra-textual baggage they bring to the auditorium. The show succeeds in reflecting on how we define entertainment - from positing emotive ballads in a mundane context to exhibiting the baseness of what we do (faeces) and what we are (nudity). In doing so, it surely fulfils its criteria and that of the performance art genre. The degree to which such a presentation is deemed worthy or cohesive will vary as much as the tastes, origins, backgrounds and training of its audience members.

Olga Plocienniczak responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

Not my type of shit

Due to the role catharsis plays as a “medical metaphor”, it is sometimes claimed that rather than “purification” or “cleansing” it is more appropriate to define it as purgation. Purgative is in other words strongly laxative in effect… Perhaps that’s what the heaps of faeces in No 1, The Plaza referred to.  A bit of a tedious link, I know. But that’s precisely the impression I had throughout the show, one of a very strenuous and tedious link.

In all honesty, I don’t think I should be writing about this performance. As difficult (or indeed impossible) to achieve a concept it might be, I deeply value objectivity. And as far as No 1 is concerned, unfortunately I’m quite biased. It just happened to push all the wrong buttons for me.

The first thing that struck me was that I was already familiar with the characters, I recognized the duo as soon as they appeared on stage: the silly, blabber-mouthed, fitting all stereotypes of a blonde, Lucy, and cynical, rarely given a chance to speak, with disillusionment sizzling hot beneath a seemingly calm surface, Jen. The hair attachments they were wearing served as the final hint. Last year at the Sampled festival of works-in-progress, organised by the Junction, I saw those two in a durational performance called Hairpiece. For something that must have seemed an eternity, they wondered around the stage, sipping wine and playing a word game on any phrase they could squeeze “hair” in, all whilst holding some wigs up in the air, and generally being in the same type of relation I could see right now – the not overly clever, constant chatter-box that is Lucy, and her by default quiet, slightly awkward counterpart, Jen, full of spite yet “stuck” with all the lucynesh of this world. Personally, I found half an hour of this character study quite sufficient. I admired the physical strength and endurance of these women; however, it seemed like an awful lot of effort for no particular reason, leaving me longing for some sort of meaningful message, and straining to see one, in vain.

I love theatre for its ability to create suspense by means of symbolic boundaries, a few simple props. This applies to creating and changing characters too. To see this very couple again, in the same roles, with the same mannerisms, way of interacting with each other and the audience, was disappointing.

In preparation for the show, I read Getinthebackofthevan’s “vanifesto”, where, among others, a desire to “transport” the audience is expressed. What a fantastic commitment. Whether it’s “comforting the disturbed” or “disturbing the comfortable”, the ability of a performance to transcendent, transport, introduce the spectator to a whole new viewpoint is truly extraordinary. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not always about providing a form of escapism. At times, I have been shaken to my very core, taken completely out of my comfort zone, shown things I would rather not existed. I have to admit No 1, The Plaza didn’t take me very far. Or deep. Perhaps because it is not something achieved simply by showing people around the intestines of the soul; it is the choice of the soul that makes the journey. Being invited inside No 1 was like… watching a reality show. It was like witnessing an embarrassing drunken scene sober. The same cringing feeling of not being able to comprehend how anyone could find it entertaining or worthwhile. The vanifesto also states a core belief in performance as a dialogue. “Without you guys this would be nothing”, says Lucy. But our sheer presence doesn’t necessarily equate to anything either. A performer holds a certain responsibility to the audience, just like a converser holds responsibility to their listener and vice versa. Only that constitutes a true dialogue.

Of course, undoubtedly, there is value in demonstrating the shallowness of contemporary culture or what has become of human interactions. Even more so, in pointing that we are all immersed in it, owing to this “shittiness”. I could not help but think of Hannah Walker’s and Chris Thorpe’s Oh fuck moment, and how in an “office environment”, with the use of spoken word only they managed to evoke such strong emotions that some members of the audience had to leave at certain parts of the show. What a different way they chose to be thought provoking, open eyes to the consequences of trying to hide your “shit” or pretending it’s not there. But it’s one thing to be made aware, to acknowledge, to owe to; unlike Lucy I definitely don’t need my nose being rubbed into it.

Anything positive? I thought the reflection on relationships as something often continued for all the wrong reasons was quite to the point – when five years down the line people literally can’t stand each other but stick with it just because by then, they themselves and whatever they consider their property (both literally and metaphorically) is covered in each other’s shit. And another good point on property and privacy: Jen’s outraged cry commanding to leave – even though by invitation, we’ve come too far, seen too much, and once that is the case, you’re never welcome to stay. Get out and mind your own shit.

On this occasion, I was quite glad to take the advice.

Kim Komljanec responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

You will get...

So, here's a show that you walk into not knowing what to expect. You don't sit in the front row. Just in case. You don't want to get wet or heckled by the performers.  You want to be on the safe side. In fact, you wish you hadn’t come on your own as you really only want to have a bit of fun after a hard day.

The two performers are female.  And the show is about that fact, even though it's not trying to be about that. You watch two women, dressed (well, for most of the show) in shiny evening dresses and five-inch heels, with hair extensions and make-up. Yet you are immediately directed to see beyond that. They can’t walk in high heels. They hunch on high stools. They make their pretty dresses pucker where they should be stretched over their feminine bits and bobs. They talk too loud and they swear. They’re everything but classy. And that’s the kind of femininity the show is about. And that’s the kind of humanity the show is about.

Yes, the plot – or the absence of it – seems to be about a lesbian relationship. But surprisingly, this show manages to use a lesbian (or is it lesbian?) relationship to raise issues about relationships in general. Straight, same-sex or even non-sexual relationships. Relationships personal and social.

You are being repeatedly shouted at: “Go home!” Who says lesbians (or any marginal group for that matter) are not intolerant, xenophobic or simply narrow-minded? And that’s the point the show makes you realize: people of any sexual orientation, race or nationality are hostile to each other.  Though if it wasn’t for this show, you probably wouldn’t be thinking about this whilst listening to live performance of some of the greatest musical hits.

The plot – or the absence of it – takes place in a fictional London flat, represented by an empty stage with only two rotating high stools. The sound and light mixing tables are placed at the far end of the stage and are both operated by the two performers, making for a few good gags but also reminding you of funding cuts in the arts. Yes, that simple.

The absence of the set design which is being referred to, strongly reminds you of Forced Entertainment’s Spectacular, though it equally well makes a point about the façades we put on. How many a relationship between lovers, friends, or even just flat-mates turns out to be abusive as soon as we peel of the top layer of its well moisturized skin. The shit we take and the shit we throw at each other (in this case literally). Is bedroom really the most intimate place in a flat? Is that where the stuff we want to keep hidden happens? Or are there things much more embarrassing and private than sex or nudity? Getinthebackofthevan seem to claim so. And you agree.

Though there’s another kind of issue to be raised from seeing the show. The state of the two women performers on stage is  … it takes a lot of courage for you to say it, but … sad. And you would argue intentionally so. Though the show is not and does not attempt to be a feminist manifesto, it still raises a question about women’s voices in theatre (or perhaps society) today.

What is the form where the feminine can be neutral? It is always tainted – positively or negatively, but never neutral. Why are there so few women stand-up comedians? Why does there continue to be fewer female roles in theatre? And what form can female theatrical expression take not to be taken as a feminist manifesto? Does it really take rubbing human excrement all over one’s body to make a point? And, oh, what a relief you feel when it is revealed it is not real excrement – not for the disgust, but it would make you – a woman – feel defeated. Which, in fact, you already are. How do you perceive female nudity on stage without a hint of sexuality or beauty?  Female nudity just for what it is. How do you take it? With a spoonful of sugar to make it go down easier, you would say after seeing this show. Not that the performer’s body is not beautiful, but the way the nudity is served here certainly makes a good job of isolating it from anything else.

Still, you walk out of the show having laughed more than you’d think you would, given the issues raised. And no, your clothes weren’t sprayed on from the stage. And actually, there was some pleasant music involved. But you still did not feel safe in the auditorium. Of course not.  Wishing to feel safe in the theatre is a paradox. You go to see theatre, even the most boring traditional kind of theatre, to expose yourself to something new, different, eye-opening, thought provoking. You DO want to get sprayed on by something. You do want to get changed. That's the whole point. Will this piece change YOU?

Carla Keen responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

Violently resisting plot

A response to GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN’s Number 1, The Plaza

It is a very human thing to seek stories.  Which is why it can be very unnerving watching shows which don’t provide them pre-packaged.  On the other hand, humans are very adept at making narratives for themselves given fragments, echoes and suggestions.  

It quickly became apparent that Number 1, The Plaza was an evening with format (albeit a grotesque parody of one); the performers referring to each other by their real names, playing off each other in a double act, taking on personae which become increasingly more extreme. Jen is dark and sullen, and as brutally honest as the vivacious blonde Lucy is attention-seeking. Like matter and anti-matter, the two clash creating a “metaphorical space” in which to play with the audience.

Lying, covering up and bullshitting their way through the show, they half-arsedly program their own lighting states, mess up duets and fool themselves that they have something to show. As audience we are left trying to make sense of these fragments of performance, unsure of where they were heading, and to what end, but compelled to watch two lost clowns trapped in their tiny flat.

In show with a relationship at its core, Jen and Lucy self-consciously demonstrate the mechanisms at work in theirs, from the status games they play, to their strange and intimate bonding rituals. Songs form emotional touchstones, rather than furthering any plot, much the same way as they do in musical theatre, demonstrating that, despite the appearance of chaos, they know exactly how to use the theatrical tools at their disposal.

To make your audience feel and think certain ways, arguably performers need to be at liberty to use every tool available, including nudity. And when Lucy exposed herself to the audience physically, I was left thinking, how long will she stay unclothed? I was waiting for the moment she would re-dress, put everything back in order and the show could continue without the feeling of awkwardness the nudity presented.  But of course, life isn’t like that and so she remains exposed, like the stage mechanics, throughout her curtain call. 

Joy Martin responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

I’ve written about the Live Art company GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN before.  I saw their 2012 show Big Hits at the Cambridge Junction, and it was one of the most powerful pieces I had ever seen performed in the theatre up to that point.  It took one element of my mind – the part that up until then had quite sleepily accepted the inappropriate, hyper-sexualisation of women in the music industry – and slapped it awake, so that I walked out of the theatre feeling slapped, but grateful to be awake.  I spent the next several days looking at the way women are portrayed in music videos and thinking ‘That is just fucking insane.  And destructive to all the little girls (and big girls) who are drinking it in as “normal”’.  That show led to a permanent change in the way I perceive our culture, and I was very grateful for that and respectful of the artistic power that created it. 

So I was very eager to see their next show, and I was curious to see what issues they would choose to rumble next, and how they would use theatre (and the strange bag of tricks and techniques special to live art – abstraction, duration, awkwardness, shock, hyper-realism, etc.) to raise the issues and tangle with them.  GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN are Artistic Director Hester Chillingworth and performers Lucy McCormick and Jennifer Pick.  Their stated artistic mission is to make ‘broken genre performance’, and explore how ‘text does not always say what it says that it says it is saying.’

Their new show is called Number 1, The Plaza [insert link], and I saw it at the Cambridge Junction [insert link] last week, on 10 April 2014.  It was the first night of a Spring tour of the piece, which will take it to The ShowRoom, Chichester on April 24^th; BUZZCUT, Glasgow on April 26^th; Tom Thumb Theatre, Margate on May 23^rd; and Norwich Arts Centre on June 25^th.  More dates will probably be announced during the Spring. 

I settled into my seat in the Cambridge Junction curious, but also a little apprehensive – because last time they slapped me, conceptually, even though I knew it was for my own good.  Also, the mood music playing as the audience came into the theatre was ‘Send in the Clowns’ – a subtle opening tickle/provocation in the show’s performer/audience relationship.  It suggested, delicately, and within a honeyed coating, one of the themes that would emerge in the show: the power dynamic contained within entertainment and media – that once we came into the theatre, we were in their space, their house, and we were under their control. They were free to choose what they did with us once we were there – for example, insult us incredibly subtly as we took our seats.

One of the interesting things about live art is that it purposefully re-considers how the audience encounters the work.  For example, Big Hits was a purposefully awkward encounter for the audience.  In that piece GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN defused, straight away, the usual theatrical mechanisms that construct a sense of otherworldly enchantment that can take place in a theatre, like the darkening of house lights and bringing up of stage lights.  I remember that the first thing they did was stare at us without speaking, with the house lights up, for ages, which made me feel uncomfortable, and which dislodged any old-fashioned expectations or theatrical dreaminess that might have otherwise conditioned my mind ahead of the piece. 

This time around, in Number 1, The Plaza, I felt much more lulled, much more entertained, and also, seduced. There was smooth, jazzy music, with a lot of saxophone and synthesizers, and slinky, sparkly dresses.  There was humour and shiny, flowing hair extensions.  There was a drinks bar.  They opened with a show tune (Lucy has a great voice).  It was, as they would tell us, ‘An Evening With…’  This time around they invited us into their ‘house’, which I saw as a metaphor for their theatre space, for entertainment, for media, for the conceptual space over which they have complete control once the audience/performer relationship has been entered into by both parties.  The show would go on to explore the idea of the audience’s relationship to its entertainment via the portrayal of Lucy and Jen’s relationship with each other.  It was enacted as an intimate, seductive, power-imbalanced and conflict-laden relationship. 

The show shimmered with meta-levels about the idea of entertainment, using its entertainment of us (with songs, humour, sexy dresses) to comment on both the powers and the dangers of entertainment: it suggested that once someone is entertained, they can be in a sort of enchanted thrall and soaking in an implied and poisoned ethos embedded quietly in the entertainment.  But because they were using entertainment to give us this message, they were also exploring the positive  power of artistic entertainment to pull one’s consciousness forcibly by the hand, saying ‘come here with me to look – really, deeply look at this issue.’ 

And because they were exploring the power dynamic in the performer/media/audience relationship via Jen and Lucy’s relationship, the exploration expanded outward to include any sort of intimate relationship between two people, an artistic mechanism which gathered up the metaphorical material from personal relationships and heaved this back onto the performer/audience relationship.  It was a violent, abusive relationship.  At one point, they simply started physically fighting each other and freezing in long, held poses of conflict.  But amidst the fighting, they paused to embrace, kiss, lick, inhale the other person, in moments of intense, passionate connection.  When Jen started to be verbally abusive to Lucy (‘I fucking hate you, you little cunt’), Lucy’s humanity and sanity seemed to break down and apart.  It reflected powerfully back upon the media/audience relationship and made me consider where the entertainment that surrounds us in our society has the power to break down our humanity, and our sanity.  It also made me question passive acceptance of entertainment, and wonder how aware we are as a society of the subtle, implied messages in the media that surrounds us. 

As I first took my seat and realised that the melody gently piped into the atmosphere of the still lit, chatting and drinking audience space was ‘Send in the Clowns’, I had a quiet laugh to myself; but later the brilliance and delicacy of this choice struck me.  Its quietness, its underneath-ness, amplified a sense of the unseen, unrecognised power of implied messages in our entertainment.  Implied messages are powerful because they slip into our minds under the radar, underneath our ability to perceive…and fight them.  This opening was a statement about the power of the entertainer – the controller of the interaction, the chooser – and the lack of power of the audience, the absorber.  If they wanted to imply we were clowns, or call us clowns outright, or tell us to fuck off, or shit on the stage, or say that women were stupid, pointless animals, or dance around naked, or get naked and rub shit on each other, they could do it; and we would be held, mute, within the ideas embedded in our minds about our role as the audience in a relationship to a piece of theatre, bringing up the question of passivity in the audience role.  They could do, say, or imply whatever they wanted, and we would have to absorb it.  I’m not saying that they did any or all of those things, and I will leave it for you to wonder whether the show actually goes to any of those places, especially if you haven’t seen it yet – but the point they made is that they could have done all of that, if they wanted to. 

It is interesting to me that as I walked out of the show, my first impression was that the show didn’t contain the immediate, artistic coherence and power that Big Hits did.  But I realised later that the show was simply different and breathtakingly subtle and complex in its exploration of its themes.  So it worked a little differently on my psyche.  What happened was that its powerful, political, profound themes and coherent brilliance slipped into my mind via a backdoor, like an implied message – like  background music.

Lisa Buckby responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

Number 1, The Plaza marks five years of GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN, a company who specialise in broken genre performance, hovering somewhere between live art and theatre. Performers Lucy McCormick and Jennifer Pick, along with director, Hester Chillingworth, have previously focused on looking out at the messed up world we live in, but have for this show decided to look in on their own lives, and especially Jen and Lucy’s dysfunctional relationship as performers, friends and housemates.

The show takes the form of “an evening with” the two of them, with songs, dancing and chatting. Clad in high heels and glitzy party dresses, Lucy and Jen welcome you in and show you around their London flat. Their hosting a party which you’re invited to, but soon enough you begin to feel like you don’t want to be there.

The third biggest presence on the stage after Jen & Lucy is their foul looking “chocolately mixture”, which used deliberately for its repulsive appearance, and at times as a representation of ‘what they produce’ as artists, as well as how they see the outside world. Over the course of the show, the virulent mixture is spread across the whole stage, and Jen and Lucy.

Most vivid though, is the real contrast between how Jen and Lucy treat each other, and we are exposed to the real vulnerability of Lucy, as Jen repeatedly puts her down. How many times can Lucy stand to be told to shut up and go away?

By choosing to use their own flat as the basis for their show, and with five years of work behind them, GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN are clearly at home in the theatre, and fear absolutely nothing.  Not necessarily the easiest piece to see if you are new to this company, but a perfect demonstration of what THE VAN is all about.

Kata Fulop responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

Lucy and her partner are having a performance of a party and we are all invited. It is the Number 1: the Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN at the Cambridge Junction. Lucy waves to us through her imaginary window, behind which we find her universe, the octagon of her London flat: door, bathroom, living room, couch, kitchen, door, bathroom, living room and soon. It is a strange post-feminist party performed by bubbly uber-feminine and stereotypically young- blond Lucy and her partner, master of one-liners, grunts and economical offences.

You may glide between the layers of performance.  There is the performance of a party, and show tunes, which act as deliberately awkward but quite frankly beautifully sang and marvellously ironic glue between scenes. One may experience a strange sense of déjà vu, and take a moment to reminisce about the duo’s last performance Big Hits, which as the title suggests was about “showbiz” .

More layers to come as Lucy’s bubbliness transforms into exaggerated submissiveness, and she is made to jump around and hide her, well yes, shit. As the performance goes on, the simple downwards spiral structure of the performance sucks you in. Slowly, the window is closed and the performers start to strip of their masks: the hair extensions come off, then the social mask. At the same time, the party gets smaller and smaller the audience less involved and at the end it is just the bare performers. Stripping reveals an unequal relation during which equality only strikes momentarily when the performers alternate in “doing”, routine-like pleasing of each other. The removal of social mask is followed by that of clothes, a flashback to submissive Lucy in stereotypical pornographic poses and a final cleansing shower.

As Lucy washes of her “performing Lucy” mask, and all the shit that comes with being, we are left to wonder about this complex yet silly show that unsurprisingly does not bite as much as we may think. I still wonder, how much more brutal and less layered the show would have been if Lucy’s partner was not performed by young woman in a skin-tight long red dress, but by a man?

John Boursnell responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

No.1 The Plaza

Glory

I am watching two women wrestling each other on the floor.

It is violent, awkward, voyeuristic and a little pathetic.

I feel complicit; in not intervening, in just watching.

One of the women calls the other “a cunt”.

Just as spandex clad pro-wrestlers grandstand for the crowd,

there is perhaps showboating:

Look how shocking I can be.

How loud I can be.

Like the junkies you see screaming at each other on the market place

observed from a safe distance

Clutching cans of triple strength, volume making up for actual violence

But there is some actual violence here, I think

Certainly limbs and elbows and teeth and curses.

I am in a pub in Peckham, on a Saturday afternoon.

Endurance

I am watching two women wrestling each other on the floor

It feels violent, awkward, voyeuristic and a little pathetic.

I feel complicit; in not intervening, in just watching.

One of the women calls the other “a cunt”.

Just as spandex clad pro-wrestlers grandstand for the crowd,

there is perhaps showboating:

Look how shocking I can be.

How loud I can be.

Like the junkies you see screaming at each other on the market place

observed from a safe distance

Clutching cans of triple strength, volume making up for actual violence

But there is some actual violence here, I think

Certainly limbs and elbows and teeth and curses.

I am watching GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN perform “No 1 The Plaza”

at Cambridge Junction.

Where Art Meets Life.

Artifice

I am watching two women wrestling each other on the floor

[there is a white wash on the stage]

It feels violent, awkward, voyeuristic and a little pathetic.

[I know there is more lighting, because Lucy and Jen have been cycling through the lights, controlled at the back of the stage]

I feel complicit; in not intervening, in just watching.

[so I know I’m at the theatre.]

One of the women calls the other “a cunt”.

[Because I can see the mechanisms of the theatre exposed on the stage.]

Just as spandex clad pro-wrestlers grandstand for the crowd,

there is perhaps showboating:

[like swearing]

Look how shocking I can be.

[but undercut by humour]

How loud I can be.

[but undercut by humour]

Like the junkies you see screaming at each other on the market place

[but undercut – or reinforced – by repetition]

observed from a safe distance

[like a theatre seat]

Clutching cans of triple strength, volume making up for actual violence

[do you see what I did there?]

But there is some actual violence here, I think

[I’m drawing attention to the mechanisms that we use]

Certainly limbs and elbows and teeth and curses.

[and we can certainly see a lot of those]

I am watching GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN perform “No 1 The Plaza”

[a performance]

at Cambridge Junction.

[on the stage]

Where Art Meets Life.

[on the stage]

The banal

I am watching two women wrestling each other on the floor

[there is a white wash on the stage]

“Do me now”

It feels violent, awkward, voyeuristic and a little pathetic.

[I know there is more lighting, because Lucy and Jen have been cycling through the lights, controlled at the back of the stage]

“Oh there we are”

I feel complicit; in not intervening, in just watching.

[so I know I’m at the theatre.]

“Call that woman in the second row a cunt”

One of the women calls the other “a cunt”.

[Because I can see the mechanisms of the theatre exposed on the stage.]

“These really ARE the chairs from our kitchen”

Just as spandex clad pro-wrestlers grandstand for the crowd,

there is perhaps showboating:

[like swearing]

“Get the fuck out of my house”

Look how shocking I can be.

[but undercut by humour]

“You don’t really mean that”

How loud I can be.

[but undercut by humour]

“You don’t really mean that”

Like the junkies you see screaming at each other on the market place

[but undercut – or reinforced – by repetition]

“This isn’t really shit”

observed from a safe distance

[like a theatre seat]

“Get the fuck out of my house”

Clutching cans of triple strength, volume making up for actual violence

[do you see what I did there?]

“This isn’t really shit, it’s Nutella”

But there is some actual violence here, I think

[I’m drawing attention to the mechanisms that we use]

“I hate you”

Certainly limbs and elbows and teeth and curses.

[and we can certainly see a lot of those]

“You don’t really mean that”

I am watching GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN perform “No 1 The Plaza”

[a performance]

“We’re back on the stage”

at Cambridge Junction.

[on the stage]

“It’s good to be back”

Where Art Meets Life.

[on the stage]

“It’s good to be back”

Molly Flynn responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

In 'Number 1, the Plaza', performance art collective Get in the Back of the Van invite their audiences in, 'right in' as they say, to enjoy an evening of songs, stories and scatology. Decked out in high-heels and slinky evening wear, duo Lucy McCormick and Jennifer Pick appear on the bare stage undisturbed by the fact that their bodies and faces are smeared with what appears to be shit.

Their comedic timing is awkwardly impeccable, as they present themselves as hosts of the unusual evening about to unfold. There is little sense in parsing the show's narrative threads, especially since there is hardly one to hold onto. The performance rather revolves around the disturbingly co-dependent relationship between the two women; McCormkick who chats up the audience and her stage partner, seeking approval from any available source, and Pick who slings (thankfully) nothing but insults and sarcastic one-liners in return.

The audience is eventually keyed into the fact that the evening's festivities are meant to be taking place in the couple's home, and that we have in fact been cast as guests in the most-erotically-nightmarish house party on earth. By fixing our gaze through the show's 'tiny peephole', as described by the couple, we become complicit in the depraved dynamic between them and, what's most troubling, is that we kind of like it.

'Number 1, the Plaza' adeptly treads the line between fascination and repulsion. It's a smart and skillful assault on decency. In this sexy, sloppy sojourn into discovering our dirtiest little secrets, Pick and McCormack ask their audiences to examine the most vile parts of themselves and, like them, to do it in public. 

Laura Ortu responding to Number 1, The Plaza by GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

You will get stuck in the loop of a very absurd and unconventional relationship between two very unconventional friends. Jen and Lucy  will invite you in their “shitty” world, manipulative, silly, grotesque and somehow ironical if not banal. Constantly provocative by any means, they certainly have still the ability to create the shock effect, you will get involved, addicted, curios and mostly disgusted, and yet rejected. No one can understand their silly world, you might get intimate with the “house code”, and indeed nothing is quite expected although sometime might become tedious and pretentious. Perhaps is it a reading of today’s middle class adults? The relationship can be very hard to handle, they can be hard to handle, especially when boundaries are crossed and pushed to the extreme. Their provocation call stretches the limit of what human being can take on, a meaningless provocation that had to get along with the “stuff like that” going on the stage. It is a work of destruction, it shows a climax of deconstruction of a life made of beauty. The endurance of the disruptiveness breaks the bond of the two friends and yet keeps them together. Furthermore they  break the relationship with the audience, who feels no welcome when the friendship on stage become openly intimate and ultimately it reveals its on “cracks” and yet it simply keeps going on. It is  very achieving in terms of juxtaposition, love and hate, banal and provocative, musical and distorted, illusive and disappointing, manipulative and fake. It is a rally coaster of silliness hard to die.

A call-out for writers

The responses on this site are the product of the people who responded to this call for interested writers in March and April 2014:

Are you interested in writing / blogging about contemporary performance? Do you want to work with some of the UK’s best arts writers? Want to publish on your own blog, or write for Slate The Disco? Want to discuss theatre and dance with interesting people?

As part of Cambridge Junction’s commitment to arts in the region, we are seeking to develop a critical ecology around contemporary performance, which we believe is lacking in the area. It’s vital for the cultural life of the city for shared understanding, for audiences’ context, legacy of the shows, development of the artists presenting the work, as well as profile-raising for the artists and sometimes the venue.

Writing about performance doesn’t need to be in the form a traditional review; we’re interested in all kinds of responses, reflecting the variety of performance made. Perhaps it doesn’t even need to be written?

This season, to kick start this, we are offering three workshops with professional theatre writers, tied into shows in the season:

· Thursday 10^th April - Workshop with Matt Trueman watching GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN – Number 1, The Plaza

· Thursday 24^th April –Workshop with Maddy Costa, watching 30 Bird – Domestic Labour: A Study in Love

· Tuesday 20^th May – Workshop with Donald Hutera, watching Igor and Moreno – Idiot-Synchrasy

  Each workshop will take roughly the following form:

· 6.00pm – meet to discuss views and functions of writing and expectations of the show

· 7.30pm – watch the show together        

· After the show – discuss initial reactions to the performance.

· Once a response has been written in the next few days, the workshop leader will be able to feed back on the writing via email, and discussion can continue at next workshop.

All these workshops (and the tickets) are offered free of charge, but we ask that you commit to attending all three workshops, if at all possible.

We are also offering two free tickets to any theatre and dance shows here that you are interested in writing about, as long as you commit to publishing a response online within a week after the show, sending us a link to it, and doing the same for at least 3 shows this season. (If the offer of free tickets confuses the response into a transaction for you, you’re welcome to buy.)