The performance opens, in the main theatre space at Chapter Arts Centre, with a somewhat timid looking man with fantastic hair walking to a table reminiscent of a floating radio booth. Spot-lit and with a microphone hovering over the centre, the table is adorned with a small stack of white paper with text on it. As the seemingly ‘timid’ man takes his seat and puts his mouth to the microphone the onslaught begins. The audience is immediately slapped in the face with a cacophony of violent language and imagery.
Christopher Brett Bailey, as presented by Theatr Iolo, performs a self-penned and self-referential monologue experimenting with, and questioning, language in its everyday use. He presents the audience with the futility of language in its inability to express exactly what we mean at any one time but conversely he exhibits the brilliance of language in its performativity with his virtuosic delivery. This piece rather than being performed for the audience to watch is, in the Grotowskian ‘poor theatre’ tradition, set up more as an encounter with the audience.
Bailey plays with notions of performance and theatricality: he crosses the ‘fourth-wall’ with acknowledgment of the reactive audience; he presents us with varying textures of delivery starting with an explosive, almost rapping style, then into a calmer oratory mode akin to any fireside storyteller. This is more in line with a well-crafted piece of music than a well-made play and as such forces you to listen intently in order to take your own individual interpretation. You may not catch-all that is being said due to its pace, but for some reason this is okay – you’ll catch enough, not because any of the text is redundant but because of the exploration of language at play.
After this wonderful assault of rhetoric Bailey walks away into darkness leaving a flood of lights pointing towards the audience when another attack takes place in the form of live music, which straddles the boundaries of acceptable listening and sheer beauty, pointing again towards the experiential encounter between performer and spectator. This piece gives the audience a good old battering through its exceptional writing and performance. All aesthetic languages, including the subtle but wonderfully mood-capturing lighting design (Sherry Coenen) and live music (Bailey himself, Alicia Jane Turner, George Percy and Apollo) are dealt with cohesion and fluidity. This is extraordinary theatre.
Runs until 23rd June