Anastasia resurrects The Crying Room: Exhumed by Marcus Ian McKenzie
At first, The Crying Room: Exhumed disappoints. Marcus Ian McKenzie tells us the performance will take place over Zoom, us watching from laptops on plinths, him streaming from a room at the back of the auditorium. This is perhaps the first time I’ve ever been fooled by a theatrical fake out, a ‘Sorry, audience, that wasn’t supposed to happen.’ This piece continued to fool me, trick me, take me by the hand – sometimes forcefully – to a place I’d never been before.
Much like Jesus, The Crying Room was immaculately conceived and heartbreakingly executed. Shouts, screams, songs, and of course cries rang out and filled the room. Rhythmically, intensely, with drum accompaniment, each of us were singled out and told how we would die. Grand cacophonous processions of sound, of grief, swept through the space. These began unexpectedly – in the corner, in the shadows, or in the middle of something else. I was reminded of the dream parade in Satoshi Kon’s Paprika (2006). Nothing ever reminds me of that movie. McKenzie was able to change the atmosphere in the room with a single glance, a single word. He was a Satanic priest, a game show host, a ghost. A man, naked, crying, alone. The entirety of this piece was touching and frightening in its nakedness. In its final operatic closing, it granted us all absolution.
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Juliette falls for Fell by Luke George
The work began out in the open, for all to see. Luke George asked ticket holders to step forward and volunteer to carry the wood with our eyes closed. I volunteered. It was painful to carry, and disorienting with eyes closed, being watched. Someone we couldn’t see was guiding us with their voice. It was exhilarating to carry the wooden log through unfamiliar spaces, and then exhilarating to watch the performance I was once a part of. Those of us who carried the log broke apart, keeping our feeling of community with one another across the duration of the performance. We watched as he rose into the air, balancing his weight with the log through a pulley system not unlike rock climbing. George appeared to be climbing the air, but also swimming through it, and at some points crystallised within it.
Fell is visually simple, physically impressive, and conceptually rich. George was able to use such simplicity to such great effect, deftly and expertly manipulating his body, the materials, and the space. At the beginning I worried for his safety, as all that was holding him in the air was one rope and a few carabiners. In such an innately anxiety-inducing work, George was able to maintain a calming presence that allowed focus to shift to the visuality and concept of the piece. At some points the work became almost akin to optical illusion, with the audience wondering how such things were achieved between the weights of human and wood. George seemed to have such connection and respect for ropes, and I was intrigued to learn more about his practice more broadly. As a lesbian, I felt connected to the carabiners in this piece.
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Anastasia floats above The Butterfly Who Flew Into The Rave by Oli Mathiesen, Lucy Lynch & Sharvon Mortimer
This work affirms the unique power of live performance. The Butterfly Who Flew Into The Rave is purely choreographic, with three dancers wordlessly pushing their bodies to the limit for seventy minutes. We watch them sweat, we think they are about to give up as they sink lower to the ground. Then the lights change and they smile, jumping in perfect time. As the piece went on, the physical and emotional endurance of the performers pervaded the large concrete hall. It was reminiscent of Gaspar Noé’s Climax, but exponentially more hopeful.
Connection was profoundly explored –– bodies told stories and asked questions we don’t have words for. Watching these strangers move, look out at us, exhausted but enduring, we felt as if we knew them. The movement languages of raves, ballrooms, worship, love, disgust, and confusion were cycled through and repeated in quick succession. This gave the piece a truly psychedelic feeling, at once disorienting and beautiful, both obscuring and elucidating an urgent and universal truth. The music was perfectly relentless, and the lighting continued to elevate the piece with a chaotic strobe sequence and certain spaces glowing as though enchanted. This work must be seen to be believed.
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Tayte returns to It’s Already Happened, We’re Just in the Past by Emily Parsons-Lord and Shan Turner-Carroll.
This piece took place in the public space of Carriageworks, as a free installation and performances across the Liveworks schedule. Parsons-Lord twisted and pulled away coats of what looked like dried paint from walls and poles, unpeeling layers of time. Turner-Carroll spoke from a large rock (or was it a meteor?), weaving timelines and stories together. Glitter fell from the sky. The performances were broken up into four activations where the artists would make the work come alive, meaning that no two performances were the same. This impacted my overall viewing and understanding of the work as I was only present for one performance. I would have enjoyed seeing all four activations and see how the work progressed, however the knowledge of these other unseen performances enriched my experience. A soundtrack composed by Evelyn Ida Morris was played live throughout the work. The music was transformative to the performance, enhancing its transportive nature.
This work was raw and engaging. I particularly enjoyed the one artificial light that shone in warm orange onto the work, contrasting the natural light of the big wide open space. A particularly impactful section of the performance was Parsons-Lord removing the “skin” from the old metal poles that exist in the space, alongside the resonant soundtrack that sang in harmony with the action. As its title suggests, It’s Already Happened, We’re Just in the Past shifts shapes, times, and metaphysical spaces. The work was successful in stretching and disengaging reality. On the final day of Liveworks I walked past the performance site to see that the wall paint was peeling, piles of sand had formed from the rock, and surfaces were disintegrating. This is a strength of the work’s location, its constant existence despite destructive change speaking to the myriad of crises (climate, housing, cost of living, colonialism, global injustice) we are living through.
Anastasia, Juliette, and Tayte are part of the Performance Space Youth Ambassador Program.
