midnight motorway noises
22 March 2006
but not everyone's cup of tea
Last weekend we went down to Ulverston in Cumbria to see the Longline Carnival Opera, the last ever show by Welfare State International. I billed it to myself as dissertation research and to the others as a chance to get out of the city and see a piece of theatrical history, a big show, a spectacular. As it happens, it was.
It was a celebration of stories found and told around Morcambe Bay, a product of three years collecting characters, making fables out of tales told, creating shapes and filling them in with the colours of the community. In a big top, in a field on an industrial estate, with drummers outside and ladies with tea, coffee and hot choclate for the interval, Longline was an invitation to the story-steeped spirits of Morcambe Bay to come and sing along with the children, parents, shop keepers, teachers, builders and artists who live there now.
The big top was smaller than I thought it was going to be and it was less exciting - though I have to clarify that I use this word loosly, like a Hollywood action flick is "exciting" or the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics - stylish, but showy - the kind of thing that leaves you thinking, "the money for that giant inflatable rabbit with pyrotechnics in its marshmallow shoes could have been spent in other ways, I'm sure..."
I'm glad they didn't (couldn't) throw money at it, it would have detracted from the sense that it was about sitting in the cold, listening avidly to experienced story tellers do what they do best. And while the big top was little and the spectacular was limited to the firework display at the end, the show was big, enormous. Grown by words, pictures, fish and chips and salty sea air.
The characters weren't complex at all. The voice of the rock kept singing "I am the voice of the rocccckk" and at times the stories were difficult to follow word for word. There wasn't an obvious beginning, middle and end in that order and there were a few times I wondered why the lady kept throwing sand everywhere or what the deal was with the big arrowhead hanging from the ceiling. But the story was supposed to fuel imaginations and, to me, it did that by creating simple but charming characters in a space full of patterns and sounds.
What I liked most about it, though, was that I didn't see them do anything that I couldn't do myself, eventually. Or perhaps, more appropriately, that we couldn't do ourselves... Sorry, if that sounds incredibly arrogant, I really was so impressed by it all; but it wasn't one of those big shows, the spectaculars that you wonder if you could ever have the time/talent/cash to do yourself.
I think that's the best thing about a good piece of community theatre. It should encourage you to find out more about your small place and to talk to at least five people along the way who you never would have otherwise. It should help you to stitch their stories together with yours and then to present that finished product to the same people who opened their doors to you in the first place.
With a bit of luck too, it'll stir up all the sleeping stories of the new people in the audience so they can go and do the same in their small place.
It was a celebration of stories found and told around Morcambe Bay, a product of three years collecting characters, making fables out of tales told, creating shapes and filling them in with the colours of the community. In a big top, in a field on an industrial estate, with drummers outside and ladies with tea, coffee and hot choclate for the interval, Longline was an invitation to the story-steeped spirits of Morcambe Bay to come and sing along with the children, parents, shop keepers, teachers, builders and artists who live there now.
The big top was smaller than I thought it was going to be and it was less exciting - though I have to clarify that I use this word loosly, like a Hollywood action flick is "exciting" or the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics - stylish, but showy - the kind of thing that leaves you thinking, "the money for that giant inflatable rabbit with pyrotechnics in its marshmallow shoes could have been spent in other ways, I'm sure..."
I'm glad they didn't (couldn't) throw money at it, it would have detracted from the sense that it was about sitting in the cold, listening avidly to experienced story tellers do what they do best. And while the big top was little and the spectacular was limited to the firework display at the end, the show was big, enormous. Grown by words, pictures, fish and chips and salty sea air.
The characters weren't complex at all. The voice of the rock kept singing "I am the voice of the rocccckk" and at times the stories were difficult to follow word for word. There wasn't an obvious beginning, middle and end in that order and there were a few times I wondered why the lady kept throwing sand everywhere or what the deal was with the big arrowhead hanging from the ceiling. But the story was supposed to fuel imaginations and, to me, it did that by creating simple but charming characters in a space full of patterns and sounds.
What I liked most about it, though, was that I didn't see them do anything that I couldn't do myself, eventually. Or perhaps, more appropriately, that we couldn't do ourselves... Sorry, if that sounds incredibly arrogant, I really was so impressed by it all; but it wasn't one of those big shows, the spectaculars that you wonder if you could ever have the time/talent/cash to do yourself.
I think that's the best thing about a good piece of community theatre. It should encourage you to find out more about your small place and to talk to at least five people along the way who you never would have otherwise. It should help you to stitch their stories together with yours and then to present that finished product to the same people who opened their doors to you in the first place.
With a bit of luck too, it'll stir up all the sleeping stories of the new people in the audience so they can go and do the same in their small place.
gillyscribbles, at 12:08 am
1 Comments:
We went to cumbria and it was good We went to a circus in a field and that was good too There were puppets and ladies on ropes and lots of lovely stuff and hot chocolate and jack daniels and crisps Gilly was there so was David and Amy and Harry and Suzie and Fergus and we saw a pig and I got muddy
The end
The end
