★★☆☆☆
Two Stars

The observation that any production of Bouncers is in danger of performing an artefact is well-rehearsed. In 1987, John Godber was already aware that his play was aging, and stressed the importance that companies approaching the play should “keep it alive for today”. It is not a play about going out in the eighties; it is a play about going out.

Bridging a three decade chasm in clubbing culture in this way is not an easy undertaking, and the performance staged by Poor Players Productions at the Burton Taylor studio this week visibly strained under the thirty year weight.

The play begins promisingly, with the four performers at their most dynamic in the first ten minutes, palpably enthusiastic, diving in and out of characters with a noticeable absence of assistance from costumes or lighting changes. The occasional lampshading is also refreshing; the first mention of “bouncers” is met with a collective shout of “eponymous!”, and the actors are eager to expose the pretence of the playworld, drawing awkward attention to important speeches and their sudden (sometimes confusing) changes in character.

The versatility of the cast, however, was limited, and the play quickly began to sag with the number of increasing exhausted caricatures. Chris Connell and Tommy Jolowicz in particular had difficulty adapting their physicality from one role to the next; and when we met the bouncers themselves, crossed arms and gruff voices did not suffice to distinguish them as authentic characters. Indeed, their scenes were among the weakest; the rapid pace required to maintain their Beckettian smalltalk was consistently lacking, and when a lengthy speech by Lucky Eric, the wise old owl of the foursome, offered an opportunity for pathos, it was delivered in an unpersuasive monotone.

Admittedly, Godber’s text suffers from the same trait as Eric’s speeches; the night in Bouncers is doomed from the start, and as such there is little dramatic tension to bear a company through the long hour of the play. Directors James Watt and Adam Leonard do little to remedy this, though, so that any small revelations (such as the reason for Eric’s nickname) are reduced to inconsequential throwaway remarks. Without a tangible narrative, Bouncers often feels more like a themed sketch show than a story about a sober occupation. The decision to leave the stage so conspicuously bare only adds to this effect, and leaves the actors with a difficult job of holding their audience’s attention unaided, in which they do not always succeed.

The Poor Players’ production is an odd mix of nostalgia — maintaining references to ‘blue videos’ and ‘discotheques’ — and up-to-date commentary (allusions to Thatcher are abandoned, and Primark is substituted for C&A). What results is a play that is occasionally funny, but ultimately unconvincing as a satire of nightlife, whether in the eighties or present-day.

★★★★☆
Four Stars

The welcome to the Parish of Cummerbund-upon-Tweed came not, as one might expect, in the auditorium, but way before then, as soon as you entered the theatre. For there the cast were, handing out programmes ostensibly doubling as church newsletters and giving the audience a warm, albeit slightly disconcerting, welcome.

Indeed, it was this sort of interaction with the audience that went on to characterise the rest of the show: the first scene required the audience to act as the congregation in a church, whilst the second required them to act as a footy team at half time, training exercises and all.

Perhaps most impressive of all, the four actors, or should I say parishioners of Cummerbund-upon-Tweed, managed to sustain this determined obliteration of the fourth wall throughout the performance and did so in increasingly innovative ways. A particular highlight was one poor audience member being chosen to engaged in a Morris-dancing lesson on stage. Not only did he have to imitate some rather dubious moves, but, best of all, his “performance” was immediately replayed to the audience, in a clever twist on modern sporting practices.

Yet, this interactive approach was not just reserved for the comedic peaks of the show but suffused it at every point, whether it be Tom Dowling passing around a clipboard to gather signatures for a petition or Jack Chisnall distributing bourbons at his scarily on point neighbourhood alliance session. Attention to detail goes a long way in comedy and the parishioners, true to reputation, hit it on the head.

As one might expect from such a parochially titled show, the Revue’s other forte in this production was biting, or at least relatively biting, social satire. Little England was thrown up in all its pernickety, small-minded glory in segments ranging from a church service to a traffic warden offloading her woes.

The satire came even before the performers arrived on stage in the form of the programme-cum-church newsletter. A hit-and-miss affair, with a rather unconvincing spoof on home furniture adverts (the advert in question selling “Acorn wall-mounted old ladies”), it did convey devastatingly well the inanity of these publications, and the upcoming events they publicise within.

In the show itself, apologetic parents, bags for life, software updates, societal attitudes towards tramps and the neighbourhood alliance were all targets which various cast members hit with laser-like precision. In that sense it was a bit like Hot Fuzz, but funnier, on the stage and without the creepiness.

As with all comedy, especially that produced by students, there were bits that fell flat. Some of the monologues, such as the one about being a male dinner lady (i.e. a dinner man), whilst admittedly having a relatively amusing premise, significantly overstayed their welcome on the stage. There was the now clichéd segment of two of the actors seeming to be having sex but actually doing something much more inane, such as changing a light bulb.

One of the great mistakes that any comedian can make is being seen to enjoy their own jokes and there were, at times, moments when the actors could not repress a smirk at their own wit. Moreover, none of the comedy was painfully funny but rather gently amusing. All that aside, I came away very impressed. This was on the whole an innovative, satirical performance, which was compellingly professional given that it was put on by a group of students.

★★★☆☆

Three Stars

“I see myself as a student… Why wouldn’t I reach out to other producers, or learn the way that others craft their sounds?” Adam Bainbridge (AKA Kindness)’s words speak volumes of his sophomore album; Otherness is a work of varied performers as well as influences. Unfortunately, the quality of the tracks is equally varied.

Stylistically, the album’s cover art is a strong indication of the reminiscent, semi-ironic pop music that it accompanies. In fact, the overall sound of Otherness is not far from that of 2013’s Cupid Deluxe by Blood Orange (Devonté Hynes). No surprise, then, that the two singer-songwriter- producers have worked closely over the last few years.

‘World Restart’, the record’s opening song, is in many ways the highlight. The refrain of the chorus and the driving bassline provide something instant to hold on to, while wonky horn parts, thick harmony, and highly interesting production assure that the track is no disposable lead-single. ‘I’ll Be Back’ further contributes to the great promise shown by the first half of Otherness. A cheesy yet stunning piano part joins Bainbridge’s catchy vocal melodies over a driving house beat to create a blend that appeals as much to the heart as it does to the feet. Robyn’s vocals on ‘Who Do You Love?’ are a refreshing change and the inclusion of further guest vocalists — including Kelela, Manifest and Dev Hynes (surprise) — assure that the listener is not totally pissed off by Bainbridge’s nasal tone and tiresome melisma by the end of the album.

Six tracks in, Otherness sounds like an album that should rectify the disappointment that was Kindness’ debut World, You Need A Change Of Mind. The artist’s ability to write a strong pop song, sample other records smoothly (note the drum track of ‘This Is Not About Us’ that sounds suspiciously like that of Massive Attack’s ‘Unfinished Sympathy’) and produce records in a polished manner shine through.

What a shame that what follows in the final four tracks is so underwhelming.

‘Geneva’: a slow, unchanging song that can be credited solely with containing quite a nice synth sound, begins what can only be described as a self-indulgent end period in the album. Suddenly the lyrics appear to demonstrate a failed search for profundity on Bainbridge’s part; as the singer whines “I’ve been searching,” it is hard not to think that something was never found. In all fairness, ‘Why Don’t You Love Me’ does contain a section of around fifty seconds that might constitute the makings of a good song, but even here the listener is presented with nothing new. ‘It’ll Be OK’ is also dull, but thankfully includes a fairly enjoyable saxophone solo to finish the record.

That Otherness falls short of an excellent album should not completely turn off potential listeners. The first six tracks amount to an impressive work, and they do make the record an improvement on World, You Need A Change of Mind. Yet, the album as a whole fails to live up to its potential, or to reach the standard set by Blood Orange’s Cupid Deluxe.

The characters in Joanna Hogg’s films remind me an uncomfortable amount of my parents’ friends, especially those who are getting divorced. Known for the ultra-natural performances given by her actors, often non-professional, and for her acute observation of the minutiae and subtleties of middle-class life, Hogg has a reputation as one of the finest independent directors around. Yesterday, the she spoke at Oriel in a question-and-answer session hosted by OBA. I turned up at the Harris Lecture Theatre wondering what light would be shed on her methods, inspiration, ambitions and mindset. Here’s what I observed.

Hogg begins on the subject of the naturalistic acting that characterises her films. Some of her dialogue is written, with the extent changing from scene to scene. The nuances come through naturally, she says. Whilst the idea of a writer writing the dialogue and the actors expressing it sounds completely natural and perhaps obvious, there’s undeniably something about the unnervingly realistic performances offered in her films that sets them apart from the norm. She puts the haphazard nature of sticking to a script (or not) down to the fact that she uses a lot of non-professional actors in her films. Working with them, she says, can make it hard to follow a script in the traditional sense. Either way, “certain lines filter through”. The most important points of a scene remain with or without a script.

The very process of casting these non-actors is both painstaking and also instinctive. Hogg believes, though, that it’s necessary to “de-performance” professional actors, and that in some cases non-actors give something extra, or perhaps avoid something unwanted – the recognisable qualities of a famous face on-screen. That, she says, was a motivation in casting two unknowns in Exhibition, her most recent film.

She speaks with the same accent as her characters, and one wonders quite how much they might be based on people she knows, especially when she has cast friends in the past, such as Viv Albertine in Archipelago, a decision she says “changed things” between them somewhat, without elaborating.

Despite a penchant for non-professionals, she has collaborated frequently with Tom Hiddleston. When asked what this consistency brings, her response is immediate. “He’s the exception to the rule. I haven’t run out of characters for him to play.” She refers to his other, more mainstream roles as “industrial” but expresses admiration for his ability to combine with non-actors, saying that rather than performing his role, he reacts to others.

Hogg began as a photographer. How might this affect her working dynamic with a director of photography? She laughs, and reveals that despite offering the DP with whom she worked on 2008’s Unrelated the same position on her follow-up feature, Archipelago, he turned her down. The camera is incredibly still in much of Hogg’s work, lingering and observing in silence (none of her films contain any non-diegetic music); the DP was often at a loose end, wanting against the director’s will to move things round. “He had nothing to do,” explains Hogg.

Why employ such a consciously still camera, then? It is suggested that it makes the film less judgmental of its subject. Hogg offers a more practical explanation: the Sony Z1 she used to shoot Unrelated was of too poor quality to move around for scenes. “It’s just very ugly!” she jokes.

Low-budget production has become a hallmark of Hogg’s work. She explains that it allows for experimentation, as does a small crew. A crew of 30-plus on a major feature makes it difficult for a director to change her mind. When one can reshoot, change the dialogue or re-frame a shot at will, “it becomes this more-alive thing”. When asked whether she prefers to allow the action of her films to take place in the mind of the viewers, Hogg’s response is “I’m not unique in that way”, though she agrees it’s probably true. Mainstream cinema, she notes, is predictable in terms of its narrative. “As a viewer, I like it when I’m given space to use my imagination.” After working on TV dramas for years (an experience she refers to again as “industrial” in the most negative sense of the word), she is wary of how it patronises the audience. Large amounts of money and funding, like crew size, worry her because of the potential lack of creative freedom they can entail.

During the Q&A there are numerous clips shown from Hogg’s films. Every one is received with a mixture of quiet laughter and uncomfortable shifting. It raises the question of what genre she might fall into, and perhaps points to something wider: that naturalism is harder to categorize than stylisation. When asked about the possibility that her films come under a poetic realist umbrella, Hogg is keen not to be pinned down. Her shots, especially the apparently “poetic” ones, are not necessarily conceived that way in advance. She elaborates: “One’s striving for some type of poetry, but I don’t know what that means. A lot of the process is getting rid of things.” If there are poetic shots, she puts that down to interpretation by the viewer. Likewise, when her films are compared to Chekov in structure, she is careful not to commit to agreeing.

Hogg is articulate and thoughtful. She has just re-read Anna Karenina and names her influences variously as Derek Jarman, Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Kraftwerk. She is in the middle of running a two-year retrospective of Belgian filmmaker Chantal Akerman. She clearly doesn’t want to be shackled to any single label or slave to other people’s visions, whether on account of their money or their involvement in the production process. She is perhaps non-committal in her answers, if only on account of valuing subtlety over cinematic buzzwords. A director who doesn’t like actors to perform, doesn’t want to promote her films, who prefers the editing process to shooting, who doesn’t want a larger team or more money — Joanna Hogg is unlike any other you’ll find working in the British film industry at the moment.