as bad as it gets
We got spanked. Again.
And we then got this from Hairline:
La Femme Est Morte or Why I Should Not F**k My Son
In direct contrast to the other production at this year's Fringe which recounts the tragic Greek myth of Phaedra in the much more conventional tradition of Racine, Shalimar's version of events brings the story kicking and screaming like a Jerry Springer guest right into the modern age. Their production takes in gaudy Heat magazine style celebrity glamour, the phenomenon of mobile communications and the scourge of sensationalist paparazzi journalism, as well as the brute force of American foreign politics, as it recounts the tale of the love triangle between Queen Phaedra, her husband Theseus and his son from a former marriage, Hippolytus.
The audience is impressed by the lively contemporary musical score, containing a number of up to date chart toppers by various over produced manufactured pop artists, performed live by a perfectly vacuous trio including the musical director Joey Williamson as the lead singer. The trio also double up as the vulture like media manipulators, feasting on the rotting carcass of society’s morals with a maniacal pleasure. Excellent characterisation in all honesty. In addition to this, Phaedra is presented as a regular Jenny from the Block bling queen, bored and lonely wife of a military man gone to war, Neevee is her PR and stylist, Theseus is the all American buzz cut GI Joe, and Hippolytus is here seen as a confused, hormone ridden adolescent frat boy who pours out his heart to his buddy X over boxing spars. The performances are excellent.
A rollercoaster of a play, the acting is great, and give a real depth to the production, using a mixture of traditional and modern dialogue to satirise today’s shiny consumerised, celebrity obsessed society, as well as highlighting the gung-ho approach to world affairs that modern America has made its name with. “America hates losers…We are He-men”.
4/5
Robert May
Truthfully, the reviews don't hurt anymore. I deeply believe in this show and the work we have done on it, so it has become masochistically intriguing, reading what people think of us. Jen always said this play is love it or hate it and I always thought that was bullshit. We encountered very little hate in New York. Pretty much everyone who saw it at Fringe and at 59e59 understood the satire, were thrilled by the spectacle, and were very willing to ride with us. The reviews here are not mixed, they are split down the fucking middle. Not a single three star review, they are all either 4 stars (spectacularly magical genius satire!) or 2 stars (let's assassinate The Shalimar from behind while they're walking away, those fucking motherfuckers).
The split is thrilling. I mean who wants to make middle of the road work? Is it not better to enrage than induce apathy? However, the thing with apathy, is it's expected. In this enormous arts festival if Joe Shmoe reads a 3 star review that is middling at best, he may still attend that show to see the fair writing, decent acting, and adequate costumes. But if Mr. Shmoe reads a review that calls out a piece as "a dud of epic proportions" and "a truly awful, misguided and forgettable hour of theatre", well it is just harder to justify seeing that piece of shit.
Whereas I find it entertaining to read the reviews by people who absolutely refused to go with us to the exciting world this play lives in, reviews by little rich girls from Conneticut who were longing to see a piece of reverential Greek Tragedy, and reviews by fucking FOOD CRITICS who admitted the not knowing that much about theater (!!!), I also fear the power of the print. I know our work is good. The 30 or so people who populate our audience on a daily basis are nothing but complimentary. We were nominated for a prestigious award. We have more 4 star reviews than I can even remember off the top of my head. And yet, people read these slams and decide we are not worth an hour of their festival weekend.
And who can blame them? When was the last time I read a positively shitty review and went to see the show anyway, figuring the reviewer was just misguided? It doesn't happen. And yet, I wouldn't change this. I wouldn't erase our 2 star reviews from memory. I wouldn't go back and remove the meat. I wouldn't change a damb thing about this show to make it easier to understand or stomach. This is by far the best work most of us have done and I stand by pushing some boundaries and making a mess.
And fuck it. Today the Financial Times ran a huge picture of us and called us "the most exciting young American company I have seen up here so far this century."
Eat that with your ground beef. Give a 2 star show a fucking chance. Maybe it's genius. Maybe it's a piece of shit. But I guarantee you won't be able to take your eyes off it.
And we then got this from Hairline:
La Femme Est Morte or Why I Should Not F**k My Son
In direct contrast to the other production at this year's Fringe which recounts the tragic Greek myth of Phaedra in the much more conventional tradition of Racine, Shalimar's version of events brings the story kicking and screaming like a Jerry Springer guest right into the modern age. Their production takes in gaudy Heat magazine style celebrity glamour, the phenomenon of mobile communications and the scourge of sensationalist paparazzi journalism, as well as the brute force of American foreign politics, as it recounts the tale of the love triangle between Queen Phaedra, her husband Theseus and his son from a former marriage, Hippolytus.
The audience is impressed by the lively contemporary musical score, containing a number of up to date chart toppers by various over produced manufactured pop artists, performed live by a perfectly vacuous trio including the musical director Joey Williamson as the lead singer. The trio also double up as the vulture like media manipulators, feasting on the rotting carcass of society’s morals with a maniacal pleasure. Excellent characterisation in all honesty. In addition to this, Phaedra is presented as a regular Jenny from the Block bling queen, bored and lonely wife of a military man gone to war, Neevee is her PR and stylist, Theseus is the all American buzz cut GI Joe, and Hippolytus is here seen as a confused, hormone ridden adolescent frat boy who pours out his heart to his buddy X over boxing spars. The performances are excellent.
A rollercoaster of a play, the acting is great, and give a real depth to the production, using a mixture of traditional and modern dialogue to satirise today’s shiny consumerised, celebrity obsessed society, as well as highlighting the gung-ho approach to world affairs that modern America has made its name with. “America hates losers…We are He-men”.
4/5
Robert May
Truthfully, the reviews don't hurt anymore. I deeply believe in this show and the work we have done on it, so it has become masochistically intriguing, reading what people think of us. Jen always said this play is love it or hate it and I always thought that was bullshit. We encountered very little hate in New York. Pretty much everyone who saw it at Fringe and at 59e59 understood the satire, were thrilled by the spectacle, and were very willing to ride with us. The reviews here are not mixed, they are split down the fucking middle. Not a single three star review, they are all either 4 stars (spectacularly magical genius satire!) or 2 stars (let's assassinate The Shalimar from behind while they're walking away, those fucking motherfuckers).
The split is thrilling. I mean who wants to make middle of the road work? Is it not better to enrage than induce apathy? However, the thing with apathy, is it's expected. In this enormous arts festival if Joe Shmoe reads a 3 star review that is middling at best, he may still attend that show to see the fair writing, decent acting, and adequate costumes. But if Mr. Shmoe reads a review that calls out a piece as "a dud of epic proportions" and "a truly awful, misguided and forgettable hour of theatre", well it is just harder to justify seeing that piece of shit.
Whereas I find it entertaining to read the reviews by people who absolutely refused to go with us to the exciting world this play lives in, reviews by little rich girls from Conneticut who were longing to see a piece of reverential Greek Tragedy, and reviews by fucking FOOD CRITICS who admitted the not knowing that much about theater (!!!), I also fear the power of the print. I know our work is good. The 30 or so people who populate our audience on a daily basis are nothing but complimentary. We were nominated for a prestigious award. We have more 4 star reviews than I can even remember off the top of my head. And yet, people read these slams and decide we are not worth an hour of their festival weekend.
And who can blame them? When was the last time I read a positively shitty review and went to see the show anyway, figuring the reviewer was just misguided? It doesn't happen. And yet, I wouldn't change this. I wouldn't erase our 2 star reviews from memory. I wouldn't go back and remove the meat. I wouldn't change a damb thing about this show to make it easier to understand or stomach. This is by far the best work most of us have done and I stand by pushing some boundaries and making a mess.
And fuck it. Today the Financial Times ran a huge picture of us and called us "the most exciting young American company I have seen up here so far this century."
Eat that with your ground beef. Give a 2 star show a fucking chance. Maybe it's genius. Maybe it's a piece of shit. But I guarantee you won't be able to take your eyes off it.
Labels: artsy angst, Edinburgh, press, reviews
posted by SWC at 4:00 AM
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