In the past I have been to festivals with Jethro. At those festivals I have deliberately consumed things that have significantly altered my perception of the world as it appears to be.
Jethro came to my flat this afternoon, to meet the cats perhaps? Certainly to say a very welcome greeting to an old friend. Then I went across town to The Coliseum to see The Little Prince, which Lou has been working with on and off for years.
I’m not writing off that this experience is akin to some of the experiences I have had at those festivals, in those sunny fields and woods. It’s either that or I’m in the middle of watching something quite extraordinarily whimsical, captivating, strange and beautiful.
If it is beautiful so it must be useful. Some years ago a woman at The New York Times was made apoplectic with rage about the fact that the images on this stage don’t match the ones she had in her head. I recognise that – I was pulled screaming and crying from The Neverending Story film by my parents, because they stopped it halfway through the book and anyway Bastion looked wrong. I was ten at the time. She is a professional reviewer with pedigree. I can excuse myself but I think she took a load of cheap shots for personal reasons. It almost sunk the show. This just reinforces the whole thing I maintain – fuck ’em if they’re nice, if you let that go to your head then they’ll fuck you when they’re nasty.
But it is like a fever dream. Like I’ve had some funny mushrooms.
The narrator speaks all the lines, in French, as the dancers jump and float. The soundscape lurches with the logic of dreams, and the whole show is projection mapped. The thing with that is you can’t really light the dancers without washing out the mapping so the show – not to its detriment – is in a sort of half light. Still the dancers are point perfect and if they aren’t I can’t tell. And rather than make the mapping a disadvantage they are playing with the beauty of how it adds its colour to the light and the costume. It’s a soft pallette for a vague tale. This ain’t about showtunes and punchy numbers, this is wistful dance about how we visit other people in their own worlds and about what might be beauty and what is life.
It’s so French as well. They tried to translate it in New York but they’ve learnt better now. I like the distancing it gives me to have to think about meaning when she speaks… There’s a surtitle board but it only serves to remind me I need to go to the optician and update my prescription.
Going back in for part 2…
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Gorgeous show. I’ve been wondering what Lou has been up to, shuttling off to Saudi and Dubai and Sofia. Working hard washing sheep and roses it seems, and helping 14 performers, with a central turn from a vocally wonderful Frenchwoman of an age where this stupid industry often stops letting people work. That woman from the New York Times can go suck a pig, and you should go see this lovely show while it’s in London town. 2500 seats to fill? Owie ow. There’s a Gatsby musical up next. Art looks like Brian’s one but it’s not. Long run. Hard to sell… bold. This Little Prince, they should sustain a short run. The tale is loved and there’s a Cirque de Soleil connection – we all know the French specialise in “Body in Space” shows. This is one of those, and tasteful and kid friendly too.
AlBarclay 