FringeReview UK 2024

Cutting the Tightrope: The Divorce of Politics from Art

Arcola Theatre

Genre: Adaptation, Breakin’, Contemporary, Debate, Devised, Drama, Experimental, Feminist Theatre, Historical, International, LGBT Theatre, Mainstream Theatre, New Writing, Political, Short Plays, Theatre, Tragedy, Translation

Venue: Arcola Theatre, Studio 1, Dalston

Festival: FringeReview UK

Low Down

Review

This should never be encouraged. This should be banned. The respective opinions of the Arts Council and the government, who met with the Arts Council and expressly told them that plays on Israel-Palestine should not be funded. Cutting the Tightrope: The Divorce of Politics from Art returns to the Arcola’s Studio 1 after a sell-out earlier this year, now with two additional plays. It plays till December 7^th co-directed by Cressida Brown and Kirsty Housley.

Indeed we learn ACE responded to this production’s application for a grant with the formulaic explanation that work of a riskier nature was chosen. Love to know where that is, as one actor said. After all ACE also officially refer to “reputational risk” if politics isn’t divorced from art. The Arcola – ever the champion or Turkish, Near East and Middle East drama – courageously refuses the route taken by those theatres: those that pull productions if “Free Palestine” is mentioned. Now winners of the Turner Prize and music awards all over have gone viral with far more confrontational language, one wonders if one or two theatres will recover from such cowardice; at least under current management. Reputational risk comes to mind.

It’s by no means all about Israel/Palestine either, and a trick or two is played even with those who consider themselves engaged and committed.

Cutting the Tightrope was originally written in a month, and with crowdfunding rehearsed in a fortnight. It includes plays by Hassan Abdulrazzak, Mojiola Adebayo, Phil Arditti, Sonali Bhattacharyaa, Nina Bowers, Roxy Cook, Ed Edwards, Afsaneth Gray, Dawn King, Ahmed Masoud, Sami Abu Wardeh, Waleed Elgadi, Joel Samuel and an ensemble devised piece inspired by Nina Segal.

Eight actors – two of whom contributed plays – muti-role and sometimes perform monologues: Issam Al Ghoussain, Jessica Murrain, Joel Samuels, Mark Oosterveen, Ruth Lass, Salman Akhtar, Sara Masry, Waleed Elgadi.

It might be possible to identify who wrote what but as it’s not invited I won’t try that here. The first hard-hitting work concerns a familiar outrage: the girl left to die and her rescuers murdered. Except the playwright Masry who confronts director Lass initially fascinates her: Masry is the young girl. She’s dead though submitting a script. It’s certainly a new category, submissions from the dead. Naturally it’s far too political. “Send me the play: we might have a one-day reading in the basement.”

A second ingeniously interrogates the intersection between being both Turkish and Jewish: a young man berated by both mother and British immigration official (Lass, Al Ghussain, Elgadi). A third elaborates on how Murrain, a locked-up playwright, might win a pardon from Oosterveen’s President, involving audience participation and ghosting. The next involves Masry with her boyfriend and his family where even climate change is a bit risqué. Self-censorship and middle-class BBC-style denial is one thing, but the express thoughts from the father that “they might be listening” asks how much UK society secretly acknowledges it’s terrified of government censorship, arrest, confiscation. Ask a number of principled British journalists that question.

There’s a glorious interrupted narrative repeated throughout as Al Ghussain runs on in body-stocking and watermelon, giving a whole new life to “I carried a watermelon” and is chased by Samuels’ director, who cos-plays all the nervous theatre types including playwrights, terrified of a taste of freedom. And talking of taste, guess what happens.

46 Women Ask a Question involves a surprise ensemble where refencing the 46 times Diane Abbott stood up to ask a question of her own abuse, she was silenced. Elgadi as  a flower-seller starts with a gentle narrative, but shedding flower petals tells you how heartbreaking this will get: if one can uncouple that from rage. It’s one of the most specifically detailed works here and should be revived.

The identity of the writer of the next piece delivered by Murrain can be readily inferred. A blistering monologue from someone who started activism during the Miners’ Strike in 1985, reignites the terrain both before and after. Murrain references every revolutionary trope and leader, though one or two names don’t chime with freedom. There’s plenty of wit: Northern Ireland is “that speck of the Global South in the Global North.”

But the witness, students kettled and beaten up then charged with assault, one man raped by police so that he left the UK, and much more includes the latest violations of the Lebanon ceasefire  – and the reasons why ceasefire was pursued. It’s delivered in Murrain’s scorch and skirl. The work even references Murrain as clearly too young to have taken part in much of this.

Oosterveen and Akhtar who emerges as a floating head through a very British writing desk engage with posthumous rehabilitation of an Indian newspaperman the British executed in 1857. Oosterveen’s character is still justifying the ways of the Raj to outrage. It doesn’t end well.

Samuels enacts a conversation with his voiced self, a liberal compromised by the “but you do condemn” variety, guyed and nuanced with deadly, dare one say drone-like accuracy. The playwright this addresses shaves nearer the bone than usual. The pay-off referencing history ”Are you asking me to condemn all armed resistance?” hangs in the air.

Another short piece theming online dating with three conversations is calibrated with sympathetic characters.  This time Masry’s admissions she’s had a bad day and why are met with empathy, and the sucker-punch isn’t a faultline in Al Ghussain, potential UK boyfriend.

Segal inspired the ranging ensemble discussion, revisiting a space we might have thought vanished with the Theatre in Education (TIE) and 1960s-80s theatre it references. It’s both a culmination of themes and a release, with a palpable air of trust. Section 44 of the Terrorist Act ought be looked up, not locked up and forgotten. There was a 30-minute post-show discussion.

The plight of British theatre itself, beyond what’s immediately discussed, is the thick lens through which all this work is refracted. It’s as if a glaucoma has passed across the sight of what theatre is, what it can achieve. There’s no overestimation of that either: some express the fears of an echo-chamber. You do what you can.

This is an essential, raging and ranging collection of works flashing with humour and teeth, flecked with harrowing stories and above all love for a humanity the establishment wishes us to other and consign to “tragedy”. Rather like a soon-to-be-extinct species of primate we should lobby some Global South government about, muttering “habitat”. A must-see.

This should never be encouraged. This should be banned. The respective opinions of the Arts Council and the government, who met with the Arts Council and expressly told them that plays on Israel-Palestine should not be funded. Cutting the Tightrope: The Divorce of Politics from Art returns to the Arcola’s Studio 1 after a sell-out earlier this year, now with two additional plays. It plays till December 7^th co-directed by Cressida Brown and Kirsty Housley.

Indeed we learn ACE responded to this production’s application for a grant with the formulaic explanation that work of a riskier nature was chosen. Love to know where that is, as one actor said. After all ACE also officially refer to “reputational risk” if politics isn’t divorced from art. The Arcola – ever the champion or Turkish, Near East and Middle East drama – courageously refuses the route taken by those theatres: those that pull productions if “Free Palestine” is mentioned. Now winners of the Turner Prize and music awards all over have gone viral with far more confrontational language, one wonders if one or two theatres will recover from such cowardice; at least under current management. Reputational risk comes to mind.

It’s by no means all about Israel/Palestine either, and a trick or two is played even with those who consider themselves engaged and commited.

Cutting the Tightrope was originally written in a month, and with crowdfunding rehearsed in a fortnight. It includes plays by Hassan Abdulrazzak, Mojiola Adebayo, Phil Arditti, Sonali Bhattacharyaa, Nina Bowers, Roxy Cook, Ed Edwards, Afsaneth Gray, Dawn King, Ahmed Masoud, Sami Abu Wardeh, Waleed Elgadi, Joel Samuel and an ensemble devised piece inspired by Nina Segal.

Eight actors – two of whom contributed plays – muti-role and sometimes perform monologues: Issam Al Ghoussain, Jessica Murrain, Joel Samuels, Mark Oosterveen, Ruth Lass, Salman Akhtar, Sara Masry, Waleed Elgadi.

It might be possible to identify who wrote what but as it’s not invited I won’t try that here. The first hard-hitting work concerns a familiar outrage: the girl left to die and her rescuers murdered. Except the playwright Masry who confronts director Lass initially fascinates her: Masry is the young girl. She’s dead though submitting a script. It’s certainly a new category, submissions from the dead. Naturally it’s far too political. “Send me the play: we might have a one-day reading in the basement”.

A second ingeniously interrogates the intersection between being both Turkish and Jewish: a young man berated by both mother and British immigration official (Lass, Al Ghussain, Elgadi). A third elaborates on how Murrain, a locked-up playwright, might win a pardon from Oosterveen’s President, involving audience participation and ghosting. The next involves Masry with her boyfriend and his family where even climate change is a but risqué. Self-censorship and middle-class BBC-style denial is one thing, but the express thoughts from the father that ‘they” might be listening asks how much society secretly acknowledges it’s terrified of government censorship, arrest, confiscation. Ask a number of principled British journalists that question.

There’s a glorious interrupted narrative repeated throughout as Al Ghussain runs on in body-stocking and watermelon, giving a whole new life to “I carried a watermelon” and is chased by Samuels’ director, who cos-plays all the nervous theatre types including playwrights, terrified of a taste of freedom. And talking of taste, guess what happens.

46 Women Ask a Question involves a surprise ensemble where refencing the 46 times Diane Abbott stood up to ask a question of her own abuse, she was silenced. Elgadi as  a flower-seller starts with a gentle narrative, but shedding flower petals tells you how heartbreaking this will get: if one can uncouple that from rage. It’s one of the most specific detailed works here and should be revived.

The identity of the writer of the next piece delivered by Murrain can be readily inferred. A blistering monologue from someone who started activism during the Miners’ strike in 1985, both reignites the terrain before and after, referencing every revolutionary trope and leader, though one or two names don’t chime with revolutionary freedom. There’s plenty of wit: Northern Ireland is “that speck of the Global South in the Global North.”

But the witness, students kettled and beaten up then charged with assault, one man raped by police so that he left the UK, and much more including the latest violations of the Lebanon ceasefire (and the reasons why ceasefire was pursued) is delivered in Murrain’s ranging scorch. The work even references Murrain as clearly too young to have taken part in much of this.

Oosterveen and Akhtar who emerges as a floating head through a very British writing desk engage with posthumous rehabilitation of an Indian newspaperman the British executed. Oosterveen’s character is still justifying the ways of the Raj to outrage. It doesn’t end well. For him.

Samuels enacts a conversation with his voiced self, a liberal compromised by the “but you do condemn” variety, guyed and nuanced with deadly, dare one say drone-like accuracy. The playwright this addresses shaves nearer the bone than usual. The pay-off refencing history ”Are you asking me to condemn all armed resistance?” hangs in te air.

Another short piece online dating with three conversations is warmly calibrated  this time Masry’s admissions she’s had a bad day and why are met with sympathy, and the sucker-punch isn’t a faultline in Al Ghussain’s potential UK boyfriend.

Segal inspired the ranging ensemble discussion, reisitng a space we might have thought vanished with the Theatre in Education (TIE) and 1960s-80s theatre it references. It’s both a culmination of themes and a release, as a palpable air of trust and warmth floods out as well as intensity. Section 44 of the Terrorist Act ought be looked up, not locked up and forgotten. There was a 30-minute post-show discussion.

The plight of British theatre itself, beyond what’s immediately discussed, is the thick lens through which all this work is refracted. It’s as if a glaucoma has passed across the sight of what theatre is, what it can achieve. There’s no overestimation of that either: some express the fears of an echo-chamber.  You do what you can.

This is an essential, raging and ranging collection of works flashing with humour and teeth, flecked with harrowing stories and above all love for a humanity the establishment wishes us to other and consign to “tragedy”. Rather like a soon-to-be-extinct species of primate we should lobby some Global South government about, muttering “habitat”. A must-see.

Directed by Cressida Brown and Kirsty Housley, Associate Director Zainab Hasan, Producer Matthew Schmoll, Designer, Lighting Designer Sound Designer The Company and Arcola Theatre

Associate Director Zainab Hasan, Producer Matthew Schmoll, Designer, Lighting Designer Sound Designer The Company and Arcola Theatre

Published December 6, 2024December 6, 2024 by Simon Jenner