By Jennifer Beasley
What happens when one genetically crosses Mr. Bean with Rik Mayall (The Young Ones, Bottom)?
No, not that. Well, maybe. Em Barrett performs as a fly in this one-woman 60-minute show held at The Butterfly Club (the choice of the club in terms of insectile themes is rather app I thought). Told in the style of the Buffoon Clown, whose origins began in France, and whose purpose is the art of mockery, Em Barrett’s fly creeps onto the stage in all her grotesque blow-fly glory. Wearing a bloated black zippered suit, Barrett (writer, performer and music curator) pushes the boundaries of humanity’s endless tasks and self-absorption through the multi-faceted eyes of her fly character.
Drawing on theatrical qualities of Grotesque Theatre, our zippy insect vomits her insights about Bob, a work-driven sexist male struggling to find fulfilment in our concrete paving world. Interactions with the audience punctuates the show. At one stage, as our constipated fly heaves out mock faeces (sock-puppet stuffed pantyhose, thankfully not the real thing), I was reminded of my nursing days assisting the surgeon removing a tape worm and berated myself that I only had a beer to sip during the performance as an anaesthetic and not 100% gin. But brave me accepted the thrown ‘faeces’ and gave it a quick cuddle before throwing it back to the performer (after that bonding experience, I named it Ceril). This was repeated twice more, much to the joy of some, and concern of others. Herein lies the truth of Grotesque Theatre. Barrett’s performance forces the audience to question the contradictions of life.
In a short video screened about half-way through, we are subjected to this contradiction- flies buzzing on faeces/people eating and enjoying themselves whilst operatic, The Flower Duet, plays (sound composition done very well by James Barrett and tech by Cleo Evans). What we consider ludicrous, and horrifying, is a social construct. As the Fly says, ‘it’s all shite’.
As a mime artist Barrett is brilliant. Her clown-like white make-up with darkened eyes orbed by orange rings outdoes The Joker. Her standout scene when she showers is strangely moving, as the spotlight streams over her form (Tom Smith did well for lighting design). Also, Barrett’s jerky, awkward movements, as she buzzes and dances across the stage has a joyful playfulness and, as my companion pointed out, her seemingly aimless movements perfectly mirrors Bob’s search for meaning.
Where the performance falters are the regurgitation of sight jokes. There were perhaps too many ‘bowel’ movements, and I felt that another element could have been applied. Fake vomiting and masturbation were par for the course for this fly, and rather funny, yet it ran out of steam at around forty minutes. A missed opportunity with another character playing a bird, could have added another dimension to this performance. I would have loved to have seen some entanglement with a web, or other such obstacle, as a further exploration of the themes that this show offers.
This show is all about taste and what we, the audience, are willing to accept. At one point our fly holds up a sign, ‘Are You Alright?’ A very considerate fly I thought. Yes, I was alright. I had finished my beer.
For a bit of a laugh and to challenge your perceptions, I would encourage readers to see this performance. Em Barrett shows considerable talent and with some tightening up of her act, has strong potential. Rik Mayall, were he still alive today, would have loved it.
Pure Grime plays at The Butterfly Club until the 19th of October.
