The Pitchfork Disney

Vincent Patrick, Adam Redmond, and Lacy Moore in The Pitchfork Disney. Image uncredited

****

Art manifestos. Or Mission Statements as they're currently called, in keeping with a business-like approach to theatre. Declarations of intent outlining a company's artistic vision. Like Judder Theatre Company and their vision for Techno Theatre. Described as combining elements of DIY with electronic music culture, atmospheric sets, no-holds-barred source material and visceral  stage performances…representing a turn away from elitism and the dissolution of distinction between spectator and stage. Tall statements. Little of which is in evidence in their current, conventionally staged production of Philip Ridley's seminal The Pitchfork Disney. What is in evidence is a determined, independent company operating without financial support trying to fashion an identity and create interestingly refreshing work. Their inflated manifesto somewhat at odds with what's presented, with what they present proving far more impressive.

Part of the problem stems from Ridley's play from 1991, a foundational work of the In Yer Face Theatre movement. An extension of the Shockabilly, Damien Hirst, British arts scene of the period, claiming to offer a no-holds-barred approach to art. A style which hasn't aged well, proving far less shocking than it promoted itself to be. Minimally visceral, mostly voyeuristic, its all bark and nipping bites saw many desensitised audiences wondering whose Victorian grandmother this was intended to upset? An audience who'd grown up on plays like Edward Bond's Saved with its pram-stoning scene in 1965 found little that didn't feel gimmicky. Despite some enduring classics, In Yer Face’s popularity quickly waned.

Vincent Patrick in The Pitchfork Disney. Image uncredited

The Pitchfork Disney is further hampered by trading in caricatures rather than characters, always harder to care for. Caricatures like brother and sister twins, Presley and Haley. Childlike orphans living on a diet of chocolate and sleeping pills, whiling away their days in dubious conversation. Twenty-eight going on eleven, they isolate themselves in a Beckett-like room from which Presley looks out from the top of a ladder onto a sexual and physically threatening world. Fear and self-soothing their primary motives. The arrival of the duplicitous Cosmo Disney, later followed by the Bane-like Pitchfork Cavalier, upsetting their already unstable chocolate cart. As Cosmo tricks Presley into leaving him alone with the heavily sedated Haley, matters finally come to a head with minutes to go. A mad dash for an underwritten ending sees action cease like a flicked-off light switch.

In between, memory lapses, devouring chocolate, insect eating, vomiting, a two-finger rape simulation and lots of damp, verbal pyrotechnics put in the time. Looping passages of dialogue covering homophobia, sedation, not being touched, dead parents, friendship, various snakes and being attracted to violence and ugliness as its own kind of beauty. Reminding you Ridley is, first and foremost, a visual artist. His stage images, along with his use of language, evoking abstractions open to a myriad of interpretations. Begging the question: how do you present something so malleable? Which brings us back to the aforementioned manifesto.

Vincent Patrick, Adam Redmond in The Pitchfork Disney. Image uncredited

Visually, the result is a mixed bag. If costumes and performances highlight childlike, cartoon exaggeration, a sense of otherworldly Wonderland isn't consistent. Darcie Faccio's proscenium-styled set might be richly detailed but it makes for a striking contrast. The atmosphere more kitchen sink realism than liminal, immersive otherworld (hinted at by small tokens of chocolate), reinforcing conventional spectator dynamics. And an unconvincingly tidy room it is too for such childlike slobs. Who live up to Judder's claims of strong performances, more physical than visceral. Lacy Moore as pyjama-ed Haley being wildly impressive, evoking Harley Quinn's impetuous dumber sister. Vincent Patrick's Presley, like Dumb and Dumber's even dumber brother, a masterclass in controlled idiocy. Against which Adam Redmond's Rutger Hauer, ‘Allo 'Allo, Nazi-styled Cosmo is both a homophobic delight and a theatrical frustration. Redmond's Cosmo, a Quadrophenia cool, blond-haired devil absent an ounce of charm or grace, leans too much into one-dimensional villainy. The manipulative Disney might be wonderfully evil, like a cartoon Skeletor, yet greater nuance, subtlety and vulnerability could have made Cosmo truly terrifying. As for Gavan O'Connor Duffy's towering Pitchfork Cavalier, his unique take on singing has to be heard to be believed.

Under Shaun Elebert's excellently paced direction, the cartoon ethos pays huge dividends if also diluting something of the play’s power. Elebert making strong compositional choices, some begging a little indulgence. Like monologues, mostly delivered as direct address to the audience, playing the soliloquy rather than the scene. Which can restrict others onstage, notably Redmond's Cosmo. Seated, shifting his laser-piercing stare from Haley lounging lifelessly on the couch to Presley's tiresome tirade, Cosmo is compositionally hamstrung when he could have brought so much more. Luckily Redmond's effortless cool and Patrick's impeccable delivery compensate, but there was greater impact to be had here.

Lacy Moore in The Pitchfork Disney. Image uncredited

In the end, The Pitchfork Disney proves less techno so much as ambient house or psychedelic trance. Judder Theatre's theatrical walk far richer, and smarter, than the talk it talks. If some areas, like Einne O'Connachtáin's warming lights, need better execution, others, like its terrific performances, and Carrie Kinahan's exceptional costumes prove utterly superb. The gifted Kinahan announcing herself as a seriously talented costume designer.

Presented at The Teacher Club, there's a sense of the English Theatre Club of the 1940s and 50s where shows banned by the Lord Chamberlain were privately staged as a way of getting around the censor. Whilst unsure of the politics and protocols of the Teacher's Club, its theatre is a superb venue where other independent companies might well hone their talent. Creating work like The Pitchfork Disney which, warts and all, would have done exceptionally well at Edinburgh Fringe. Judder Theatre Company, who've been around awhile, revealing they're here for the long haul and capable of tackling significant challenges. The Pitchfork Disney a strikingly impressively production of a complex and controversial work.

The Pitchfork Disney by Philip Ridley, presented by Judder Theatre Company, runs at The Teacher’s Club Theatre, 36 Parnell Square, until September 5th.