Saturday, May 09, 2009
Brighton Fringe review: Electroplasm at the Marlborough by Michael Hootman
This is fringe weirdness at its most bizarre and eccentric: a young woman dressed as a '20s film star singing cabaret songs at the darker end of the spectrum accompanied by another woman playing saw, theremin and electronic-bell-ringing machine.
At first I thought this might be some comedy act, but almost immediately the beauty of the woman's voice and the intent behind it banished such fears.
The evening kicks off with a powerful version of Jacques Brel's My Death and continues with a 12th-century song about child death and then later a version of that song from the Wicker Man in which Britt Eckland does her nudie slapping-the-walls dance.
For me the highlight was a self-composed song about Laika, the dog the soviets sent up into orbit in the 50s and who subsequently died alone in the depths of space. Ethereally sung, haunting and quite incredibly sad it resulted in one of those strange moments when it suddenly hits you that unless you exercise complete self-control you're going to be in floods of tears.
The second half of the evening was not so successful. It was a recreation of a Victorian seance where the lights were turned out and various object hurled themselves around the room. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be comic or perhaps was meant to convince the audience we'd stepped over to the spirit realm, but the result certainly wasn't thrilling or funny enough. Also, I'm not sure why a perfectly lovely evening of songs had to have a seance stuck on the end of it.
More than just a novelty act, the Electroplasm songstresses will, I hope, find the cult stardom they deserve.
Electroplasm plays at the Marlborough till May 10.
At first I thought this might be some comedy act, but almost immediately the beauty of the woman's voice and the intent behind it banished such fears.
The evening kicks off with a powerful version of Jacques Brel's My Death and continues with a 12th-century song about child death and then later a version of that song from the Wicker Man in which Britt Eckland does her nudie slapping-the-walls dance.
For me the highlight was a self-composed song about Laika, the dog the soviets sent up into orbit in the 50s and who subsequently died alone in the depths of space. Ethereally sung, haunting and quite incredibly sad it resulted in one of those strange moments when it suddenly hits you that unless you exercise complete self-control you're going to be in floods of tears.
The second half of the evening was not so successful. It was a recreation of a Victorian seance where the lights were turned out and various object hurled themselves around the room. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be comic or perhaps was meant to convince the audience we'd stepped over to the spirit realm, but the result certainly wasn't thrilling or funny enough. Also, I'm not sure why a perfectly lovely evening of songs had to have a seance stuck on the end of it.
More than just a novelty act, the Electroplasm songstresses will, I hope, find the cult stardom they deserve.
Electroplasm plays at the Marlborough till May 10.
