“feels in a very early stage of its development and needs a lot more work”
We entered the performance space to see what seemed like bedroom furniture littered with clothes and pictures covering parts of the walls. The play then begins, and we are told by Rachel (Michelle Payne) about what feels like a stereotypical teenage view of the world, talking about local clubs, music she likes and famous people she fancied. We sit and listen to this and the show progresses, taking us deeper into her head and how she feels about the unrealistic expectations that are made of young women.
The biggest issue with Sad About the Cows was the writing (Michelle Payne), it felt stale and predictable but not relatable. Everything she said could’ve sat comfortably in any 90’s film about growing up and unfortunately a lot of the jokes simply fell flat; there really was an issue with the almost robotic nature to the script. The social agenda the performance was concerning itself with does really need to be spoken about, but in this case all it seemed to do was tell us on a very basic level about the issues of eating disorders without ever delving below the surface. When tackling such an inflammatory subject matter it is the creatives’ duty to explore the topic and help us through these issues with interesting and/or realistic content.
For one section the script moved abruptly into spoken word, giving us a different way to listen, I hoped for a second that this would be my relief and that I would find this more impactful, but I did not. The spoken word was delivered in a very similar way to the regular speech, a mistake that many fall into, spoken word can be beautiful but very hard to get right and on this occasion it did not pay off.
The set was also a large issue as it didn’t add anything to the show, it only worked against it. The sofa and the bed and the table all cluttered the space up and made it feel unrealistic, we know we are not in a bedroom, so I don’t see why you need all of those props; since many of them were never touched or referenced. For this production less really would have been more.
Overall, Sad About the Cows feels in a very early stage of its development and needs a lot more work. The subject matter has potential and I truly believe it’s about looking back over all the show’s elements and thinking what can be lost, so they can focus on less things and make them better, remembering quality not quantity.
“it is the supporting roles that hold the most interest, perhaps due to their relative freedom from the constrains of the main plot sequence“
In British classrooms and history books, the Nazi occupation of France, Poland, and the Netherlands are all seen as integral to any analysis of World War II. However, upon reading about The German Girls ahead of Thursday night’s performance, I realised how little I knew about the occupation of Denmark, despite it perhaps being (save Austria) Germany’s closest cultural cousins. In the programme for the show, director Michelle Payne admits that she was almost completely in the dark about the period herself. Unsurprisingly, however, this was not the case for Danish actor and playwright Christina Tranholm whose new play explores the shattering of young lives in this darkest of times.
The plot hinges around the lives of four women working at a laundrette during the occupation. In particular the piece focuses on Ingrid (Tranholm), a kind if naïve young woman whose humdrum life at first seems barely affected by the upheaval around her. Indeed, as we discover, in the first few years of occupation, the German Wehrmacht was met with almost no resistance by their northern neighbours, a stark contrast to other fronts earning Denmark the nickname of “the playground”. However, as the war wears on, Danish resentment begins to set in, with resistance movements often spilling over into outright violence. At the same time, Ingrid finds herself falling in love with a young German soldier, Matthias (Liam Harkins), just when such an act is at its most dangerous.
The backdrop to the piece is naturally intense, and Tranholm is able to carefully weave the friction of first love with the wider trauma of the war. At its best, her writing captures how easily simple humanity can be crushed under the bootheels of conflict. And yet, the piece often suffers from seemingly inconsistent exposition.
On the one hand, as we discover in the programme, many of the scenes were workshopped by the actors during writing and the characters developed organically. In the scenes where this is apparent, the play comes alive. The interplay between the women working at the laundrette is natural and playful, and the later transition to darkness and discord therefore hits even harder.
By contrast, many of the links between scenes are in the form of choreographed quasi-dance pieces set to dark, echoey electronic music all of which jars horribly with the tone set by the drama. The thinking behind this juxtaposition is unclear and, as far as I’m concerned, doesn’t work. The plot regularly feels in too much of a rush, which is a shame given the careful pace and subtlety of its best moments. Large sections of the story are explained -or rather explained away- in by-numbers monologues over similarly doomy music.
Each of the performances are assured, although it is the supporting roles that hold the most interest, perhaps due to their relative freedom from the constrains of the main plot sequence. Sara Hooppell, Rachel Laboucarie and Bryony McCarthy make good use of the close-quarters staging and dialogue that has been developed in workshop and George Whitehead provides reliable comic relief.
The German Girls is both historically enlightening and, when it works, a heart-breaking account of the banality of evil that breeds on both sides of a conflict. Tranholm’s piece aims to spark conversation, and indeed it does, but upon leaving the theatre I couldn’t help but feel as though I wanted more.
