★★★★

“a stunning sight that feeds our imaginations”

The air is thick with silence. And darkness. As we hold our breath, our eyes slowly adjust while a blanket of white light spreads across the back wall like an uncertain dawn. Silhouettes appear like ghosts on polaroid. A crack of sound. Not a word is spoken. King Lear: a fallen angel with bleached hair, is flanked by the black-clad figures of Goneril and Regan. Gestures alone reveal the deception of their false declarations of love. Cordelia watches from the side, until Lear grabs the back of her hair. We realise the silence has been replaced by an electronic drone, pulsing within its crescendo. Still, not a word is spoken. We are in a world of silent screams. A visual tableau long before the invention of language. A modern world, yet one that is as timeless as Shakespeare. We are in Tang Shu-wing’s world.

Shu-wing’s all female production of “King Lear” premiered in Hong Kong in 2021 and was performed in Shanghai two years later, before coming to Riverside Studios for its UK premiere. The director’s style – ‘nonverbal theatre of gesture’ – is the star of the show. Whether the West London audiences are ready for this or not is a moot point. The boldness of the production will keep audiences transfixed. Minimalist and stylised it reduces Shakespeare’s tragedy into ninety minutes of silent physical drama.

Whilst the emotions are sharply conveyed, it is strongly advisable to be familiar with the original text. Otherwise, one might drift, pulled by the urge to seek another distraction in our thoughts. Occasionally it feels like just one part of a wider exhibition. An installation that we would like to wander into and out of. And we wonder: is it a work of art? Is it dance? Is it mime? Or all the above? Is it classical? Is it sci-fi? Jade Leung’s costume design is chic and modern while Billy Ng’s music is a futuristic canopy layered onto Anthony Yeung’s contemporary soundscape. Tsz-yan Yeung’s lighting is as much a narrator of the story as the performer’s slick movement, gestures and expressions. Shadows are cast, then sliced away by light: a single shaft like the blade of a knife, or a blood red flood of unease, tension and murderous intent.

It is a stunning sight that feeds our imaginations but also allows it to create its own subplots. We can grasp the narrative of the principal roles while the supporting players add neither confusion nor substance. Led by Cecilia Yip as Lear, the dynamic cast are fearless, forceful yet smooth as silk. Controlled, yet as fluid as the genders portrayed. There are no boundaries to cross here. No such thing as men or women. Just characters whose movements speak louder than words. The emotion comes to the fore. Cassandra Tang excels in the role of Cordelia, doubling as the Fool. Lindzay Chan’s Gloucester is a tragic figure, not just wordless but sightless, whose outstretched limbs and bloodied eyes convey the noiseless agony loud and clear. But here is no real lead player. Like gender, individuality is merged into an ensemble that moves as one.

And still not a word is spoken. As the final tragedy litters the stage, the figures morph back into their silhouettes. And the air is thick with silence once more. But only briefly. We hold our breath again, before the applause. We are not entirely sure what we have just witnessed, but we know our hearts have been touched. Evocative and original, Tang Shu-wing’s “King Lear” is challenging but is a theatrical dare that should not be resisted.

THIS IS MEMORIAL DEVICE at Riverside Studios

★★★★

“The anecdotes and reminiscences are poetic in style and Higgins has an energy that rises as he slowly takes his foot off the soft pedal”

From 1983 to 1985, ‘Memorial Device’ was the best band that no-one’s ever heard of. Mysterious, post-punk legends, they hailed from (but never left) the small North Lanarkshire town of Airdrie, just a dozen or so miles East of Glasgow. They defined an era. Well, at least they defined the formative years of fledgeling fanzine journalist Ross Raymond (Paul Higgins). Forty years on, Ross has invited us to share his memories. To celebrate and resurrect the group that exploded in a haze of surreal glory before imploding again into the mists of unreliable memory.

Paul Higgins, in the utterly convincing guise of Ross Raymond, wanders onto the stage, slightly nervous at first, to spend the next hour delivering a mockumentary. Supported by press cuttings, recorded interviews, demo tapes and memorabilia he presents fiction as fact. Before long it becomes pretty impossible to differentiate reality from make believe. The gritty truthfulness of Higgins’ delivery recalls the time and the place perfectly, reinforced by Anna Orton’s minimal set that replicates the sort of back room dive that such a band would have rehearsed and gigged in. You can almost smell the stale cigarettes and musty beer fumes.

“This is Memorial Device” is unique and slightly odd. Adapted by Graham Eatough from David Keenan’s cult novel of the same title, it falls into a no-mans-land somewhere between drama and musical, lecture and parody. The anecdotes and reminiscences are poetic in style and Higgins has an energy that rises as he slowly takes his foot off the soft pedal. The further he delves into his memories, the more animated he becomes as he draws us into the nostalgia of a world he is building around him. He assembles the past band members from broken mannequins lying in a flight case as though resting in a coffin. When he dissembles them again to put them back, you know that he is mourning an age lost and gone forever.

Yet, for all that we are drawn into his enthusiasm (Ross Raymond is undoubtedly a die-hard fan), there are moments that drag. The use of video footage comprising a series of talking heads adds credence to the myth, but occasionally go on too long. If we were at home watching on our TV sets, these are the points at which we’d get up to make a cup of tea. Fortunately, though, Higgins is always on hand to pull us back in. The hypnotic effect is emphasised by the monotonic and metronomic music, composed by sound designer Gavin Thomson and musician Stephen McRobbie – the latter is the lead singer and guitarist of real life, Glasgow band ‘The Pastels’ who, unlike the eponymous combo, are still around.

It is testament to the writing and to Higgins’ performance that it is easy to think this is all real. We buy into the fabrication. Like the novel, this show will gain cult status. We almost expected to be offered merchandise on the way out, and the urge to look up ‘Memorial Device’ on Spotify was irresistible. We have been touched by the stories of these band members. Particularly of frontman Lucas Black, who suffered from having no short-term memory. Everything was written down in a little red notebook (his own memorial device) which Ross Raymond has kept for forty years. It is more than a history lesson; it is a dream-like journey into a music scene and its off-beat characters. Some died, some disappeared. But Higgins keeps them all alive. Even though they never really lived. That takes a particular kind of skill – one that Higgins and the co-creators of the show clearly possess.

It may not be to everybody’s taste, but I doubt it is looking for universal appeal. At curtain call, Higgins thanks us for coming to listen. The pleasure was all ours.

KING LEAR at Riverside Studios

★★★★

“a stunning sight that feeds our imaginations”

KING LEAR at Riverside Studios

Reviewed on 3rd May 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Tik Hang Cedric Yip

Previously reviewed at this venue:

KING LEAR

KING LEAR

THIS IS MEMORIAL DEVICE at Riverside Studios

★★★★

“The anecdotes and reminiscences are poetic in style and Higgins has an energy that rises as he slowly takes his foot off the soft pedal”