A freelance arts writer since 1998, I fell in love with the theatre as a toddler, proved rubbish as a ballerina: my starring role was as Mrs Pussy in Noddy as a seven-year-old, and earned my stripes as an academic in Fine Arts and Art History, in subsequent years. I write for a range of online and print publications, including the Sunday Times, the Mail & Guardian and artslink.co.za and was formerly the arts editor of the SA Jewish Report, a weekly newspaper with which I was associated for 16 years. I am currently a Research Associate at Wits University. This blog promises you new stories every week, be they reviews, profiles, news stories or features.
This beautiful tale of Chopin and Ravel brought to life on an out-of-tune piano features moody silences and devastatingly subtle filmography. It is a work about how one holds the deepest of pains and sharpest of taboos closest to one’s chest. Because words are tools too lumpen to describe them.
Sithole is like a contemporary South African Jane Austen in her work. The grand narrative in it all is the idea of a young woman nursing dreams of “Being the Bride” and living happily ever after. The first part, of course, is the headline and the rest, taken for granted.
The story paints a hopscotch series of leaps between 1880 and the present, in the light of rhino poaching, trophy hunting, illegal aliens and other such crimes, often leaving you on one cliff’s edge as a chapter ends, and finding you on another, 100 years later, as the next begins.
In ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’, written by Oscar Wilde in 1899, it is the fresh directness of the set, and the articulate and unequivocal performances of the cast – in their bustles, snakeskin suits and all – that make it sing with a mix of cynicism, middle-finger-to-society chutzpah and sheer joy.
The production is delightful. It offers the now-57-year-old musical levity. As it opens, the lighting is rich with nuance. It feels like you’re gazing at a tableau of Rembrandt’s 1635 Belshazzar’s Feast not only for its colouration, but also in the evoked debauchery, teetering on the edge of biblical taboo.
‘The Moon Looks Beautiful From Here’ is Aldo Bincat’s beautiful and universal piece, written in simple language with a deft hand and clearly over a great many years of emotions spent and ideas thought and revisited, sometimes in great pain. It’s a touchstone work and a clear victory in storytelling.
‘The Tramp’ is punted as a pocket musical; it contains an immense ambit which peers into the complex life of a man who skirted controversy wherever he went. It holds you with beautiful performances and a set that strips the Chaplin name of cliche and gives analogue the upper hand.
With an energy that evokes Jenna Ortega, the performer who took on Wednesday Addams and turned her from a cameo into a series, and an ownership of a beautiful text evocative of the presence Cara Roberts casts over The King of Broken Things, Crafford-Lazarus becomes Olivia, the girl in question.
Replete with cruelty, nakedness, burning incense and song that will reach into the very chambers of your heart, ‘The Black Circus and the Republic of Bantu’ is much more of a ritual than a spectacle. You emerge from the experience with a seismic sense in your gut. Something has happened.
Malo is a tale about a clown with heart, a ringmaster with a whip and a moon with a maiden in it. It’s about love – love gained, love lost and love gossiped about on a celestial journey peppered with strong-man tactics, fire eating, Honeymanesque puns and lots of aerial dancing.
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