Hipster-chic art shops and indie bookstores began to spring up on every corner. Detailed graffiti marred the stonework, and we even ran into a street artist spray-painting his own work in a back alleyway. As we approached a side street littered with rubbish and shadows, our professors indicated we were nearing our destination. We wound our way through the street, over the back porch of a fenced-in bar, and into a narrow alley. A few hiply-dressed art junkies stood around talking or smoking, and decaying furniture was scattered about wherever it would fit. We were told to wait, although we didn't exactly know for what. After a few minutes, a black curtain over a hidden doorway was raised, and we were led into the gallery space.
Within was a strange sight to behold indeed. In the middle of a smallish room, lit only by candles around the perimeter and strategically placed spotlights, was an artistic display that seemed to be many things at once. Although certainly not the orthodox arrangement of Christ's Last Supper, the resemblance was clear. Twelve animatronic figures sat around a table -- arranged carefully to appear much like a sailing ship -- with a thirteenth figure standing on the table with its back against a cruciform mast. Set against an ambient audio track of low drones and harbor-like bells, the figures began to move and speak, their voices seeming to be provided by samples of films. Everything about the display was eerie and beautiful, from the fog generated by a machine in the corner of the room, to the tiny creatures on the table, sporting the skulls of birds.
After the "show" was over, we were lucky to be able to speak with the artist himself, Giles Walker. Although he was intentionally unclear about the specific meanings of each individual robotic figure (art is as much interpretation as it is intention), he did tell us that the child-like figure being chastised by the other twelve was supposed to represent Judas, while Jesus himself sat at the "helm" of the table. I thought the entire piece was incredibly well done, and delivered a very pointed message about the relationship between children and religious indoctrination.
Later that evening we made our way to a predominately Turkish part of London, where I was able to enjoy some cheap Turkish cuisine before watching the live performance of A Clockwork Orange. The show was definitely unlike anything I'd ever seen before in theatre. Those who are familiar with Burgess' famous novel by the same name -- or Kubrick's infamous film adaptation -- will understand why I went into the theatre expecting the unexpected, ready to be shocked for better or worse. It was definitely for the better.
The show was absolutely jarring, but it did so with a sense of grace and purpose not often found in small theatre groups. After an interesting sort of "pre-show", the main performance began with an abrupt cut of the house lights and a blast of industrial music. Five actors (four males, one female) played several roles, each playing a different aspect of the main character Alex, as well as supporting parts. The grit and violence of the book and film were captured well, as the stage performance held nothing back. Certain parts of the play subjected the actors to violent physical acts, and both male (full-frontal) and female (partial) nudity was present. Of course, the message of the play could not be as effectively delivered without the inclusion of these aspects, and discussion of the performance's impact continued amongst the group long after the final bows were taken.
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