STUPID FUCKING BIRD was written by Aaron Posner, an American playwright with a penchant for re-imagining classics like Twain and Chekhov. It was first produced in 2013 at Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company in Washington.
So far, so good. Makes sense, yeah?
Now… it is based on, and has a dissonance of characters from, THE SEAGULL.
Goood. Easy so far.
This play contemporises and distils Chekhov’s remonstrances about art, making art, consuming art and critiquing art.
Stuck now. She knew I would be. When the show won’t start until “someone says ‘start the fucking show’” my smart arse friend leaned across to me and simply whispered “Good luck.”
So let’s swoop into the deep water right off. The performances? Fucking terrific.
The characters, occasionally and the actors, occasionally (sort of depending on what stage their warm-up is at) are milling and seething and doing actorly things on stage when we are allowed in to the theatre. Beats being cooped up outside waiting for them to complete their ‘process’.
Lloyd Allison-Young, Gil Balfas, Brendan Miles, Mansoor Noor, Megan Smart, Annie Stafford, Kaitlyn Thor are seamless as this id-driven, art is life, can live on love and art, Ensemble. Noor is just fucking relentless as Conrad the directorish young man who hates his mother, tries to run the show and, spoiler, doesn’t manage to kill himself with a bullet in the head. Beautifully played with manic mania and weeping self-pity.
Hilarious is Thor as Emma. Absolutely had me in gasps at her toss off lines and expressive body language and her exasperated self-centredness. Then she goes and breaks my damn heart in the second act. Damnit they all do. Rampaging obsession and diatribes and hurling themselves at the microphones to speak actor stuff to us in the first act. And just when you have a handle on it, there is Chekhovian beauty translated into a contemporary text that looks for minutes at a time like a… a… a… real play. I’d like to blame it on the writing but it’s actually Warwick Doddrell‘s way too clever direction. Those bits are breathtakingly good, until some actor pops up again.
Like Miles as Eugene. The loveliest, brotherly brother you could want, everybody’s friend and so sympathetic and a little perplexed, lost chick in places. So welcoming. Like Allison-Young as the boob, Dev. No-one is warmer, no-one is more empathetic and wise. He is so sweet and normal and just so cute in his cardigan, I could hug him!
Dev loves Mash who loves Conrad who loves Nina who loves Doyle but to regurgitate in little pieces … Stafford is Mash who is ironical and cynical beyond belief and does a great line in cheerful disappointment and Ukulele. Nina (Smart) is way too smart … too much shining intelligence to be Nina Mikhailovna Zarechnaya. Nina is neatly deceived, with pathos and self-hatred to spare and throw in a vixeny bit, too. Anyway. Used and abused by arrogant arsehole Doyle (Balfas) … the bastard. Balfas has captured the self-serving, woman using, popularist to a tee. Getting cross now!
Oops off on a tangent there. What’s next?
The set is bareish with some stellar acting from the wall which both hides the sulky and puts out cigs. It cops a fair amount of abuse actually. The big, laborious, cluster fuck, sound booth thingy … nope! Yuckily Freudian at one stage … erk. (Designer: Jeremy Allen) The lighting? Who fuck knows! We saw ‘em, we didn’t see ‘em, some were hidden and some in light. (Designer: Veronique Benett) The audio, yep, ok, but operated by someone visible at the top of the back of the set … read: behind the speakers and not able to assess the volume, ahem … VOLUME!!! (Designer/Composer: Mary Rapp)
That’s it. Summary: There was some shitting in their own nest when stuff went on too long, mind you, nothing is as long as Chekhov, but there’s enough thermals to give it lift. I had huge laughs in places where, to be painfully honest, other people didn’t. My sarcastic friend sat with arms folded for most of the show and my mate on the other side, was bored to death but managed to summon the odd titter. There were escapees at interval, rare on opening night and others who whooped it up.
You will just have to see it for yourself. Good Luck!
STUPID FUCKING BIRD continues at the New Theatre [Facebook] until 28th July.