“ A Brazilian play by "Plinio Marcos". The Grace Theatre @ The Latchmere Pub, 503 Battersea Park Road, SW11. Showing July 11-30th 2000. Tuesday @ 8pm (£6); Wed-Sat @ 8pm (£10, concessions £7); Sun @ 4pm (£6). Box office: 020 7794 0022. Air conditi „
Fenton's review for dooyoo.co.uk Igor, a civil engineer from Poland, decided to give life a chance and move to London. Since then, two years has passed but he continues to lay bricks, decorating whatever the contractor finds for the day. He used to play the violin back in his hometown and here in our Wimbledon neighbourhood he is always eager to attend concerts by a local band. When I invited him to see the play he laughed saying he did not want to go as he knew nothing about Brazilian theatre, however that was before he had read Fenton's review. He was disturbed by the choice of Fenton's words: mutual dependency they both hate and need, pointless miscommunication, ill founded hopes and finally crime. All of these experiences were happening to him, except that, to his knowledge, he was not planning any crime. But Igor resented his inability to understand the language spoken by his working mates and his boss even though he was able to talk to every single member of the music group. After the play Igor thought that the understanding of different cultures is indeed important and makes one feel like less of an imigrant and more part of a global community. He thought the acting was very convincing, the set design adequate. The language which sounded kind of familiar to his ears he wished he could understand them better and Igor went to search for the book. As to myself I am certain that London being a multicultural and multiracial city will welcome plays dealing with difficult social issues from any countries.
TWO LOST SOULS ON A DIRTY NIGHT No gently pleasurable theatre evening here. This play by the Brazilian Plinio Marcos, who died last year will keep you on the edge of your seats. Marina Mindlin's stage design is an apt cocoon to hatch darkness, and it will hold your straining eyes captive to every meaningless prop. The dialogue you wish you were not hearing will keep your ears pinned to every uncouth syllable mispronounced by these utterly convincing actors in their journey through the bowels of life and language. The plot really is the interaction of two young men living and labouring in the festering lower reaches of life's pond; the room they share. They exist in a mutual dependency they both hate and need. The device around which the action seems to revolve is a pair of shoes, whose owner eases his pain with incessant verbal output. To the mind of the other the shoes symbolise everything he believes he lacks in life, and he wants them. The shoes and the oft repeated fact that he went to school will allow him to rise to his proper position in life. There are some similarities to Waiting for Godot. There is pointlessness and miscommunication, though no waiting as life rushes by in hyperactivity, fears, ill founded hopes, and finally crime. I thought the playing time could be cut. But then perhaps director Andre Pink might feel that, as with some Becket plays, the length was just as long as necessary to drive the stark truths home. A question which disturbed me as I left was how can a play about the slums of Brazil transfer over so well to what we believe to be the advanced society we live in. The success of the mercurial dialogue was in part due to the inspired translation of Henrik Carbonnier, a breathtaking ride along the dumbing down of language, and the fluid repartee of the fine young actors, on the one hand Marc Elliot, a latter day cockney who calls his shoes his treadies, and on the other Edward Cosgrove,
playing a rigid East European. Both played lost souls so well that we are numbed and left with rare attention on a level of society we normally bar from our thoughts.