Solitude Without Loneliness review – bad dates, frenzied flyering and the spirit of the fringe
As a choreographer, Sutherland is interested in the perks and perils of isolation and he forms a trio with Jorja Follina and Alex Henderson, who are all initially alone together. Against the stark towers cast by Simon Gane's lighting design, the three writhe in a state of undress, faces covered by their clothing. It's a straightforward yet surprisingly effective way to establish a piece about depersonalisation, matched by muffled voices on Hörður Már Bjarnason's rumbling soundscape and muted costumes by Alison Brown.
As the dancers leave their silos to come together, their soul-searching gazes matched to choral music, you brace yourself for an overearnest hour. But then the Blind Date theme tune breaks out, rose petals are scattered and the trio alternate the roles of a frisky French waiter and two diners who can't bear to look at each other as they squirm around their seats. The knockabout wordplay aims to be as nimble as the movement, but the touches of clowning – including red lipstick served and smeared in lieu of wine – are more winning.
The alternately serio-comic nature of these two episodes – which are both overextended – is akin to channel-hopping, and the contrast diminishes the impact of each. But the remainder of the show reaps haunting results from unlikely sources. The first is a series of speeches akin to Metro's Rush Hour Crush column, each a message in a bottle to a stranger after a brief encounter.
These missed chances for connection have a sting here, as does a meta-theatrical flyering sequence that finds the desperate cast surrounded by adverts for their own show. It's a spin on the scenes along the Grassmarket outside, with Sutherland cannily pinning all his themes – romance, disorientation, loneliness, togetherness – to the fringe itself. An intriguing hour.
At Dance Base, Edinburgh, until 10 August
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Solitude Without Loneliness review – bad dates, frenzied flyering and the spirit of the fringe
The dry title belies a show with spark. Solitude Without Loneliness can feel like several fringe shows in one as Malcolm Sutherland's dance-theatre production takes an early detour into sketch comedy and then continues to change gears. As a choreographer, Sutherland is interested in the perks and perils of isolation and he forms a trio with Jorja Follina and Alex Henderson, who are all initially alone together. Against the stark towers cast by Simon Gane's lighting design, the three writhe in a state of undress, faces covered by their clothing. It's a straightforward yet surprisingly effective way to establish a piece about depersonalisation, matched by muffled voices on Hörður Már Bjarnason's rumbling soundscape and muted costumes by Alison Brown. As the dancers leave their silos to come together, their soul-searching gazes matched to choral music, you brace yourself for an overearnest hour. But then the Blind Date theme tune breaks out, rose petals are scattered and the trio alternate the roles of a frisky French waiter and two diners who can't bear to look at each other as they squirm around their seats. The knockabout wordplay aims to be as nimble as the movement, but the touches of clowning – including red lipstick served and smeared in lieu of wine – are more winning. The alternately serio-comic nature of these two episodes – which are both overextended – is akin to channel-hopping, and the contrast diminishes the impact of each. But the remainder of the show reaps haunting results from unlikely sources. The first is a series of speeches akin to Metro's Rush Hour Crush column, each a message in a bottle to a stranger after a brief encounter. These missed chances for connection have a sting here, as does a meta-theatrical flyering sequence that finds the desperate cast surrounded by adverts for their own show. It's a spin on the scenes along the Grassmarket outside, with Sutherland cannily pinning all his themes – romance, disorientation, loneliness, togetherness – to the fringe itself. An intriguing hour. At Dance Base, Edinburgh, until 10 August All our Edinburgh festival reviews
