The Undeveloped Underground

Rip It Up, Issue 10, 1 April 1978, Page 18

The Undeveloped Underground

By W.Dart

There it was, written on the programme in bold capital letters SOME DAY ALL THEATRE WILL BE LIKE THIS! A statement with rather fascist overtones for a theatre group whose sympathies would seem to lie basically to the left. Anyway, after enduring years of trad, theatre round the city, I thought it might be interesting to sample what the 'others' have to offer. And first on the list was Red Mole’s Ghost Rite.

The programme started with the legendary Neville Purvis with an opening routine that was so loosely written that some good ideas never made the impact they should have. Then half an hour of thoroughly professional playing from Beaver and the Country Flyers. And finally the big moment Ghost Rite.

It was probably my fault. Perhaps I should have been studying the ‘story’ of the show in the programme instead of appreciating the ambience of the Maidment, but after the first hour I was desperately studying the programme in the half-light to calculate just how much more one had to

endure. Let’s face it, if you are going to have a ninety minute show, there is the major problem of sustaining the audience’s interest. And anyone but the most fervent sycophant is going to require some semblance of plot and construction. And not a plot that has to be explained first with a large chunk of writing in the programme. To me, anyway, this shows some weakness in the visual presentation of the actual show.

There were undeniably effective pieces here and there, but at times it seemed uncomfortably like a huge pot-pourri with everything thrown in from Stravinsky's Rite of Spring to Felliniesque images. Right on target were Jan Preston and her band with some of the most vivid theatrical music I have heard in this country, including some effective songs. All of which made me wonder why they didn’t include more songs. And the masks were also extremely effective. All in all, I got the impression of half-an-hour's material stretched into a ninety minute show. And now only a few days ago, Limbs and Ratz Theatrix were on at the State in Symonds Street. But the State, my dear, that's where they show those d-r-e-a-d-f-u-l Kung-Fu films to the . . . um, chuckle, chortle and general ho-hum. Wouldn’t it be a super idea to hire it and take our new theatre to the people. Well, the Kung Fu crowds seemed to stay away but a couple of Ifundred enthusiasts turned up and moulded their bottoms into classic P.T.A. meeting design chairs. In. a programme that could have been subtitled "50 ways to polish a floor” Limbs made us realise that housemaid’s knee could be contracted on any portion of the

body. Some of the dances seemed to be like Martha Graham’s ideas filtering through to Montana in the mid fifties. Their finger-snapping, eye-popping, toe-tapping numbers were more like an Ann-Margret TV special come to life. All this was supported by the rather trite music they chose. Okay, they have talent and there was a few minutes of a pas de deux that I thought ’clicked’ but talent should be the start of something and not an end in itself. And yet some of these groups get such immediate approval from some quarters that it can effectively stifle the important need for selfcriticism. The Herald critic, for example, was so enthusiastic he couldn’t even remember how many dancers there were. Onto the Ratz. A colourful melange of Rocky Horror Show, plasticophobia and a Selwyn Toogoods poof. Good unpretentious “fun” cabaret theatre, with some social comment but not this over-blown Ghost Rite stuff. Their songs were integrated so well into the production that one only wished they had had the services of Jan Preston and her band of musicians. But even Ratz could perhaps write some of their material more closely. A follow-up to their Hamburger Bar sketch that I originally saw last year somehow got a bit lost in verbiage at times. But I like Ratz and there is a place for their type of theatre in our crumbling cultural scene. So will all theatre be like this one day? Possibly, but I seem to remember that the Italian futurist painters were advocating throwing baby and bathwater out in the twenties. And how many people today can name three Italian Futurist painters? P.S. Sorry for the printing mistake. William Dart