We Are Not Cakes claims to be inspired by the Oberiu Avant-Garde Movement, but the result is a content-less hour which never manages to create the kind of absurdist magic to which it aspires.
We Are Not Cakes manages to be neither entertaining nor interesting.
I can’t really tell you what goes on because nothing really does; there a few stories of the ‘once there was an old woman’ type which you think might join up and become a subversive morality tale, but they don’t. There’s a bit of nice puppetry work, some attempted rock & roll guitar, some terrorizing of the audience’s front row, lots of shouting and running around, and an aggressive strip-tease which ends with a rather impressive Worm.
The production looks good though, with well-designed costumes and the obligatory creepy clown-face. Little moments where the characters remove themselves to the side of stage, pontificate, take a shot and then shoot themselves are atmospherically lit with simple red lamps. The aforementioned puppets are beautiful, but it’s all a bit style over substance.
One of the characters muses “Today I wrote nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Well, it kind of does when you’re charging people £12.50 to see it. It’s a shame given the obvious respect these guys have for their absurdist forebears, but We Are Not Cakes manages to be neither entertaining nor interesting.
