Milan based Babygang theatre present an experimental exploration of self in a messy production which says nothing worthwhile, barely scratching the surface of anything other than aesthetic pleasure, and shock for the very sake of it. Edward Bond, Sarah Kane and dare I say it, Samuel Beckett seem to be heavy influences upon this production, but these heavyweights all rooted their product in genuine insight.
I could not see at any point during this production any artistic merit whatsoever, other than a demonstrable admiration for their contemporaries’ work, which they duly copied with nothing new to say.
Throwing lumps of bread around and dusting each other in flour whilst pulling various poses and wearing odd, tramp-themed clothing, the four major characters managed to keep going for over an hour; although it didn’t appear that I was alone in having no idea what they were doing. At best, the production tried to represent human nature in conflict, perhaps the slapstick movements and erratic choreography aimed to demonstrate the emotions of loss, lust, hopelessness.
A lone guitarist in the corner entirely drowned out any discourse. It didn’t help that when characters did vocalise, it was often jargon, misspent sounds, presumably the acoustics of existential thought.
Their understanding of Beckett seems strewed, considering his influence on the work. ‘Beckett left us at the end of the world’ they scream; yes, he did, and it seems unlikely this production will ever do more than vacantly comment on his themes. After a mock-rape scene and the throwing around of some more flour,the lights went down in order to experience ‘something different to nothing’. Without understanding the subtle rawness evident within a Beckett production all that can be created is copycat fodder. We Are Not Here is a chaotic and insulting mess.
