Three brothers with tent peg rifles, colander helmets and a French flag pose for a photograph. No words. Only a repertoire of tongue clicks, whistles, explosions and gestures. You're hooked.
Rhum and Clay are back after the excellent ‘Shutterland’ at last years' Fringe with another solid device. Drawing on a series of images captured by Belgian photographer Léon Gimpel depicting 'The Grenata Street Army'; a group of children playing in the derelict streets of a bombed village in wartime, Rhum and Clay turn a war zone into a playground with ease. Their boyish charm and boundless energy is infectious, although at times moments could have used more strict direction to maintain their punchy pace. But as performers I could watch them watch paint dry. Their movements are lovingly executed, confident, controlled and wonderfully creative; each eyebrow raise to finger twitch forms part of a physical dialogue, which sings a strange wild song.
Accompanied by live peculiar music and darting around a brilliant set design, this original piece is dynamic and celebrates silliness. Harrisson, Spooner and Wells imbibe the fresh spirit of the photographed children who inspired them, and Wilcox as the soldier is equally strong. This is sure to be a sell-out run. These boys will travel far, and they'll take their audience with them.
