You might be visiting Brighton Fringe to escape the conference circuit, but Doggerland throws you straight into an administrative meeting, albeit one hosted in a Hanover living room with plenty of twists. Yes, you’ll be well supplied with all the conference cliches, including PowerPoint presentations, experts with unpronounceable names, and biros, but you’ll also encounter a sense of adventure you probably wouldn’t find in a fully booked Radisson somewhere off the M4.
Rest assured: Doggerland is very funny
If you’re worried about the conference theme, rest assured: Doggerland is very funny. Billed as an absurd lecture, it leans mostly towards the absurdity to create some hilarious scenes. Solo performer Helen Tennison has huge amounts of energy and enough charisma to spark conversations and confessions between ‘conference attendees’ (audience members) in the ‘conference hall’ (repurposed living room at the Lionhouse). Those who dread audience interaction need not fear, it’s light touch and no one is really put on the spot. It’s used to create an atmosphere of involvement. One example is that Tennison writes everyone’s names on a sticker as they walk in and she refers to them regularly to create an instant sense of familiarity.
If you’re not aware of the concept of Doggerland, it was once an area of land that connected Britain to continental Europe, which is now fully submerged under the North Sea. But Doggerland the play uses this geographical phenomenon – a land that once was a fertile home to many until a tsunami likely wiped them all out making it inaccessible – to explore liminal spaces and how they provide an opportunity for change and self-discovery.
Not everything makes narrative sense. Certain threads are introduced and then dropped. The professor’s petition makes for a good punchline, but reappears after the joke has worn thin. It’s never really made clear why Helen really wants a visa to Doggerland, or truly why the Doggerland Administration Bureau exists – why are we at a conference if they’re keen to keep people out? There are plenty of unanswered questions, but when you’re also watching a woman form a dog puppet from a plastic bag or writhing on the table, you realise that perhaps the details are irrelevant and maybe the questions are actually the point.
This one woman show is a tour de force performance that sweeps you away with it like a boat going out to sea. You might not always know where it’s going, but you’re certain to enjoy the journey.