A belated denouement to his lauded 2005 work
Oog may feel like it’s coming to get you, but in reality, you should be running to find it.
From start to finish, Oog is all atmosphere. In the lingering haze of conflict, white light slices across Alex Rigg’s barren set as if repressed memories, desperate to be acknowledged. Guy Veale’s exceptional minimalist score sets an irregular pulse, complimenting the distorted nature of the soldier’s transformation, yet offering a structural roundness that makes everything feel considered. Not only this, but the soundscape manages to cultivate nuance which would otherwise be lost in the constant intensity of the movement. Together, the design elements are oppressive, backing the audience into the same corner that the solitary figure in front of them is trying to escape.
Then of course there’s Seed himself. Jerking around the space like a PTSD-addled Joker, what really sets his powerhouse performance apart is that, by combining elements of both dance and clowning, he has achieved a psychological expressiveness otherwise impossible. His face endlessly twists and contorts to unsettling effect as he presents a man trying - and failing - to keep up appearances, something which is mined for the darkest of humour. It is on the body that this soldier wears his trauma, twitching like a broken record, not for a moment comfortable in his own skin. Watching Seed fight for his humanity and gradually lose is an achingly sad journey, but an inevitable one played with tremendous punch.
A little more light and shade wouldn’t have gone amiss, but the whole creative team have achieved an impeccable unity, fostering an environment which is very affecting indeed. Oog may feel like it’s coming to get you, but in reality, you should be running to find it.
