How fragile we are. How existentially tenderly, and with such compassionate a sense of being human, are these stories written and told!
Graham Weir, with the formally suited, sage-like appearance of a hermit, or prophet, sits in exquisitely choreographed light and shade (life and death?), lighting being his co-performer, telling his tales of human resilience, degeneration, disintegration, living and dying, fading artistry, loss, choice in the face of loss and the moments, poignant moments, of human touch and redemptive kindness.
For the audience, time stops as we listen, enthralled and entranced, to the archetypal storyteller/performer intimately speaking of time’s erosive cancer and how this affects performers still longing to perform, characters aging, their changing context and audiences and their need to grace audiences with transformative experiences – which Weir himself does.
Stories of living as dying, dying while living, choices while living and how best to live.
Theatrically distilled to its essence, this work is haunting, beautifully written and acted by Weir, directed by Bo Peterson and delicately staged.
Dead Yellow Sands has finished its run at the National Arts Festival, but if you ever get a chance to see it, do not let it pass you by.
— Sheena Stannard