\nThe enduring monologue: Solitude and language, the\nperformative text. In the main, the theatrical monologue is seen\neither as a tool for the auditioning actor, or simply a part (albeit\na vital one) of a fully-realised play. Less often is it given space\nto exist as a performance of its own. Over the past year and a half,\nthough, theatremakers have returned to the fundamentals of the craft,\nand monologues, script-readings, and short-form, text-based\nrecitations have enjoyed a renewed public focus. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nThere\u2019s a lot of this sort of thing going on at\nthis year\u2019s vNAF, and theatremakers have made use of the monologue\n\u2013 both original and repurposed \u2013 to produce performances that\nembody, unpack, and puzzle out narratives and refrains that are at\nonce personal and universal. They raise a few good questions, too:\nWhat is the function of the monologue outside of the greater script?\nWhat is the role of the body, here? How many more talking heads can\nwe take? Mostly, it is the lucid performance of the spoken word, the\nsimple joy of being read to, that is most apparent in these works. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nOver the course of a few days, hunched over my\ndesk like a gargoyle with earphones in, I listened to them all. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n(extra)ordinary,\n(un)usual<\/strong><\/em><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n \nIn (extra)ordinary, (un)usual<\/em>, a\nteam of actors make use of texts from The Monologue Project, each one\npenned by Australian playwright Pete Malicki for the purpose of\nproviding auditioning actors with material to work with. Six actors\ntackle a monologue each, seated on a chair in front of a camera. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \nAs expected, there are no bells and whistles. The set is bare, the\nperformers plainly dressed. Needless to say, the whole thing\u2019s\npremised on the ability to tell a good story \u2013 no easy task! Each\nperformer engages in their own interpretation of the text, adding\nsmall flourishes here and there \u2013 the raised eyebrow, the dejected\npause \u2013 but mostly, they stick to the script, as it were. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \nContent-wise, the stories range from disillusioned brides and\nopportunistic care-workers to pseudo animal psychics and disgruntled\ntwins. They\u2019re as goofy as they sound, in an endearing sort of way,\nand all of them wield a degree of macabre humour with a twist \u2013\nsometimes expected, other times improbable. Director Faeron Wheeler\ndoes some work in the editing suite, chopping and changing between\ncamera angles to suit the tone of each piece, while the occasional\nsound effect or bit of backing music doubles down on key moments in\nthe performances to varying levels of success and gimmickry. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \nHaving been penned by Malicki for general use by actors across the\nglobe, the monologues naturally lack a rootedness in South African\ndaily life. Still, a more localised remixing of the narratives \u2013 a\nfew place-names, a bit of slang here and there \u2013 could have gone a\nlong way in extending the works to a local audience. Outside of their\nmild absurdity, there\u2019s no thematic thread or sustained plot points\ntying these monologues together, so if you\u2019re looking for a\nquick-fix, Lizanne Peters reading \u2018The Story of Darling Brown\u2019 is\na standout performance. Peters\u2019 command of the text and the\ncharacter it contains makes for a monologue that is warm, engaging,\nand conversational. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \nRounding off the performance are six \u2018lockdown stories\u2019 devised\nby the cast. Again, these border on the light and fluffy side of the\nstorytelling spectrum, but hey, it\u2019s a pandemic and good news is in\nshort supply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \nBetween\nthe Pillar and the Post<\/strong><\/em><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n \nStories sing, shout, and shine in this collection of local,\ncontemporary texts and scenes. Clara Vaughan is the conceptual mind\nbehind the project, and also curates the eight monologues in Between\nthe Pillar and the Post<\/em> which are delivered in seven languages by\na host of performers. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \nThe monologues are short and sharp, rarely going on for longer than\nsix minutes. The contents vary, but each piece mines a sliver of\nSouth African life briefly and incisively. White 4 Black <\/em>and\nMontsho <\/em>both deal with public and private notions of beauty,\nidentity, colourism, and self-worth in an age of photoshop and\nfilters, while Peu <\/em>and Dineo<\/em> do well to grapple with\ninner turmoil born from pervasive societal strictures. K\u2019ster\nConversations <\/em>channels the high and low drama of the every day in\nKimberly\u2019s Galeshewe township, while Coming for You <\/em>is a\nswift and devastating chronicling of a woman\u2019s night out in South\nAfrica. There\u2019s also NAF-favourite Pretina de Jager who talks us\nthrough her new dance moves and ongoing attempts at being the cool\nkid in school with You Suck and Other Inescapable Truths<\/em>, andthe inimitable Warren Masemola whose is\u2019camtho monologue\ndetails flaming Carvelas, smouldering stacks of cash, and short-lived\nglory in Pure Light in Tight Diesel Jeans<\/em>. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \nUnlike the other monologue programmes on offer, the Between the\nPillar and the Post<\/em> monologues are audio-only (or at least at the\ntime of writing, they are. \u2018EXHIBITION CAPTURE COMING SOON\u2019 says\nthe NAF). This means that outside of the accompanying images, which\nare useful visual vignettes nonetheless, you are left with only the\ndisembodied spoken word to hold the narrative. The performers are not\ndeterred. In the absence of physical performance there is a searing\nattention to language, cadence, and narration. At times, a\nmonologue\u2019s full emotional heft is captured in the sharp intake of\nbreath, or through a sentence spoken with a smile. It is, quite\nsimply, writing and storytelling at its best. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \nThe\nMemoir Monologues<\/strong><\/em><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n \nA wind-up music box version of \u2018Brahms\u2019\nLullaby\u2019 opens up this set of monologues. It\u2019s an odd choice for\na collection of performances that require active listening on the\npart of the audience, but it finds resonance later on. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \nIn The Memoir\nMonologues<\/em>, four performers channel the\nwritings of director Anastasia Amy. These monologues are\nspecific to the lived experiences of South African women and excavate\nmaterial \u2013 through the anecdotal, the poetic, and the everyday \u2013\nthat make use of universal points of reference. Disenchantment, the\nburden of consciousness, and the reluctant reality of halted dreams\nare a few of the themes that run through the stories. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \nVisually, each performer is seated in a darkened theatre beneath a\nsingle spotlight. Physicality plays a crucial role as the four actors\npersonify their narratives in body and voice. In addition to the\npenned monologues, the play makes use of poetry and prose from the\nlikes of Lewis Carrol \u2013 \u201cEchoes fade and memories die \/\/ Autumn\nfrosts have slain July\u201d \u2013 as well as music by the aforementioned\nBrahms, all of which serve to reinforce the developing themes of\ndisillusionment, virtue, and loss through the perspective of\ncontemporary womanhood. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Form is interesting, here. Like the other two monologue programmes on offer, The Memoir Monologues<\/em> is an anthology of individual stories grouped together by a common theme. That said, you can\u2019t dip in and out of the show, selecting monologues as you please. Amy and her team have opted to edit each monologue into considered fragments that, though disparate, weave in and out of one another\u2019s narrative arcs. The result is a rich and engaging body of work, the success of which is evident in its clear development of tone \u2013 a collage of myriad tales and perspectives. <\/p>\n\n\n\n All the above can be viewed online at the virtual National Arts Festival.<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Photo: Screengrab of Lizanne Peters performing in <\/em>(extra)ordinary (un)usual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \n\n\u00a92021 The Critter. This article is licensed under a <\/em>Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The enduring monologue: Solitude and language, the performative text. In the main, the theatrical monologue is seen either as a tool for the auditioning actor, or simply a part (albeit … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":18,"featured_media":4525,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_mi_skip_tracking":false},"categories":[11],"tags":[1183,1182,1181],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4524"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/18"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4524"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4524\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4526,"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4524\/revisions\/4526"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4525"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4524"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4524"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecritter.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4524"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}