The Wonderful World Of . . . reviewed.

Here’s a lovely review of Bent Architects “The Wonderful World of . . .” which was on last week at Temple Works. I may have been a little squiffy when I asked Alex Craig to write something (I think I may have harassed a few people, so I apologise unreservedly to Alex and anyone else I collared.) Glad I did though, and hope I can convince Alex to write more . . .

20.05.11 – An account

My girlfriend’s high-heeled shoes cause us problems on the seemingly long walk from Leeds City Centre to the magical and spooky setting of THE TEMPLE WORKS OF DOOOOOOOM. This is the third time I’ve been to an event at this glorious yet somewhat run-down building with which I become increasingly more enamoured with. I have been summoned to these ruins to watch, and unwittingly participate in a play on mental illness. ‘The Wonderful Life of…’ is the second drama I have had the pleasure of audiencing (of course it’s a word) in the industrial grounds of the old Temple Works flax mill.

Shortly after my arrival I spy with my brittle eye familiar faces both in the crowd and the cast of this of this small group of dedicated art lovers. Our collective volume perfectly fills the space in which this moving and creative production takes place. I hear a polite voice announce the commencement of the show and I duly follow the rest of the ‘sheep’ through the narrow doors of his old flax mill, ushering my girlyfriend and her deteriorating feet towards the room in which the first act will take place. I must interject at this point that the previous night I had attended an annual charity golf event and was subsequently suffering from the vicious repercussions of a late boozy night catch-up with old pals who I seldom see. In other words, I was feeling severely beaten and whooped by the beer bat and not looking forward to be being on my unsteady feet for the duration of the show. I am also feeling a little shaky, a little emotionally delicate and wonder whether the content of the play may unsettle me and bring up some painful memories of my own experiences of poor mental well-being gone by. However the turnout, I am happy to witness a performance dealing with a subject which is very close to my heart. So, inside the room we ‘mill’ around (I AM STILL REALLY FUNNY) the makeshift bar in the corner and talk in hushed voices waiting for someone or something to signal the opening of ‘The Wonderful Life of…’

“Hello” a warm voice softly sounds from somewhere behind me, but where? “Hello.” It comes again, slightly nearer. I turn to be greeted by a beautiful blonde bride in pearly white flow holding a bouquet with the kind of relaxed calm and radiance only a person experiencing a deep sense of loving security would feel. “Hello.” I say back in polite return. Was I here to witness a wedding as well as the harrowing production on ‘madness’ I was forewarned about? Without an introduction she begins to tell us how happy and complete she was on her wedding day. A second character appears: a scruffy; unkempt; erratic; babblesome (definitely needs to be a word) young man. And who is he addressing behind a closed door at the other end of the room with increasing fear and reproach? “SHUT UP!” and “LEAVE ME ALONE”, he cries. The monologues from our two characters intersperse and grow in intensity, especially our erratic scruffbag, until we discover what he is scared of….. Pirates! (My partner has de-shoed herself by this point and opted for the benediction of the cold concrete instead of the rapidly blistering confines of her dressy footwear. I end up carrying her jacket). Pirates! Two of the scoundrels: weathered; swarthy and full of guile. They seem to be leading him on some sort of fantastic voyage and we are all at their mercy to accompany them. They lead us all through the door from whence they burst, on to their ‘ship’ to sail around the outside grounds of THE TEMPLE WORKS OF DOOM and on the choppy, unsettled waters of the two ‘deranged’ protagonists psyches. Soundtracking this journey is ‘Close To You’ by The Carpenters and some members of the audience sing along (including my ladywife who has already lost her shoes in the first room). Now, I am far too cool to like such bands but I do appreciate that Karen Carpenter’s death brought about media attention to anorexia nervosa and also to bulimia which brought lasting awareness to both mental health disorders.

As we progress in to the outside yard and are treated to a sweet serenade from atop the rickety iron staircase in the corner of the complex by our lovable shabby nutjob who seems to have taken quite a shine to our bride. We are encouraged to climb the staircase and progress in to yet another part of the complex and I am struck by his mania as he lovingly pours out an affectionate rendition of ‘I Say A Little Prayer’ by Aretha Franklin in her honour. I reach the top – I AM at a wedding! The large upstairs room is decked-out to resemble a wedding reception and I am warmly greeted by both bride and groom and received like an old friend. And thank the sweet baby Jesus – there ARE seats! Get in. My girlywife’s shoes are reunited with their owner by some kind soul (no pun intended) and there is gratitude and laughter. We take our place at one of the front-row tables facing the long table bound for the wedded couple. The hall soon fills up and when all bums are on seats the newlyweds bound in and greet us all, table by table and I am forced to feign another emotional embrace and excuse my recent absence from their life stating: “Sorry I’ve not been in touch, things just haven’t been the same since the accident…” as I clutch my left hand side with my right hand. Why do they keep choosing ME as their interactive scapegoat? I may sound like I’m unimpressed but I loved it as I get very bored very quickly if I’ve to stay still or be quiet for long periods of time (five minutes or more).

As the stories progress we discover more about our bride Kate’s psychological deterioration and the inevitable frustrations experienced by both her and her husband as the strain on their marriage becomes greater and greater. She steadily loses her warm and contented mood and it is soon replaced by tales of retrospective woe and wistfulness. We also unearth our disturbed scruff Robert’s penchant for credit card spending sprees and are given an intimate window in to the delusions by which both characters are plagued. We are easily drawn in to the dizzying and extremely disconcerting world of their self-deceptions: Kate starts hallucinating that her own bodily flesh is rotting and is driven to vomiting due to the smell; Robert receives messages from the television and imaginary pirates that he is supremely special and that a divine sensory gift has been bestowed upon him, one which will heal the ills of the world. He wriggles and writhes in adulation as he receives his new ‘powers’ and I idly wonder if he is able to mend my poor wifey’s feet…

I have to say, humour aside, I found both Kate and Robert’s stories and performance believable and quite moving. Their torments, frustrations and the way it affected their lives and the lives of their loved ones were all very real for them. They were real for me, too. The final message from Robert’s character was a hopeful yet sad one. After all his combined treatments he was left with no cure to speak of, he was just better equipped to deal with his affliction – his dark passenger – as Jeff Lindsay puts it in his Darkly Dreaming Dexter novels. Having previously worked in Mental Health services I have heard various personal accounts of psychosis and schizophrenia, some tragic, some inspiring, and I know this – I would rather run a marathon in my now partially crippled partner’s high heels than walk for five minutes in people like Robert or Kate’s shoes.