Jaye Kearney – @Yorkshirebint – is left brutalised and yet hopeful by Chris Goode’s powerful new work God/Head.
Chris Goode is a phenomenal storyteller, his performance The Adventures of Wound Man and Shirley in Edinburgh in 2011 left me reeling with the beauty of it. So I arrive at Bradford’s Theatre in the Mill with high expectations and some trepidation. I am an atheist and I have no idea what to expect here so I have intentionally avoided all reviews of the show.
In God/Head Chris Goode tells his own story, taking on the biggest question in life. Is there a God?
As a staunch Atheist Chris was always pretty certain there was not, until he had a ‘God experience’. In some ways it is a simple thing, a small moment on an ordinary day but it calls in to question everything Chris knows about the world, but more importantly about himself.
Chris cleverly sets out his stall from the start. As an audience we are offered a disclaimer: What we will see and hear, here, is the truth.
It won’t always be comfortable and despite being presented in a theatre, with all the trappings that offers, it is the truth. He exposes the workings to allow us to trust him. There are no hidden extras.
If it is the truth, if it is all the truth, then it is a brutal truth wrapped in insecurity and fear, and my heart aches for Chris at times. Until this event Chris, like myself, felt that those who believed in God used their belief as some kind of emotional crutch. Even now, he remains an atheist but in all other respects he is deeply conflicted and his experience has left him doubting himself.
And this clearly isn’t the first time. Chris’s spotted mental history is laid bare in short bursts. To say he is comfortable with this is not completely accurate. None of this is comfortable. Chris’s life, by all accounts, has not been a comfortable thing. Though he assures us he is ‘not, not OK’.
In God/Head Chris also brings a different guest performer in to the space each night. On this night the guest is Theatre in the Mill’s Artistic Director Iain Bloomfield. Bringing in another artist allows Chris to create a construct where he can question himself directly. Operating in the moment Iain knows very little of his part, until the instructions are given at intervals in sealed envelopes.
The guest artist has a dual role. Chris has a foil, a vessel through which to bring other ‘characters’ in to the room, and we have a mirror. It is a rare gift to see a performer genuinely in the moment reacting to what they see. In Iain I see myself reflected, my reactions echoed, the feelings as raw for him as they are for me. It is a beautiful thing to behold.
In response to his experience Chris sought reassurance in neuroscience, medication and therapy but none of these have offered a satisfactory explanation of his experience. The journey, the piece, Chris admits, is incomplete. He is still trying to figure it out.
But one thing is clear, to accept God we must know ourselves and see ourselves completely. For if He does exist this is how he sees us. Exposed. Vulnerable. It’s a huge, terrifying thought. Especially if we are not sure we deserve to be seen.
As well as being intelligent and beautifully crafted, Chris’ is a consummate wordsmith, the whole performance was a very emotional experience and I am not alone in feeling this way. The show could almost be subtitled ‘Oh Holy Fuck!’
Sometimes when an audience leaves in silence after a show it can be considered a bad thing. Not in this case. We leave one by one, needing a moment to reflect, to absorb and, for me, to collect myself.
As we congregate in the fabulous Theatre in the Mill bar I see my own feelings reflected in the eyes of my peers. We come together, needing some comfort, but also wanting to remain in the space created for us just a little longer.
Even the day after I still feel brutalised, introspective, and hopeful, and alive. It’s been a good few years since I have felt this way about a performance, and I imagine this one will stay with me for a long time to come.