Red Bastard
I accepted a late invitation from my friend Joanna to attend Red Bastard's show at The Vaults underneath Waterloo Station. I had heard a number of things about this act and asked her more than once "Am I going to be molested?". It turned out I wasn't, but the evening was about to turn a whole lot stranger.
Clowning is very much in vogue at the moment and Red Bastard shows its more malicious side. He's a lyra clad grotesque, filling his outfit with balloons and space hoppers to give him a backside of Kardashian-esque proportions. There's some playing around with the concept of "needing to do something interesting every ten seconds" in theatre before attempting to exert his dominance over us. He barks out commands, demanding we switch seats and splitting us against each other. And God help you if you refuse to do as he asks...
This particular audience seem to be more difficult to control, however. A group of latecomers, when asked why they were late, reply with "Booze". I'd happily see these people obliterated from the face of the earth. One American girl is consistently disruptive, seemingly taking issue with every element of the show. Eventually she leaves the audience in the loudest and most obnoxious way possible, as all these arseholes invariably do. The Bastard himself even seems slightly thrown by proceedings. I have no respect for people who do not research the thing they are going to see or lack the requisite mental capacity to judge whether or not a show called "Red Bastard" is going to offend their sensibilities. They are the enemies of art.
By this point, I'm utterly confused as to whether a Friday night drinking session has contributed to the most disrespectful audience I've ever been a part of, whether there are plants in the crowd to add to the general atmosphere of discomfort or both. He pulls the show back on track in the last half hour of the 70 minute performance, as we pursue a quest for truth.
As an audience, we feel like we've eventually come together for the common good, revealing our lifelong dreams at the Bastard's request, along with what we would say to someone we know if we had the courage. This finally culminates in him stripping off the costume to show his real self in all its glory. For those of you keeping score at home, it's the 9th penis I've seen in the past five days if I'm including my own.
Not for the first time this week, I feel as though I've experienced something that defies description. Don't go to this if you're uncomfortable about audience participation, I suppose is the bottom line. It's a baffling, challenging, peculiar, disconcerting show. But a strangely life affirming one.
Clowning is very much in vogue at the moment and Red Bastard shows its more malicious side. He's a lyra clad grotesque, filling his outfit with balloons and space hoppers to give him a backside of Kardashian-esque proportions. There's some playing around with the concept of "needing to do something interesting every ten seconds" in theatre before attempting to exert his dominance over us. He barks out commands, demanding we switch seats and splitting us against each other. And God help you if you refuse to do as he asks...
This particular audience seem to be more difficult to control, however. A group of latecomers, when asked why they were late, reply with "Booze". I'd happily see these people obliterated from the face of the earth. One American girl is consistently disruptive, seemingly taking issue with every element of the show. Eventually she leaves the audience in the loudest and most obnoxious way possible, as all these arseholes invariably do. The Bastard himself even seems slightly thrown by proceedings. I have no respect for people who do not research the thing they are going to see or lack the requisite mental capacity to judge whether or not a show called "Red Bastard" is going to offend their sensibilities. They are the enemies of art.
By this point, I'm utterly confused as to whether a Friday night drinking session has contributed to the most disrespectful audience I've ever been a part of, whether there are plants in the crowd to add to the general atmosphere of discomfort or both. He pulls the show back on track in the last half hour of the 70 minute performance, as we pursue a quest for truth.
As an audience, we feel like we've eventually come together for the common good, revealing our lifelong dreams at the Bastard's request, along with what we would say to someone we know if we had the courage. This finally culminates in him stripping off the costume to show his real self in all its glory. For those of you keeping score at home, it's the 9th penis I've seen in the past five days if I'm including my own.
Not for the first time this week, I feel as though I've experienced something that defies description. Don't go to this if you're uncomfortable about audience participation, I suppose is the bottom line. It's a baffling, challenging, peculiar, disconcerting show. But a strangely life affirming one.
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