Reviewed: Stefan Arnoldat the Hugh Lane Gallery in Dublin and In These Shoesat The New Theatre in Dublin.
Stefan Arnold, at the Hugh Lane Gallery, Dublin - by Michael Dungan.
Marcus Davy- In der Lichtenau. Schumann- Davidsbündlertänze
Vienna-based pianist and teacher Stefan Arnold led a 30-minute expedition through the emotionally bipolar world of the twentysomething Schumann's Davidsbündlertänze.
Full of amorous coded references to the composer's future wife Clara Wieck - who composed the opening tune - the set's 18 character pieces are dances which portray, says Schumann, "an entire party on the eve of a wedding".
But of greater interest is the dialogue between Florestan and Eusebius, two of the composer's imaginary inner identities, who lend their contrasting personalities - the former extroverted and rational, the latter dreamy and inward-looking - to all but a few of the pieces.
Arnold, following the lead of Schumann who re-published the set after removing the original identification of each piece with one or other personality, left it up to listeners to reckon which was which. This was easily done given the pianist's bold, crisp articulation and animation of the Florestan movements and his thoughtful but unsentimental reading of those featuring Eusebius. That said, he allowed for sentiment in the 10-minute In der Lichtenau, composed for him in 2004 by Marcus Davy.
Arnold illustrated his brief spoken introduction with excerpts which proved useful signposts and which demonstrated Davy's intention of combining the simple with the complex. Representing simplicity was the motivic material - a short melodic turn repeated over a step-wise descending bass-line, exactly like a thousand pop lovesongs. This little idea then goes through the ringer, harmonically, stylistically, and in some forthright virtuosic treatments, before concluding with a chorale- setting. Clever, sentimental and diverting in Arnold's committed performance, it is nevertheless not really subtle enough to bear too many repeated hearings.
In These Shoes, at The New Theatre in Dublin - by Peter Crawley.
What do Anne Doyle, Twink, Anna Nicole Smith and Dolly Parton have in common? That's right. They're all fabulous. But while everybody can accept a cosmetically-enhanced country singer, deceased Playboy model, news reader and pantomime dame into the pantheon of blondes, some may squirm to add a convicted murderer to their ranks.
Not Pandora "Panti" Bliss, however, who begins her brilliantly acid masterclass in drag with a quick dissertation on Catherine Nevin, the infamous blonde who hired an assassin to kill her husband. "That was what you might call a Milli Vanilli murder," suggests Panti, setting out the tenets of her creed with just one gloriously tasteless remark. Cast as "aspiring gender illusionists", her audience must learn that blonder is always better; that you can never wear enough make-up; and that lip-syncing is a religion.
Director Phillip McMahon's production for thisispopbaby understands Panti's code entirely, staging her comic lecture with just the right balance of kitsch and irony. It is never going to win any awards for its design, but it maintains the inward smile of a show that knows it's better than it needs to be. Drag is so codified that most performers need simply recite its sub-culture shibboleths and throw in a few tart references to a cosseted scene. Panti's razor-sharp humour goes further though.
When an actor steps off the stage he's just a waiter, she tells us; but a drag queen never leaves her role. That may also be her one weakness. The effort of performing Panti - "so glamorous I'm practically disabled" - is all consuming, and asking her to add a partly autobiographical script, crammed with an unnatural amount of gags, can cause some awkwardness.
Panti eases into the performance, but where it feels delivered by rote, a stream of videos show her quick wits without a script, compering Alternative Miss Ireland or making a gleefully subversive appearance on an asinine American talkshow ("Turn My Daughter Back into My Hunky Son!").
That this programme gives us an opportunity to meet Rory O'Neill, the raw clay beneath Panti's inches of Max Factor, is a revelation that McMahon and Panti dance around with intelligence and wit. Just as Panti's vicious affection for Twink and Anne Doyle claims to honour the "real" woman beneath, Panti must somehow strip herself bare without spoiling her illusion. "As the school motto goes, it's not a parody, it's an homage," she tells us. But in Panti's wickedly funny gender play, it can be both.
Runs until Saturday.
