Kings Theatre, Edinburgh
August 16, 2022
★★★
Just over an hour into Room, James Thierrée sits on a battered old sofa and tells the audience he thinks they deserve an explanation. Of course, none ever comes, every attempt thwarted by slapstick and strangulated noises. But should anyone be surprised? As he says, “Explanation is not really my forte,” and this is Thierrée, and his weird world that combines mime, dance, text, music and myriad other elements in sometimes surreal, only vaguely connected moments.
It all takes place in a shape-shifting set that initially looks like one of those architectural salvage or reclamation warehouses. Bits of panelling dot the space, all separated from their walls; ditto a lonely fireplace and doors. There’s an old sofa and what looks like the stuffed head of a bear.
Photo Richard Haughton
Over the next 100 minutes or so, Thierrée takes everyone on a multi-layered journey. The show does actually have a narrative of sorts: he’s an architect-designer whose building resolutely refuses to behave, at the same time director of a show whose performers don’t listen and would rather do their own thing. The result is predictably chaotic, the whole show a bit like a work in progress, designs and scenes constantly taking shape before being thrown away as he starts again.
Along the way, there are some brilliant visual gags. A woman wearing a duvet for a dress finds herself swallowed by it and has to fight her way out. There’s the violin case that, for Thierrée, appears to weigh a ton, but then is picked up by someone else as if it’s just a feather. He has a wonderful fight with a recalcitrant music stand too.
Elsewhere, there’s a glittery armadillo on the loose and trains of mannequins. There are some running verbal gags too: one about a yellow key, another about the meaning of “blah, blah, blah.”
Photo Richard Haughton
The cast is dominated by musician-actors and there is quite a lot of text, which comes in multiple languages. When mime, movement and music come together, the results are wonderfully, but the spoken word does sometimes take away from the visuals.
There is less dance and mime than in many of his productions, although when it comes, Ching Ying Chien is outstanding. She slithers wonderfully through the opening scenes like some sort of insect whose home he has disturbed, and later gets involved in an aerial fight.
The star of the show is the room itself, though. Panels glide around forming and reforming the space. At one point eight of them move together, constantly missing each other by a whisker, in a strangely beautiful dance. Towards the end, even the ceiling floats away, at one point held delicately in Thierrée’s hand.
There is a hint of resolution at the end, but the true meaning of the work never does come. It does dip somewhat in the middle when it all starts to feel a little self-indulgent. I suspect its’ no coincidence that’s also among the most text-heavy sections. It also starts to lose impetus towards the end. Room is not quite up there with The Toad Knew, his previous Edinburgh International Festival presentation, but it’s certainly a ride where you never quite know what is coming next.
Room is at the Kings Theatre, Edinburgh to August 17, 2022. Visit www.eif.co.uk for tickets.