As my post on Moonfleet revealed, I’m a big fan of theatre. I studied drama all through school and absolutely adored it, trying my hand at everything from horror to kitchen sink to farce. Sadly, in the crazy and confusing rush that was the first year of uni, my acting fell by the wayside somewhat and I haven’t quite recovered it since. However, drama is in my blood and I am determined to revive it. As a way of jolting my theatrical juices into motion, I am on the lookout for alternative new theatre to challenge my theatrical limits. I am currently doing an internship in London, meaning I am luckily in the cultural hub of the country, seething with young new talent and the perfect breeding ground for creative minds. While flicking through the paper during my commute (the slightly less creative breeding ground of London), I noticed an article on a new play called ‘Tutto Bene, Mamma?’. Originally written by Gloria Mina and set in Naples, the play has been adapted by April de Angelis and was showing at The Print Room, a converted 1950s graphic design workshop nestled quietly in the heart of Notting Hill. However, the theatre’s quirky history isn’t the interesting part of the tale. ‘Tutto Bene, Mamma?’ is performed completely in the dark. And I mean completely. All windows and doors are blocked off, lights are extinguished, mobile phones strictly forbidden, even glow in the dark watches are banished to the realm of the light. Ushers with night vision goggles (seriously) lead you in groups of 4 to your seats and even the actors are in pitch darkness. Sight is brutally ejected, leaving room for the usually second rate senses to roam free. Shakespeare, with a lexicon that would give the OED a run for its money, used to say that you went to the theatre to hear a play. I reckon Will would have given this concept a reverberating nod of theatrical approval. Who said there’s no room for the old in the new?
Heading straight from work, Moni and I met at the station and wandered through Notting Hill gawping at the splendour of the town houses and looking out for that famous blue door. We found The Print Room down a wide alley lined with candles in jars and laundry hanging from lines across the ceiling. Slightly bemused at this bizarre spectacle at first, we soon realised this was part of the set. Having no visual aids throughout the actual play, they cleverly begin the experience the moment you step off the street. What better way to portray the grotty urbaneness of downtown Naples than with old socks and camisoles strung between imaginary buildings, as if limply dripping after a good hard scrubbing? Passing through this rustic Naples backstreet, the front of house team thrust cups of beer into our hands- another nice touch which moved away from tradition. A plastic cup of Fosters somehow managed to hold a lot more charm than your bog standard glass of Pinot Grigio. We were then presented with the instructions, outlining the regimented rules required to watch the play. I loved the fact they were so strict. It gave me that excited nervousness you get when you are about to do something dangerous and reckless. I’m not entirely sure how dangerous and reckless Notting Hill really is, but the feeling was there either way.
The theatre truly was pitch black. It wasn’t even that kind of darkness that your eyes get used to- light in any form was no friend to this space. We clutched onto the person in front of us (a great social ice breaker for us awkward Brits) as we were led to our seats. The stage was in-the-round, meaning wherever you sat you would have a different experience. After a few minutes of nervous giggles and clumsy grabbing of friends, the performance began.
As soon as the actors began speaking and moving around the stage I realised just how heavily we rely on sight in theatre. It was strange to say the least, as well as unnerving; how was that voice from across the room suddenly standing next to me? Where did that character just go? What time of day is it? There were so many unanswered questions and it was actually a little bit frightening. However, once I let myself relax into it, the performance took a hold on my emotions in a way a play never has before. Having only three characters, a mother, her partner and her child, meant the audience could build an extensive relationship with each one without getting confused. Laura Donnelly, who played the mother, had a softness to her voice, which evoked a caring tenderness. Her tone, however, had an undeniable hint of sadness and combined with the softness conveyed her utter exhaustion, vulnerability and fragility. It’s hard to imagine someone’s voice being heart breaking, but Donnelly’s captured the sympathy of the entire audience.
Georgia Groome, who played the little boy, pulled off an absolutely stunning performance. For starters I had no idea the actor was not an 8 year old boy, but was in fact a 21 year old girl, until afterwards when I met her at the bar across the road (where, incidentally, I also managed to score a certain male celebrity’s number- no biggie). This shows the power of theatre in the dark- many basic stumbling blocks which prevent theatrical scope and freedom are broken down and allowed to flourish. With the aid of Groome’s voice, the audience were able to conjure an image which they empathised with and responded to the most. For me the little boy took the form of my brother when he was little, mixed vaguely with some other figure of my imagination. For whatever reason, this allowed me to fully connect with the character. His heart wrenching innocence, devotion and desperation brought me to tears on more than one occasion. Without giving too much away, when he spends his food money on bruise cream for his mother is one such occasion. His unconditional love meant he had an almost indomitable hope, which was extremely poignant through the darkness, and made his descent into madness all the more agonizing. Despite the majority of the play basically being one long monologue from the boy, Groome was so completely engaging that I found myself laughing, crying, wincing, clutching to Moni in fear and even retching.
Few plays have ever made me react so vividly. The darkness allowed my imagination to roam free and create a mental scene which I felt most reflected the voices and their individual plights. Moni and I both left absolutely astounded, agreeing that it was one of the most incredible pieces of theatre we’ve ever experienced. There are inconsistencies, admittedly. The Moped buzzes and low chattering of the Naples backstreets jarred with the mother’s Irish, the child’s English and the partner’s rough London accents. It didn’t quite make sense. The smells of pizza, burnt toast and lavender which wafted across the stage at various points were a genius way of surprising and actualising the audience’s experience, however if we could smell those, how could we not smell the inevitable stench of rotting flesh and squalor? Personally, I liked to view it as experiencing everything through the little boy’s astoundingly positive outlook, where reality and logic took a back seat to hope and love.
It breaks my heart to say that ‘Tutto Bene, Mamma?’ has now stopped showing, but it really opened my eyes to the possibilities theatre allows. It may sound totally illogical, yet often the things which make little sense can be the most powerful. We are given 5 senses for a reason, so next time you find yourself stumbling across the mundane, try turning down the lights and really experiencing them.
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