The latest topical insights from Aberdeen musical sketch comedy team, The Flying Pigs, written by Greg Gordon and Andrew Brebner.
J Fergus Lamont, arts critic and author of Harry Potter and the Relentless Exploitation of Intellectual Property
We are fortunate to live in a golden age of artistic expression. For a stunning new movement in performance has emerged to reinvigorate the beleaguered theatre industry.
You may not have heard of it, for it has received little or no publicity, but “audience disruption” may be the single most important development in popular theatre since the introduction of half-time ice creams. For too long, the theatre world has been moribund and hidebound by convention, but now, at last, the gloves (and, occasionally, the kecks) are off, in a hedonistic orgy of singing, swearing and fighting in the aisles.
Consider the scenes in Manchester’s Palace Theatre last week, at the “singa-longa-riot” version of The Bodyguard. How splendid to see the barriers between performer and audience breaking down to the extent that the production evoked Schubert’s Symphony No 8, tantalisingly stopping 10 minutes before the climax and leaving us to work out our own ending.
It is immensely satisfying, too, to see that this movement has evolved globally, from Edinburgh’s Playhouse – where an invigorating bout of fisticuffs enlivened a no-doubt soporific production of Jersey Boys – all the way to Broadway, where a performance of Some Like It Hot was elevated by one participant’s steaming tribute to the Italian artist Piero Manzoni, deposited triumphantly in the aisles. Breathtaking.
Theatre pulled the show at the end tonight because of disgusting behaviour. We wanted to carry on but it had become a major incident. I’m really sorry to what was 99.9% a brilliant audience that a few badly behaved individuals ruined it. https://t.co/quemi5Jmt5
— Ayden Callaghan (@AydenCallaghan) April 7, 2023
The movement is, of course, a powerful metaphor for a world in which all is disarray, as well as a sardonic callback to the era of Molière, when fruit would be hurled from the stalls, and even harkens back to Plato, who commented on the “catcalls and uncouth yelling” in the auditoria of ancient Greece.
It is incumbent on us all, I think, to join the movement whenever the opportunity presents. To that end, I participated in an Easter concert at my local primary school, by melismatically caterwauling I Will Always Love You over the top of the P5 recorder group.
A heated exchange of highly metaphorical language followed, between myself and the mothers of the young performers, after which I became closely engaged in a very robust Brechtian dialectic with the jannie, who frogmarched me warmly to the exit. I can certainly say that I left with my once-jaded theatrical palette truly enlivened, and a wedgie.
I wept.
Ron Cluny, official council spokesman
Life as a local authority spin doctor can be quite taxing. So, when you have a quiet week, what a pleasure it is to survey national news and international affairs and see that some other folks are having it tougher than you.
Humza Yousaf, for example, appears to have aged 10 years in the two weeks that he has been SNP leader. Of all the decisions that he thought he might have to defend as he first ascended the steps to Bute House, the purchase of a luxury motorhome and parking of it on the driveway of the previous leader’s mother-in-law was probably not at the very top of his agenda.
Things can turn around very quickly in politics, of course, but watching Humza’s demeanour as he settles into his new role over the last few days increasingly reminds me of looking at kid who has won pass the parcel at a children’s party, only to discover that the prize is a pair of second-hand, purple Y-fronts: delight at winning, slowly giving way to baffled puzzlement and, then, finally, the look of disgust as he scrutinises his prize and asks: “What the hell is this?”
No more guest appearances at U2 concerts or hanging out with Lady Ga Ga for him, I fear
Someone else who has had a funny old week is the Dalai Lama’s spin doctor. Now, this has never previously been a job that has demanded acute crisis management skills but, after decades as one of the most cherished and respected people on the planet, the Dalai Lama’s reputation now lies in ruins. This is as a result of his suggestion that a young boy should suck his tongue.
If you listened carefully, you could hear the sound of a thousand celebrity PAs deleting him from their employers’ phones. No more guest appearances at U2 concerts or hanging out with Lady Ga Ga for him, I fear.
So shocking was the incident, that the worldwide gasp of surprise has probably been strong enough to change the earth’s wind patterns. Which may yet lead his spin doctors to claim he did it to try to combat climate change. It’s a tough sell, but not significantly weirder than their current defence, which is that the comment was made as a joke.
Anyone whose six-year-old has subjected them to 20 minutes of variations on “why did the chicken cross the road?” will agree that kids can have a pretty peculiar sense of humour, but this is stretching it. Be honest, though – who would have expected the Dalai Lama to be cancelled for a joke before Jimmy Carr?
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