[2014030] Folly – A Miserable Yorkshire Poetry Musical

[2014030] Folly – A Miserable Yorkshire Poetry Musical

Homesick Productions @ Grace Emily Hotel

8:00pm, Wed 19 Feb 2014

Folly almost fell victim to some enthusiastic and optimistic “planning”; I typed those quotes appropriately, because it proved to be a very brisk walk across town from the previous show to the Grace Emily. We make it into the pub with a minute to spare, just enough time to grab a paley and a seat in the small performance space with around a dozen other punters (including one chap who I’d charitably describe as a barfly, and who incessantly checked his phone and cackled in that little-bit-too-loud unsure-of-himself kind of way).

Folly is very much a tale of wanderlust expressed through poetic rhythms with musical accompaniment. Nuala Honan – originally from the Eyre Peninsula – played wonderfully weighted guitar underneath Yorkshire-raised Sally Jenkinson‘s travelogue; Honan’s tempo matches the spoken word perfectly, with gorgeous melodies that never overpowered (until necessary).

But Jenkinson’s words were the main attraction, and there’s more than a hint of Anthropoetry or Martin Dockery’s work in proceedings; her poetic delivery varied its tempo wildly, from slow contemplation to bustling dissatisfaction. Her words trace her travels from rural England through Asia as she does what (I imagine) all backpackers must do: Wander. Love. Eat. Suffer. Experience. And seek enlightenment.

But, far from being just another interesting-yet-self-indulgent collection of backpacker tales, Folly delivered a bit more. There’s a tangible sense of teamwork between the two women – the glare from Honan as Jenkinson marked her own forehead was a wonderfully measured piece of theatre – and the text that followed it was sheer joyful exuberance. “I’ve been to a temple,” Jenkinson insisted, with her face opening up with every beautifully weighted repetition until she was essentially beaming with joy.

But the question is never explicitly asked: is it folly to engage in all this travel, to immerse oneself in all these experiences, in the hope that we’ll find enlightenment? And why the “miserable” in the title, given the show’s effort to leave you anything but? It matters not – I was certainly glad that I followed some foolish planning and squeezed in to see this show, because it was the kind of stuff that I love to see at a Fringe.

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