Womb Division
Wild Duck @ Bakehouse Theatre – Studio
6:00pm, Tue 22 Feb 2011
I think it’s pretty telling that, despite all the Fringe performances I’ve seen over the last fifteen years, the first thing I wrote after having seen this show was “what the fuck.”
I distinctly remember doing so. I remember exiting the Bakehouse’s Studio with a big sloppy grin on my face, scurrying into the little sitting-room across from the Studio’s box office, and pulling out my phone explicitly to quickly tap out “what the fuck.” Because Womb Division left me in that wonderful delirious state of overwhelmed confusion, safe in the knowledge that I had just witnessed something great.
But let’s take a step back: Wild Duck, their programme tells me, is a small ensemble of VCA graduates. The cast of four introduce themselves as marketing executives, eager to improve the efficacy of their message; with scant regard for elaborate plotting, they engage on a perilous journey into The Wastelands to try and discover Paul Newman’s Secret Formula for Perfect Advertising. Their travels lead to encounters with a seemingly random collection of characters (Tim’s Hair? Bizarre) that are facilitated through quick costume changes, and are always delightfully silly. And, whilst the cynicism is cute (the world is round? advertising in the womb?) and laughs are free-flowing, it’s all performed straight with an honest commitment from the cast… even if the set, props, and costumes are deliberately lo-fi.
But it’s the end of the performance that contributes most to the post-show delirium – after all the giggles, all the craziness, the three male advertising executives discover a young virginal female. They surround her, and the atmosphere loses all sense of zany; a sinister chill slaps you in the face as the strobe lights kick in, only permitting you desperate glimpses of the greedy grabbing and pawing that follows…
And then the cast takes their bow. And I feel elated. But the thing is, I feel confronted as well… challenged. Slightly icky for having seen it, like I’ve been an accomplice in a seedy violation.
As I tap my notes out in the sitting-room, Tom Hobbs – one of the writer/performers – drops in, mopping up the last of his sweat from his efforts. I clumsily thank him (and the other Wild Ducks) for the performance, but broach the intent of the sinister climax; he smiles, clearly pleased that the question has been asked. “We wanted the audience to leave feeling dirty,” he says with heavy emphasis.
And that thrills me no end. It seems such a bold move after the performance that preceded it – cynical, sure, but light and abstractly fluffy – that I get the impression that it’s the result of a very risky experiment. But isn’t that what fringe theatre should be about? Throwing ideas out there and seeing what sticks?
Regardless: I loved Womb Division. And, with a talented cast who are able to turn on a ten-cent piece, I’ll most certainly be keeping an eye out for the Wild Duck crew in the future.