Rebekah Smith
An archivist and her best friend must complete her most difficult cataloguing job yet – preserving a friendship that is destined to end.
Knives and Forks presents us with the challenge of finding how to record the time we have left. This form-defying blend of drama, art and physical theatre from writer Danielle James, sees two friends Iris (Ianthe Bathurst) and Thalia (Thea Mayeux) unwillingly navigate their way through the final years of a friendship. This story is shadowed by their inner selves (India Walton as Iris and Yen Chien-Hui as Thalia), who weave multimedia movement and art around the speaking actors to present their psyche.
Credit goes to director Hannah Calascione, as the actors and dancers complement each other well on the small stage, never getting in each other’s way but only bolstering their clearly defined sense of self. These characters undoubtedly have a deep love for one another which borders that platonic edge, teetering as we saw them fill each other’s lives completely. They dance between harmony and disjuncture, sharing pain and figuring out how to lean on one another without spreading themselves too thin. The story forces us to consider how we fit into our friends’ lives and when those friendships reach their end, we are left to ask: what do we mark and how do we mark it?
Subtext is the star of Knives and Forks. When pre-emptive grief invades our deepest connections, conversations wear thin and fragile, leaving a void of space. Intimate scenes between friends linger with the sense of what they do not say. Unlike traditional drama, the company fills these spaces with physical theatre and visual art, with performers Walton and Chien-Hui moving seamlessly to finish what is unsaid. Very quickly, half spoken questions become memories to catalogue on chalkboards and dances to duet. Iris and Thalia attempt gracefully to avoid blow-up but inevitably find themselves back in the fire of emotions time after time, as the running away from reality quickly catches up.
The set design in this show is breathtaking and responsible for some of the piece’s most effective moments. Created by Ioana Curelea and brought to life by the movement director Caterina Danzico, the set is built alongside the story. Starting as a blank paper backdrop, chalkboard, and pile of artist materials, the back wall is transformed into a means of archiving memories. And by the end the entire stage bursts with notes, mementos, splashes of angry colour and outlines of people lost along the way.
The narrative is deliberately fragmented, unable to stick to linear storytelling but throwing the characters forwards and back through the years. Curelea’s set design serves this perfectly and provides a reference point for audiences to navigate themselves through the memories while creating a hauntingly beautiful mess.
You may be wondering why, with all this praise, I give the show three stars, but I believe it reflects the true potential of this piece. With all its strength, innovation and beauty – I can really see a future where this production dazzles and enraptures its audience. However, as it stands, I think there is a little way to go. Though the fragmented scenes convey the show’s themes well, I wish we could sit in these moments longer, particularly in the first half. As an audience member it felt as if I was cut off too early, before I had time to catch up with the intensity of the characters’ feelings
Similarly, the sound design often clashes clumsily against the tender writing, rather that complimenting the scenes, which draws the audience out of poignant moments. It can also be difficult to emotionally engage with the piece, as it focuses on the numbness caused by infirmity. Though narratively meaningful, the piece suffers for these closed off scenes, as there is a sense of over-moroseness without enough light and shade. It could do with less of the bitter and more of the sweet to have a less one-dimensional tone. I’d love to see this piece reworked with bolder choreography and a more captivating narrative.
This production deals with the incredibly heavy theme of losing a loved one to illness. It is presented as an inescapable weight that is all the more tragic for the youth of its protagonists, where one party has all the life to give and the other does not, despite how unjust it seems. Iris does not invite us into her world. We cannot share in her pain as she holds it close to her chest, and like Thalia, we are desperate to be let in on the truth while frantically trying to preserve the good times as long as we can.
Parts of the narrative that truly shine are the carefully curated moments of stillness interspersed with building panic. In particular, there is one stunningly beautiful moment of overlapping dialogue that is incredibly effective.
Knives and Forks is a spectacle, first and foremost, with its combination of artistic mediums and talented creative team elevating a common story to something visually stimulating. When death is on the horizon, there is very little left to be said and so the production strives to translate its protagonists’ strongest and most intimate feelings into something accessible to the audience through language, art and movement.
There is something incredibly captivating about seeing a set come to life before your eyes and the originality of this alone makes it a worthwhile watch. Band of Sisters Theatre provides a tragic and soft offering that is compelling and confronting – reminding us just how difficult it is to memorialise our precious relationships when time so viciously tears them away.
Recommended Drink: A bittersweet Negroni.
You can catch Knives and Forks until 26th August (not 19th) at 15:00 at the Nip, Gilded Balloon Patter House. Tickets available through the EdFringe Box Office.
Jake Mace
