Faust

Faust

21 July, 2008
by: Davidw

Faust at London Bridge is a promenade performance by Punchdrunk, taking place in a massive warehouse in the docks round the corner from Wapping station.

Punchdrunk Faust is unlike anything you have seen before. Yes, you are watching a play but you are also voyeurs, creepily following the cast around the building in a choose-your-own adventure story where you choose the experience you want to have.

London's doomed industrial space makes a magnificent setting. The designer has borrowed from the warehouse's history as an archive and constructed a maze in which to lose yourself. On arrival the audience is deposited in a landscape of brightly lit Christmas trees like the CS Lewis children who venture behind the wardrobe. You can imagine crushing the snow under your feet as you walk. Upstairs a mystic Connecticut town has been faithfully recreated from the 1950s. An American diner comes complete with chrome-plated wall phones and a wonderfully familiar female attendant serving 'Heavenly Humble Pie'. Outside, a red neon sign flashes MOTEL. If you linger, you stumble upon scenes of domestic violence or catch locals outdoing each other quaffing root beer float.

You do believe the programme when it tells you 100 people contributed - this is a massive undertaking. The actors work like pit monkeys. Bouncing around, they have so many talents to showcase. Song, monologue, dance and mime, crammed into tiny acrobatic bodies. Tough work. Actors whisper in your ear if they are about to start a fight in your face - a generous concession.

The absolute highlight is the finale which takes place in a whirl of Spanish web. Two black strops hang from the rafters. Mephistopheles and his victim grab their strops and spin around the web at rib-crushing speed, then circle each other. The lighting is perfect and it's incredibly dramatic to watch.

This is Punchdrunk, the world of the 'immersion narrative'. You the audience wear a mask and you may end up as part of the theatre. In the sci-fi flick Westworld, audience members roam at will through the film set and shoot the cast at their leisure. I can't escape the suspicion that these performers have something robotic about them. An actress reaches out and drags me onto the dance floor, laughing as she spins me round. I laugh with her, but she does not see me at all. I am wearing my mask. I don't count.

As the night goes on one gets braver, and opens doors to see where they lead. The lift attendant (an actor) seems to have collapsed on the floor, drunk (I do like attention to detail). I get a little lost and to my frustration wind up caught up in the dance a second time. By this time I'm nicely drunk myself on wine and find time to enjoy the 50s blues band in the bar.

This is quality professional entertainment, as you'd expect from a National Theatre production. If you want to bathe in Faust, don't worry about digging out English textbooks to understand the story. Be brave and allow the darkness to guide you. If the imagery of the Madonna flickering in dim candlelight isn't enough, then try the moonlit maize maze. Maybe then you will hear the witch's ghastly story, or, like Gretchen, leave with your soul in eternal purgatory.

First published 12 December 2006

Davidw