Naima Khan's thoughts on the first in the ten-part series that is In Eldersfield: An Elegy for Paul Dirac
The cast of An Elegy for Paul Dirac sit facing the audience. It's been twenty minutes and nothing has happened on stage; the audience, meanwhile, are descending into chaos. Of all the shows at SPILL Festival of Performance, this one – by Kings of England – must go down as one of the most challenging and memorable, not least for inducing this peculiar scene.
It fits perfectly with SPILL’s experimental ethos. This is a festival that promises theatre-goers something new, and there’s no denying Kings of England present their audience with something they’ve never experienced before. But this of course results in mixed reactions. Other reviewers have described the show as an “unnecessary experiment” and it will no doubt face criticism for failing to consider the audience. But in refusing to patronise them, I think it elevates their status.
The company's brave take on character exploration can easily stump a viewer. But, without ever resorting to a simple life story, they get away with telling us as little as they can about Dirac by finding new ways to doff their caps to this fascinating man.
They begin with a toast that we all take part in: “To dead dogs, dead children, dead lovers, dead heroes, and how good it is to be alive.” It captures their attitude as a company to theatre, life and all its characters. It sets the tone, which is at times mournful – as you might expect from the title – but also highlights a sense of hopefulness.
There are two other memorable instances of an original salute which really set the bar. To portray Dirac amongst his peers, a group of schoolchildren are brought on stage, each is labelled with the name of a physicist, and presents Dirac with a series of theoretical questions. I don't remember the questions and I don't think they matter much; what's important here is the ponderous tone in which they are asked and the thoughtful and satisfying tone Dirac answers in. It's adorable and admirable and encapsulates the way Dirac was received by his colleagues in a very affective way.
And then there's that silence. Or that attempted silence. An ode to such a quiet man requires one and Kings of England are brave enough to stay true to the character they're exploring. It centres on an incident that we're made aware of earlier. During an experiment, Dirac is asked, “Where are you going on your holidays?” He lets twenty minutes pass before he answers. And he answers with a question, to boot. By the time he gets around to saying “Why do you want to know?” a number of people have left while the rest are chattering like mad. Some cough, some sneeze and someone lets out a scream. The perfect silence that existed in the lab is a far thought, but still the response elicits guffaws. This experiment hasn't gone as well as it could have. But the point is that there was potential for some unique verbatim theatre, had the audience worked with the theatre makers and shown them some mutual respect.
In Eldersfield: An Elegy for Paul Dirac is the first part of a ten-part series. If it's an indication of things to come we can expect worthwhile, weird theatre that asks more of its audience than they might expect.
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