THE JELLYFISH WHO WANTED TO BE A BIRD BUT DIDN’T REALLY KNOW WHAT A BIRD WAS, main, student theatre, presented by the University of the Witwatersrand. Directed by Ilse Fourie, Rehearsal Room until today (June 29) at 9.30pm.
Reviewed by Brett Adkins
There cannot be many productions at this year’s festival where there is more English – or any intelligible language, for that matter – contained in the title than there is in the entire offering from start to finish.
And there cannot be many plays where there is more explanation in the title than there is in the script. Indeed, there cannot be many pieces with a longer title than this one.
In fact, I’d put good money on the fact that “Jellyfish” (to paraphrase, if I may) takes the cake on all of the above.
Student theatre by its nature has always challenged norms and conventions and it’s nice to see that this age-old tradition is alive and well in the corridors of the department of drama at Wits. Forgive me, however, if I am just a wee cynical about the objectives of this particular production and dare to challenge the challenge that was presented at the Monument’s Rehearsal Room over the weekend.
It qualifies as a piece of physical theatre under the guise of theatre of the absurd, and has been well-devised and constructed to that extent, but for such concepts to work, they really have to take their audience somewhere. There needs to be a destination or at least some recognisable revelation at its conclusion, and despite really trying to find something to take away with me, I was left empty-handed.
The plot, in a nutshell, is basically a reversal of the Frankenstein theme. It revolves around a nutty scientist and his mute, robotic-like assistant who are busy creating a “human being” (the only two words that are really understandable) with the creature’s creator spewing forth an alien language which we follow only in terms of the varying levels of excitement in its expression. The assistant transforms into the creature (I think) and needs frequent doses of oxygen (or something) to keep it alive.
Enter white Niblet beasts who communicate with brain-orbs in their faces (I was helped by the programme notes here) and who appear to be checking out whether the whole experiment will be a succes or not. I won’t give away the ending (I don’t even know if I could).
On the plus side, the physical movement, the undercurrents of circus clowns, the energy, the vocal innovation, audience participation and simply, the nonsensical inventiveness, are to be admired.
A multitude of ping-pong balls bouncing across stage are an integral element of the initial (and final) proceedings – the interpretation of which provides some of the best humour.
I would have just liked to see it all fine-tuned so that I was actually kind of on the station.
