A courageous exploration of form
Hotel Modern don’t use cameras in Banana and Oyster Knife – and the essence of the company’s approach to dramatic structure is all the clearer for it.
Child’s play
Devoted Hotel Modern audiences already have a fair idea of what to expect from the company: the actors use cameras, sound effects and countless objects to create illusions that they bring to life on a projection screen. Over the years the group has used this approach to build up a substantial body of work, ranging from the comical Shrimp Tales to Kamp, a horrific portrayal of life in a concentration camp. In Banana and Oyster Knife, however, there is not a camera to be seen. For this play Hotel Modern have abandoned their usual formula to experiment with a form of object theatre that takes place exclusively on the stage floor.
The set for Banana and Oyster Knife seems simple enough. We see six blocks on which objects stand. The actors start playing a game, positioning new objects and juxtaposing them, one by one. The actors are like chess players as they consider their next move. It appears that the aim is to create a combination of objects that is as tall possible. I notice that I start seeing the objects as a child would: not as mere objects, but as items that can be used to make all sorts of other things. After a number of moves, the artwork is ready. The players then look at one another, applaud, and start making new combinations of objects. As it progresses in this way, the tableau becomes a commentary on art: on its absurd aspects, on the scene’s self-contamination and on its fleeting nature – art is there for a moment, and then it disappears.
Life in lifeless things
The cast then abandon the focus on stacking objects, giving them the freedom to make sculptures from the objects. Once again Hotel Modern succeed in getting us to see things that aren’t there: once it’s stuffed into a skull, a cauliflower becomes a brain; a jar of peanut butter looks a lot less tasty when a toilet brush is dipped into it. A brief gasp of shock can be heard from the audience when the actors stab stuffed animals – we know it’s not real, but we fall for it anyway. Ultimately the focus shifts to the actors themselves as they attempt to transform themselves into objects. This yields some splendid moments – especially when Arlène Hoornweg and Pauline Kalker seem to disappear into their costumes – but they are never quite as engaging as the evocations of life in lifeless things. Their use of a more fundamental form in this play only underlines that this – and the humour and sense of wonder it engenders – is the company’s trump card.
Hotel Modern could have chosen to rely on their successful formula. They are the only people in the Netherlands making theatre in this way, and they attract audiences that are well acquainted with the company’s earlier work. Choosing to take another path and not satisfy expectations is a courageous move. Banana and Oyster Knife is the type of exploration of form that many experienced companies would either not consider worthwhile or not have the courage to embark on. Even if only for that reason, this piece is well worth seeing.
13-11-2017
