Beautiful skin
Lynn Freeman14/10/2009 11:24:00 a.m.
Biography of My Skin – A Self Portrait Without Make-up, directed by Tim Spite, Downstage Theatre, reviewed by Mark Westerby
WE Kiwis have a habit of not talking about ourselves in great detail, afraid to lay ourselves bare, be ridiculed or opened up to criticism from others.
Yet this is precisely what Miranda Harcourt has done in her new production Biography of My Skin. Penned by her husband Stuart McKenzie, the show traces Harcourt’s haphazard life through the various highs, lows and oddities. The interesting part here is that the story is framed by (and sometimes told directly from) McKenzie’s point of view, blurring the lines between his role as a writer and as a husband.
The show is presented almost documentary-style, a huge video screen frames the stage area and Harcourt – in a compelling and at times, moving performance – interacts with people on the screen in a conversational manner.
It is the way the production weaves between live and recorded performance that really helps the script to sparkle, and deft direction by Tim Spite has tightly focussed us in on this. Spite’s direction of the video elements also deserves much praise, along with AV designer Robert Larsen, camera operator Michael Nelson and video sound person Alex Keith.
It is a real challenge to successfully integrate live and recorded performances and it is testament to the talent of these individuals that this is so seamlessly done.
Harcourt has clearly had a colourful life, perhaps more than some. To me however, her story highlights the fact that if we look inwards, we discover that the tale of our own lives has just as many twists and turns and all of these things are worth celebrating. Biography of My Skin openly challenges us to do just that.
WE Kiwis have a habit of not talking about ourselves in great detail, afraid to lay ourselves bare, be ridiculed or opened up to criticism from others.
Yet this is precisely what Miranda Harcourt has done in her new production Biography of My Skin. Penned by her husband Stuart McKenzie, the show traces Harcourt’s haphazard life through the various highs, lows and oddities. The interesting part here is that the story is framed by (and sometimes told directly from) McKenzie’s point of view, blurring the lines between his role as a writer and as a husband.
The show is presented almost documentary-style, a huge video screen frames the stage area and Harcourt – in a compelling and at times, moving performance – interacts with people on the screen in a conversational manner.
It is the way the production weaves between live and recorded performance that really helps the script to sparkle, and deft direction by Tim Spite has tightly focussed us in on this. Spite’s direction of the video elements also deserves much praise, along with AV designer Robert Larsen, camera operator Michael Nelson and video sound person Alex Keith.
It is a real challenge to successfully integrate live and recorded performances and it is testament to the talent of these individuals that this is so seamlessly done.
Harcourt has clearly had a colourful life, perhaps more than some. To me however, her story highlights the fact that if we look inwards, we discover that the tale of our own lives has just as many twists and turns and all of these things are worth celebrating. Biography of My Skin openly challenges us to do just that.
