Urban myths and rural idylls: Bedminster Bigfoot & Last Tree Dreaming

After the legendary Bedminster crocodile, another urban myth arises from Bristol’s river and woodland: a wild and powerful goddess to give the city’s dispossessed what their human leaders deny them – humanity, and care.  Mark Breckon’s new play The Bedminster Bigfoot is a magical fantasy told with fast-paced humour and reality-based anger, a Charlie-Brooker-sharp political parody and an absolute must-see show. The twilight world of the countless ‘have-nots' in peril of hunger and homelessness (‘life’s natural victims, weaker stock who deserve oppression’ to the ‘haves’ in control) – is vividly evoked with verbatim quotes, media clips, & politician face-masks, but there’s never a drab moment in this kaleidoscope of dramatic cameos moving swiftly between savagely funny satire and powerfully moving drama. 

Director Marc Geoffrey has a terrific team – set, lighting, and sound brilliantly enhance the show – and all four actors are superb: Paul Currier as the callous Job Centre manager  ('It’s about reaching targets and the target that matters now is sanctions'),  Joanna Smith as the tenant penalised by her kindness, Ben Crispin fantastic as the ex-soldier at war with the entire system ('No decent country runs a forced labour scheme!') and Adam Lloyd-James as the boy who sets off on this very modern hero’s journey.  It’s on at the Alma Tavern until the end of the month – go if you can, tell your friends to go if you can’t. 

Mythical creatures with magical powers must be the zeitgeist this autumn: Kingdom of the Icebear, from the Theatre West season of plays by local writers, was on at  Bath's nice little Rondo theatre. Adam Cridland plays the boy who longs for this beast and there are evocative poetic monologue moments in this saga of a Somerset family failing to put aside their differences on Carnival night. Moving to the Hen & Chicken in Bristol after the weekend till the end of the month.

Now back to Frome for a quintessentially Fromie celebration as two new benches arrived in Rodden Meadow last week inscribed with thoughtful adages: cider & sausage rolls for all and brief speeches from Charlie Oldham the generous bench-carver and wordsmiths John Payne & Tim O'Connor.  Epigrams on benches, as Tim reminded us, are often about loss so it's nice to have one encouraging a look around at what's happening now.

On then to Vallis Vale woods for the Last Tree Dreaming Community Day, an idyllic event with  Helen Moore of Shared Earth Learning introducing us to a range of forestry activities from spoon carving to storytelling & poetry, with soup on the campfire and marshmallows for the children to toast.  Julian Hight was there to show his fabulous new book World Tree Story with amazing tales from 39  countries - Julian rates himself as a cottage industry now as publication was entirely crowd-funded through the Heritage Lottery.  His official Frome launch will be 11.30 next Independent Market Sunday, at Hunting Raven Books.

Musical finale this week comes from The Griffin, where Blue Midnight shared their 'space-folk-dub-brass-fiesta' sound, showing why they regard themselves as a"musical Monty Python" ~ a fabulous set from a band we should hear more often: buy their album White Moon to see why.

Hundreds of mobile phones flashed in the market place as Frome's favourite son stepped up to accept the freedom of the town on Tuesday. Cheers and flag-waving greeted Jenson Button as he told us he felt privileged, though no-one seems sure what the honour entails ("Driving his goats down the main street?" Rosie wondered). The PA system didn't work and the stage wasn't high enough, but we all know he's total eye-candy and what can you say in a speech except, Thankyou it's just what I wanted.

Meanwhile down in Dorset, local celebrations were more vigorous: pitched battle between Viking and Saxon armies at Corfe Castle, with a helpful historical commentary from the sidelines. "Alfred is getting pelted with rocks now - oops, that one's a loaf of bread." Warriors came in waves and bodies fell, remaining rather alarmingly on the field to be stumbled over by survivors with realistic looking weaponry. As neither side seemed to be flagging we asked a saxon child how long battle would rage. "A..a..ages" he replied, with a seen-it-all roll of his eyes, so we left history to look after itself and went off for a cream tea.

Rosie and I went to see Love Song by John Kolvenbach, one of the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School productions at the Alma Tavern. As you'd expect from young professionals, the acting was immaculate: Nick Blakeley - who gave an unforgettable performance Upstairs at the Lansdown last summer - was outstanding in the role of Beane, socially inept and withdrawn but ultimately transformed by love. There was much that was enjoyable too in the slick bickering of his sister and brother-in-law, and their own journey, but ultimately the contrast of crisp banter and poignant rapport, both unrealistic in deeply different ways, wasn't really in balance and failed to seduce us.

Wild in the Country was the theme for Frome's May Poetry Cafe, with Rose Flint our guest of the night. Rose's exquisitely sensuous poems are a hard act to follow but sixteen poets maintained an extraordinarily high standard. My personal peaks were Dianne Penny's delicate, luminous, performance and the plangent words of William Blake set to music by Niall McDevitt, but everyone deserved commendation in a really enjoyable night.
And here's Alex, Arthur (Scafell), and Alicia, who led off the evening with a 'farewell tribute to Paula' who has quit as director of the Merlin Theatre - and thanks to Paula for joining in the joke with goodhumoured grace. Indeed, Paula tells us she will return at pantomime times to judge for us again!
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Black comedy hour again... Blavatsky's Tower (at the Alma Tavern Theatre till March 21st) shows Sartre got it wrong: Hell is not other people, Hell is an agoraphobic family incarcerated in the top flat of a tower block with a crazy father who is the architect of this cultural monument to dysfunctionality. Gaudi built his cathedral high so the angels could reach it easily but angels aren't so easily lured here. Even the doctor who staggers up fifteen flights with an armchair can't save a trio who have normalised incest and incineration of their father's corpse in the roof garden. "We used his copy of Paradise Lost to start the blaze." And the comedy comes in... where exactly? Oddly enough, quite a lot, in Moira Buffini's script and in the actors' interpretations of this Chekhovian family dynamic, where the 'crushed' world below the high-rise is their own unattainable Moscow. Oliver Millingham as the patricidal son is especially moving.
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