Getting new work off the ground can be a difficult and daunting process for any theatre maker, especially if a project is in its earliest stages and isn’t necessarily ready for production. It still needs time to brew, to mature, to develop, but would benefit from the structure of an imminent performance date, rehearsals and an audience. For almost 40 such pieces, this weekend’s Freshly Scratched mini-festival at Battersea Arts Centre invites audiences to gamble on “an evening of rough and ready flashes of inspiration mixed in with glorious failures”. Who could resist such an unflinchingly honest proposition?

“It’s a risky experience,” confesses Richard Dufty, Senior Producer at BAC, who is “ultimately responsible” for the successful delivery of the scratch nights taking place over three evenings, with two performance slots each night. Featuring 10-minute pieces from more than 30 artists, Dufty openly recognises that it isn’t all everybody’s cup of tea. “Audience members might see something they don’t enjoy but they know that ten minutes later there’ll be something else on – that hopefully they will”. There’s a refreshing candour in admitting some pieces might fall foul of the pressure of performance. Perhaps this appeals to our morbid sense of fascination, but BAC has thrown the net wide in a quest for diversity and quality to “see as many people as possible to ensure you get the best of what’s out there”. Dufty is clear that scratch applications are not auditions: “it’s simply the spirit of scratch to work with a volume of artists”.

“Scratch isn’t about polished work. It’s about great ideas and actively embracing the development process,” explains Dufty. Although the work shown on each evening is loosely linked to a set theme (Myths, Selflessness and Heroism, Machines), this isn’t a platform event for finished work and BAC is more than aware it doesn’t suit every artist. It takes a certain type of person to face the risks of a scratched performance. “We wanted to find artists brave enough to fail,” says Dufty. “You can scratch a piece of work at all different stages of development – from small ideas that may or may not have legs to almost completed projects. But for Freshly Scratched, we wanted to find work at the earliest stages of development.”

Dufty doesn’t shy away from admitting Freshly Scratched is “quite different to the rest of our programme”. However, the term “scratch” was actually invented at BAC 15 years ago, though it is now used across the globe. This is BAC’s first scratch event in two years and something of a leap of faith. Dufty highlights that “the key characteristic of artists involved in Freshly Scratched is that they have never worked with BAC in this way before”. Although some participants have come through BAC’s Homegrown youth programme, this venture is all about showing BAC is “not a closed shop”, as Dufty puts it. Scratch supports and champions emerging artists by allowing them access to a professional theatre environment, and Dufty confesses it is just as exciting for the production team as for the performers. “I get a particular thrill from it because as a producer I see theatre all the time and often by artists I’m working with and whose work I know”. For Dufty, Freshly Scratched is “all about art in its own right” and strips away theatrical conventions. With a Pay What You Can scheme for audiences, minimal technical specification and the centre’s ‘Playgrounding’ ethos transforming unusual areas into interesting theatrical spaces, imaginations are set free. Artists must rise to the challenge. With nowhere to hide, scratched performances are “fragile and vulnerable” according to Dufty. He tactfully jokes that you can read an outstanding written application, then see that proposal come to life in some rather unexpected ways, and admits frankly, “the very definition of scratch is that the work isn’t finished and it won’t be perfect”.

But what can audiences really expect from these imperfect interludes? As a means of nurturing new work, Freshly Scratched unlocks the creative process. “Theatre should be brewed up over a period of time because truly great work comes to fruition slowly,” observes Dufty. “The principle of scratch is that artists show their work to an audience to get feedback. People could give a pound, have an evening of entertainment and take an active role in the process. Their feedback can genuinely influence the future of a piece.” Tulisa and Gary Barlow, eat your hearts out – if you’re in the market for some creative critique, BAC is evidently the place to be. In short, Freshly Scratched puts the creative process first. Theatre cannot be created in a vacuum and as Dufty emphasises, “it’s BAC’s belief that theatre is better if it is enriched” through development and participation.

In the genre of immersive and interactive mini-festivals, Freshly Scratched is unique thanks to more than its kaleidoscope of creativity. Undoubtedly, the heady rush of holding the power to influence the fate of a piece of theatre is nigh irresistible as an audience member. Likewise, brave young theatre makers must be heralded for throwing themselves and their art to the lions that prey mercilessly on the delicious delicacy of new work. However, it is the refreshing frankness surrounding the event that truly captures the exhilarating spirit of scratch and the unpredictable nature of performance. Some will fail and some will flourish, and as Dufty jokes, “you always dread having one of those head-in-your-hands moments”. But even if one ship sinks sensationally, a mere 10 minutes later, it will all be history. Audiences will have moved on and the artist will (hopefully) have learned something they didn’t know before. As Dufty notes, “theatre must be made in dialogue”. Scratch performances, then, look like the ideal opportunity to join the conversation.

Freshly Scratched is showing at Battersea Arts Centre until Saturday 15 October. Performances daily at 7pm and 9pm and tickets are Pay What You Can. For more information and to book tickets, visit the website here.

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Molly Naylor was sitting on a tube on the 7th July 2005 when a bomb exploded on the circle line train at Aldgate. Knocked to the floor and caught in the smoke, she sought the comfort of her boyfriend and the strangers beside her. From this moment on, everything in Naylor’s life would be somewhat thrown off, as if her world had stopped but the people kept going – she was lost. Whenever I Get Blow Up I Think of You is a lyrical story of Naylor’s experience from before and after the bombings. It confronts the emotions and changes in her life, but also extends further to dream of possibly meeting the Aldgate bomber.

The piece reflects on Naylor as a person being involved in something as life-changing as a bombing, yet her sense of humour and storytelling stop the emotion in Whenever I Get… taking control. What starts with an informal greeting soon sweeps into words that shift and change. The narrative is as lyrical as spoken word poetry whilst still retaining a sense of a performance piece. The piece extends to her life in Cornwall and under-appreciating the normality of life in the country compared to her dreams of living in the city. She, like most of us, escapes to the city and begins her many jobs to get by. Yet the bombing alters all of this, and Naylor flees to the comfort of the quiet country.

What makes Whenever I Get… great as a piece of theatre is its sense of openness, greatly helped by Naylor as a compelling storyteller. She speaks openly, and with a sense of honesty and frankness that comes from something big happening in your life. I’m not saying that she comes across as a wise old sage, but it’s clear that her blood runs thick with experience. It’s a comforting quality to watch in a solo piece when so much depends upon the delivery of a lone performer. Equally, Naylor’s sense of poetic voice is surprisingly addictive to listen to, she twists and turns the narratives, allows it to momentarily explode before capturing it and nurturing the story once more.

There are some deeply compelling moments that seem to not only resonate with Naylor’s experience but also with our own. The London bombings hold memories for us all, and I find myself instantly drawn to the story, wanting to know more, wanting the inside story. Perhaps this reflects our media-obsessed lives, where our desire to hear stories, see photos and view videos to enhance our ‘experience’ of the situation overrides the subtly Naylor gives her tale. Yet it is when the story progresses that I almost feel as though the audience are left behind – in the tunnel, waiting to be rescued. You might find that statement dramatic or over-exaggerated, but it’s true, Whenever I Get.. seems to drift off and I can’t follow, which ultimately means that I miss out on the ‘moving on’ progressive nature of the narrative. Perhaps this says more about me as a person and my unwillingness to let go, but for me, the heart of the work is within that tunnel, and perhaps that’s a story waiting to be told another time… perhaps not.

All the same, Naylor presents a compelling narrative that manages to really capture a sense of her personality and the events of the bombings, where “the thin skin of London was cracked open”, is mixed with humourous tales of life as a new Londoner. Whilst I clearly couldn’t follow through the narrative, there is a a compelling performance to be absorbed and Naylor is especially good at relaxing and presenting herself as a storyteller with exceptional clarity. (Oh, and anyone who willingly hands out biscuits during their performance,gets a good review!)

Whenever I get Blow Up I Think of You is playing at the BAC until 28th May. For more information see the website here.

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Last year when the Battersea Arts Centre (BAC) announced that it would be doing the first UK one-on-one festival it sent a ripple through the theatre community and its audiences alike. Known for its daring and fresh take on theatre presentation, the One-on-One Festival confronted the notion that theatre requires more than one audience member. Like other BAC evenings, part of the joy was exploring the building itself, for the various encounters took place in every corner and space available. The festival was all about facing your fears, moving our of your comfort zone, and into the unknown – something that most audiences would prefer to not do. This is why the One-On-One Festival was needed, it forced us to rethink what theatre could be.

Having said this, I found last year that the focus of the festival was far too centred on the notion of ‘I’, forcing the spectator to question internally without being taken out of themselves. I bemoaned the loss of the ‘grand narrative’, the initial reason for attending theatre. Naturally I was eager to see how my perspectives had changed in the course of a year, and after much more theatre-going than the year before the festival.

What I found can only be described as a calmness. The first festival had an energy about it from the moment you entered the building, there was an excitement about each and every opportunity. In its place was clearly a highly organised evening with what came across as a much more limited audience – even with Kneehigh’s The Red Shoes taking place in the building at the same time. Perhaps this calmness was seeping from the newly built bedrooms, which see artists creating their own unique take on what a bedroom should be and then creating a one-on-one performance within it. The idea being that once the festival has come to pass, the bedrooms will stay in tact, giving artists and creators a residency space to live and work at  BAC.

My first experience was Patrick Killoran’s Observation Deck, a piece that sees you laying on a plank before gently pushing yourself out of an open window. With your head looking up beyond the building into the skies above, you are given five minutes to ‘experience’. I spent my five minutes running an internal dialogue which went something along the lines of:

J: Well this is pleasant, bit of a breeze. [pause] Nice brick work on the buiding [pause] I wonder if I can go out any further? [Begins to push the plank out further] Oh my god, what happens if I fall? What happens if I push myself out so far that I just fall out the window? [Moment of realisation] Don’t be stupid Jake, they’d never allow it. Health and safety. [Looks to the side and down to the street below] Oh my god, I am actually laying half in and out a window. Fuck me I’m scared. [Grabs the edges of the plank] I can’t do this. [Pushes self back into the window with sweaty hands] I can’t do this. What if I fall? I’d die. Don’t be foolish. Being inside kind of defeats the point of this ‘performance’ Jake. [Slowly sides back out] Relax. Enjoy this ‘experience’. [Pause] An aeroplane! I’m actually looking up at the sky with an aeroplane! [Pause whilst watching the aeroplane] When did I last do that? Maybe as a child? We spend so much of our lives looking down and never up at the skies. It’s kind of beautiful. I wonder what I must look like right now? Stupid. Suicidal? Nah, it’s BAC, the local residents must get used to this stuff. [Usher comes back and tells me time is up] Oh, ok. Thanks [pushes self back inside].

It is an amazingly simple idea, laying on a piece of wood and pushing yourself out of a windows backwards. Some people might find a calmness in it, a moment for reflection whilst looking at the sky. Or if you’re like me and conscious of heights, you’ll cling to the edge praying you’ll live to tell the tale. The internal dialogue was the most important part from me. Killoran’s Observation Deck may be about the surroundings, the sky, or buildings beyond the BAC, but clearly it allowed me to observe myself, my conscious self. Clever, really.

During a moment’s break where we are meant to have “time to reflect” according to my menu, I found myself writing a letter to myself that is to be delivered 5 years from now in Post Present Future by Cross Collaborations. It’s a charming idea, and very similar to Search Parties’ work, but it was facilitated a lot less. Hopefully my 27 going on 28-year-old self will appreciate the comments I had to make. Most notably “you work hard, and you forget the amazing things you’re doing, don’t forget to take a moment to appreciate them”, and some words about staying in touch with family. I hope it acts as an alarm clock. I guess time will tell.

In Kazuko Hohki’s You Only Live Twice (But Die Once) which takes place in one of the new bedrooms, you are submerged into an oriental safe haven. As you lie on the futon on the floor, a voice crackles from the radio beside you, asking you questions and responding to your answers. The piece drifts nicely from the radio into an audio story through speakers hidden in the futon’s headrest. As you begin to submerge yourself into the story of a girl trying to fight her way through life, there is an unexpected twist that will most certainly bring you back to the real world. It’s rather simple, and whilst it relaxed me more than Observation Deck, again it didn’t make me go fully into the narrative, rather a slight dipping of the toe in the water. I almost wished that it could have been played out longer than the allocated 5 or 10 minutes.

It is here that I begin to wonder if my experiences so far have differed from the year before. I’m still thinking internally, I’m not really being challenged greatly, although Killoran’s Observation Deck really did provoke fear in me. Have I found my narrative yet? Have I submerged myself and believed in what was happened? Not really. It is time, or the lack of it, that really disappoints in the festival. Of course the ‘side dishes’ on your menu are meant to keep your appetite wet, but I just wanted more. Am I greedy? Yes.

Thankfully my final experience in And the Birds Fell From the Sky by II Pixel Rosso certainly took me out of my body (as the menu I had was meant for this purpose) and placed me in the narrative. You are given 3D video goggles to wear, along with ear pieces and thrown into a world that places you in the centre of a bizarre group of criminal clowns. I suppose in many ways the performance goes beyond 3D and enters the world of 4D as you get given items, or placed in a car, sprayed with vodka or just feel a breeze on your face. All of this is cleverly portrayed through the video goggles, where you are encouraged to follow the action by moving your head in the direction of the video.

And the Birds Fell From the Sky really engrossed me, not only because the quality of the video was outstanding, but also because II Pizel Rosso managed to take me on a journey that looked beyond me having to question myself internally. Being lost to the world of video goggles, and relying on the assistance of the company to move me around, was truly a joy. I only wish more of the One-on-One Festival had this feeling attached to it.

As a whole, the concept of BAC’s One-on-One Festival is groundbreaking for audiences, and if you are that is up for a challenge and an evening of completely extraordinary theatre experiences then this is certainly for you. If however you are like me and see an awful lot of theatre, my advice is to choose very carefully the menu you wish to interact with. If I am to attend again I would have to up my game a little and choose the more ‘challenging’ menu to really push my limits as an audience member. Whilst the festival is putting on some brilliant work, I worry that the calmness surrounding this year’s festival is showing that it’s becoming a little formulaic.

The One-on-One Festival at BAC is playing until 9th April. Tickets and information available online here.

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As The Girl paints her bare feet red, the musicians roll out a tantalising tune and the small ensemble watch wide-eyed from afar, you know that this Kneehigh story has a dark undercurrent that is waiting to escape. First presented in 1990, Emma Rice’s The Red Shoes oozes dark desires in its new revival and final UK showing at Battersea Arts Centre. In her stripped back presentation, Rice brings the joy of pure storytelling to dizzying heights, offering the sinister story of a girl who, on putting on her red shoes, dances until she dies.

In true Kneehigh fashion there is much to be enthralled by in The Red Shoes and in the simplest of manners. With barely any set, aside from a series of movable connecting doors and a raised balcony platform, the nature of storytelling lies at the heart of the production. The show is compered by Lady Lydia (Giles King) whose narrative voice acts as the poetic and oddly sexy rhythm maker as ‘she’ looks over the story from the balcony. King is adorned by a glorious wig and dress giving a gutsy performance not too disimilar to those you’d find at your local gay cabaret night: disgustingly entertaining.

The Kneehigh ensemble, with their shaved heads, white vests and pants are full of foolery. They transform into the various characters by the varying suitcases that label them as The Girl, The Old Lady, The Preacher, The Soldier etc.. As the narrative unwinds, The Girl (Patrycja Kujawska) is lured into her red shoes to dance forever more. “Dance you shall, dance you must!” we are told. Her shoes bring about the obsessional love The Solider (Robert Luckay) develops for her, and as the alluring shoes bring about this fateful relationship, we too fall under the dancing shoes’ sinister spell.

Rice continually reinvents the directional methods throughout The Red Shoes, offering basic storytelling, clowning, slapstick comedy, songs, lots and lots of clog dancing, and a deep understanding how theatre can be presented. The relationship between the story, the playing and the sense of child-like giddiness sneaks into every decision made on stage. Even as the tale decends into darker territory Rice continues to offer illusions and tantalising treats for her audience.

There is an exceptional performances by Mike Shepherd (Co-Artistic Director of Kneehigh) as The Preacher and The Butcher. Equally, I’ve never seen such a believable (and completely absurd) time blind Old Lady as given by Dave Mynne. Their continual play within their characters and as a driving force of The Red Shoes leaves you beaming with smiles, even during the gruesome moments.

Some Kneehigh fans will note that whilst The Red Shoes is clearly a trademark production, it doesn’t have as completely wholesome  a quality as previous shows. Its stripped-back nature only went to further my appreciation of Kneehigh as a company built upon storytelling. Yes you can have the fancy lights, the special effects, and moving stage designs in a theatre seating a thousand in the West End, but sitting on cushions in the Chamber Rooms of BAC, I was like a child spoilt with entertainment.

Kneehigh has a vision of fun, story-based theatre and The Red Shoes offers this, and so much more. Dark and sinister, with lashings of sexy, energetic clog dancing, you’d be a fool to miss this, and even more a fool to not find yourself wanting to dance along. Just remember to stop dancing or you might find a fate much like The Girl… doomed to dance till bloody death.

The Red Shoes is playing at the Battersea Arts Centre until 9th April. Tickets and information can be found online here.

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