Image by Richard Richards.
Trygve Wakenshaw’s one-man show, Squidboy, is an absolutely delightful exploration of the strange byways and back alleys of the imagination. With his remarkable physicality, his delightfully innocent performance persona and his keen awareness of the audience he creates an hour of absurd hilarity.
At the heart of this work is Wakenshaw’s genuine connection to the audience. From the start it is clear that we are not here to witness something but to be part of it. He embodies the clown’s innocent desire to please and his delight in his own ridiculously inventive mind is infectious. He manages to wring comedy out of every action so that there is barely a moment in the show where there isn’t at least one or two people chuckling. It is a comedy with few punch lines. Instead, every daft noise, twitch of an eye or flail of a limb seems to touch a different person’s funny bone. There were many times I found myself laughing without really being able to say exactly what I found funny, as though the slow trickle of silliness simply overflowed into laughter without any real trigger.
Most of the laughs are born from Wakenshaw’s physical skill as he works his lanky frame for maximum comic effect – dancing, miming and awkwardly fidgeting his way through his ridiculous scenarios. This skill backs up the power of his imagination. While we all have strange worlds inside us if we care to look, what is really impressive is the commitment Wakenshaw brings to the game of imagining. Just like his innocence this imagination is incredibly infectious, provoking physical reactions from the audience as he acts out some of the more disturbing scenarios. Though don’t mistake me, this is not about shock. It is simply the dark innocence of a child who is willing to follow his curiosity down whatever strange corridor it leads him to.
For all the silliness and the randomness of the scenes, there is a structure underlying the work. Instead of relying on what little narrative there is, this structure is centred on the audience/performer relationship and Wakefield is able to carefully carry us into his beautifully strange world. If I had any criticism to make it would be here. I’d love a little more audience interaction (don’t be afraid, it’s delightful), and the linking scenes that tie these disparate scenes together are a little flatter than the rest. But in the end it pays off with a moral that manages to be true despite it’s obvious stupidity, so I can hardly find anything to critique.
Squidboy is just the kind of theatre that I love – strange, beautiful, audience focused and overwhelmingly joyful.
Rating: 4 ½ out of 5 stars
Squidboy
Don’t be Lonely and Theatre Beating
By Trygve Wakenshaw
La Boite Studio, Kelvin Grove
Brisbane Festival
www.brisbanefestival.com.au
16 – 20 September
