When reviewing – and not necessarily enjoying – a performance I am supposed to like, I find it good practice to check the faces of fellow audience members as a way to contextualise my opinions. At David Lynch Presents Crysta Bell expressions were mixed: some distracted, some marked by faint smiles, most were blank, and one or two were enraptured. Reviewing is inherently subjective, though, no matter how many facial expressions are dissected. There’s no escaping that.
Chrysta Bell is a singer and model from Texas. In the early 2000s, she met David Lynch and the two slowly began to collaborate on an album, This Train, finally released in 2011. Lynch loves Chrysta Bell, and takes any opportunity to express it. He loves her voice, he loves her performance, he loves working with her. She is, her publicity claims, his muse. David Lynch Presents Chrysa Bell opens with a recording of Lynch’s voice – his weird, thickly accented voice declaring his love for the performer, and assuring us that we will love her too. ‘She sings like a songbird,’ he says, though I would disagree. Her voice is much smokier than that.
The ensuing performance is one of long, classy songs. The tall Chrysta Bell presents in a mesmerising, ankle-length dress that articulates every curve. She is the singer in the corner of the Twin Peaks bar room – creepy, elusive, far away. The singer in the Twin Peaks bar was never meant to have a 90 minute gig of her own, however; she was an atmosphere maker, a strange and essential background presence.
And so with Chyrsta Bell. Although beautiful, although wonderful to watch for a time, although in possession of a strong and measured voice, she seems to be a single dimension missing the others. Each song quickly begins to run into the next, and the performance becomes monotone and begins to drag.
There is also an odd sense of self-consciousness to Chrysta Bell’s performance, immensely distracting for a show constructed entirely around cool confidence. In between songs Bell occasionally attempts banter, but has little to say. There are frequent moments when she doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. There are hundreds of eyes on her and she can feel every one. There is an idea of the classic, seductive vision governing this show, but the very act of aspiring to it erodes any chance at authenticity. The show is a caricature of the dark femme fatale, an idea impossible to realise in this context without the seams showing through.
A couple is walking back to their car after the show. ‘I did like it,’ the girlfriend is saying with a note of hesitation. ‘She was very beautiful.’ They pause at a crossing. ‘The songs were a bit long. But, yeah. It was good.’
Rating: 3 stars out of 5
David Lynch Presents Chrysta Bell
Odeon Theatre, Watchorn St, Hobart
Dark Mofo Festival
www.darkmofo.net.au
12-22 June
