Review: Badgers (Bristol Old Vic Weston Studio)
Review by Seth Wilby
⭐⭐⭐⭐
In my research for this review, I found out that badgers have had a long-standing place within British folklore, depicted as omens of death, tricksters and shapeshifters, who can be used to symbolise wisdom, will and resilience. For that reason, its no surprise that new play Badgers uses them to tell the multitude of messages within its own folklore. However, could this mystic tale earn its comparisons to the noble animal of its title, or would it make me want to retreat into hibernation?
Written and performed by Malaika Kegode, Badgers, produced by Theatre Royal Plymouth in association with Bristol Old Vic, premiered last month at the Edinburgh Fringe, before concluding its brief tour with a final manifestation at the small and forgiving studio space of Bristol Old Vic. A folk tale about folk tales, Badgers follows a podcaster named Meles as, under the shadow of her dying mother’s success, she begins to look into the mysterious disappearance of musician Ben, unveiling the mysticism, ethics, and deep-rooted grief in the town and in herself.
You’d be forgiven for thinking our sole performer would portray Meles herself. Yet, unusually, we are directed early on that “for the next hour, I want you to be Meles”, with Kegode taking the role of our ambiguous yet warm storyteller. The play then unfolds like an overdeveloped audiobook, with voiceover recordings of and made by Meles used throughout to take us on this volatile, fluid journey. Admittedly, it’s a device that I took some time to warm to, and one that doesn’t ever grasp its own self-proclaimed potential (we feel only like we are observing Meles’ story, and don’t echo the emotional ordeal ourselves), but it's a fascinating concept well-suited to the genre that does still have a worthy payoff. I’ll admit that I was amazed by how connected I felt to the story and characters by the end.
Much of the investment in the production is down to Kegode’s authentic and comfortable performance. Radiating with an excitable grace, it is clear that Kegode is here to both entertain and inform, with an evident grasp of the folkish genre in every noble sweep of her performance. It’s hard to command the stage for such a long monologue, but Kegode manages it with an effortless consideration of every sentence, procuring, but not demanding, our absorption in the story. It's also a portrayal stuffed with intrigue- we know very little about this omniscient storyteller, yet a lot of her actions and subdued emotional power suggest something deeper and more nuanced.
Kegode’s writing painlessly finds the balance between poetry and narrative, being both descriptive and expressive within every story beat. Her writing is exciting, and her language eloquent, with the bountiful script brimming with an unprecedentedly impressive level of description that proves Kegode a master storyteller. The story itself is similarly striking, particularly in what it manages to achieve in such a short space of time.
By devoting so much time and energy to description, a lot is left to interpretation, and the story becomes the star pupil in a demonstration of ‘show, don’t tell’. It creates an exploration into grief and an examination into the ethics of true crime, while also challenging narratives about rural communities and examining the real-world comforts provided by folk tales. The ending leaves room for calmly moving interpretations, and the story as a whole is an intriguing combination of fantasy and true crime, all of which solidifies Kegode as a truly exciting and fresh voice within the theatrical world.
Director Jenny Davies has brought this story to a vivid and passionate life, with a clear vision that places the text in the midst of an ardent collaboration between folk song and horror (one nightmare scene was a neatly handled tonal shift that unsettled as much as it magnetised, imagined through some ferociously intense lighting design by Mike Gunning and Natalia Chan). In Rebecca Wood’s creatively functional set design, the cubic monolith of a recording booth obstructs centre stage, a small television screen on each side showing archival footage, which morphs impactfully through different videos throughout.
This video design, by Christopher Harrisson, is expertly curated, and captivating enough to be worthy of its own show. Many voices are heard during the show (performers Hanora Kamen, Stephanie Jacob, Mary Woodvine, Joseph Tweedale and Dinita Gohil lend these palpable depth), which Harrisson visualises as a combination of mesemerising waveforms and spheres, oscillating as they speak and subtly symbolic of each character and state.
The final element to the intricate and immersive portrait that has been so delicately crafted is the live folk music, composed by group Jakabol (consisting of Joe Williams, Luke Saxton, Marietta Kirkbride, and Owen Gatley, with additional composition credited to Beth Roberts) and performed from within the sound booth by Williams and Roberts, who deserve extra kudos for one moment of head bopping which I found unnaturally hilarious. This music is genuinely beautiful, with possessing melodies and a continually mystifying quality that controls the mood of any scene it is featured in. Although it does sometimes distract from the story (perhaps the sound mix hasn’t been perfected on its first night in Bristol), it helps to create this immersive, all-consuming quality to the story, reminding us both of its power and of its fiction.
When the writing, music, and creative elements of a play can all collaborate into one such clear vision, they can create something very special, and Badgers is an outstanding achievement in fringe theatre, unafraid to find its own, fresh voice to stand out as a play that is truly and wonderfully unique. Exploring topics from grief to ethics in such a noble and nuanced manner, with immersive music and top-notch storytelling, it is a fascinating concept that has been gloriously realised.
Badgers plays at Bristol Old Vic until 12th September. Tickets from https://bristololdvic.org.uk/whats-on/badgers
Photos by Paul Blakemore