Dark Radio
Allen Hall Theatre
Friday, March 17
As we go into the Allen Hall Theatre, the atmosphere changes. Lighting in the performance area is dim and variable, a haze over everything takes a little getting used to, and sounds are loud, suggesting radio signals, static, maybe even some kind of music.
In a gauzy, tent-like structure in the centre of the performance area a blindfolded and barefoot man is doing something, sometimes but not always with an outdated-looking apparatus. He pulls, he reaches, he swipes, he gestures wildly, he looks as though he wants to escape from the enclosure. Now and then he exchanges something with someone on the outside.
On the outside, as well as the audience, who are free to wander around and take part in the action if they wish, there are spies, easily identifiable because of their Cold War spy outfits. One of them, a man in an Eisenhower-era suit, complete with hat, comes up to me and imparts a message that must have meaning to someone. Props include a couple of innocent-looking teddy bears, printouts of heavily redacted messages, and a battered suitcase containing odd objects.
As a sense of panic builds I take notes in my little notebook, wondering if anyone thinks I’m a spy too. Maybe I should have worn my trench coat.
It is all very mystifying, but the programme notes explain that during the Cold War number stations were used for information transmission and that "spies, nuclear codes and annihilation were kept at bay by those endless streams of radio noise."
Congratulations to sound designer Stephen Stedman, light and set designer (and director) Marty Roberts, performers (the programme call them "presence," which is probably a better word for what they do) Richard Huber, Sarah Barham, Blaise Barham and Jordan Wichman, and stage manager Tabitha Littlejohn. They are responsible for one of the strangest half-hours I have ever spent.
Review by Barbara Frame
