Hatch

Mon 7th November 2011

reviews

Lucie Elven

at 02:06 on 8th Nov 2011

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Hatch is a gutsy enterprise. Something of its kind is probably necessary, and it’s presented as off-the-cuff enough to be inoffensive; for a ticket tampered with by the ADC, the audience just gets to watch thirteen pieces of creative writing.

I’d never been before, and was surprised on entering Corpus playroom that there seemed to be no Hatch community who watch Hatch together and support Hatch. It turns out that’s because all friends of Hatch were onstage doing Hatch together, while we payed to sit and watch.

Fittingly, then, Ellie Kendrick and Adam Lawrence chose jokey lifestyle/how-to-walk instructions by Donald Futers to open with (‘How to Live a Charmed Life’), which featured the word ‘ineffable’. As expected in a showcase of new writing, the audience wants to prove their understanding with noises of appreciation where it can, so irony is winning, providing ample opportunity for that. Accents are admired too – when Futers stood up to read a nice poem, ‘Vis Ich’, he revealed himself as thrillingly northern, and none of us could believe our luck when he was followed by Matt O’Kane, equally inflected.

The reason I’m kicking up cavils around something I claimed to support is that I was impressed by a piece that didn’t get the right kind of exposure, and was not accommodated by the Hatch way. Jack Belloli’s scene ‘The Distinct Damnations (Kennel)’ should not have lost momentum the way it did; the actors (Amrou Al-Kadhi and Ryan O’Sullivan) did extremely well given the circumstances, but there’s no sifting through Belloli in a two-hour rehearsal.

That aside, Lawrence’s reading of Clare Mohan’s prose ‘Stranger’ was very strong, as was Tom Powell’s ‘Utterance’, performed by Sophie Crawford and Harry Carr, and directed by Kendrick. James Vincent’s poem (with RHYMES) ‘Tony Harrison would think me daft’ slyly drew comedy and poetry together, and we loved it.

There was also one piece that I tried to get down verbatim, which was Mark Wartenberg’s long ‘dissatisfaction’, which he knew by heart. I’ll leave you with the words I can read from my notes, though the gaps gape: ‘hot pink’, ‘lick me clean’, ‘I need incision’, ‘teasing my insides’, ‘quivering’ (x2), ‘my juices trickle down me’, ‘a smell of excrement and iron’, ‘my filthy love’, ‘pancreatic lube and coitus of digestion’, ‘love, rinse, repeat’, ‘loved, cherished, lubed up, fucked’.

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