Station House Opera

Mind Out takes five actors. Each one behaves a mind, dictating the behaviour of another actor, and as a body, performing the commands of someone else. The initial scene, in which a cup of tea is made in stages by the five cast members, sets up the simple procedure for the subsequent descent into complexity.

Despite its attempt to capture a state of mindlessness, Mind Out is a cerebral exploration of mind-body dualism. The mind is external to the body, dictating the movements but without responsibility for the consequences. Very quickly, the commands to attack or seduce are issued, gradually developing into violent or awkward conflicts. Simple processes are staged, broken down into fragments, and the different actions needed to perform even basic tasks are exposed.

The atmosphere is somewhere between slapstick comedy and horror. When a three piece band rolls on stage, the actors are paralysed in mid-battle. Perhaps this is a comment on the mindlessness of aesthetic pleasure, as communication is broken by the noise and fun of the music. The characters seduce and repel each other through their intermediates, shifting roles and personalities at each other’s whims.

Whether this is merely a grand exercise in the sort of skills that actors develop in workshop, or a more nuanced appreciation of the dangers of not thinking for oneself depends heavily on the audience’s personal engagement. This open-endedness is always difficult, especially when compared against the relatively didactic scripted tradition of British theatre. The fascination comes in seeing how the actors can get themselves out of the various scrapes they end up performing.

The manners and attitudes evinced are so very English (cups of tea and social embarrassment) that it is bracing to realise that this is the sort of work more commonly associated with European theatre (loose and suggestive). An approachable start to New Territories, and one for discussion rather than immediate delight.