Tag Archives: Rajha Shakiry

“Seven Methods of Killing Kylie Jenner” at the Royal Court

The murderous intentions within Jasmine Lee-Jones’ play – back after a sell-out run in 2019 – aren’t really aimed at a particular person. While an heiress invokes the online ire of the character Cleo, the play tackles the subject of racism. Like her creation, it is the playwright’s engagement with social media that makes this award-winning debut original and exciting.

Cleo is joined by her old friend Kara shortly after she sends a first tweet threatening Kylie. They argue, as Cleo descends into a social media storm. Tackling cultural appropriation, capitalism, and queerness – each in relation to race – makes the show an intense 90 minutes. If the women’s relationship feels by turns lost and less interesting than the issues raised, the action is firmly controlled by director Milli Bhatia.

Lee-Jones puts flesh on the bones of Cleo’s academic theories poignantly, and has a go at presenting more than one side of the argument with interjections from Kara. Through strong performances by Tia Bannon and Leanne Henlon, the debates seldom feel forced, indeed they are a great deal of fun. But it is with her language that Lee-Jones thrills: plenty of plays have tried to tackle Twitter, but this script gives the medium a run for its money.

The rhythm in Lee-Jones’ dialogue is impressive enough. And effective: talking of Jenner’s “images of herself and wealth” serves the play’s theme, but it is the neologisms and acronyms that are dazzling – if difficult – making up much of the friends’ conversation and the tweets from others that we hear as well. It can’t just be my own age that makes this tricky to follow. And do the acronyms rise in number as the play goes on? Or at moments of stress? This is a text to be studied, with every word and shorthand phrase demanding attention.

Such innovation ensures incredible respect for Bannon and Henlon’s delivery of lines learned. And personas adopted: both show online reactions with repeated phrases, exaggerated accents and otherworldly movement. The idea of Twitter as an echo chamber comes to life on stage with Rajha Shakiry’s arboreal-inspired design and brilliant work with sound from Elena Peña.

I won’t pretend to have understood every word of Seven Methods of Killing Kylie Jenner. But the combination of articulacy and (sometimes literally) nonsense, of the cerebral and the base – an effective summation of online content – is a brilliantly accomplished achievement.

Until 27 July 2021

www.royalcourttheatre.com

Photo by Myah Jeffers

“Misty” at the Trafalgar Studios

There are two sides to Arinzé Kene’s hit transfer from the Bush Theatre. It’s the story of a young criminal who attacks someone on a night bus. And it’s the story of Kene himself, writing the show and defending his art. While one character is on the run from the police and ruminating about the home he may be forced to leave, our author is questioning whether his story perpetuates stereotypes and angry at the responsibility writers of colour are burdened with. Mixing the stories together makes for an original work whose rave reviews testify to its popularity.

The show’s novelty, all the more impressive now that it’s in the West End, is to combine songs, poetry and spoken word. It’s called ‘gig theatre’, and director Omar Elerian deserves praise here, as it would be easy to feel lost. And designer Rajha Shakiry, working with lighting and video from Jackie Shemesh and Daniel Denton respectively, produces visuals worthy of any art gallery. Along with the singing and acting skills of Kene himself, there’s a suspicion that performance and production are slightly better than the play. No matter, as the show works superbly.

Misty is unmissable for its central performance: Kene has real star quality. This isn’t a one-man show, and there’s strong support from musicians Adrian McLeod and Shiloh Coke, who also appear as friends of the playwright. And a superb role for a child actor as Kene’s older sister (not sure why). But all eyes are on Kene and there’s seemingly nothing he can’t do, whether cry or laugh. His physicality is remarkable and his singing voice unique.

Back to that parallel narrative – the making of the play and the story itself. My preference was for the simpler. The tale of Kene’s intriguing friend is moving, in particular scenes imagined with his sister. When it comes to the process of making the play, the issues raised are valid and important. But that this introspection becomes anguished and intrusive – which is part of the point – is nonetheless frustrating. The traditional narrative could be developed so easily – omitted details are much needed – and it would have been great to see more. But that’s another demand on the writer, hopefully sincerely motivated on my part. Kene’s point is about artistic freedom and, given the achievement here, it’s difficult to argue with him.

Until 20 October 2018

www.bushtheatre.co.uk

Photo by Helen Murray.