Created and Performed by Ruxy Cantir

Directed by Shona Reppe

It might seem a tight fit, being in ‘The Jar’ with an enormous fork looming overhead, but once opened – an explosively mysterious absurdity is what entrances audiences into a cabaret-styled wander through the picking process, one richly influenced by performer and creator Ruxy Cantir’s Moldavan upbringing – a culture in which everything, and we do mean everything, can be pickled, preserved, and frozen in a moment to extend its shelf-life.

Presented through a concoction of puppetry, movement, and confidently absurdist humour, this pulsating allegory for the larder of life invites audiences to relish in the despair, the objective of which is to live – that in a post-pandemic drifting world, the sense and necessity for some catharsis may be just what the doctor ordered. And maybe a few vinegary crudités. So that’s where Cantir begins – trapped as a tomato, left behind in the jar for a spell longer than they would have liked, who longs for one thing: to be eaten.

Ageing, death, loneliness, birth – the entire lustre of it all is laid bare on the table, seed n’ all. Using their contorting form, the beguiling nature of Cantir’s presence showcases talent and skill as well as the production of more subtle elements as they fling themselves into new and more elaborate costumes. With the shifting tones matched by Alberto Santos Bellido’s deeply influential, sometimes even intimidating lighting, we rifle through the pantry to encounter more than a past-their-prime tomato.

Armed with what appears to be the world’s itchiest Aran sweater, and a quaff of green hair, an anxious onion attempts desperately to express themselves with ill-effect, though a talented and well-crafted piece of spoken word. This morphs into an initially charming, humorous and inventive use of audience participation with a baby carrot that may be cute but holds the desolation of mankind inside those adorable leaves. The pace at which Cantir switches roles and maintains the energy is enviable; their choreography and expression are inventive and imaginative. But it’s a dance featuring a spud, one that develops through the show, which takes the cake for showstopping, and indeed melancholic moments.

Because, for all the laughter and merriment, all the absurdity and staggeringly impressive visuals from Fergus Dunnet, there’s no escaping the encroaching rot surrounding the produce. Cantir wants audiences ot embrace it all, to do so in Pickled Republic’s messy, disgusting, undignified, and seed-spurting glory. That we have a shelf-life, and Covid made that abundantly clear for many. But rather than lay in the cupboard wishing for someone to come along and pluck you up, strap on the best suit you have and dance the night away.

Once more John Kielty lends their expertise to infuse an already rhythmic production with a sense of music, providing both the backing score throughout – as well as having a hand in the handful of comedic numbers which Cantir performances – sometimes live, occasionally lip-synching (do potatoes have lips…?). Their lyrics and bouncing composition meet the tone beautifully and refrain from overstepping the mark to ensure the visual nature is still the most striking element onstage. Additionally, Pickled Republic’s sound design (again, by Kielty) offers a nostalgic reminiscence of the pickling process, its longevity and survival, while Cantir transitions between scenes – ensuring the momentum never slips.

Layered (yes, just like an onion), for all of its absurdity and comedic elements Pickled Republic demonstrates such an intensely rich sense of care in creation from Scissor Kick, and producer Nicola Lawton. Cantir’s zesty production catapults the realms of misery and hilarity into one messy, provoking reaction to life – a pertinent, though a friendly, reminder that we don’t know the purpose of life, but it’s never as black and white as what we make it out to be. There’s room for a laugh, for love, and yes, there’s even space for death and a few tomatoes.