Written and Performed by Al Seed 

Dramaturg by Niloo-Far Khan 

A place of worship. A place of war. How often they seem to be the same.

Guarded, or sullied, by the presence of a small white statue of a woman, presumably a Goddess or religious figure of sorts, is the only element of the stage with a reverence and cleanness to it. The remainder of Kai Fischer’s set design for Plinth is an aesthetically ensnaring condemnation of our reverence of pedestalling (particularly this nation’s perverse obsession with statues) amidst a lacing of contemporary war and classical myth which plunges itself further into a depravity that, while extraordinary, could do with incorporating some sense of light thematically.

This profoundly physical touring piece of work from Glasgow-based Al Seed, co-produced with Vanishing Point, where power is channelled into the environment of Plinth: a solo work performed outside of the confines of a traditional narrative form. The construction of the plot, in the most familiar of senses, is closer to the evocation of image and form: arguments drift of humanities (d)evolution and thirst for war, our divisive nature over commemorative effigies, and inspirations from the classic myths and poetic licences of Ovid or Laurent de La Hyre’s depiction of the Minotaur trapped within a labyrinth. But Plinth speaks to a purer, more arcane sense of storytelling and atmosphere as Seed ventures further, ready to confront whatever beast lays before them.

If ever there was an argument for the celebration and commendation of movement in theatre – it is for Seed’s performance and exuberantly graceful, fleshly, and visceral range of wordless communications and storytelling. Grasping tightly to the protruding horn which once littered the set, the jittering movements almost communicate someone grasping the concept of being ‘human’ – pushing this classical notion of the abuse and corruption of man into the Minotaur. But rather than under the watchful eye of King Minos, Seed’s lead performance seems far more familiar, undergoing a metamorphosis of body and mind. Shifting from solider to farmer, worshipper to survivor turning this hollow spear into a crutch of sorts, the objects of the show aid in transformative storytelling – the repetitious use of a small mirrored bowl, likely once used as an offering to the statue, now bursting shafts of revealing, destructive light into the audience gazing at Seed’s performance.

Trapped in this manifested labyrinth, one more so of a state of being than of ancient myth, one which could easily slip into the setting of a war trench or an early settlement designed by Fischer. Smouldering, a fuse of incense, steam, and fog, there’s a physical manifestation of the discomfort onstage that some audience members may feel – an intentional choice from Al Seed and Vanishing Point. The roughness to the set, including a towering plinth/platform surrounded by sandbags and strewn earth: Guy Veale’s soundscape doing its most to solidify the pulse of composition, a torrent of pulsating white noise which both find a familiar rhythm, and an indistinguishable sense of place and time. Alberto Santos Bellido’s sepia-tinted lighting, cascading, bathing the stage in an equally disconcerting fuse of solemn grace and frightening reality.

For fifty minutes of exquisitely crafted and performed movement theatre, Vanishing Point’s Plinth can evoke hundreds of readings from its audiences who step into the show with a vulnerability and responsive perspective. This is not theatre to see with a casual eye – there are no quick answers; Plinth is crafted with bold intention, one where some will undoubtedly become lost in the vastness, and others who appreciate the conviction of the experience will find greatness within Plinth’s depths.