Some Questions

We're thinking about VANITY, our public execution piece hoping to open for the first time at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival this year. At the top of the page, there is the date, written in pencil, and beneath that, the word 'questions' written with a capital letter and followed by a colon. There is an expectation. Here is what we are asking ourselves.

1. What is it wrong/incorrect/inappropriate to include in our criminal confessions?

1b. Why is it wrong to include these things? Who made it wrong? 

1c. Can they be included by a vague suggestion/can the un-include-able events be invoked through means other than direct reference?

2. What are the consequence of the piece?

2b. Where do these consequences take effect?

2c. Who do they affect?

2d. Are we putting ourselves in real personal danger?

3. Is it possible for the audience to forget, even momentarily, about the gun? 

3b. Should they be able to forget about the gun?

4. Is the piece funny?

4b. Do the audience think it's okay to laugh?

4c. Is it okay to laugh?

4d. In which places is it not okay?

4e. Is it possible to make the audience laugh when it is utterly un-funny?

The 'No' List

As the list of crimes for which we can claim guilt grows, so does our list of crimes that we do not think we could confess to. Here it is, as it stands - although some of the items are already raising questions. Why can we not mention these? Some are no better or worse than some of the crimes that have made it into our script. And there is a strange mechanism at work, here - why do we feel that it might be more acceptable to talk about 7/7 than 9/11?

The 'No' List

Are we right to rule these out? Is there a way to allude to them without bluntly blurting them out? What responsibility do we have, both to include and exclude them from our piece?

Taste Testing

The Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2013 is in our sights - and our application to be part of the Free Fringe, taking place in the same place at the same time, is under way. We're stretching our limbs and brushing the dust off the lid of the props box. And it's exciting!

The performance we will be taking up to Edinburgh is still in the writing stages. It's a simple premise, and will make for what, at first glance, will appear to be a simple performance - though, of course, it won't really be simple at all.

Writing the script has, as it often does, called for some background research, and so we hit the books. Our research lead us to browse through internet list after internet list of what might be considered to be the world's 'greatest' crimes. These lists are endlessly fascinating, morbidly, and cover a wide range of types of crime - everything from the Great Train Robbery of 1963 to the trial of OJ Simpson and the Columbine Massacre in 1999. On and on these lists go, implicating some pretty infamous people - Saddam Hussein, Joseph Kony, Gary Dobson, Ted Bundy, Adolf Hitler (you knew he'd be in there). 

What this has led to, more than the most morbid set of notes ever, is a very important question: in creating a piece of art, where do we draw the line of taste? Which incidents are acceptable to draw upon in a theatre performance? Is it ethical to invoke these crimes and the memories that exist in society attached to them in our work? What are we hoping to achieve - and if that isn't something by way of resolution or catharsis, should we be touching those subjects at all? Is it possible that we could, actually, do more damage than good? Would the disclaimers we would need to attach to the performance publicity deter anybody from coming to see our work? Will those incidents, brought to life on stage by our voices, overshadow what we are trying to do and create? 

It would be easy to dismiss the whole subject - to put down our pens and run away, avoiding all confrontation. But if we can somehow negotiate answers to these questions, our piece could do some very interesting things indeed.