Review: Egregore

Egregore seized our attention, and only surrendered it once the illusion had been achieved.


****

dir. Alexander Gillespie

Egregore is a play about deceit, murder and… ultimately murder, yet the sounds accompanying the performance were not those of suspenseful silence or the reverberation of a sudden intake of breath: it was laughter. This play presents a playful blend of the comic and the sinister, depicting a hypnotic tale of magical absurdity that was a breath of fresh air. Led through an evening at the circus, the audience marvelled at both the mystery and magic unveiling itself on stage.

This was perhaps the most inventively directed production I have witnessed at the Barron. Imaginatively staged, Gillespie acknowledged the limitations of the dramatic space, stripping the set of all furniture except two blocks, allowing the performance to be driven by the physical interaction of its characters. The actors transformed the minimalist stage, as the master puppeteers Evie (Pollock) and Roderick (Quinn) compel their victims to carry out their bidding. Pollock perfectly captures the conflicting dualism of her character’s inner state, a figure possessing absolute command, underpinned by maniacal psychosis. Mesmerising in her unwavering confidence, Pollock captivates the audience with her every action. Quinn serves as her rational counterpart, and it is through his sway that the narrative unfolds. Through humour, Quinn serves as our mortal representative within this world of fantasy, yet that is not to suggest that his presence was any less commanding. One scene – in which the audience are invited to participate in his circus act – suspended audience disbelief. Like Quinn’s dramatic victims, we were manipulated into a mindset in which we accepted all that he declared. It is an illusion, of course, but you inevitably surrender to his grasp.

The play’s direction and central partnership was wonderfully executed, but the magic began to disappear as the impetus shifted towards the supporting characters. Despite an impressive turn from Hannah Ritchie, the supporting performances seemed a little erratic, partially as a result of over-performing, but also as a consequence of their characterisation. Although they served some purpose in the development of the narrative, they committed to neither tragic nor comic status, leaving their portrayal rather unevenly cooked. The narrative gradually lost its cohesiveness as it came to its end, resulting in the pinnacle moment of the action, as Evie attempts to carry out her human sacrifice, frankly lacking the exhilaration that one would associate with such an event. Perhaps I’m overlooking the spirit of the play. This world of absurdity surely isn’t supposed to possess any coherent structure, expectations are intended to be challenged, but it wasn’t even a matter of an intentional anti-climax. The play appeared to have exhausted all dramatic energy, demoting its former impetus to narrative dissolution.

As a piece of vaudeville theatre, Egegore offered an evening of laughter and spectacle, bolstered by astute direction and adept central performances. What it lacked in its narrative was compensated for by its enchanting engagement with the audience. Ultimately, Egregore seized our attention, and only surrendered it once the illusion had been achieved.

 

Photos by Katie Brennan.