'Blacksmith' - The Odd Enjinears at the Blacksmith Forge at the Bijou
by James Webb
I am always slightly apprehensive when entering a performance by the Odd Enjinears. There I am, drink in hand, jostling with everyone else to get a good (and safe) place to gawk from. I look up and attempt to predict what part of the architecture might, at any time and with no warning whatsoever, swing down, trigger something off, splash water here, set something on fire there and end up all too close to me. Perversely, I sit in the front row and await my fate.
The Odd Enjinears are a tough group to pigeonhole and I am not going to attempt to do so here. They inhabit a whimsical space that falls within the overlapping fields of sculpture, theatre, performance art and music. They put on shows in curious locations and take audiences on journeys to wildly imaginative places. They play homemade musical instruments that would make Dr Seuss proud. They are site-specific, in the truest sense of the term.
Without a word spoken, the performers play out their roles as if part of some extraterrestrial ritual, quite oblivious to the audience of voyeurs laughing nervously, scrunching their foreheads up and, quite frankly, having a wonderful time. The group pull out all the stops, creating mesmerising
images and lovely sounds along the way. At the core of the work is a disarming simplicity. The items used in these performances are usually all found at the site itself and others are composted from previous shows. This simplicity continues into the physicality of the performers who use grand gestures, comic-like timing and Dadaist logic to convey their non-narrative stories.
You will hopefully sympathise with my nerves when I heard that the group were to perform in, or should I say "with", the Blacksmith Forge at the Bijou over the festive season. All those heavy objects, hammers, fireplaces and slabs of metal. My fears were delightfully founded. The Odd Enjinears went to town and nothing was spared. The objects of Vulcan were transformed into beautiful music-making devices, some heavy and thrashing, others delicate and precious. All areas were engaged. The floor became a drum, the many levels of the building were teased out to contain contraptions that burped, spat and laughed sound. No space or architectural element was spared. Melodies were tinkled off anvils; found objects were smacked onto large plastic container drums, and piano wire, suspended from the ceiling and pulled gently with thumb and forefinger, produced the most haunting of soundscapes. The show consisted of dream-like pieces strung together with little care for conventional narrative. To try and explain any of them would be like a heavy-handed interpretation of a good joke.
Leaving the performance to return to the "real world" is a difficult thing. My senses are heightened: I ponder the floor in the bar next door, wondering what sort of resonance it might hold; I listen attentively to the sound my car door makes when I yank it shut, and find the street lights especially bright on my way home.
If you missed the shows, let this be a lesson that you should jump at any chance you get to see them. The Odd Enjinears are directed by Mark O'Donovan and Geert Jonkers (Dogtroep, Warner & Consorten) and the show featured Simon Dunckley, Jutta Holzapfel, Mzwandile Nhlangothi, Harry
Kantratos, Debra Pryor and Rob Hanney.
