Hallo Spaceboy by Jacob Hobbs
@ Surya, Pentonville Road
Hobbs strolls casually onto the tiny, underground stage in a rubber suit and a giant, transparent dome-helmet. He’s stranded in space, the air is running out, and our astronautical protagonist has just enough time for one last wank, a few rock songs and a bit of a boogie.
From the start it is an absurd journey - pill popping, gasping for breath and screaming into his mic, but the spaceboy quickly attempts to put us at ease: “If I was really in space, I’d be going blip bloop, blip bloop!” He reels off a gargantuan list at light speed. Later he talks us through a solo, which he apparently isn’t good enough to dance himself: imagine me writhing and twisting upwards from the floor, “like some kind of emotionally unstable, mentally bothered plant”. Contemporary dance disses and self-deprecation are abundant and hilarious. Somehow, his self-doubt and breaking of the fourth wall doesn’t turn him into a complete loser - perhaps this is down to how genuine and relatable the autobiographical moments are.
They say that in space no-one can hear you scream, but Hobbs’ charismatic voice filled the space with a palpable ease. A powerful rendition of Bowie’s ‘Rock n Roll Suicide’ formed the climax of the piece, before his own theatrically exaggerated death. I particularly enjoyed the closing image of him walking into the light (the corridor towards the loo).
I’d seen this piece once before as part of ‘Resolution!’ in the Place’s Robin Howard Theatre. In this very different context, a tiny bar near Kings Cross (sorry - I mean just past the andromeda galaxy), completely different elements were allowed to shine. In Resolution I was entertained by its craft and cleverness. And of course by the fact that it wasn’t the same pigeonholed, genre specific stuff I’m used to seeing there. The anarchist in me also wondered how many people have actually commented on the shit-ness of leaving dance training, on that stage? In this smaller venue however, where entertainment is key and expectations are low, I found myself able to chill a little. I stood back and simply basked in the glory of his rousing performance (FYI that is rousing, not arousing - I know we got to see his bum, but lets not get carried away…)
In the huge and impersonal Place Theatre, Hobbs roaring “ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?” reads as a comic gesture, and of course the audience choked back a few laughs. But in this smaller venue it is a genuine prompt for the standing audience, who shout excitedly in reply. It was strange to hear people around me wonder aloud about the genre of this piece, because for me I didn’t question its dance-ness. Perhaps its because I know he is a trained dancer - in fact he told us that. Arguably there wasn’t a whole lot of ‘dancing’ in it, but from the get-go you could see he is a ‘doer’. Not that he isn’t a talker or singer, but watching him struggle to don ass-less biker’s leathers was an event in itself. The comedy oozed from his pores as easily and profusely as his sweat. This is a performer who is used to speaking with his body, and I believe every wriggle and squirm.
In some of the quieter moments I did feel a perceived need to fill a silence that wasn’t awkward yet. These conversational and physical embellishments occasionally undermined his very believable performance. I didn’t really need a slurp and an “ahhh”, to know he was drinking from a straw, for example. I think this was probably a product of the space’s intimacy - there really was no hiding form the audience. But in the wake of such theatrical overtness, I think the few silences could have been milked a little more. Alas, I am being picky.
I enjoyed the hell out of this piece, and would love to see it a third time. And I promise it’s not just because its given me an opportunity to say, assless chaps.
prguitarman
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