Slime @FÄR 302, Copenhagen
A gender-neutral class- and kitchen sink drama
Slim is all the traces we leave behind, and the traces that embed themselves within us. We reside in our slime and wear it like armor. There is so much slime that everything is cold and a bit clammy. The performance explores how we shape our identity and comments on gender, power elites, and immigration – all the traces that the modern human leaves behind. It is absurd, it is avant-garde, and it is viscous.
www.faar302.dk
SLIM is a guest play produced by Vesterbro Kælderteater
Credits:
Director/Script/Producer: Maj Rafferty
Actors: May Lifschitz & Vanessa Moliné Petterson
Visual Artist: Katya Quel
Set and Costume Assistant: Katrine Engell
Production Assistant: Coco Kocyigit
The performance is supported by: National Arts Foundation, Copenhagen Municipality, William Demant Foundation
Teater Får 302
October 28 - November 12
When the warmth makes one sweaty and sticky under the T-shirt, it only intensifies the claustrophobic sense that Maj Rafferty's performance elicits in its audience.
By: Morten Kildebæk
**WHAT IS IT**Kitchen sink realism and abstract absurdity are blended into a neon-colored, thick liquid mixture in SLIM – a guest play at Teater Får 302 in Nyhavn, produced by Vesterbro Kælderteater. Director and playwright Maj Rafferty's new performance revolves around an unlikely pair of friends, played by May Lifschitz and Vanessa Moliné Petterson, spending a hectic moment together in one person's small, shabby apartment. Both characters are trapped in a kind of existential crisis, which they try to explain to themselves and to the world. Most of the time, however, they talk past each other, get agitated, and collapse from exhaustion and apathy.
Slim is not just a recurring element in the actors' costumes and the set designed by artist Katya Quel. It is also a constant topic of conversation for the two characters, who discuss slim as an abstract entity that both alienates and liberates them. The slime flows within themselves and in the ever-changing society. The slime moves around norms, boundaries, and expectations but can also completely disconnect the slimy individuals from the ground and their identity.
**OUR OPINION**It actually fits quite well with the performance SLIM that the old two-room apartment in Nyhavn, which serves as the stage for Teater Får 302, has reached sauna temperature at the premiere. When the warmth makes one sweaty and sticky under the T-shirt, it only intensifies the claustrophobic sense that Maj Rafferty's performance elicits in its audience.
May Lifschitz and Vanessa Moliné Petterson's two unnamed and ungendered main characters find themselves in their own existential limbo, which is close to suffocating them. One is stuck, while the other can't sit still at all. Petterson's character seemingly never leaves her dim home. Instead, they use all their energy to overthink everything. "I'm drowning in my own mind," says the recluse angrily and somewhat desperately to her newly arrived guest, Lifschitz, who enters the apartment with a large sleeping bag on her back and the statement: "I am a snail." Lifschitz's character is different, restless, and fast-talking – just sitting still on a chair is directly uncomfortable for them. The snail absorbs everything without being able to relate to itself. The snail carries its house on its back but never feels at home. The snail may be free, but is it secure?
The strongest character in the play is not a human but Katya Quel's kitschy and creepy apartment set, which has also taken over the theater's facade and lobby. With its black, overwritten walls and neon lighting, the set effectively sets the oppressive atmosphere (it also pairs remarkably well with Halloween, as the premiere date aligns closely with it). The discomfort is reinforced on the sound side, where a constant hum of a refrigerator runs like an inciting drone until ASMR-like smacking sounds take over and almost paralyze the otherwise fast-talking people on stage.
When not paralyzed, Petterson and Lifschitz have a quite entertaining chemistry because one is always reserved and moody, while the other is truly all over the place. The dialogues smoothly shift between the abstract and the very mundane – the latter is physically exemplified by a kitchen sink full of dirty dishes that no one wants to deal with. The actors' performances are also at times very physical, as they twist and crawl along the walls in search of release in the small space. Especially Lifschitz shows an impressive persistent facial expression with a constant stream of twitches, outbursts, and muscle contractions.
Along the way, the actors involve the audience (without sliming them, don't worry) a handful of times so that we can also be part of the norm-breaking slime club and shout along with the anthem: "I am slime!" Despite audience involvement, the exchange of lines becomes somewhat monotonous towards the end. This is probably because the many internal misunderstandings of the two main characters also lead to a large amount of repetition. Although the playing time is only an hour, the performance could probably be a bit shorter. When the surrealism in SLIM really begins to escalate after about 40 minutes – involving even the end of the world – I actually think that the piece will end with this entertaining climax. But instead, Petterson and Lifschitz briefly return to disagreements, repetitions, and the dishes that someone must take care of.
October 28 - November 12
When the warmth makes one sweaty and sticky under the T-shirt, it only intensifies the claustrophobic sense that Maj Rafferty's performance elicits in its audience.
By: Morten Kildebæk
**WHAT IS IT**Kitchen sink realism and abstract absurdity are blended into a neon-colored, thick liquid mixture in SLIM – a guest play at Teater Får 302 in Nyhavn, produced by Vesterbro Kælderteater. Director and playwright Maj Rafferty's new performance revolves around an unlikely pair of friends, played by May Lifschitz and Vanessa Moliné Petterson, spending a hectic moment together in one person's small, shabby apartment. Both characters are trapped in a kind of existential crisis, which they try to explain to themselves and to the world. Most of the time, however, they talk past each other, get agitated, and collapse from exhaustion and apathy.
Slim is not just a recurring element in the actors' costumes and the set designed by artist Katya Quel. It is also a constant topic of conversation for the two characters, who discuss slim as an abstract entity that both alienates and liberates them. The slime flows within themselves and in the ever-changing society. The slime moves around norms, boundaries, and expectations but can also completely disconnect the slimy individuals from the ground and their identity.
**OUR OPINION**It actually fits quite well with the performance SLIM that the old two-room apartment in Nyhavn, which serves as the stage for Teater Får 302, has reached sauna temperature at the premiere. When the warmth makes one sweaty and sticky under the T-shirt, it only intensifies the claustrophobic sense that Maj Rafferty's performance elicits in its audience.
May Lifschitz and Vanessa Moliné Petterson's two unnamed and ungendered main characters find themselves in their own existential limbo, which is close to suffocating them. One is stuck, while the other can't sit still at all. Petterson's character seemingly never leaves her dim home. Instead, they use all their energy to overthink everything. "I'm drowning in my own mind," says the recluse angrily and somewhat desperately to her newly arrived guest, Lifschitz, who enters the apartment with a large sleeping bag on her back and the statement: "I am a snail." Lifschitz's character is different, restless, and fast-talking – just sitting still on a chair is directly uncomfortable for them. The snail absorbs everything without being able to relate to itself. The snail carries its house on its back but never feels at home. The snail may be free, but is it secure?
The strongest character in the play is not a human but Katya Quel's kitschy and creepy apartment set, which has also taken over the theater's facade and lobby. With its black, overwritten walls and neon lighting, the set effectively sets the oppressive atmosphere (it also pairs remarkably well with Halloween, as the premiere date aligns closely with it). The discomfort is reinforced on the sound side, where a constant hum of a refrigerator runs like an inciting drone until ASMR-like smacking sounds take over and almost paralyze the otherwise fast-talking people on stage.
When not paralyzed, Petterson and Lifschitz have a quite entertaining chemistry because one is always reserved and moody, while the other is truly all over the place. The dialogues smoothly shift between the abstract and the very mundane – the latter is physically exemplified by a kitchen sink full of dirty dishes that no one wants to deal with. The actors' performances are also at times very physical, as they twist and crawl along the walls in search of release in the small space. Especially Lifschitz shows an impressive persistent facial expression with a constant stream of twitches, outbursts, and muscle contractions.
Along the way, the actors involve the audience (without sliming them, don't worry) a handful of times so that we can also be part of the norm-breaking slime club and shout along with the anthem: "I am slime!" Despite audience involvement, the exchange of lines becomes somewhat monotonous towards the end. This is probably because the many internal misunderstandings of the two main characters also lead to a large amount of repetition. Although the playing time is only an hour, the performance could probably be a bit shorter. When the surrealism in SLIM really begins to escalate after about 40 minutes – involving even the end of the world – I actually think that the piece will end with this entertaining climax. But instead, Petterson and Lifschitz briefly return to disagreements, repetitions, and the dishes that someone must take care of.
