If you were expecting a faithful reproduction of Nick Cave’s Murder Ballads on stage, you’d be in for a disappointment. Rather, the show brings together a series of vignettes that nod to the album.
The staging is the most effective element of the piece. The ensemble makes good use of multi-media, particularly with a projection of intermittently beautiful and gruesome images (roses, sky, clouds, stream, blood, contamination suits etc.) flashing across a screen of dry-cleaning plastic – it looks a bit like Dexter’s kill-room, which is probably the point. Another nifty device is the repeated photocopying of a picture of a woman, missing person style, which is pegged to the screen.
The most recognisable tales are the rendering of Where the Wild Roses Grow and a spoken word piece borrowing from Stagger Lee, in which we meet the “mother fucker” but his name remains unsaid. In contrast, we’re introduced to Eliza Dane almost from the outset and become privy to her (imagined) back story. Knowing, as we do, that she’s destined to get her head smashed in, it’s sad to watch her relationship unfold. More disturbingly, it glamorises a violent relationship.
There were a few bits that seemed unnecessary (a kiss, some awkward writhing and pics of naked torsos.) Good to look at, but missed the chill factor, black humour and intensity of its namesake.
BY MEG CRAWFORD
