Day of Ire

Pierre Nadaud is sitting to the side whilst the audience trickles in.

Words in French and Czech resonate up into the tiered seating.

Performances without precise beginnings are always appealing; you are entering a predetermined space and atmosphere.

You walk in still thinking about your day, you have no time to sit down and change the direction of your thought. This is done for you the second you enter through the door.

A world will not be built up in front of you, but rather you will extract the individual components from the ensemble.

It takes away a spectator’s control and choice, a theme explored during the piece itself.

In Day of Ire, a physical exploration inspired by the Book of Job, with music and co-direction by Vojta Švejda, the audience is introduced to and guided through one man’s battle.

It is his battle with his world, the choices he has and his internal conflict.

A work like this, with elements of deliberately unrefined energy, seeks to rouse thought by invoking feeling.

I experienced genuine nausea at times, a cause of which is hard to pinpoint -- maybe it was Nadaud’s convulsions and physical discomfort or the parading of a slab of raw meat.

From there, we jump to a strong sensation of heartfelt compassion as we sit motionless, unable to offer any assistance as we witness our protagonists’ downward spiral of frustration and disillusionment.

Cut to a sense of affiliation with his troubles and sorrow at his outcome.

This is a wonderful performance by a group of deeply talented artists.

Day of Ire is profoundly touching.