I was lucky enough to see Moderation on Wednesday 9 August, its first sell-out performance. Written by Rebekah King, directed by Ben Newman and Ben Fleming, and produced by Milo Hynes, the show begins at the second you cross the threshold into Venue 236, Mint Studio. There is a woman sitting hunched in a chair, hugging her knees as the audience filters in and takes their seats. We are arranged around two sides of the room in a ‘V’ shape, facing into the centre. The play is an unbelievably immersive experience from start to finish- we are both onlookers and participants. In this way, the whole concept of being a bystander is extended beyond the confines of the script. This idea was actually kindled in the audience before the performance even began. As we walked in, the woman in front of me was so deceived by the lack of boundary between stage and audience that she picked up one of the props, a navy hoodie, thinking it had been dropped by another member of the audience.
Continuing when the play begins of course, we watch our favourite childhood game transformed into a Post Traumatic Stress response. This is powerfully done by Ellen Trevaskiss, and accompanied by a charmingly funny Michael Gillett. Their performance feels so genuine that it is easy to see the play’s real-life inspiration seeping out from within. Their relationship throughout the play feels equally authentic; it is rare to come across a pair that work so beautifully together onstage. Where relationships are concerned, I always find myself yearning for something honest and real. The duo perfectly encapsulate this with their touching imperfection and endearing dialogue.
Moderation masterfully captivates its audience with engaging dark humour, while interspersing these moments with brief, abrupt pockets of intensity, aided by severe red lighting and harsh sound, to culminate in a haunting scene. I was and remain fascinated by the way Rebekah King has written the blurred lines between imagination and reality, with the imagined sequences staged and choreographed to alarming perfection. They sit perfectly as a third timeline against the other two: past, present, and inside-the-mind. The dichotomies and commonalities between them are unbelievably thought-provoking.
Blatant displays of the faults of human nature are more widely accessible now than they have ever been before, which of course is the fault of social media. The play draws attention to this whilst also exhibiting the moderators’ inherent sense of responsibility for the horrors they are forced to look upon every day. It brings to mind the idea of social media’s role in normalising the obscene, and the nonchalance with which social, cultural, and physical abominations are treated with, in the modern day. With the mentions of the pornography industry’s online prevalence threaded throughout, I myself could not help but appreciate the feminist implications and indeed undercurrent that lies beneath the surface here. There is an outstanding awareness that, in order to tackle such content’s presence online, there must be people who recognise it for what it is; terrifying, horrendous. Moderation transmits this invaluable message to its audience, in a time when it is desperately needed.
I would offer Surgeon’s Hall museum as a comparison for the experience. Images of 19th century children’s skeletons and men’s peeled-off faces from 1917 circulate, and whilst you are forced to confront this physical horror, interspersed with a few amusing examples of genitalia in jars, you find yourself wondering how anyone could find it in any way ethically acceptable. Moderation is an ingenious piece of social commentary, and I forcefully advise running at top speed for tickets before the last two nights sell out.
Fringe 2023: Moderation
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 5 out of 5.I was lucky enough to see Moderation on Wednesday 9 August, its first sell-out performance. Written by Rebekah King, directed by Ben Newman and Ben Fleming, and produced by Milo Hynes, the show begins at the second you cross the threshold into Venue 236, Mint Studio. There is a woman sitting hunched in a chair, hugging her knees as the audience filters in and takes their seats. We are arranged around two sides of the room in a ‘V’ shape, facing into the centre. The play is an unbelievably immersive experience from start to finish- we are both onlookers and participants. In this way, the whole concept of being a bystander is extended beyond the confines of the script. This idea was actually kindled in the audience before the performance even began. As we walked in, the woman in front of me was so deceived by the lack of boundary between stage and audience that she picked up one of the props, a navy hoodie, thinking it had been dropped by another member of the audience.
Continuing when the play begins of course, we watch our favourite childhood game transformed into a Post Traumatic Stress response. This is powerfully done by Ellen Trevaskiss, and accompanied by a charmingly funny Michael Gillett. Their performance feels so genuine that it is easy to see the play’s real-life inspiration seeping out from within. Their relationship throughout the play feels equally authentic; it is rare to come across a pair that work so beautifully together onstage. Where relationships are concerned, I always find myself yearning for something honest and real. The duo perfectly encapsulate this with their touching imperfection and endearing dialogue.
Moderation masterfully captivates its audience with engaging dark humour, while interspersing these moments with brief, abrupt pockets of intensity, aided by severe red lighting and harsh sound, to culminate in a haunting scene. I was and remain fascinated by the way Rebekah King has written the blurred lines between imagination and reality, with the imagined sequences staged and choreographed to alarming perfection. They sit perfectly as a third timeline against the other two: past, present, and inside-the-mind. The dichotomies and commonalities between them are unbelievably thought-provoking.
Blatant displays of the faults of human nature are more widely accessible now than they have ever been before, which of course is the fault of social media. The play draws attention to this whilst also exhibiting the moderators’ inherent sense of responsibility for the horrors they are forced to look upon every day. It brings to mind the idea of social media’s role in normalising the obscene, and the nonchalance with which social, cultural, and physical abominations are treated with, in the modern day. With the mentions of the pornography industry’s online prevalence threaded throughout, I myself could not help but appreciate the feminist implications and indeed undercurrent that lies beneath the surface here. There is an outstanding awareness that, in order to tackle such content’s presence online, there must be people who recognise it for what it is; terrifying, horrendous. Moderation transmits this invaluable message to its audience, in a time when it is desperately needed.
I would offer Surgeon’s Hall museum as a comparison for the experience. Images of 19th century children’s skeletons and men’s peeled-off faces from 1917 circulate, and whilst you are forced to confront this physical horror, interspersed with a few amusing examples of genitalia in jars, you find yourself wondering how anyone could find it in any way ethically acceptable. Moderation is an ingenious piece of social commentary, and I forcefully advise running at top speed for tickets before the last two nights sell out.
Moderation is on at 18.30 at Greenside @ Infirmary Street, Mint Studio, from 4-12 August. Tickets available here: https://tickets.edfringe.com/whats-on/moderation
Image by Lily Liver Productions, provided to The Student as press material.
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