The Beast at Parabola Arts Centre - Gloucestershire

Added on by Stuart Bowden.



Saturday 29th of June
7.30


Parabola Arts Centre

Parabola Road
Cheltenham
Gloucestershire
GL50 3AH
01242 707 338
★★★★
'A story that'll work its way into your soul. Quietly beautiful, a gift'
The List, UK

'An enchanting and very different slice of storytelling'
The Stage, UK

★★★★
'laugh out loud humour, sparks of surreal brilliance and moments of touching melancholy. Unfolding like a dream, this is an off beat gem'
Three Weeks, UK

'effortlessly strong performer... He has us enraptured'
Fest, UK

'an hour of innocent, heartfelt fun with some truly inventive musical interludes... displaying a perfect gift for pathos'
Scotsman, UK

★★★★
'Touching in simplicity'
The Adelaide Advertiser, AUS

★★★★
'Unique and charming'
The Adelaide Theatre Guide, AUS

'Bowden confirms my opinion he is one of the most prepossessing and honest storytellers we have the pleasure of seeing once a year'
No Plain Jane, AUS


★★★★
'narrative ingenuity and boundless charm as a performer… casts a heady spell and for an entire hour, Bowden holds everyone together in silent reverie'
Metro, UK

★★★★
'This is an utterly charming one-man show, but it is not just an exercise in theatrical whimsy, it is thoughtful and thought-provoking… a glowing endorsement for DIY theatre-making…Bowden will be one to watch as his fusion of live music-making and storytelling is joyous and full of sparkle'
Fringe Review, UK

★★★★★
'Stuart Bowden creates a show of such beauty it will take your breath away… full of wit and charm, this is low-fi DIY storytelling theatre at it’s very best'
Three Weeks, UK

★★★★
What’s On Stage, UK

I want to test something out on you, it probably won't hurt

Added on by Stuart.



SHE WAS PROBABLY NOT A ROBOT - WORK IN PROGRESS 
I'm making a show. I want to test it out on you. I will be sharing the prototype of my latest invention. I hope it will be an interesting glimpse into my process and an opportunity for you to influence the upbringing of this strange creature.
2 1   J U N E
7.30pm
Canal Cafe Theatre
Delamere Terrace, Little Venice, London, W2 6ND

The Blurb:

Multi-award winning theatre maker Stuart Bowden (The Beast and The World Holds Everyone Apart, Apart From Us) tests out his prototype invention, a lo-fi, DIY, off-beat, sci-fi, storytelling experience. Surreal, soulful comedy about a decomposing world and a cosmic visitor.

'Sparks of surreal brilliance and moments of touching melancholy' ★★★★ (ThreeWeeks). 


'Effortlessly strong performer ... he has us enraptured' (FestMag.co.uk). 


'Quietly beautiful, a gift' ★★★★ (List). 


'An hour of innocent, heartfelt fun with some truly inventive musical interludes ... displaying a perfect gift for pathos' (Scotsman).




Insects and Bigger Things

Added on by Stuart.
An insect took a little rest on my hand last night.
It was tired, I could feel it.
It's tiny fragile wings were so intricate and exhausted.
I think it had been drinking,
I had definitely been drinking,
We both suffered from the same affliction, 
Fear and tiredness.  
It moved, I flinched, it flinched and took flight. 
It manoeuvred over my treacherous table, 
A productive industrial area of empty glasses: my disassembly line. 
As I watched it flying, or staggering, I felt bad. 
Like, maybe it was drunk? 
I didn't know. 
Can a bug be drunk? 
It looked drunk. 
It appeared like it was unable to make clear decisions, for itself.
The bug wobbled its way towards the open fire.
I looked away. 
I couldn't bare to think about what happened next as the fire crackled. 
But I couldn't help myself. 
I looked. 
I tortured my eyes and I looked over to the flame. 
And there it was torched and turning in the ash. 
Sadly, it still had hope. 
Sadly, I still had hope for it. 
I pushed myself away from the table like a superhero. 
I lunged for the insect, but my legs gave me away to the floor.
My defective legs sold me for nothing, 
To an unconscious dream on the cold, hard, tiles.
And maybe as I lay, dreaming of the fire. 
Maybe something else lunged for me. 
Something too big for me to understand. 
And maybe that other big thing, fell and failed. 
And maybe something bigger lunged for it. 
And maybe hope perpetuated the cycle of failure. 
And maybe we are all drunk and flawed 
And searching for salvation like superheroes. 

The Beast in London

Added on by Stuart Bowden.



Hello London,

I'd like to introduce you to The Beast. You may remember when it was being made, those first experiments at the Battersea Arts Centre, how it kicked and screamed under the light. Now it's all grown up, it's seen the world and now returns to London for the first time ever; and it's learned to dance. The Beast is back in London to show off it's new moves.

 Wednesday the 12th of June
Pleasance Theatre, Islington
7.45pm

Tickets
Join the event and invite your friends.
It's only on for one night, so if you're really enthusiastic please book. 

 Blurb:

Multi-award-winning performer Stuart Bowden brings to life The Beast - a poignant and playful tale accompanied by a live musical soundscape. The Beast is an enchanting one man show about a creature that lives in a cave on the outskirts of town. Entwining songs from a ukulele and loop pedal, this uplifting tale will touch your heart and then tickle it (in a non-life-threatening way). 

The Beast follows Stuart's critically acclaimed work in The Lounge Room Confabulators and The World Holds Everyone Apart, Apart From Us. Stuart is also known for his award-winning work with Dr Brown as The Singing Tiger. 

The Beast has been nominated for two Melbourne Green Room Awards for best writing and best performer in independent theatre. 

 ★★★★ 
'A story that'll work its way into your soul. Quietly beautiful, a gift' 
The List, UK


'An enchanting and very different slice of storytelling' 
The Stage, UK


★★★★ 
'laugh out loud humour, sparks of surreal brilliance and moments of touching melancholy. Unfolding like a dream, this is an off beat gem' 
Three Weeks, UK


'effortlessly strong performer... He has us enraptured' 
Fest, UK


'an hour of innocent, heartfelt fun with some truly inventive musical interludes... displaying a perfect gift for pathos' 
Scotsman, UK


★★★★ 
'Touching in simplicity' 
The Adelaide Advertiser, AUS


★★★★ 
'Unique and charming'
 The Adelaide Theatre Guide, AUS


'Bowden confirms my opinion he is one of the most prepossessing and honest storytellers we have the pleasure of seeing once a year' 
No Plain Jane, AUS

Still Soft Dead Fur

Added on by Stuart Bowden.

Kyle lay on his stomach,
Waiting for his greasy chicken burger to digest.
It wasn't an ideal position for digestion.
But somehow that's where he ended up.
Under the table, surrounded by chair-legs,
He surrendered.
He wrapped himself up in the question that was lying next to him,
Like a carcass.
He was waiting for some scavenger to take them both.
It was late. 
Alone in his apartment.
Slow snow heaped in the back yard of his mind,
All white.
A cold blanket for comfort.

He lay thinking about how he left the party earlier that night.
He'd jumped the back fence,
Into the dark cobblestone alley with the cats.
No goodbyes,
He just left.
It all started in the kitchen
It all started in a conversation with Pamela.
She asked him
"So, what do you really want to be doing with your life then?"
He answered the question with a gesture.
He turned, pushed through the back door,
Ran across the back lawn
And threw himself over the tall back fence.
It was a heavy question, a dead beast with glassy eyes.
A deer that had to be dragged up a mountain to save his people.
The question begged action.
So he got out of there.

Kyle walked home that night. 
One hour and forty five minutes.
Walking in the wake of his irresponsible spontaneity,
He realised that he was waiting for something.

Hours later he lay on his stomach under the table,
Digesting some greasy fast food.
Lying next to the question, cold and still, stroking its soft fur.
Waiting for someone to come and drag them both up the mountain.



Morgan

Added on by Stuart.


Morgan was afraid he was turning into a bug. It was embarrassing. He actually sent me a text saying, "At the pub on Tuesday did my legs look shorter?"
Now, his legs had looked slightly shorter, but I didn't want to make a sensation. So I replied. "No, longer if anything."

Unfortunately, last week, when I met Morgan for chips, it was clear that he was actually turning into a bug. Which was good because he'd probably be pretty popular among the bug community with all of his human wisdom. But it was going to make things hard, in terms of dating human women. Not that he was ever a big winner in that department anyway.

Getting the Ghost Out

Added on by Stuart.

One winter’s morning I woke up under my bed with a terrible belief that I was haunted. I didn’t think that this was such a bad thing, I just accepted that this was how life would be from now on. I was still charming and playful, and very kind. When people laughed with me I wasn’t shy and when people didn’t laugh with me I was shy. I was still me, but there were heavy clouds inside me. My body was filled with a solid shadow that weighed me down. I used to be able to jump quite high, but I could barely get my feet off the ground. I used to be courageous but I became frightened and it was frightening which made things even worse.

Until, one hot Summer’s day I woke up under a trampoline. I crawled out from underneath and I climbed onto the springy black pad and I bounced. I just bounced. I became light. 

 “Hello neighbours over the fence”.  

 “Oh, hello there” the words blossomed from their mouths as they laughed and clapped. 

 I was a bouncing man. I think whatever was heavy and dark inside me must’ve rattled out; I was no longer possessed. I was still me, but there was light inside once again.

 Alas, I became over confident. I discarded my pants, attempting to moon my neighbours. But I bounced a little too close to the edge, my foot slipped off, it was a dangerous affair. My genitals became entangled in the springs, I was trapped. I had visions of becoming like a petrified bat on an electric wire. I wept and wept, waiting for help. But no one came. I yelped. But no one heard. I cried hot tears but the springs would not let go of my soft skin. I dragged the trampoline around the side of the house and onto the street, still attached. I flagged down traffic, but no one stopped. I was too pathetic. Like Icarus I had jumped too high. O how painful it is to fall from such splendour. I hauled the trampoline to a convenience store, stole some butter and eased myself free with it's fatty powers. 

 It was a difficult day for me. The ghost in my heart had fled, but I had a shame stain on my soul. I learnt a profound lesson that day.  

 The End.

Show Dates - Dr Brown Brown Brown Brown Brown and His Singing Tiger

Added on by Stuart.

Veronica

Added on by Stuart.
Veronica
Hands in her pockets
It's bus waiting time 
Not her favourite time of day 
She can see the line
The line of shadow that indicates (the end of) winter 
She steps into the light 
On the footpath
Avoiding the poo 
Obviously 

Ohhh

She's dizzied by the light for a moment 
And ends up in a park down the road 
It was a confusing time 
She gathers her thoughts for a while 
Just long enough to skip work for the day 
Just enjoying the befuddlement
Caused by the change in winter 

Ohhh

Maybe she's one step closer
To loosing/leaving her job 
Which is probably the best outcome
For happiness 
Some things aren't the best things
Some things aren't the best things
Some things aren't the best things
Some things aren't the best things
Some things aren't the best things

Ohhh

That Day

Added on by Stuart.


Loretta sat on cold grey, a chair made of cement.
Under a dark tree next to a walking path.
In a town she didn't know, after the trains had stopped.
A car park in the distance beamed light out that only just touched her. 
A stark white glimmer on the pink rim of her eyelids.
The day was ending and her eyes were sad and falling.
That sad day was over-shooting itself and the slow, dragging foot.
That day she had tried something useless and useless.
Something stupid and stupid, heartless and heartless, but nothing could stop the pattern.
Just something, to see if it felt different to do something different.
Something to break apart her mortal tank,
That filled and emptied with blood, every smile-less day. 
To feel something.
But she felt none of that now.
That morning in her light blue coat.
She cut the lining in the kitchen at 5am.
She slipped in a knife, a big one, handle down, sharp tip up. 
Just to see if nothing would happen.
She slammed the draw and then the door behind herself.
Crossed the road, cold, walking fast.
That day was all frost, thick on fence posts. 
In her light blue coat and dark blue jeans.
Two shoes poked out the bottom, both brown (both matching - it'd be weird if they weren't).
That day was all steam from plastic chimneys. 
At the station she imagined everyone talking to each other.
Strangers met, and helped each other.
"Your train's here now, you better go. Nice to meet you."
She imagined with her hand in the pocket, next to the sharp thing.
Step on to find a seat.
Legs crossed, one stacked on the other, on the shitty carpeted train.
That day was all slipping out of the station.
Staring out the window.
Thoughts like animals, running free and searching for food.
All, silently gliding out of the city.
All, mist and no sun.
Nose wet, like a stamp sponge at the post office.
That day was all that was.
All, streetlights at dawn.  
All, icicles on electric poles.
All, sweat drips from arm pits. 
All, cuts in the lining. 
That day she took a knife on the train.  
All, frost covered apples on leafless trees. 
All, fox in the grass curled under warm tail.
On the train to see if she could change.
Nervous in the pit of Loretta, she waited.
All that is day, turned into night. 
That day was all that was.
To see what would happen.
In the fault-line of folded arms and daydreams, nothing changed.
This time.
The nerves went dull, cold and hunger-withered.
What happened barely happened.
That day went like the last, which is only just understandable. 
Only just unchangeable.

 (photo)

Last Time I Saw My Heart

Added on by Stuart.




My heart was a lost thing.
No one knew what it was when they found it.
They put it in a cabinet.
Heaps of people admired it.
Heaps of people hated it.
Heaps of people were moved.
It touched some people.
Some people touched it.
It made them all curious.
They drained the juices out.
They put the juices in a large truck, it moved a bit.

Meanwhile, I woke up and my heart was gone.
Admittedly it had been a big night.
"It'll show up", I thought (what a fool).
It didn't show up.
Most of my friends could tell it was gone.
This was two years ago.
Most of my friends stopped contacting me.
Partly because I moved to another city.
Mostly because they could tell.
New friends admired my brain.
I'd put my brain in the hole where my heart used to be.
It looked pretty similar.
I struggled on (quite successfully).
I still did good things.
But I longed for it.
I couldn't ever forget.
I searched constantly.

This morning I saw it on the internet.
On street view.
It was powering a large truck a bit.
It was boarding a ferry in 2009.
I waited on the other side.
But it didn't show up.
I knew it was my heart.
I could just tell it was.

I thought I'd never see my heart again.
I got that impression.
It was sad. 
I can do without it.
I can do many things without it.
But, imagine.
Imagine what I could do with it.
With the juice flowing in me.
I'm much smaller than a large truck, imagine the intensity.
I haven't worked out how to get it back.
But I'm working on it.
Imagine the intensity.

 (photo)

Spillage

Added on by Stuart.

She was flawless when she dropped it all. The restaurant looked around as she ducked below table height. Food splatters garnished with shards of plate were presented at Jed's feet, a carrot on his lace. Her smile lifted, like a sunrise withering the heartless night. Beaming above the chaos of cutlery, she yelled "Tony, can you please grab a broom or mop or something. I've made a bit of a mess here". 

As she sprawled to contain the disaster, Jed fell into her like a volcano, he was part of her when he escaped, molten. Jed ignored the gravy in his shoe as a statue of her was unveiled in his heart. She didn't really acknowledge him, she just busily made a scrap heap beneath his table, as he smiled at her scalp. Finally, he caught her eye with a desperate grin like a butterfly net. She tucked away her perfection behind an uncaring look. She was young, wreck-full, tireless and speeding elsewhere.

Without anything she was gone, back to the kitchen, leaving the broken heap of scraps.

Tony emerged to replace her with a cloth.

The cloth skimmed across Jed's shoe, he mourned for her as steam rose from within. Shoe-gravy steam, in went Tony's finger, beyond sock. Jed didn't look down, he closed his eyes and took what he could get. 

The noise in Nathan's head

Added on by Stuart.


One morning Nathan woke up with the ability to stop time, it was a pretty uneventful discovery. He figured it out in the shower, he tilted his head on a strange angle, made a noise in his head and the water stopped in mid air. He started time again quickly because he was all lathered in soap. 

He stopped time over breakfast, so that he could catch up on Facebook. He liked the noise it made in his head when he stopped time, he found it quite calming. On the way to work, he stopped time and wizzed through tight traffic on his bike. It was actually pretty useful.  

But over time the ability to stop time made Nathan quite dull. He was no longer ever late for anything, which was a pretty boring trait. He was always correct in conversation - if there was anything that he didn't know he would stop time, look it up and then start time again. He was pretty dreary to be around. He cheated at cards, stopping time to look at other peoples hands. At parties he would stop time, rehearse pick up lines and then recite them - it was eerie. He became very bland and a little bit creepy.

People stopped inviting him to parties. But he would often go anyway, where he would stop time and wander around pretending to talk to people while they where frozen. He was lonely.

It was a very lonely ability. When he stopped time he was completely alone. He began stopping time for longer and longer, he wanted to know if there was anyone else like him. Anyone else who could move between time. He started searching. He stopped time for what seemed an entire day, searching for anyone else who could continue on.

He became obsessed. He stopped time for a week, he packed a bag, got on his bike and rode around the city looking for any sign of change. Nothing. No one. he stopped time for years and years, he taught himself to fly an aeroplane and searched the earth from the sky. He landed in different countries. He used to be a little scared of foreign language countries. But now he felt free.

He started to let himself go. He walked around naked, in huge cities, through crowds of people, he screamed as loud as he could. He talked to frozen strangers.

Nothing. There was no one else like him.

One day when he was running naked through a huge city, covered in butter, screaming, 

"I AM THE MASTER OF THE WORLD AND THE MAGICAL KEEPER OF TIME!" (he had become quite confident)

he slipped over on a wet plastic bag and broke his pelvis. It was very painful.

He lay on the footpath, naked, surrounded by pedestrians staring at him. They stopped to help him, but he couldn't understand them. He tried to stop time, to learn their language, but he couldn't, he was in too much pain.

They helped him into an ambulance. They were very confused. He spent two weeks in hospital. 

His parents and his sister flew over to look after him in the hospital. They asked him how he got there, what happened. He tried to stop time to make up a good excuse, but his brain had associated the trauma of his broken pelvis with his ability to stop time and it was impossible.

So he told the truth, the whole story, the years of searching, everything. They asked him why he was covered in butter and naked, but he couldn't really answer them, that would be a mystery. In fact the whole thing was a mystery to his family; and to his friends. They all laughed at his story, they thought he was joking. But underneath they were impressed, it was such a strange, detailed and ultimately flawed story but at least it wasn't boring. 

He left the hospital with his family and they flew back home. He lived with his parents for a while, at first he was embarrassed, but he got over it.

And now he fumbles through life with everyone else. 

The Stage Review: The DIY Nativity

Added on by Stuart Bowden.
"Visually and atmospherically delightful, inventive and original, The DIY Nativity is a highly entertaining, fast moving mini extravaganza of colourful fun"


THE STAGE
Published Monday 10 December 2012 at 15:12 by Mike Martin


Visually and atmospherically delightful, inventive and original, The DIY Nativity is a highly entertaining, fast moving mini extravaganza of colourful fun, held together by the solid base of David Curtis-Ring’s wonderfully conceived set design, props and costumes.
Christmas spirit is certainly the emphasis, but with a unique angle. The small, energetic cast work their socks off, beginning with the basic theme “how we do it in our house”, then moving through an off the wall, yet thought-provokingly effective version of the nativity story.
Along the way we experience living presents, rap parodies, strobe effects and all kinds of interactive fun which the kids join in with enthusiastically, especially the pure slapstick food fight. The silliness cleverly disguises some balanced messages about such subjects as vegetarianism and greed, some of which may go over the heads of children, but regardless of a slightly disjointed feel, the bigger picture works very well.
Bryony Kimmings shines out as a bright, intelligent performer, ably supported by the rubber limbs and vocal dexterity of Stuart Bowden and the deceptively hesitant skills of Sam Halmarack.
I saw a schools performance but there is also an adult version which, I suspect, is just as entertaining in a different way.