(a parable of what happens to neoliberalism when it goes through a blender and theatricality comes out, structurally wounded, a character milkshake, live art op culture party)
It’s crisis + denial this time, in irreverence, or rather, something exhaustive, or rather, here to talk about class, or rather, here to crack some eggs or rather, here to talk about capitalism as entertainment.
In Entertainment Island, there’s too much encouragement, a pared down bare staged of encouragement, of training routines and stories about papier-mache corporatism. Three performers and spectacle lighting, changing position.
It’s crisis + denial and they’re here as awkward hosts of all the possible happenings (happening as neoliberal critique), irreverence and flippancy and took the sheets off Emin’s bed and took them to the charity shop, but also the most suitable mascot of now, the real as fiction, made manifest (attachments, clanging bowls and pringle packs)
It unfolds over three hours, this intensely structural suggestiveness, the stage as confronting spectacle, a drowning affect of sorts. So structurally sound, drawn out silent noise of attention, or being able to meet something somewhere else, or what it means to congregate.
It’s crisis + denial and their tender alms are cover songs, they’re a band, they’re dissonance, they’re what happens when you watch too much television late at night, some rituals of pleasure, the pleasure and awkwardness of how things combine and come together to exorcise each other.
Repetition and scarcity and plentifulness, bodies as ghosts of something else, a parable of sorts, hit the perv, do you like that, I like it, you’re doing good, you’re doing real good.