What is the real thing? The question is an ideal subject for the stage, where the actual and the illusory constantly shadowbox. It was tackled in three strikingly different productions last week.
G, directed with fluorescent dynamism by Monique Touko, is an encouraging sign that David Byrne’s Royal Court will live up to the theatre’s bold tradition: he took over from Vicky Featherstone this year. Tife Kusoro’s fascinating new play thrills and tantalises from the opening moments. From a gulf in the middle of the stage (traverse, with the audience pressing close on both sides), an arm in white padded jacket like a Michelin man reaches up and out amid a swirl of smoke. Neon headlines zoom over the floor, announcing a mysterious crime. Above, dangling from a hook, are a pair of white trainers: they glow as might a statue of the Madonna when touched by a divine light. They belong to Baitface, a teenager killed while being chased by police for a crime he didn’t commit, who is said to steal the identity of black schoolchildren.
