Words by Georgia Howlett.
Why was the Prime Minister 24 minutes late to a royal banquet, and why should we care?
Award-winning directors and choreographers Jess & Morgs return with high-level, interdisciplinary production DEEPFAKE, written in collaboration with director and dramaturg Jeff James.
DEEPFAKE is an interview stretched thin for an hour, in which the PM’s disappearance and the content of a bizarre video that might explain his whereabouts are scrutinised, distorted and eventually laid bare. Kennedy Mutanga is our PM, and Rebecca Bassett-Graham our political journalist. The duo are joined by an army of technicians, some of whom operate in plain sight onstage, and a green cat-suited ensemble.
The opening is strong and filmlike, a montage of scurrying bodies and camera shots. A green screen box occupies centre stage, while the corridors on either side remain deliberately exposed. A voiceover narrates the PM’s thoughts as he peps himself up to divert, distract and charm. Moving on the spot, Mutanga squeezes every last inch out of each gesture. Meanwhile, voyeuristic, DIY style footage on a large elevated screen shows Katie Fielding as she prepares to bring down the PM on live ‘television’. When they sit to speak, he squirms beneath her exacting interrogation, each sentence manifesting physically in their bodies.
DEEPFAKE leans into the comedy of things with an unexpected yet fitting ballet. Bassett-Graham showcases the clean, classical technique that underpins her impeccable precision as a contemporary mover, and the green beans turn corps de ballet. The scene epitomises the PM’s elegantly orchestrated lie, with the absurd turning points in his narrative punctuated by delightful petit allegro. It is also reminiscent of the slinky, and often outright slimy, dance politicians like to do around a question that implies a compromising answer: ‘If you don’t want to answer the question, answer a different one’.
Speaking of slime, the green screen trio is the best kind of it; impressively tight and always present, and yet never quite, seeing as they blend into the green background. They bend and snap like neon rubber bands with interlocking limbs and flashy flexibility, restless and dryly specific with every position they hit. They move props, amplify Fielding’s observations and harass the PM like anxious thoughts rattling in his head, though neither Fielding nor the PM ever acknowledge their presence. A certain creepiness emerges from the fact that they see all but are never seen, lurking like the online villains that inspire this piece and that we don’t really want to think about.
The ingenious technology that bolsters DEEPFAKE is fascinating. The audience are privy to some of the cameras, but not all, and most of the effects are seamlessly integrated into the live choreography. Projected bodies land silently on prop surfaces and screens, and live relay creates a precarious atmosphere, as if the PM has nowhere to hide. He soon acquires many digital selves and as if in doubt of his recollection of the banquet, each body double reflects a different version of events. He skims and skirts around a large table onstage – reminiscent of Pite’s The Statement here more than ever – while his other selves occupy the table in the video onscreen above, often contradicting his story.
When the PM and Fielding dance a duet, they do so on a bare stage, technology free, narrated by a drawn out voiceover that circles the crux of the mystery, questions Fielding’s relent for the truth, and sees the PM attempt to dig out her shameful past in a petty last resort. Full bodied, swift and strong, they hinge and spin out of each other’s grasp.
Deepfake technology is something we should rightly be terrified of. We bring this discomfort around the theme into the theatre, and combined with the tension conjured so well by physicality, sound and suspenseful voiceover, DEEPFAKE starts off on an exhilarating foot.
And yet when the PM’s truth is revealed as a laughable misunderstanding, it feels less like a bursted bubble and more like the bubble has been slowly losing air for some time. The high stakes of the opening are challenging to maintain, and when more focus is given to the morals of truth seeking than the truth itself, momentum is lost.
That’s not to say that DEEPFAKE doesn’t keep the audience occupied. Layer upon layer of wizzy tech tricks are deployed; while the PM’s story is being manipulated, so are bodies, space and our perspective. It’s a piece that moves with many intricate parts, and witnessing the mechanics dramatises what is actually a very simple, repetitive conversation. Meanwhile the dancers consistently pack a punch; they are sharp, professional and endlessly entertaining in how serious they remain. Fielding is especially committed to the bit, humourless and laser precise.
Ultimately, it isn’t quite clear whether DEEPFAKE wants us to walk away in even deeper fear of AI or casually pondering the philosophy of inquiry, but who doesn’t love a scandal?
Header image by Foteini Christofilopoulou.