Worthy but dull

And so to the theatre. Or not, in this particular case. West Yorkshire Playhouse's third Transform festival sees them, among other things, putting on a show at Kirkgate market. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, and so while waiting outside to be let in neither I nor anyone else was at all surprised to be waved at by someone in a giant panda suit from the top of the nearby multi-storey car park.

However, it soon became apparent that this wasn't anything to do with what we were there for, but was just one of those random surreal moments that occur from time to time. Well they do in my life anyway. In fact, it all rather brought to mind the episode that I witnessed once involving the Reverend Ian Paisley and a giraffe. Of course, now that I have got to grips with this blogging lark, I realise that one has to ration one's material and so that story will have to wait for another day.

The Reverend Ian Paisley as a child

Where was I? Ah yes, 'The Market' was a combination of sketches and tableau vivant put on by a combination of professional and community actors telling the history of the market - fires, bombs, characters, Marks & Spencers, decline - over the last one hundred and fifty years. For those not familiar with central Leeds, the market is one of the largest covered markets in Europe and some of it, especially the 1904 hall, is architecturally splendid.

So, what about the show? well, one of this blog's followers (Oh, alright, its only follower) is fond of spicing up his wargaming blog with a quick reference to Bertolt Brecht, and I could do worse than follow his example. The show was Brechtian. In fact so much did they breach the fourth wall that one of the group I was with (one was led around the market in groups from performance site to performance site) kept interrupting the actors. At first the rest of us assumed that she was part of the show, but she was simply a Kirkgate Market enthusiast. Possibly, like most British people she only goes to the theatre once a year and therefore honestly believes that all plays are interspersed with cries from the audience of "He's behind you." and "Oh no he isn't.". The art form has only been going for about two and a half thousand years so it's not surprising that some people haven't quite caught up with it yet.

The message that we were meant to take away - this was Brechtian remember - was that 'they' are going to change the market and that 'we' can like it or lump it. Which is, I suspect, what drove my fellow playgoer to repeatedly shout "There's nothing wrong with it the way it is.", even though she's clearly wrong. A French friend of mine who lives in Leeds has often complained that in France the market would be the place where everyone went as a first choice to buy food. "Listen very carefully," she says "for I will say this only once; the market is merde.". And she's right.

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