A Man and a Washing Machine. Etcetera Theatre.

Director Moses Hao’s ‘devised theatre’ production A Man and a Washing Machine aims, so the show blurb tells us, to invite audiences “to question the fundamental differences between humans and machines”. You may find yourself struggling for answers.

Rens Tesink plays the role of a newly arrived immigrant to the UK. He is alone in a London flat with a washing machine. His landlord may not be best pleased by what happens next. The lights go down, Tesink takes his clothes off, puts them in the machine, and lies disconsolate on the floor. Moments later, his mojo returned, the lights go on and Tesink puts his clothes back on.

Tesink’s character develops a definite thing for the washing machine. He strums it, pokes at it, plucks it, and blows through its hoses it in an effort to wheedle a tune. He rolls around on the floor, seemingly mimicking the spin cycle. He takes selfies with it, removes parts from it like so much hidden treasure. He cuddles and caresses the drum like a wanton lover.  At one point he (with admirable dexterity) gets inside it and wheels it, Dalek-like, around the stage. All this is about as interesting as it sounds.

The back video projections of grimy London streets, a softball game, and the show’s creative team pulling a washing machine apart in someone’s garden, may be trying to make a point. In the absence of dialogue or discernible narrative it is difficult to tell. The soundscape, wash cycles and eerie violin, struggles to add much to the mix.

Hvini Ingrid enters with an old fashioned wash tub and wringer, launders some shirts, wrings them dry and, after giving Tesink’s head a good soapy scrubbing, leaves. She comes back later with a box on her head. Tesink creates a kind of sculpture with masking tape on the stage. There is also a radio controlled toy car whizzing around.

One of the challenges of performance art, which is what A Man and a Washing Machine comes closest to, is figuring out what any of this means. One assumes it makes sense to the creatives. Another challenge is knowing where the boundaries to performance lie. For example, is that young man in the second row, fast asleep on his neighbour’s shoulder, part of the show? Ditto the girl in the fourth row who spends the entire 75 minutes phubbing the events onstage and texting her friends. Who knows. But generally speaking, when you are paying more attention to the audience than the show, something is amiss.

Director: Moses Hao