Delusions and Grandeur is a thought-provoking one-woman show that explores the life of a professional cellist, blending music with intimate personal reflections. I saw this performance at the Festival Hub (in Trades Hall) on Thursday evening (17th Oct). Karen Hall plays Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major, with each movement punctuated by vignettes of her life as a professional cellist: history, hopes and fears as a performer, teacher and entertainer.
The audience is seated when she enters casually from the rear with a Subway sandwich in hand, engaging the audience as if mid-conversation. It’s only after she finishes her sub, that she pops behind the curtain to remove the culinary detritus and we hear the acknowledgment of country (i.e. the usual signal that the show is about to start).
This off kilter aspect speaks to Hall’s other skill that she has trained for. That of a clown. The show is billed as ‘A solo cello recital meets a clown show’, but there is no garish makeup, red noses, outlandish clothing. Rather there is a mild sense of awkwardness that Hall manages to infuse with ease into the show. Whether it’s the casual tossing aside items of clothing she is wearing, or standing on the furniture, she behaves in a manner that is contrary to what one might typically expect from a traditional recital of classical music.
Listening to the Cello Suite live and up close is an experience to be had and Hall does not disappoint her audience. But the fundamental difference between the traditional recital and this is that she speaks. And not just a dry intellectual dissertation on the music and composer, but rather, about herself; What motivates her. What scares her. She reminisces about what motivated her to pick the cello to start with. And the struggles she has with her profession. At times she appears to be having an existential crisis. Do you like what you do because you are good at it? Or are you good at what you do because you like it? Are you happy with what you’ve chosen in life? Or are you trapped? Hall shares her neurotic thoughts with the audience as she wants not just to be seen playing an instrument, but heard as a person with her own experiences and desires. And then it’s the next movement.
She finishes the show in a similarly unconventional manner that bookends the start, and the audience ends up applauding an empty stage. And we file out.
The fusion of a classical recital with the confessions of a performer struggling with their identity and self confidence makes for a compelling and deeply human experience. If you get the chance, don’t just watch Karen Hall—listen to her.
