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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Entertainment
Stephanie Ferguson

Trio La La La

We were warned that anything could happen - and it did. The trio in question were physical-theatre maestro Nigel Charnock, former DV8 star Jordi Cortes Molina and Venezuelan improvisation artist David Zambrano, and they packed everything from jive to jokes, ballet to slapstick into their hour of impromptu action. Charnock's presence was so strong, there were times it felt like the Nigel show with the other two bolted on. But Zambrano was endearingly surreal, a bewildered Groucho Marx with wild hair, tail coat and checked trousers, zipping along like a propelled rubber band, barking like a dog on all fours, or dancing with the studio's floor duster. Part of the centre's El Cuerpo Latino festival, the show was a mix of the ingenious, the predictable and the puerile. Molina lolled against the windows while Charnock crawled into the audience, nabbed a handbag and rifled through it. Seizing on a tampon, he popped it in his mouth, and Molina led him around by its string before offering it back, soggy and expanded, to its owner. All the crotch-groping and tits-and-bums humour tended to pall a little. And it took Charnock only half an hour to have his jumper up over his head and torso bare. He crouched in front of a spotlight and then, hooded, began to slap his back and chest. What followed was a new slant on the old US hambone rhythms of the deep south, the men beating out tattoos on their bodies. Hugely physical, the action ranged from Charnock and Molina slicing into the splits, fusing into amazing shapes, from stars to bookends, and balancing brilliantly. Music jumped from mambo to rock to classical, with Charnock revealing an excellent voice in snatches of the 23rd Psalm. There was simulated sex and exaggerated hangings, and they took the mickey out of the afflicted in the audience with a bout of raucous coughing. There was so much going on, you needed eyes like a video camera. It ended with choreographer, dancer, actor and singer Charnock belting out a bluesy number, Molina stood panting like an overgrown spaniel and Zambrano woofed in approval.

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