A New Recipe For Old Scraps

The genius of Gob Squad’s Kitchen is in its ability to provoke radically different interpretations. On one level, it is another formal exercise in testing the limits of the fourth wall: members of the audience gradually replace the players, and the use of a large screen, upon which the actions of the play are projected, highlights the expected division between stage and auditorium. On another, it’s a eulogy to the spirit of the 1960s, a close-up on the moment when the potential of the age was about to become a radical questioning of social and aesthetic values. And it is a complaint about the way in which this energy was dispersed, until the imaginative gestures of Warhol’s art became a series of mannered tropes, replacing the genuine inquisitive approaches with a series of recognisable strategies.

Gob Squad set out their idea quickly. They are going to recreate the filming of Warhol’s film, to get back into the state of mind that allowed the cast and crew to abandon the usual details of creativity – stuff like learning lines, or having a plot. There are several lengthy monologues that fake excitement for this past – usually with an undertow of anxiety and fear – and a couple of interludes that ponder how even getting sexy is fraught with irony, these days. At the height of the performance, the cast wig out, in a horribly rigid way, pretending that they are either at an orgy, or on LSD.

It is so terribly melancholic, with the overwhelming sense that the good times have long since disappeared. Knowing that the same people who were Warhol’s superstars went on to become casualties of their freedoms undermines an unabashed celebration of sex and drugs.

From this very self-conscious foundation, Gob Squad manage to come up with something original. By taking younger members of the audience to play them, they set up a delicious tension between their younger selves and their more knowing present identities. A woman questions her stand-in about the difficulties of balancing “the rock’n’roll lifestyle” with the desire for a stable family life. A man tries to fake hipness, only to have details of his real life beyond the stage revealed which deconstruct his veneer of cool. The constant play between “the real” and “the performed” undercuts both Warhol’s attempt to capture the authentic in art and Gob Squad’s journey back to an innocent time.

Most tellingly, Gob Squad use an apparent exercise in art archaeology to comment on cultural

anxiety. While the 1960s promoted the belief in change, its triumph only replaced one set of expectations with another. In particular, Warhol’s Factory was the nexus for a certain sort of experimentation, a social and artistic experimentation so successful that it became a bohemian establishment. Revolutions, both artistic and political, are exposed as a natural process that might change the surface details but can never depose the tyranny of time, which revolves the provocative into the predictable.

The various speeches appearing to praise the adventure of the 1960s are ironically the bitterest condemnations. Speculating on a future audience, which looks aback at the filmed moments as the origin of a brave new world, Gob Squad emphasis the failure of the experiment. The very performance they present, for all its wit, good humour, generosity and imagination, is, in itself, an almost ritualistic repetition of the past, another attempt to break free of influence, doomed to failure.