I am a long way from the stage, but I can see a hole cut into a white rectangle and within the hole, I can see a penis. The image is clearly gendered but also sexless. The voiceover however is not, it is the tale of a regular guy and his desire to be penetrated by five people, somewhere, someday. It is this sort of dichotomy that El Conde de Torrefiel are keen to explore. They like to juxtapose stillness with stories that speak of emotional explosion. Cold, clean projections of text with on stage drunken anarchy. The evening consists of twelve stories, all told in voiceover with the characters on stage performing them, often just by being present. The stories are funny, detailed and crass in that Michel Houellebecq way, delighting in revealing the characters barely suppressed carnality. The set is dominated by a stark white backdrop and floor, and the projections and arrangement of people, colour and props have the same qualities of graphic design shared with magazines like Vice or the front of an American Apparel store. There were moments when I had the same feeling that I get when I walk into one of those stores too. That everyone is so cool, and everything looks so great but I don't actually want to buy any of it.
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