Sean Burnett Dugdale-Martin
Endling is a show about nothing. Each of its sketches, individually, have no sense of theme or emotional catalyst, and once thought of together, as a collection, they also offer no meaning. We are told by Monckton near the top of the show that if we find any underlying meaning that it is entirely our fault. To search this show for meaning would be to rummage around in an empty box. There is something to be said about emphasizing a point of meaninglessness so much that we, an audience of humans, are going to search harder for one.
Endling is a Frankenstein's monster of a show. It is composed of snippets from other bodies of work Monckton has created, like The Artist, Only Bones, The King of Taking, as well as accumulated offcuts from them, now finding life after being left of the devising room floor. There are many funny moments, and many odd moments, some both, throughout the show. The crowd is warmed up quickly because Monckton is a pro and knows how to find the funny in the bits he’s got.
As a creator I appreciate the form Monckton has chosen and the company line of meaninglessness he sticks to. Creating shows, particularly long-form solos with a singular theme or premise like Monckton’s bodies of work tend to be, there can be beautiful ideas that just don’t fit inside the overarching narrative. Those beautiful ideas, 5-10 minute vignettes, find their home in Endling. It’s easy to see which parts were cut from which shows, because they still adhere very much to their familiar style (like how the box bit was from King of Taking because of its red velvet and the constant gift unwrapping).
This show is a collection of pieces that brought Monckton joy and have been abandoned, for one reason or another, from larger bodies of work. Because most pieces in the collection are from different shows and therefore have very distinct feels or energies, it means that Endling as a whole (the show without meaning) flows along at different speeds. It keeps the pacing interesting and changes its vibe just enough to never have a bit get old.
I find myself constantly comparing scenes in an unconscious effort to find an underlying thematic narrative. Continuously I snap myself out of it, urging myself to consider the scenes solo. The finale, however, has me pondering its purpose long after leaving the theatre. A prolonged clap, which we thought was the bows, and a congratulatory dance. A clown of dwindling energy dances for as long as we clap, and we clap as long as he dances. Almost like a challenge: Who tires first? I can’t place this moment accurately into a previous property of his performative canon.
Is this moment, after the ending of Endling, exempt from the meaninglessness? Does it allude to a larger, absurdist-theatre morality of meaninglessness regardless of constant effort, and vice versa? Why do we keep dancing and trying and clapping if none of it has any meaning? For me, despite the author's insistence that there is nothing here under the surface, I think the show has very easily encased its endeavor to perform beloved pieces out of their contexts in a simple, linking theme: everything is pointless, so we should just do what we love anyway.
As a sub-theme or a co-theme to the supposedly themeless, I interpreted an element of artistic desperation and burnout. Particularly in the final movement, when Monckton dances to our clapping until he is a crumpled husk on the floor who cannot move anymore. Giving all that he has given, assuring us it’s worth nothing and is devoid of thought, perhaps Monckton is playing the artist who gives too much and values their ethereal creations too little.
Completing my metaphoric collage on a corkboard of ideas and evidence connected with red string, I sit back and admire the conspiracy-like view I’ve taken to this artist and this show. I wonder, has its vocal lack of depth provoked a spite within me so much so that I am drawing conclusions that would otherwise not be drawn had Monckton not said anything at all? Have I got lost in his empty box? Is Endling a chew toy for the mind or am I in the corner chewing on my own tongue?
Regardless, it was a great show with moments of great stillness and appreciation for patient imagery created on stage, as well as some of the silliest stuff you’ll see performed. More info on the season that was, here.