Aimee Smith
The world of Soft N Hard is alien from the get go. Design drives the action as luxurious textiles take center stage and dominate both the costume and set design (Poppy Serano and Owen McCarthy). A large yellow curtain divides the dome stage to create a warm yet lurid sort of world, the brightness of it refusing to be ignored - though what lies behind it is a mystery, at least for now. The costumes are similarly loud, bodies hidden beneath bizarre, billowing shapes. Throw in Waylon Edwards’ spacey sound design, and we start the show in a place decidedly other-wordly. Bodies begin to emerge, full of energy and curiosity, from the seas of embryonic fabric, and it feels like we are witnessing the birth of a clownish Adam and Eve - a fresh new Man and Woman, ready to discover the world full of naivety and optimism.
What they discover is something we in the audience are all too familiar with - the complex maze of gender roles. We watch as writers/performers Jo Randerson and Thomas LaHood as they begin to discover each other and how to be in the world around them. At first, the two are blank slates. Yet their world wastes no time in forcing gender stereotypes upon them. Disembodied hands creep slyly into their small universe via the yellow curtain, depositing props into the space (different props for Her and Him, of course). A beer bottle for Him. A handbag for Her. The space further conspires to enforce gender roles: only LaHood’s male clown can access the larger world out there beyond the mysterious yellow curtain, while Randerson’s best efforts are continually thwarted. Her only space is the one she shares with Him. It’s something that we’ve all seen before, and whilst the comedic performances keep things light, it still feels heartbreaking to realise that it’s all still relevant.
Throughout the first half of Soft N Hard, Her and Him discover more of their humanity, including the masculine and feminine, soft and hard, and which traits belongs to whom. What were fairly neutral beings begin to take on the shapes of familiar gender stereotypes. Her gently mumbles and apologises between a thick onslaught of generous smiles directed at anyone and everyone in the room, while He prefers to turn brooms into machine guns as opposed to cleaning with them. LaHood’s masculine clown is less of the bullish male we perhaps expect and instead presents a man who seems well-meaning but essentially unaware of his own privilege. If Her smiles are about people-pleasing, His smiles are probably just because he’s in a good mood, goonishly unaware of other people’s needs.
If the first half follows a fairly clear learning process, the second half of the story becomes stickier, if the first half is about discovery, the second half is about challenging those discoveries. The strange world begins to fall away, both in the performance and the space. Randerson and LaHood transform from abstract beings into something more resembling themselves, referring to each other as Jo and Thomas. They start addressing the audience more directly; soft and hard qualities are swapped, masculinity and femininity are challenged as belonging strictly to men or women. Randerson begins calling out LaHood on the ways she feels unheard and unrespected. LaHood steps into the role of the apologist, tainted with the kind of defensiveness that tends to precede the statement ‘not all men.’ This is a contemporary couple wearing the weight of twenty-first century feminism on their shoulders.
The attention of the show shifts from the content of the conversation to the nature of the conversation itself. Both Randerson and LaHood seem desperate to prove a point, but the difficulty they have with communicating it prevents much progress being made towards a solution. Words overlap with no one really listening, until LaHood gives up entirely by cloaking himself in one of the most amusing metaphors of the show, the ‘asshole’ blanket, reserved for those unable to escape the pitfalls of their male privilege. Defensiveness and anger battle with the desire to listen and respect each other. Broad ideological concepts come into conflict with the everyday functioning of ordinary humans.
The challenge posed by Soft N Hard isn’t just about recognising the problems of gender stereotypes, it also includes the awkward question of ‘So what next? How do we find a practical way to exist together, when we are both aware of the problem yet also can’t help but embody it?.’ In the programme, Randerson and LaHood tell us that “there’s no easy solve for the tensions of gender relations, even with the magic of theatre”. This isn’t the show with the solutions, but it is does remind us that the important thing is to keep on talking.
Soft N Hard has sold out, but thankfully Barbarian Productions have added a show on Saturday, August 26th at 2pm.
Book now via the BATS website:
https://bats.co.nz/whats-on/soft-n-hard/
Throughout the first half of Soft N Hard, Her and Him discover more of their humanity, including the masculine and feminine, soft and hard, and which traits belongs to whom. What were fairly neutral beings begin to take on the shapes of familiar gender stereotypes. Her gently mumbles and apologises between a thick onslaught of generous smiles directed at anyone and everyone in the room, while He prefers to turn brooms into machine guns as opposed to cleaning with them. LaHood’s masculine clown is less of the bullish male we perhaps expect and instead presents a man who seems well-meaning but essentially unaware of his own privilege. If Her smiles are about people-pleasing, His smiles are probably just because he’s in a good mood, goonishly unaware of other people’s needs.
If the first half follows a fairly clear learning process, the second half of the story becomes stickier, if the first half is about discovery, the second half is about challenging those discoveries. The strange world begins to fall away, both in the performance and the space. Randerson and LaHood transform from abstract beings into something more resembling themselves, referring to each other as Jo and Thomas. They start addressing the audience more directly; soft and hard qualities are swapped, masculinity and femininity are challenged as belonging strictly to men or women. Randerson begins calling out LaHood on the ways she feels unheard and unrespected. LaHood steps into the role of the apologist, tainted with the kind of defensiveness that tends to precede the statement ‘not all men.’ This is a contemporary couple wearing the weight of twenty-first century feminism on their shoulders.
The attention of the show shifts from the content of the conversation to the nature of the conversation itself. Both Randerson and LaHood seem desperate to prove a point, but the difficulty they have with communicating it prevents much progress being made towards a solution. Words overlap with no one really listening, until LaHood gives up entirely by cloaking himself in one of the most amusing metaphors of the show, the ‘asshole’ blanket, reserved for those unable to escape the pitfalls of their male privilege. Defensiveness and anger battle with the desire to listen and respect each other. Broad ideological concepts come into conflict with the everyday functioning of ordinary humans.
The challenge posed by Soft N Hard isn’t just about recognising the problems of gender stereotypes, it also includes the awkward question of ‘So what next? How do we find a practical way to exist together, when we are both aware of the problem yet also can’t help but embody it?.’ In the programme, Randerson and LaHood tell us that “there’s no easy solve for the tensions of gender relations, even with the magic of theatre”. This isn’t the show with the solutions, but it is does remind us that the important thing is to keep on talking.
Soft N Hard has sold out, but thankfully Barbarian Productions have added a show on Saturday, August 26th at 2pm.
Book now via the BATS website:
https://bats.co.nz/whats-on/soft-n-hard/