Writer: Sofia Natoli
Directors: Luna Laurenti and Al Hawkins
Born in the south of France to an Italian family, gregarious writer-performer Sofia Natoli is a true polyglot. Her 50-minute solo show, Babel Beast, slips fluidly between impeccable English, French, and Italian. The same effortless fluidity cannot be attributed to its content. Part cabaret, part burlesque, part Greek myth, its components—often baffling in intent—struggle to cohere into a satisfying whole. Somehow, it ends up as less than the sum of its trilingual parts.
Early on, Natoli delivers a mimed rendition of Wilkommen from Cabaret, dressed in fetching green lingerie, a faux-fur stole, and a pair of alarmingly realistic fake breasts. In a kind of reverse striptease, the audience claps to decide which items she then adds to her costume. We aim to create a version of the mythological Sphinx, in the form of the head of a woman, the body of a lion, and the wings of a bird.
What we have to work with are some oddments from a suitcase on stage, so creating said Sphinx is not easy. First off, the review audience chooses (claps loudest to) a sensible green-and-purple number rather than the revealing black dress that one suspects Natoli would prefer. Costume-wise, things go uphill from there. Once dressed, the Sphinx gives us three (quite hard) riddles. If we cannot solve them correctly, we die. Thankfully, we survive. Perhaps there are some Classics students in the audience.
Then we get the performer reading from her diary, and miming to a sound collage in three languages that features a mash-up of TV ads and promos, Brexit polemic, railway station announcements, pop music, and Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni spouting a rousing homage to Italian nationalism. Why? Who knows.
Later, we see Natoli assume the forms of various Greek deities. One, Thalassa, the primordial goddess and personification of the sea in mythology, delivers a rewritten number from Bugsy Malone, to the tuneful accompaniment of a male pianist (Charlie, dressed in a black fishnet blouse). To slow the momentum a bit, we get five minutes of Natoli tearing apart and eating a pomegranate, accompanied by Italian nursery rhymes and kitchen sounds. If there is a Greek reference here, those Classic students might come in handy; otherwise, it may go over your head.
Comedy then intrudes in the form of the performer conducting an imaginary orchestra using hand and arm movements composed mainly of offensive gestures. The closing skit features Methuselah delivering a school lesson entirely in French, after which the performer disappears from the stage, never to return. What does it all add up to? Well, it is amusing in parts, Natoli’s costumes look great, and she dances well. Perhaps it is not meant to make sense.
Runs until 12 November 2025
