Events at Forest Kozan last Sunday put me in mind of the 80's and the surreal European art house movies I used to stay up late on a Friday night to watch on Channel 4 in the hope of seeing some, well, things you certainly wouldn't see on RTE. Invariably I would be equally disappointed and fascinated; disappointed at the lead actresses innate velcro-like ability to keep her clothes on, fascinated by continental filmmakers' haughty disdain for anything that might even remotely resemble a plot. It was all about imagery, mood and incomprehension. To this day I still have no idea what the film Visszaesők (Forbidden relations) is about, but that turkey-swan thing, surely, it's more than just a turkey-swan, right.
Anyway, the fine folk up in Forest Kozan seemed to have tapped into that same vein of multi-colored madness, for how else to explain the otherwise inexplicable. (Well, either that or this year's harvest of Uncle Satoshi's crop of home grown mellow gold was particularly good).
We had a not very convincing Bolivian flute player, a man with a cardboard face, slow, charcoal baked sweet potatoes and the sudden, unsparing onset of winter. All combined to push reason aside and made us embrace our inner arts-n-crafts pagan child.
That and it was too cold outside.
When it got to stage when we were all following the faux Bolivian flute player as he led us on a merry dance, I really did begin to wonder if this was turning into a Japanese version of the Wicker Man.
But no, thankfully, the fire they had built outside was to slow roast the sweet potatoes, not the foreign outsider.
Cian, by the way, was a Caribou. But you knew that already from the stunning authenticity of his costume.
The caribou, feeling the irrepressible call of the wild, yearns to be outside. The caribou's Daddy, keenly aware of his offspring's desire, says, "not a feckin chance, pal. It's feckin freezing out there".
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