Gallery
A large sketch of a naked boy offering his buttocks to the viewer hangs aft, courtesy of Peter Doig. The sweet young thing on stage wears rent-boy breeches with a flapping genital pouch and slits drawn over his bum, and poor Kate Coyne looks like an Everton Mint in her third unfortunate bodysuit in a row. The other girls practise at a ballet barre wearing flappy fringy batwings, which make the flat-frontedness of Clark’s choreography for them look even more hieratic and 2D. Clark himself (like Hitchcock, he habitually puts himself into cameo roles) hangs desultorily off the barre for a few seconds and then vanishes. It is shapeless, aimless, enervating to watch. Very feeble applause from last night’s audience at this point too.
