In Bog Witch, Bryony Kimmings attempts to create a theatrical spectacle, with all the flash that we associate and expect from a production of this nature. The issue arises when we peel it all back and ask the question, “So what?” And in answering that question, it becomes clear very quickly that the emperor really does not have any clothes and all the tech and clever storytelling is just a surface-level mirage.
There is an element of folk tale in Bog Witch as Kimmings uses movement, song and spoken word to narrate her year of living to the countryside. The production is heavily reliant on Kimmings’ stream of consciousness style of storytelling, especially as a method of convincing us to buy into her as a narrator, which is at least initially successful but degrades rapidly. Because of the conscious division of the show into ‘seasons’, any overarching narrative, theme, message or emotional build-up become lost as she completely resets her aesthetic and tone, failing to show us the connecting threads and undermining the overall presentation of Bog Witch as one larger story.
“A surface level mirage”
Will Duke’s projections, Guy Hoare’s lighting and Lewis Gibson’s sound designs meld together to create this technically overwhelming sense of immersion in the various seasonal aesthetics that lend themselves to a sense of tribalism and paganism that is built up at various moments of the show. We can see what each component is doing and strives to achieve, however, the complete sense of immersion doesn’t take. Although all of these various technical aspects are big, they’re not big enough for the venue to completely surpass the stage itself and bridge the divide between us and Kimmings. So no matter what, Kimmings is immersed, but we’re very consciously and distinctly on the outside looking in.
Despite the assumption on our part that Bog Witch is autobiographical to a degree, there is just something a little unbalanced about the production that makes it weaker than it could be. As a guide, Kimmings is very engaging, shepherding us along her narrative and quickly charming us with moments of her off-balanced, acerbic wit and commentary. She takes on a very deprecating and judgemental tone at the offset, that eventually shifts into something perhaps a little bit more genuine, lends itself to the perception that we’re watching at least two different shows. The connections are simply not there, and perhaps it’s a deliberate ‘art imitating life’ re-orientation, that some things just are, just happen. Everything about this production feels transitory. The show is composed of anecdotes that don’t particularly connect, just leading on from each other, one after another in a list to get to the next anecdote, with little distinction between them; a pattern that repeats until we no longer care due to the feeling of sameness of it all, even though the production reaches a point that indicates that we really should. Bog Witch relies heavily on narration, and although Kimmings at some point changes tack and starts lending more emotional weight to her words, it doesn’t quite register with us due to the pattern that she has set up to that point, and so it feels like more of the same. Since we ourselves have to reorient somewhat to fit and parse this new direction, it explains the anticlimactic feeling at the finale – that by all intents and purposes should be far more satisfying as a viewer than it is in reality – just because we don’t quite register enough of it for us to be impacted as much as we should on paper.
Ultimately, Kimmings’ commitment to breadth in theme, topic and style means that the depth of the production suffers. Bog Witch is far from an average show, but its measured endlessness substantially reduces the longevity of whatever empathy that we may have to the point where the 4th wall becomes practically impenetrable as we try to find something distinctive to grab onto.
By Katerina Partolina Schwartz
Photo Credit: Rosie Powell
Pepper & Salt 
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