It was bladdy flippen cold when I went to see Planet B this afternoon. It was bitterly, miserably cold, and Iâ€™m sureÂ that that is why there were only forty of us in the audience at St Andrews Hall.
There were some really, really cool things in Planet B (although there were a lot of things that were hellse derivative). Itâ€™s an apocalyptic, waterless desert world 29km outside of Jozi. There is a hermit, bandit tent owning man. There is a nomadic, aggressive and very strange thief nomad girl. They are literally thrown together, with a chicken called Jerry in the mix.
I loved the set. I loved some of the relationship. But then she took a shower on stage. A real one. And that was it
for me. The actress spent the rest of the show in a wet vest and broekies. And I could think of nothing else. All action, moments, effects, story, message disappeared. I was obsessed with the actress and her freezing wetness. I could think of nothing else. I shivered on her behalf. I was totally distracted by her wetness and coldness. This made the show long and dreary. It was just too cold.