Ensemble
- fragentheatre
- Mar 27
- 5 min read
There are an infinite number of ways of making theatre - solos, big casts, small casts, huge cast, star vehicles, text vehicles, tech vehicles. At Fragen, we love the ensemble. Ensemble work is what makes us tick. We believe that theatre is an athletic art that requires huge levels of fitness and commitment as well as vast reserves of mental endurance. At the same time, it's a world of fun and intense play. Our aim is to return to the playground, to explore the madness of dreams, and put an alternate reality onstage that people may have only touched while they were children and return to when they are fast asleep.
Anything can Happen
We don't remember which night it was when Anna, as the prophet Tiresias, was throwing up all over the floor, poking out her eyes with a fork and dying dramatically at the back when some bloke in the front row leaned forward, pointed his finger at her and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Oh my God. I saw her on the tube." To this day, we still don't know what it means. But that's theatre. Anything can happen.
National Theatre Day on March 27th has us reminiscing about this time a decade ago. As part of our blog series, we are revisiting the productions, performances, workshops and works in progress that we have been involved in. Ten years on, Blush of Dogs still lingers in our mind. A production that refused to sit neatly within expectations, it was a dark, blood-soaked reimagining of Greek tragedy. A play that dared to be funny, unsettling, and full-blooded all at once. Performed in a theatre above a pub, it was the kind of show that asked its audience to lean in, to wrestle with its contradictions. Some did. Some didn’t. But no one was bored.
The Thrill of the Performance
Each night of that run, the room was humming with a nervous energy. The actors threw themselves into the work, committed beyond measure to the world we’d built. It was visceral, immediate. Moments of grotesque violence, twisted humour, and a raw sensuality that made it impossible to sit back and disengage. Sweat and spit and vomit were flying, bodies collided, the air in the room was thick with electricity and the stench of rotten orange peel.
At the heart of it all was the ensemble. That ensemble. Anna, Ben and Mike.
Photos by Robert Workman
Ensemble theatre, at its best, is a display of radical play, transformation, and absolute equality. In Blush of Dogs, those three actors took it that bit further. They took it into a place of love and competition which was frightening to behold, often dangerous, and always impossible to predict. Although the story never changed and the outcome was a foregone conclusion, you couldn't be sure that, by sheer force of will, these artists wouldn't suddenly break through the play's strict boundaries and head off in their own direction.
Supported by Isabella Van Braeckel's extraordinary design, the beautiful lights of Alex Hopkins and the technical wizardry of Helen Thomas, their playground came to life. The actors moved as one, shifting fluidly between roles, emotions, and states of being, gliding up and down social hierarchies, leaping between high tragedy and bawdy comedy with expert precision. This is the power of true ensemble work: a physical and emotional athleticism that dissolves actors into one unit, where every gesture, breath, and moment of silence is shared. It was hilarious and dark, exhilarating to watch and to be part of, an urgent reminder of why this form of theatre remains one of the most potent.
And yet, a curious tension lingered in the space. Blush of Dogs was a dark comedy, but the audience, maybe conditioned by the weight of Greek tragedy, were often hesitant to laugh. You could feel them holding back, uncertain whether it was acceptable to find humour in the horror. Later, people told us they wanted to laugh, but weren’t sure if they were supposed to. That tension fascinated us. It taught us something crucial: audiences need permission. They need a clear entry point into a show’s tone, a way to know what kind of experience they’re stepping into. It’s something we’ve thought about ever since.
The Challenge of Selling Theatre
Of course, making a show isn’t just about what happens onstage. It’s also about getting people in the room. Anyone involved in theatre knows how tough this can be, especially at fringe level. This blog is all about blowing open every aspect of putting on a play, and we're not embarrassed to think back on what could have been. Ticket sales weren’t as strong as we’d hoped and, looking back, there were a few clear reasons why.
Pricing was, is always, a challenge: too high, and you alienate audiences; too low, and you make the financials impossible. We landed somewhere in the middle, but in hindsight, we could have fought harder to keep tickets accessible. Better a full room at a lower price than an empty one at a premium.
Then there was the question of marketing. We could have done more. We should have done more. The title Blush of Dogs was evocative but enigmatic; the premise, a contemporary adaptation of Thyestes, was bold but perhaps unapproachable to those outside the world of theatre. Did we communicate it clearly enough? Maybe not. People need to know what they’re signing up for when they purchase a ticket and travel to a theatre, and we’ve come to realise that selling a production is as much about storytelling before the show as it is during the performance itself.
The Response: Love It or Hate It, but Never Indifferent
If ticket sales were a struggle, the responses from those who came were anything but lukewarm. Most loved it. A few hated it, and thankfully they weren't shy to share their opinions. That’s exactly how it should be. If theatre provokes nothing, what’s the point? Blush of Dogs had its champions, and their enthusiasm meant everything. Reviews, too, reflected that split. Time Out, Postcards from the Gods, Grumpy Gay Critic and more gave us strong, thoughtful write-ups that helped sustain us through the run. Looking back, we could have pushed harder for more reviews later in the run, inviting critics to catch the show when word-of-mouth had built. But even so, the response, intense, divisive, impassioned, was proof that we had done something right.
What We Take Forward
Theatre is unpredictable. You can plan meticulously, but once the show begins, it belongs to the audience. They will react as they will, and you have to be prepared for that. But what we’ve learned from Blush of Dogs is that you can shape those reactions, not by controlling them, but by preparing the ground. Give audiences permission to laugh. Let them know what kind of night they’re in for. Build the story around the show as much as the show itself.
Would we do it all over again? Absolutely. Differently, perhaps. But in the end, Blush of Dogs was never about playing it safe. Theatre never should be.
27.03.25
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