Taken to extremes.

Eat Your Hear Out’s first full-length show is an acute and sharp reflection on the contingencies of violence in our society. Violence is humorous and dark, cynical and positive, and behind these binaries it’s also a highly entertaining show that explores the full potential of popular forms such as cabaret and variety to critique and reflect.

Scottee and the rest of the misfits return to the stage shortly after their piece exploring the value of performance at Performance Matters’ Trashing Performance. As such, Violence is framed by Scottee’s deviant notion of ‘light art’, in which popular ‘light’ entertainment is paired up with ‘the discipline of live or performance art’; this isn’t a presumptive categorization, more a proposition for art that is acutely aware of both its value and lack of, one that is genuinely accessible and ‘the antidote to The X-Factor’.

On these terms, the production brings together a series of vignettes that explore different facets of violence: the social, the political, the personal and the public. Some more outspoken, others timid. Characters fight, there is virtual shooting, moments of operatic tragedy and some highly committed movement routines. And this wouldn’t be an EYHO show without a bit of glitter, a pair of red heels and a parade of surreal characters.

Violence is an underworld of curious explorations that delve into the different spaces where violence exists: the domestic, the public, the psychological and – in a more obtuse way – the virtual. We are greeted by a great video mash-up of the best and most illustrious Cameron speeches, walk in the steps of the young man who was murdered for the way he was walking, hear a letter of regret and listen to an intimate confession. In a mix of popular culture, recycled history and committed social critique, the show explores a variety of moments that paint an urban portrait of violence.  Underlying the show there’s also a potent exploration of sexuality and gender.

The most striking element of Violence is its distinct aesthetic, paired with its relentless quest to exhaust the meaning out of a moment. There’s rigour to the performance: all the members of the company wear the same black and white outfits and gothic make-up (reminiscent of Robert Wilson’s and Tom Waits’ The Black Rider) and the structure of the show, although seemingly loose, is very tightly constructed. Red is always the color that trashes the image – and it’s the deliberately obnoxious quality of these images that makes them work so well.

With such a committed and skilled company of performance artists – made up of Scottee, Dickie Beau, Myra Dubois, Miss Annabel Sings, Helen Noir, Masumi Tipsy, Nando Messias and Spencer Wood – every movement is a full physical and emotional commitment, and every gesture is carried accordingly, its meaning extended and flexed. Actions are repeated to the point of exhaustion, images are held and broken as we glide from the darkly serious to the humorously surreal.

It’s not always an even show, and sometimes scenes wander without arriving anywhere, but the variety of performers and the wide range of material is curated with skill, and makes for an atmospheric, curious and critical show. There’s a sense of urgency to Violence; its loud and scattergun attitude makes it easier for the audience to glide through and make of it what they will.