FIFTEEN MINUTES OF FLAME

On Monolithic Studios at Ladbroke Hall, Thursday 21^st August 2025

Monolithic Studios now bestride the cultural space
In all quarters; for in Ladbroke Hall tonight their strong shadow
Was shaping new light on the heart, as an evening of fifteen
Minute fires were stoked to chorale and carouse strength
And spirit, each monologue masking photographers, poets,
Actors, writers, directors, with each piece inspired by those
Who incapsulate life through caught art.

From a form of Juliet balcony, down stone steps,
To a compact stage, each voice verses; contemporary,
Urgent, souls for whom each street breaks and dares;
And each one a tale for our times, from the loss
Of a Manchester Girl down an immigrant’s descendent
In London,  to a Mexican wrestler’s descension,
As we move from Nikki Giovanni to Normski and each

Survivor still stands, spirits flare. Signalling up through
The dark in this excitingly fresh form of theatre,
In which an invited crowd all seemed eager, to thoroughly
Imbibe on the word housed in a beautiful room set in
A West London street, holy, hidden, sacrements scribed
From image makers through both lens and line were heart-heard.
It was One Man monolith and Creative Director, Justin Marosa’s

Conceit, to take inspirational photography books and known poets
And give them to writers and directors new to theatre making
To rouse such flames from the page that would not destroy
But send higher the very aims of black culture, as if both
Heaven and earth could then house all aspirations cojoined.
It is a fantastic idea, executed and held by ambition, assisted
By Ericka Morales sweet and easy charm as Producer,

And a Production team par excellence, from Lauren Elise King’s
Marketing which afforded this self funded set such attendance,
To Felix Dean’s costumes and Jamiko Marshall’s lights and sound
Elegance, the stage was set for (French pun) Bon-fires, fed by
The stoked search for story as conducted by soul’s placed in heat,
Fanned by a quartet of fresh and truly visceral actors, taking
Words sparked from sources and aligning each mind and heartbeat.

Isaiah Weekes’ A Drawer Full of Voices begins with footage
Of the infamous Michael De Freitas, soon to become Michael X,
Free from Rachman, he was a late 60s scourge on the white,
A Trinidaddy of sorts  keen to lay claim to London, and for all of
The young black men who’ve followed whether in or out of his light
The search for truth and love mark the path on which Melchizedek
Oketch’s young man is word dancing, charming us at once

With Charisma, and with male beauty and blaze, this son stuns.
And yet the path to acceptance for all is political. We all know this.
Whether we seek votes for a place above others, or beside
Only one, as the character here demonstrates his desire
To clear away the code breaking that is part of the way defence
Structures not only our lives but our world. As Oketch almost
Time travels back on seeing someone with whom he connected

In softening Michael X’s stark shadow aspects of generational
Change have been hurled. Dumas Haddad’s direction is adept,
Moving Oketch from steps to stage through first corall,
Then confession, and from an opening dance, declarations
Of spirit and sense stain the air, and so in the first fifteen
Minutes we find not only flame but soul-water soothing us all.
As we listen we learn at last how to care. 

Stirred by Photographer Eddie Otchere’s Spirit Behind the Lens
One could see where Marosa would  lead us. Black Cultural
Memory now made active as it always has been in day dare,
And not the stuff of lost dreams, the content perhaps
Of Dulce De Lucha,  where Salima Ibrahim’s response to Katinka
Herbert’s SLAM Lucha Libre Superheroes of the Ring
Flails at flair, as Harrison Daniel’s middle aged Matcha Cart

Barista begins a deluded a descent through pale purpose,
Appealing for all to “release me from what I was before”
His deep need is to reimagine, reclaim and be he who is truly seen,
Not the server; in adopting the Mexican wrestler’s mask,
Herbert’s pictures 3D’s next to us. As Daniels prowls, muttering
At odd moments and then declaiming, wrestling with himself;
Life as truss. Matthias Lebeer steered him well, but with some

Diction lost what we witnessed was a soul alone.  And yet still,
Strained silence became and becomes eloquent. For our private
Howls should be heard as well as shared by all people. These days
We rarely look, so this story and Daniel’s demand show what’s meant.
After the first (long) interval came a treat, a set from the singer
Ssuleman and accomplished pianist Gabriel Dedji; three songs
Of reformation celebrating survival, Allah and the pleasures found

In good days. Ssuleman’s soft appeal, and arch tones channel
The ghosts of Ray Charles and Rodriquez. His Stevie Wonder face
Faces wonder, as sat on his stool his soul sways, with a touch
Of the holy Mark Hollis thrown in, enducing sweet refrains
As we listen to two young men made from moments I had once
Thought lost, now they stay. Song smithery forged in love’s kiln,
And for love’s sound-film full with feeling, with each piano note

Sounding so that every hidden heart has its say. And so BRIBE,
The next drama dreams on with the evening’s only (speaking) actress;
A tour de force, As each piece is, but with a wisdom within
Which dares all. Her name means ‘honey dropping into wealth.’
And so Oyinkansola Yusuff drips the nectar of need pure
Before us, taking us on a tour of the forceful as we she tries
To resist the state’s call. Gemma Weekes’ fine script echoes

Nikki Giovanni’s word beauty, and under Lisa Walter’s direction
Yusuff yearns across darkness, fracturing light with each stance
And reclaiming through love which has been sealed between
Persecutions, the poetry of repentance now easily able
To transmute and change circumstance. From a confrontational
Confessional stand stained by so much broken beauty, the woman
Before The Bureau for Reparative  Initiatives and Belonging Engagement

Defends where her own value lays, as she fights for a future,
In which we can afford hope or our children so that they
As Giovanni states: ‘start as we end.’ It was the night’s bravest
Piece, combining poetry and perhaps science fiction,
Alongside social action and the light within us all rendered dark.
And yet Yusuff shone on, as did all these actors, but when held within
Torches tear us, and even a withheld kiss leaves its mark.

With her power and skill there was harshness held within honey,
Intelligence when its soulful is a call to the flesh which can’t fail.
As Yusuff’s presence is set in and out of light. Her flare fills us.
So here were four women whose wonders would set the home bound
Heart to full sail. Karla Marie Sweet’s Manchester Girl tears its tale
From one of the great Normski’s photos, where outside a Public Enemy
Gig at the Manchester Appollo; March 25^th, 1990, word won teens

Make V-signs. Here, Sweet spills her name while stirring in
What life sours, as  one man battery, Steven Odubola’s charged
Charmer in telling her tale controlled each mood and mind to define
What youth both are and can be, by moving from mirth to the maudlin. 
And under Jake Nava’s direction, I felt the infection of this vibrant actor,
Conjuring up the charisma of a local lad made street star. On stage,
We show, share, and make the intimate epic. We shake privacy

For the public and attempt to reveal what we are. Sweet’s script
Tackles youth’s tropes and then subtly transmutes them.
From the rapture of love to the rupture of reality’s claim on the skin,
Hope  belongs. Seen from first gasp and clasp, to a tragic early
Death from cancer, via the M6 to wife, mother, destiny, dream,
And beyond. Defying all, drunken Dads, joyless jobs and all
With the irresistible spirit and rise which Odubola embodies;

One could feel his humanity housed by Nava’s impassioned
Direction; a fitting end for an evening which seemed to reinvent
What I know.  And I’ve worked at this forty years. Essentially,
Monolithic’s movements were filmic. But on one night in London,
They have formed and found theatre beneath or behind each word’s
Glow.  There was true beauty here, across stage, step, sound
And silence. And in a hall that’s resplendent; an oasis

From which fountains flow. Be they made from youth’s taste,
Or from the tears teased by yearning. When their next shadow
Falls for you, you will learn about light. It bestows.

                                                                                           David Erdos 22/8/25

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