'Cow | Deer' review — the most unique hour you’ll have in a theatre this year

Read our review of Cow | Deer, now in performances at the Royal Court to 11 October.

One thing’s for certain: Cow | Deer is bound to be the most unique hour you’ll have in a theatre this year. Co-created by the boundary-pushing experimental director Katie Mitchell, writer Nina Segal, and sound artist Melanie Wilson, and described as a “listening experience,” the production aims to bring us between the ears of a heavily pregnant cow and a deer, while looking “beyond the human stories of the climate crisis, towards the more-than-human world.” In other words, for 60 minutes, the theatre is plunged into a disarray of farmyard noises and absolutely no speech. Intriguing? Certainly. But Mitchell’s message, buried under the moos, snorts, and cud-chewing, remains stubbornly unclear.

And sure, it sounds convincing. Close your eyes (as the Royal Court staff encourage at the start of the performance) and you could almost believe you’re in the thick of rural chaos. You listen to the deer prancing freely through the wilds, while the cow lives a more industrialised life on the farm. There’s a particularly memorable passage of the cow leaving its mark on the grass – a moment that is, for better or worse, impossible to ignore. Mitchell has done an expert job at painting the animals’ existences in dazzling shades. Still, any trace of a cohesive narrative is impossible to hear.

Even with such a short running time, the “experience” starts to become a little tiresome. After all, there’s only so many times the sound of a cow stomping through the fields can hold your attention. Luckily, Pandora Colin, Tom Espiner, Tatenda Matsvai, and Ruth Sullivan — the troupe of foley artists (performers who use props to create everyday sounds) responsible for bringing the animals’ journeys to life — are quite the sight to behold. Using a collection of items, including watering cans, big tanks of water, material that looks like the remains of a foil metallic wig, and bunches of herbs – to name just a few – they conjure up a fully immersive landscape. Performing alongside a pre-recorded backing track, their choreography becomes almost balletic. I’d encourage any audience member to ignore the instructions, open their eyes, and become entranced.

Later comes the introduction of humanity: a combine harvester, distant conversation, and perhaps the hint of an impending disaster, at a push. Still, it all feels somewhat hollow. If Mitchell hopes to incite a sense of urgency about the state of the world, we simply do not feel it.

It’s unlikely that a better-sounding farmyard symphony will appear on any London stage soon. But if you’re not booking a ticket to Cow | Deer for the sole purpose of marvelling at the technique of its foley performances, then don’t bother. Ultimately, an hour feels a touch long to spend listening to a cow doing its business.

Cow | Deer is at the Royal Court to 11 October. Book Cow | Deer tickets on LondonTheatre.co.uk

Photo credit: Cow | Deer (Photos by Camilla Greenwell)