National Theatre (Lyttleton), London
***
Howard Barker, one of our country’s most inventive and
prolific playwrights, has never quite fit in. His desire to take “our audiences more seriously, and stop telling them stories
they can understand” is reflected in his writing, where time, place, and
people themselves are simultaneously both specific and inexplicable by
conventional logic or definition. The alienating effect of his consistently
anachronistic imagery and brutal language has always prevented Barker from
gaining widespread national renown…until now.
Originally written as a radio play
in 1984, Scenes follows the fictional
Venetian artist Galactia (Fiona Shaw) and her efforts to paint a gigantic mural
depicting the Battle of Lepanto, her desire to express her feelings about war
and death greatly at odds with the wishes of her commissioner, the Doge of
Venice (Tim McInnerny). From the moment the curtain rose on Galactia’s lover
Carpeta (Jamie Ballard), lying naked on a prop boulder being sketched by
Galactia, herself barely covered by a loose-fitting cloth shirt, the audience
was awash with titters and the atmosphere somewhat reminiscent of a school
assembly on sexual education. Audience laughter of this kind often masks powerful
emotions like revulsion, horror and arousal, and is the very thing that Barker
has always sought to dispel. It continued throughout the play, as war veteran
Prodo paraded his injuries (including a crossbow bolt lodged in his brain and
intestines perpetually spilling from his stomach) and an Albanian man rubbed
his crotch whilst grinning at a distressed young woman, with Shaw’s breasts all
the while on display.
Though the whole cast performed
with great energy and purpose, particularly Ballard’s ambitious yet spineless
Carpeta to McInnerney’s menacing yet sensitive Urgentino, all were guilty on
several occasions of playing for laughs rather than impact, the audience rarely
forced to question their sympathies for these ultimately weak and selfish
people. Shaw’s aggressive and sanguine Galactia can perhaps be excused of this,
beset as she is on all sides by criticism and violence with humour often her
only viable form of defence. But the principle blame for the lack of effective
brutality in the performance must be laid at the feet of director Tom Cairns,
who one feels has taken the safe route. In stark contrast to a poignant scene
in which Galactia refuses to trivialise her work by engaging in an
intellectual debate with William Chubb’s vindictive Cardinal Ostensibile,
Cairns has erred on the side of caution, thus allowing the audience to keep a
comfortable distance between themselves and the searching questions asked of
them as individuals by this play.
Several design flaws further
compounded the production’s lack of bite. Hildegard Bechtler’s
impressive set of vast moving walls was robbed of its potential for both scale
and intimacy by Peter Mumford’s lighting design, which left a lot to be desired
in terms of subtlety – Galactia herself was heard to complain about there being
too much light. Conversely, the lack of significantly potent depiction of the
mural itself meant that the audience had little opportunity to connect with the
painting’s subject matter, relying solely on descriptions and reactions from
those on stage. This problem stems from the play itself – any artist’s
interpretation of the piece could not possibly do justice to the scope and
potency of Barker’s words. One
particularly striking image, however, did appear at the end of act one,
depicting a tableau of three figures: a sailor, gazing in uncomprehending
horror; Prodo holding his eyes and ears closed to shut out the turmoil around
him; and the imperious Admiral Suffici (Robert Hands), standing monstrously
calm and resolute. This image drew a stunned silence from the snickering
spectators, and made one wish for more of the same.
Another problem inherent in the play comes in the form of
The Sketchbook, a voiced collection of stage directions and descriptions, in
this production taking the form of a suited and bespectacled narrator (Gerrard
McArthur), telling parts of the story from a floating box of white light. In a
production full of relatively safe choices, this one is hard to fathom. Perhaps
his passing resemblance to Barker himself shows awareness by the director of
the fact that in bringing Barker’s work to the masses, something has been lost
in translation. Certainly, there is a comparison to be drawn between Galactia’s
painting and the play itself – that an artist ultimately holds no power over
how their work is interpreted by those who see it.
Though confidently performed and with several intriguing
images left in the mind, there seemed to be a lack of intensity and purpose so
very present within the text. Barker once said: “I
submit all my plays to the National Theatre for rejection. To assure myself I
am seeing clearly.” Now, after writing over one hundred dramatic works during a
career spanning almost half a century, his genius is finally being recognised
by that same popular institution which has for so long served as a bench mark
for everything he has sought to avoid in theatre. What price glory?
This production runs until 9 December 2012.
For more information: http://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/shows/scenes-from-an-execution
@NationalTheatre
1 comment:
started reading this, sounded like an essay, looks long, stopped reading... get back on shape "Peen" and edit your bloggers. Word counts can be wonderful things you know...
Post a Comment