Storytelling Fit for an Emperor
14 Jan 2010 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Andre Wiedeman, Andrew Laubscher, Eben Genis, Juliet Jenkin, Marthinus Basson, Maynardville, Nick Pauling, Tinarie van Wyk Loots
Never work with children and animals: director Marthinus Basson dares to do both (if you’ll allow me a little leeway for reptiles) and, yes, it works remarkably well.
In short: yes, the snakes are real. Yes, the bald heads are too. Brave visual statements abound in this production – the set is minimalist to the point of being stark, yet used to perfection. Where the play may lack interpretive bite and experimentation, the design more than compensates.
Antony and Cleopatra is a tricky play to stage. Spanning ten years and an entire Roman Empire, it’s a given that – at one point or another – you’re going to leave some of the audience behind. Basson’s solution was visual, simple and surprisingly effective. Giant fluorescent light tubes clearly marked the changes in location: regular, ordered verticals in militant red for the Romans; chaotic, irrational diagonals in sandswept ambers for Egypt and an acidwash blue underfloor glow for Pompey’s seaward rebellion. The effect was locational clarity with a bonus of moody atmosphere.
The play’s binary contrasts between Egypt and Rome, between reason and passion and man and woman are, perhaps, less fashionable contemporary observations. Basson did not shy away from them, however, and delivered a play that worked within the text’s themes rather than looked outside it to making overt, modern statements. Certainly, we are not lulled into any simple binary loyalties: Basson maintains the moral complexities that make clear-headed judgements so hard in this play, both for audiences and the characters themselves. Rome may be the seat of reason and colonial rule, but it is based on the manipulations of a misogynist, spoiled young ruler and egotistical in-fighting.
Basson’s casting does much to enhance this: Andrew Laubscher is thoroughly and gloriously unlikable as Rome’s own spoiled leader Octavius Caesar. Cleopatra may be a drama queen in love and a flighty coward in allegiance, but she is no coward when the crunch comes and carries through her own choice of fate with a firm hand. Egypt may be conquered, but it is always taken on its own terms. While a weaker actress might have been upstaged by Penny Simpson’s bold costumes (the design! The variety!), Tinarie van Wyk Loots gave a compelling performance as the petulant queen Cleo. She was magnificent when needed, tempestuous when crossed and arrogant in her sexual magnetism. Andre Weideman’s Antony was less successful for me, but captured the insecurity of ageing masculinity coupled with crippling doubt at his own flaws of passion clouding reason. Indeed, performances were generally strong across the cast – Nick Pauling’s debauched Sextus Pompius swashbuckled his way through the first act, besuited Eben Genis beautifully portrayed the morally conflicted Dolabella and Juliet Jenkin’s awkward Charmian proved a comic delight.
Basson’s understanding of the energy of performance and reception shone in his decision to trim some of the longer monologues from primary characters and favour instead the bit part – usually the first to suffer when cuts are required. From an eunuch’s frustrations to a messenger’s anxiety, all are given their airing in the course of the three hour performance. From a technical aspect, the music was, at times, awkwardly faded - a detail that will no doubt be fine-tuned in the course of the run.
Altogether, this was a very solid production. My only real unhappiness was with the interpretation of the final scene. As Cleopatra applies the asps to herself, she speaks as if they were substitutes for the children torn from her by the Romans (“Dost thou not see my baby at my breast/That sucks the nurse asleep?”). The sensual intimacy of this macabre maternity simply isn’t captured by Loots who, no doubt constrained by the performance reality of live snakes as much as her elaborate chin-high death outfit, merely holds them in an outstretched hand before closing her eyes as if in sleep.
Overall, a strong ensemble cast deliver a solid performance that is complemented by bold visual elements and clever direction. There are no interpretative surprises here – the pleasure’s all in the performance. Get thee to it, then.
