Clanliness is Next to Godliness
12 Apr 2011 1 Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Francesco Nassimbeni, Juliet Jenkin, Richard Lothian, Roxanne Blaise, Theatre in the District
Vampire horror: so last century. Vampire hype: so totally now. Francesco Nassimbeni boldly goes where everyone has gone before in Clan. And he does it bloody well.
A self-professed fan of pop theatre, Nassimbeni has scripted and delivered a real fang-in-cheek offing. Clan is light but not frothy, fun but not frivolous. Most of all, it’s pretty damn funny. It doesn’t present a radically new take on vampire genre plotlines – though watch out for the very funny moment of myth dispelling – but it does dish up the storyline with relish.
Rather like the undead version of Done London – Nassimbeni’s 2010 directorial endeavor, with a script by Roxanne Blaise, who also features in Clan – we find ourselves confronted by a complex mix of characters living together in a rather unhealthy mix of obsessions, habits and hang ups. Ruth (Juliet Jenkin) is the brainy, bookish type with a penchant for time management. Kim (Richard Lothian) is constantly throwing his weight around and Elias (Johan Vermaak) is the only Afrikaaner in the clan. Add Jessica (Gahlia Phillips), the submissive pleaser with a dangerous sense of follow-through, Katherine, the quiet computer programmer (Nicole Bailey) and the fact that everybody’s waiting for the mysterious unveiling of an ancient prophesy and you’ve got – quite literally – the digs from hell. So be sure that when Margot (Roxanne Blaise) finds time between her beloved computer games to search for love outside clan – and computer – life, things get a little…heated. Ho hum, another day in the interminable existence of the undead. Unfortunately for Maud’s new mortal love interest (Armand Aucamp), most of these habits could prove rather toxic to humans.
Like Done London, it’s not pretentious theatre – Clan is fun, pop and accessible. That doesn’t, however, mean that it’s dumbed down. There is a wonderfully through-provoking subtext of the psychology of belief running throughout – call it Clan, Cult or Charismatic, the line between what people will do in the name of belonging was really beautifully explored.
The choreography is tight and Nassimbeni made great use of what is a lovely, though really quite tricky, space (why is it that whenever I go to the Theatre in the District, I impractically want to swing everything around entirely so that the stage is where the entrance is?). A clever use of a simple but multi-functional set added to the visual slickness.
I liked the vamp camp enjoyment of the genre’s possibilities and clichés. I liked the way the cast played off each other and worked together. I really loved the music, lighting and costumes (there are some fine, sexy-as visuals going on here). In general, it was lovely to see a piece of theatre where everyone had taken great care with the production – you could see there’s lots of love involved (for instance, I do like a nice, original programme and this one was great.)
Clan was well acted and will, no doubt, only improve further as it runs. Juliet Jenkin particularly is such a strong stage presence, especially playing this kind of bookish, prissy but utterly ruthless character (I remain the most ardent fan of her other vampire role in More South African Deep Freezing and always hold out hope it has one more reincarnation). I loved her in the role. Armand Aurcamp was a delightfully earnest mortal beloved and I very much enjoyed Roxanne Blaise’s take on Margot. A couple of the characters had to grow on me and, if I was to be fussy, I didn’t think that all of them totally hit their stride, but there was nothing jarring. The piece hung together well.
Clan is an enjoyable night out. Sure, it plays into your expectations, but it certainly exceeded mine.
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.
