Drama
These twin productions, springing from the American Absurdist tradition, both explore comic dysfunctional aspects of American family. In Edward Albee's The American Dream, the lives of the protagonists have started promisingly enough. She (Emily Levitt), poverty-stricken in her youth, marries well and climbs the rungs of the beige-hat-buying bourgeoisie. He (Nathaniel Pimlott), a rich older man, gets his young bride with the advantage of being able to retire to 'the club' whenever it gets too much for him.
But all is not as perfect as it seems. They have not married for love; they are not able to have children; their adoptive son does not live up to expectations. Their lack of sympathy for 'pioneer-stock' Grandma allows her to have a wonderful relationship with the audience that undermines their arbitrary and childish attitude to life even further. As if being dressed in nappies wasn't enough.
Matthias Williams is superbly cast as the surf-boy capitalist whom they employ to be a better son, the epitome of a new, young, fresh society where everything is for sale, and nothing is authentic. Levitt, though, is the actor who stands out the most, both for her brilliant, whining American accent and flawless mannerisms.
Adele Shanks's Sex Slaves is the story of Manhattan bred Len (Gus Docx) encountering the Far East while encumbered with his sex-mad Philippino mail-order bride. He is further hampered by the attention of gun-toting porn barons who want to appropriate the content of the film they are helping him finance for their own ends. Len is exposed to those effects on society via the hopes he inspires in his young fiancée Rita (Jamie Gaw) of a better life, and the expectations of her chaperone brother Vic (Matthias Williams again). Rita's devoutly Catholic family is a comical contrast to the sexual favours she performs to get Len to marry her.
The play is about illusion and reality, and the underlying tragedy that sexual slavery has transcended differing societal values and thus made the whole world sordid.
In places the accents are not quite there, but on the whole the plays are extremely well acted, especially the parts of Len and Rita. An unusal and enjoyable evening's entertainment.
The whore in literature attracts and seduces - she is depraved. Yet Wedekind's Lulu, flung about all levels of 1890s society, is supposed to move beyond this. This whore takes a new name with every new lover, floating between child and woman, hedonism and pragmatism, seductress and abused, from high society to gutter prostitution.
This production presents Lulu as a timeless figure of female sexuality. In a large cast, there are some outstanding performances: As Lulu, Victoria Ross moves smoothly from vulnerability to manipulative strength, slipping easily between Lulu's different guises. She inhabits an enigmatic personality with conviction, giving moments of real feeling and natural refinement.
The Countess Geschwitz (Charlotte Covell) is excellent, giving a very personal performance. Detail in smaller parts brings the play to life: Matthew Jones as Bob and Katherine Flaherty as the child Kadega both excel. While Ben Levine's portrayal of Lulu's husband Schoning brings out their marital tensions, his doubling up as Castil-Piani shows a lack of differentiation between the characters. Lulu as a sexual being is generally conveyed well, yet a raunchily written encounter between Lulu and Alwa, her lover, seems embarrassed, and lacks sleaze and passion.
The production is polished and convincing. Ensemble scenes have been very effectively directed, yet real depth is lacking. Wedekind wanted to create more than just another addition to the canon of whore literature. Lulu is often called the first modern play. Censors would not let Lulu be printed in Wedekind's lifetime, and the production loses this revulsion.
This production concentrates on promiscuity without inviting any response to it, leaving no obvious overall motivation. That said, the acting is first rate, the set and costumes promise to be opulent, and if you're interested in sex (and let's face it, who isn't?), then Lulu is an obvious choice.
Explicitly billed by its producers as an "anti-garden show", Phaedra's Love, with graphic scenes of incest, suicide, fellatio and disembowelment, is intended to provide an appropriately sordid counterpoise to those idyllic summer evenings.
Based on the classical tale, Phaedra's Love tells the story of a queen, Phaedra (Valentina Ceschi), and her doomed love for her step-son, Hippolytus (an excellent Philip Contos), which can only ever end in bloody destruction.
Gore fans will enjoy the ambitiously intimate direction of the climactic scene. Hippolytus' testicles are barbecued before our eyes, as his jellied intestines are flung across the stage. We are forced to participate in Hippolytus' self-immolation; not one for the squeamish.
Phaedra's Love deals with powerful themes. The force that drives civilisation on to ever greater glories is juxtaposed with the potential for self-destruction. Hippolytus and his mother enjoy total epicurean fulfilment. But sex is empty. Phaedra's love is drawn out of a recognition of this emptiness in her son, and she hopes that by seducing him and creating a physical connection, she can begin to bring a spiritual meaning to their lives.
Yet Hippolytus rejects her: the detritus of his life is strewn deliberately around the set throughout the play, demonstrating his inability to love. The result is that meaning can only be found here in destruction. Powerful stuff.
If Sylvia Plath, Franz Kafka and Samuel Beckett had somehow managed to spawn a play-writing child, this, undoubtedly, would have been the fruit of its labour. It is stylistically eclectic, thematically complex and, in parts, extremely pretentious. I would say take a dictionary and try to keep up.
But that makes it sound like a bad play. You might feel as though you haven't been let in on the joke, but if you persevere, everything becomes clear and it's actually rather good. It centres on the relationship of a don and his student, providing a comfortable and familiar framework. But all your tutor-student expectations are thrown out of the window by the infusion of a downright naughty level of sexual frustration. Yes! This is all yearning, gazing into each other's eyes, upper arm-grasping material.
Structurally, it's a bit like a jigsaw (a metaphor used in the play, actually). Fragmented and inscrutable at first, it suddenly all starts to fit together and become wonderfully resolved. The twist at the end is well executed and the inkling that something was not quite right kept me guessing right up until the last. I was left in a smug and satisfied "I've worked it out and it's really deep" sort of mood.
I won't beat around the bush: this play would have imploded from its own painful self-awareness, were it not for the high standard of acting and direction. Edward Saatchi and Tim Partridge make their debut fresh from Cuppers and it is clear that their hands are firmly at the wheel in this ambitious production.
Character development is its main strength, offering the hilariously sinister Henry Shevlin as the don.
This play is quite like a very rich chocolate cake. Dark, sexy and enjoyable... if it doesn't leave you feeling nauseous. Worth seeing for its satire on the madness of university life, not to mention its portrayal of the tutor Antichrist.
20th May 2004