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Roman Tragedies – Adelaide festival review Roman Tragedies – Adelaide festival review
(6 months later)
Shakespeare Shakespeare would have been surprised to find his Roman-themed dramas – Coriolanus, Julius Caesar and Antony and Cleopatra – interpreted as a trilogy. He would have been even more surprised at the notion of bolting all three together into a single, unbroken six-hour span. Yet he might conceivably have approved of the idea of inviting the audience to sit amid the action, tweet their responses @RomanTragedies and make use of the mobile charging points provided at the side of the stage.
would have been surprised to find his Roman-themed dramas – Coriolanus, The Roman plays are quite disparate in everything bar geography; yet their one consistent feature is Shakespeare’s continual awareness of the population as a silent majority whose approval, or otherwise, determines the course of the action. Coriolanus, Brutus, Julius Caesar and Mark Antony are all seemingly unimpeachable figures whose reputations suddenly become toxic following a series of PR catastrophes. While Shakespeare’s actors undoubtedly played to the gallery, Toneelgroep Amsterdam’s conceit of inviting the audience to mingle with the action is a 21st century means of bantering with the groundlings.
Julius Caesar and Antony and Cleopatra – interpreted as a trilogy. He Then again, it’s curious how many people are eager to claim the onstage vantage points, given that Shakespeare’s patrician characters treat the “hooting rabblement” with ill-disguised contempt. The Toneelgroep’s objective is to “transform the theatre into a political conference”; though the lattice of grey, right-angled sofas packed with increasingly tired-looking people might be said to transform the theatre into the departure lounge of a particularly hellish airport.
would have been even more surprised at the notion of bolting all three It takes some getting used to - particularly as non-Dutch speaking members of the audience need to keep an eye on the surtitles as well as scrolling displays of live-streamed news and an array of TV screens randomly tuned to Pepsi commercials, MTV and, bizarrely, a round-up of the Sochi Winter Olympics. You’re free to wander in and out at random when hunger, or boredom strikes. But for all the apparent innovation, there’s nothing particularly new here. An announcement is made that “following this set change you will witness a conspiratorial scene in which Julius Caesar is murdered”, which is precisely what Brecht might have done with a bigger sound system.
together into a single, unbroken six-hour span. Yet he might conceivably The real advances of Ivo Van Hove’s production are dramaturgical. Even at just under six hours, the plays are subject to an internal compression which removes everything inessential to the main thrust of the drama. Caesar doesn’t even appear until the scene in which he is slaughtered. Far from diminishing the impact of the part however, his status as a subject of speculation heightens the paranoia of of a jittery cabal of senators who seem to be plotting to do away with a chimera.
have approved of the idea of inviting the audience to sit amid the Van Hove’s readings are consistently provocative. The homoerotic attraction between Coriolanus and Aufidius has been emphasised before; that between Antony and Enobarbus less so. And the Roman plays present a remorselessly masculine world in which the main contribution of the women is a disastrous tendency to cause their men to take their eye off the ball. Van Hove attempts to redress the balance by casting Cassius and Octavius Caesar as women, which almost works, though such a radical stroke tends to highlight as much as solve the problem.
action, tweet their responses @RomanTragedies and make use of the Yet it is the ability of Chris Neitvelt’s capricious Cleopatra to breathe hot, hedonistic life into the joyless world of politics that provides the most memorable performance. It’s entirely in keeping with the dogged literalness of the production that her suicide is accomplished with a real snake, which in any other context, could become a ludicrous distraction. Yet for all its perversities, the Toneelgroep’s Roman marathon has a singularity of purpose that holds your attention from the opening blow to the very last asp.
mobile charging points provided at the side of the stage.
The
Roman plays are quite disparate in everything bar geography; yet their
one consistent feature is Shakespeare’s continual awareness of the
population as a silent majority whose approval, or otherwise, determines
the course of the action. Coriolanus, Brutus, Julius Caesar and Mark
Antony are all seemingly unimpeachable figures whose reputations
suddenly become toxic following a series of PR catastrophes. While
Shakespeare’s actors undoubtedly played to the gallery, Toneelgroep
Amsterdam’s conceit of inviting the audience to mingle with the action is a 21st century means of bantering with the groundlings.
Then
again, it’s curious how many people are eager to claim the onstage
vantage points, given that Shakespeare’s patrician characters treat the “hooting rabblement” with ill-disguised contempt. The Toneelgroep’s
objective is to “transform the theatre into a political conference”;
though the lattice of grey, right-angled sofas packed with increasingly
tired-looking people might be said to transform the theatre into the
departure lounge of a particularly hellish airport.
It
takes some getting used to - particularly as non-Dutch speaking members
of the audience need to keep an eye on the surtitles as well as
scrolling displays of live-streamed news and an array of TV screens
randomly tuned to Pepsi commercials, MTV and, bizarrely, a round-up of the Sochi Winter Olympics. You’re
free to wander in and out at random when hunger, or boredom strikes.
But for all the apparent innovation, there’s nothing particularly new
here. An announcement is made that “following this set change you will
witness a conspiratorial scene in which Julius Caesar is murdered”,
which is precisely what Brecht might have done with a bigger sound
system.
The real advances of Ivo Van Hove’s production are dramaturgical. Even at just under six hours, the plays
are subject to an internal compression which removes everything
inessential to the main thrust of the drama. Caesar doesn’t even appear
until the scene in which he is slaughtered. Far from diminishing the
impact of the part however, his status as a subject of speculation
heightens the paranoia of of a jittery cabal of senators who seem to be
plotting to do away with a chimera.
Van
Hove’s readings are consistently provocative. The homoerotic attraction
between Coriolanus and Aufidius has been emphasised before; that
between Antony and Enobarbus less so. And the Roman plays present a
remorselessly masculine world in which the main contribution of the
women is a disastrous tendency to cause their men to take their eye off
the ball. Van Hove attempts to redress the balance by casting Cassius
and Octavius Caesar as women, which almost works, though such a radical
stroke tends to highlight as much as solve the problem.
Yet it is the ability of Chris Neitvelt’s capricious Cleopatra to breathe hot, hedonistic life into the joyless
world of politics that provides the most memorable performance. It’s
entirely in keeping with the dogged literalness of the production that
her suicide is accomplished with a real snake, which in any other
context, could become a ludicrous distraction. Yet for all its
perversities, the Toneelgroep’s Roman marathon has a singularity of
purpose that holds your attention from the opening blow to the very last
asp.