Speaking of adapting
impossible to adapt texts to the stage.
Would you like to try it with a collection of short stories by James
Joyce of all authors? Not me thanks! (And, sacrilege I know, I'm not exactly a
humongous fan of Joyce to begin with. I
respect his body of work, but aside from Portrait
of the Artist, I don't actually like
it very much. Well, I seem to like the
bits of Ulysses that everyone else hates
and hate the bits that everyone else loves . I'm contrarian like that.) So, how was an
adaptation going to put together multiple stories into a coherent stage play? Generally a play tends to require a plot an
audience can follow and invest in. It
doesn't necessarily have to follow the unities, but a collection of short
stories doesn't really suffice as a single play.
And yet . . .
Clearly, I was a bit
apprehensive about this one. I'd
recently seen a student production of just one of the short stories into a
short play, and I'd been singularly unimpressed. Just that one short story, with its single
defined . . . um . . . plot, had been interminable. And Oh. I was really afraid that they'd be
too precious with The Text of Allfather Joyce and end up doing what I think of
as a "Let's read an audiobook on stage" sort of adaptation, where you can't lose the
bloody narration even though the action on stage should really be able to take
care of a good deal of that (since that's the point
of showing rather than telling).
Because Joyce of course is all
about the words, so you just plunk as
many of the words as you can into the mouths of the actors and they narrate
themselves while acting. (This, by the way, is something I really respect Neil
Bartlett for avoiding in his effort to adapt Dorian
Gray, even if I was ultimately disappointed in the result.) It's a peeve. It drives me nuts. And it's pretty much what the Corn Exchange did. And yet . . .
Really, this should
have been a prime example of " Adaptation: You Are Doing it
Wrong!" And yet the sheer
excellence of the ensemble, their vivacious, varied, complex and passionate
performances, won me over completely. A
production that could have easily been overburdened by that precious conceit of
having actors narrate what they're doing
while doing it was instead a glorious riot of characters, of people's lives
weaving in and out of each others. Of
Dubliners. The characters you still pass
in the street, described, performed, and illuminated by the skill and
physicality of the acting, the giddy comedy and deep pathos of the
performances.
There was another
thing the Corn Exchange had going for them here, and that was the audience and
place. I honestly doubt this particular
"adaptation" would work
anywhere near as well anyplace else.
However, here, they were presenting The
Dubliners to the Dubliners, and part of the magic of the production was
the realization that all around me, through the litany of street names being
narrated/walked, those around me were remembering/narrating their own journeys
down those same streets . . . even if some of the names have been changed a
bit. There's a sense of "I know
this place." "I know these people." A communal recognition that even I, a
foreigner not yet here ten years, felt a bit of. It was fostered by the feeling of close-knit
ensemble that the cast presented, but even already crossing the barrier of
time, I don't think that sense could be fully replicated out of place.
A last Kudos to the
visual design. It was a detailed yet
relatively simple, beautifully flexible set and lighting design, and it was
extremely effective, managing to capture place and tradition, modernism and
flux.
(This was written upon viewing a preview performance. I understand things can change and performances can settle from previews into the official run, but I'm not a paid reviewer and I doubt my observations would have been too different a week later. I will, however, be revisiting the play further into the run. )
I'll say this for Neil Bartlett's adaptation of The Picture of Dorian Gray as commissioned for the Abbey Theatre. It was an ambitious project. He took seriously the import of trying to put such a complex, slippery text onto the stage. When it comes down to it, while the basic plot is quite dramatic, it's not the basic plot that stands out from the many Faust stories and doppelganger narratives in the Gothic mode. Rather, it's a text that drowns itself in the beauties of words, revels in paradox, reference, lists, and layers of words, building an effect that takes as much mystique Although the story has caught our collective imagination to the point of entering the folklore of vernacular reference, it is far from a simple text to adapt.
One of the natural questions in adapting this work, of
course, is how to represent the central image of the changing
portrait. This was done very deliberately with a lot of
metatheatrical mirroring but a frame mirroring a blank. In fact,
the only "picturing" reflection of Dorian was glimpsed in his
repeated viewing of himself in a hand-mirror (we had excellent
seats, but the Abbey's house is well-set-up enough that I wouldn't
be surprised if a good portion of the audience got a bit of his face
through the mirror at some pont). However, the metatheatrical
mirroring was very explicit, to the point of commentary on the
difficulty of adapting the material to the stage. The elaborate red drapes that eventually covered the
portrait mirrored the proscenium stage curtain — an effect
heightened in its metatheatricality by the addition of gold
footlights that reflected the gold frame of the "portrait". This was
paired with the only nod to the preface, the statement that "all art
is quite useless" made in unison by the full cast in Greek Chorus
style.
The staging itself was pared down, minimalist and largely
monochromatic, with a blank-stage/black wall set highlighted by a
few baroque touches, particularly the frame for the "portrait"
(which remained un-pictured and rather changed from cloudy gray to
black blank in a way that reflected the bare, black painted theatre
wall.
In tone, at least, the play was sterile. In style, it was a jumble.
Everything and the kitchen sink got thrown in when it came to dramatic technique. There was a Greek chorus (unfortunately not very in unison),
explicit narration, leaders of the chorus (male and female respectively)
using microphones to directly address the audience, characters who gave
asides to the audience, and on occasion the near constant interruption
of a buzzer calling the performers back to the "stage". There was even a bit of a suggestion of standup-comedy. The Chorus remained throughout the play, observing,
narrating and commenting, occasionally commenting. And, fair enough. That's one way to
answer the question of what the heck you do with staging such a
language-heavy text. However, it was far from seamless. The Chorus often carried things forward in a telling-not-showing manner, also seeming sinister and judgmental in their tone. On one hand, the Chorus was possibly an inspired way to try to work in
the sheer complexity of the words in the novel. On the other hand, I
was not impressed by the effect. It ended up quite disjointed, with a mix of Gothic
ghost-story and modern black box theatre with a bit of
Verfremdungseffekt. It was like a mix of The Woman in Black (Gothic ghost story) and Pippin (existentialist, metatheatrical musical comedy). However,
it didn't even have the overt sexuality of something like Pippin (I'll digress on this further later). In
fact, for an adaptation of such a scandalous and sensual book, one
that recognized Wilde's riff on Pater's Marius the Epicurian regarding curing "the soul by the senses the senses by the soul" -- repeating it more than once to be sure the audience caught and remembered the line -- it was oddly austere. It was, frankly, a laboured, disjointed, mess despite the way the visual design hammered home the framing motif in a mirroring unity of elaborate golden frame/costume/proscenium and footlights, dark cloudy "portrait"/stage / chorus-spectator that makes the audience complicit and comments on the "use" of art and theatre.
One of the problems was that of genre. The Picture of Dorian Gray is a Decadent novel . . . in fact, it is one of the defining texts of the Decadence. It's also a tale of the supernatural in the Gothic mode, one which is so well-known that it's entered the common mythology of reference in the English language. But, Wilde's iteration of a Faustian doppelganger narrative using a supernatural portrait didn't capture the imagination simply because of the Gothic narrative, but because of everything surrounding it. Bartlett's adaptation is clearly aware of this. It's incredibly aware of the difficulty of adapting a novel that revels in the opulent beauty of words, that digresses into lists of furniture and possessions, that holds a life outside of the text in its importance to Wilde's life as evidence of his own "corruption" when Wilde was on trial.
In fact, I think that the greatest weakness of this adaptation was
the complete lack of Decadence. And this was one of the biggest
problems with the staging. For all the mirroring of stage and
picture, there was no evocation of the decadent sensuality of the
book. The elaborate and baroque cataloging, the exquisite lists of
objects and nearly erotic love of language was replaced by a black
box. In fact, the "garden" passage in which Dorian is first
symbolically seduced by the idea of "curing the soul by the senses
the senses by the soul" may be the singularly least erotic or
seductive seduction scene I have ever witnessed. And also, oddly, considering that homosexual content was made
explicit rather than symbolic homoeroticism in a rather homosocial context (Lord Henry kissed Dorian, Dorian forces a kiss onto his
valet -- the staging leaving the implication of rape as well)
there was a distinct lack of eroticism. Also, in the timing of the (added)
kiss between Lord Henry and Dorian, the (added) (implied) rape of "Victor"
the valet, in the explicit connection of Basil's passion for
Dorian infusing every line and color of the painting, and in the rather orgasmic staging of Basil's death, it ended up that homoeroticism / queerness was actually linked to
corruption and evil. To put it mildly, this is oddly heteronormative for an adaptation of
this book. (My sister-in-law didn't quite see this at first, but
when I listed these things all together at intermission (just after
Basil's murder), she saw exactly where I was coming from. And
speaking of moralistically heteronormative, there was also a
repeated use of the Chorus reciting the paternoster, (this started
with Basil's exhortation to Dorian to repent when he sees what the
portrait has become, and Dorian stabbed him just as "deliver us from
. . ." and then after Basil Dies "Amen". Ah. Just checked the
programme/ script. The stage directions call for Dorian to have
stripped down to the waist so as not to get blood on his clothes (in
actuality, they had him remove his coat but kept him in a white
shirt that he wiped his bloody hands on after):
"DORIAN stabs
BASIL in the neck and holds him in the chair while he bleeds out.
Some of the CHORUSamplify his death-throes making them
sound strangely sexual; others implacably finish the Pater Noster
as BASIL slowly and messily dies."
I didn't notice the
"strangely sexual" noises so much, but that direction
reinforces my sense that the production was uncomfortably linking
homosexuality with corruption/evil. Ick. I haven't read
adapter/director Neil Bartlett's introduction yet. I'll probably do
that tomorrow but I suspect this wasn't intended. (In which case,
major fail in pattern recognition on a creator's part).
While Bartlett's production does manage to retain the Gothic sensibility that is also part of The Picture of Dorian Gray, it doesn't manage decadence. Rather, it ends up with more moralistic repression than should ever be associated with The Picture of Dorian Gray. Part of this is the stark, pared back, near-monochromatic staging. However, what I found truly disturbing was the pattern that was created by the portrayal of desire and sexuality in different relationships.
A bit of a digression: Pippin is a Steven Schwartz Musical originally directed and choreographed by Bob Fosse in which the titular son of Charlemagne searches for meaning in life. He is led and tempted throughout by the Leading Player (accompanied by a chorus of players) as he tries everything: war, revolution, sex, settling down, love, trying to find his "corner of the sky". At the end, once everything has left him frustrated and unsatisfied, he's shown the "grand finale" in which he can immolate himself. When a player demonstrates it, it's just a trick. But, when he does it, it'll be real (he backs off and is left stripped of the "magic'" of theatrical accoutrements on an empty stage . . . but, ya know, alive and feeling "trapped" with a love interest):
Note that golden frame in the background. That's the device for the finale, and that's exactly where I went when I saw the frame of Dorian Gray's portrait, and then it was completely confirmed and amplified by the sleight of hand of the ending. Okay. Pippin is one of my favorite musicals (very possibly my all-time favorite musical), so it's not an insult to say I was reminded of Pippin. But, the sleight of hand of the portrait and Dorian Gray's death at the end paired with that gold frame reflecting back on the audience, and what works for a Musical Comedy ironically commenting on "everyman's" search for meaning in life (and ultimately our preference for an unfulfilling life over dying), doesn't work for a "Serious Drama" adaptation of a decadent novel. It's again a question of genre. What is pointedly a cheap trick in Pippin ends up feeling like a cheap trick in Dorian Gray (one which again evokes overtly religious symbolism as the newly aged Dorian presenting himself to the audience with arms raised almost as if he's on the cross . . . and then turns it intothe showman's bow before he collapses dead). Pippin also pointed up other parallels where Dorian Gray fell short: decadence and sex. Pippin is also clearly metatheatrical and comments on its own genre quite a bit in a way that points back to the audience. It is also pretty stripped down in its staging, but it still manages to be decadent. Bob Fosse's staging and choreography are both cynical and riotous, oozing with sex and sensuality while giving a nudge and wink. But, this is done with the passion and inverted precision so characteristic of Fosse's ouevre (and in this case performed to the hilt by a cast including the incomparable Ben Vereen and Rita Moreno). The send-up of musical comedy in musical comedy is riotously anarchic and deliciously amoral. Pippin had much more of the Wildean artistic disregard for the moralistic in art that somehow didn't make it into this Dorian Gray.
Praise where praise is due, however. The acting ranged from good to spectacular. Tom Canton, making his professional debut as Dorian, is stunning in an exceptionally difficult role. He is not only perfectly physically cast, he manages a seamless mix of Narcissus and Faust with an energy and subtlety that are truly impressive. Frank McCusker's was also excellent as Basil, and Jasper Britton's Lord Henry Wotton was masterful and versatile. (Although the casting of McCusker and Britton ignored the novella in a typical misinterpretation of age . . . it's explicit in the text that Lord Henry is a young man at the beginning . . . specifically, Dorian Gray is attracted to the "tall, graceful young man who was standing by him" with a "low languid voice that was absolutely fascinating" and "cool, white, flowerlike hands". Britton, while he showed a great versatility and range, started with a solidly middle-aged character that moved into infirm age with the passage of time. In fact, the script explicitly states a 20 year age difference. This may seem rather nitpicky, but it makes a big difference in the question of influence and the pederastic suggestion of the age difference forces interpretations of male love and "influence" in the play that I believe betray the text. The relation between a middle-aged active seducer of a youth is entirely different to the variety of relations suggested by three aesthetic young men enacting variations of male desire and voyeurism while flinging themselves on divans, recumbent in gardens, etc.)
Some people will love the production. I suspect, however, that most of those people will not be Wildeans. It's not just that we are an opinionated lot, though opinionated we are. It's that we're passionate about the interface between surface and symbol. We soak ourselves in the intricacy of reference and the seduction of words. This production was entirely too blatant and heavy-handed with its symbolism while at the same time lacking focus, working the wrong genre, and creating a pattern linking homosexual desire to corruption and evil (which is so entirely un-Wildean that I can't even).
The overtly theatrical commentary inherent in the play suggests to me that Neil Bartlett clearly knows and has come to terms with the fact that adaptation,
like translation, is and always will be an act of betrayal. So, how do
you solve a problem like Dorian Gray? Is it simply an impossible text?
So, Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake is one of those "Visionary Re-imaginings" of a much beloved classic. Considering how much I love Béjart's Sacre du Printemps,
that does not mean I will automatically hate it. I'm picky about
"reimaginings" and believe you need to respect the source material to do
it right, but I don't dismiss them out of hand.
A good while ago, I spent way too long on YouTube comparing versions of the Danse despetits cygnes
pas de quatre. From what I remember, aside from
squeeing over the precision in the Paris Opera Ballet video, I started pondering the different presentations of gender in the Trocks version
and in the Matthew Bourne version. I found a lovely quote
from the artistic director of the Trocks, talking about how they weren't
mimicking femininity in dressing in tutus and dancing en pointe, but
that they were expressing variations of masculinity.
"The company is not trying actually to emulate females. It's a company
of fifteen male dancers who are, and however you want to define the word
"male". But , the male dancer in Ballet is really known for an
aggressive attack, and that's how we try to approach these roles. So,
just because we're in a tutu doesn't mean we're not male. It doesn't
mean that we're not expressing different kinds of masculinity. And that
masculinity can be a very wide range."
--Tory Dobrin, artistic director of the Trocks, interviewed in a radio interview in Brisbane in 2002.http://www.trockadero.org/from-the-director.html
I
just generally love the Trocks to begin with, but I found this statement really insightful in its commentary on gender portrayal in interaction with the traditions of Ballet and of Camp.
In the meantime, I
wasn't as impressed with, the Matthew Bourne version, because the
complete lack of straight lines pretty much came off like a stereotyped
"limp wrist" expression of gay masculinity. There's nothing inherently wrong with that expression of masculinity, but the fact that what is
basically a comedy drag act (that is also a group of excellent dancers)
seemed to have a far more nuanced portrayal of gender in dance kind of
bugged me.
So more recently, I saw the whole ballet on TV. My
opinion stands. The Trocks are a much better, less reductive
examination of gender in ballet form. When it comes down to it, Bourne,
in (re)creating a gay Swan Lake, creates a misogynist narrative
with serious "mother issues" (come on! stereotypical overpowering,
controlling mother much?) plus a gauche and annoying -- and then dead --
rejected girlfriend figure. Yay for reductive stereotypes. And
Bourne's choreography all too often epitomizes "limp wrists". In this ballet at least, Bourne seems
constitutionally incapable of allowing straight lines into his
choreography. Some of the lines are beautiful, but can we have
variation please? One of these things without the other might be
acceptable (again, there's nothing inherently wrong with a limp wrist), but the
overall effect is not positive for anyone. Particularly when you add
in the Prince character having a mental breakdown. There's a tragic
love story, and there's a tragic love story that makes homosexuality an
impossible to survive tragedy, with Mommy Dearest as the villain and a
dead disposable girlfriend to top things off.
And now to get to what really pissed me off . . . well two things:
1.) From watching his Swan Lake, Bourne doesn't respect ballet. I'm not saying I expected him to work
in the mode of classical ballet when "re-imagining" one of the most
famous ballets of all time -- it's pretty hard to escape Petipa -- but
Bourne chose to create a ballet within a ballet section in which he had a
wonderful opportunity to create a tribute that would highlight his
difference from the overshadowing tradition, and which could have been a
lovely commentary on the different styles and the development of the
art form. Instead, Bourne gave the most hideously ugly broad caricature
of ballet that I've seen on stage.
Another funny thing: One of
the reasons that 20th century ballet moved away from the story ballet
into more abstract "pure" dance -- we dumped the traditional sequences
where the dancing stops for stylized mimed explanations of the plot
because it stopped the dancing and ballet should be able to stand on its
own. (What was Balanchine's quote? "The important thing in ballet is
the movement itself, as it is sound which is important in a symphony. A
ballet may contain a story, but the visual spectacle, not the story, is
the essential element.") This Swan Lake, however, had less
actual dancing than the "traditional" versions. It had lots of walking
and exaggerated "acting" that took up a lot more time than the
traditional mimed bits of convention. And you know what? The walking
and mimed "acting" were boring. I want dancing.
2.) Which brings me to what pissed me off the most: Bourne doesn't respect Tchaikovsky.
Let me back up to the beginning, and the basic history / common "everyone knows" wisdom about Swan Lake that I learned I don't know when. The first production of Swan Lake
was an absolute flop. Tchaikovsky composed it quickly on commission,
but (as I learned it) the choreography was done independently of the
music and didn't suit the powerful, emotive score that Tchaikovsky
composed at all. One of the things that made the Petipa / Ivanov
revival such a success was the musicality of Petipa's choreography.
It's iconic because it fits so perfectly.
A lot of Bourne's
choreography pretty much ignores the music. He only pays attention to
dynamic build or the sense of line or quality of movement that the music
gives when it suits him. Instead, he actually has his dancers shouting
"HOORAH!" and laughing over the music. Obviously, his concept is more
important than the synergy of beautiful sound and beautiful movement
telling a powerful story. Um, no. Just no. This kind of carry on
pretty much destroyed any chance of me just getting to squee over a very
strong cast of male corps de ballet dancers, which should always be a
pleasure to watch, even if the women don't get much of a chance to dance
at all.
. . . and I think that's about that. To say more
I'd have to watch it again. There were bits I liked and absolutely
beautiful moments, but they kind of got overwhelmed by my general
irritation.
