Showing posts with label Yaël Farber. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Yaël Farber. Show all posts

Friday, 8 October 2021

The Tragedy of Macbeth

by William Shakespeare

seen at the Almeida Theatre on 7 October 2021

Yaël Farber directs James McArdle in the title role and Saoirse Ronan as Lady Macbeth in a compelling production of one of Shakespeare's more difficult plays to stage. The potent brew of notorious witches, prophecies that come true because they are known about, and others that come true with cruel twists, combined with violent action and unsympathetic protagonists all too often leads to overblown or unbalanced results on stage. Here at the Almeida the pitfalls are avoided, and the director has made some interesting adjustments to the text to create a stark vision of inexorable catastrophe.

What to do with the language? The Scottish court spoke with Scottish accents: only the witches, Lady Macduff and the children did not. This worked surprisingly well once the ear had adjusted to it; Shakespearean cadences resonate just as easily in these voices as in 'received pronunciation'.

What to do with the witches? The presumed mindset of the original audience is no longer available to us, and indeed these witches in particular with their incantatory rhymes have become so stereotypical that they can seem like a joke. Farber has renamed them 'Wyrd Sisters' (having noticed that they are named 'Weird Sisters' in the folio cast list), and the programme notes draw attention to the many manifestations of three women guarding, creating or spinning Fate (Anglo-Saxon 'wyrd') in European myths. Thus there are no old crones cackling over a disgusting cauldron. Instead three enigmatic women, almost serene in their dispassionate presence, may be seen not only when they appear to Macbeth and Banquo, and later to Macbeth alone; they are also visible as silent observers of the outworking of Fate at many other moments during the play - possibly at all moments, though there is a good deal of mist billowing about which makes the back wall of the stage invisible at times.

What to do with the violent action? Macbeth is a bloody play, with unpleasant murders both off and on stage. There were two perspex screens often moved about the stage demarcating inner and outer spaces (part of a brilliant set design by Soutra Gilmour). A director might easily have splashed them copiously with blood starting with the execution of the rebel Thane of Cawdor near the beginning of the play; the murder of Duncan might even have been mimed behind a screen with further opportunity for spraying blood. In this production matters were more restrained, and all the more disquieting for that. At the opening tableau the whole cast gathered on stage to a persistent thrum of a low musical note above which a single cello line wavered. An attendant woman brought on a wheelbarrow full of boots and upended it, then carefully placed them at the front of the stage. A soldier washed himself from a bucket, but what he daubed over himself was blood, since a blood-soaked messenger brings the news of victory to Duncan. Similarly, bloodstains were always restricted only to the bodies of actors - either Macbeth and Lady Macbeth after the murder of Duncan, or Banquo when he appears as a ghost - and not used at all elsewhere, even during the on-stage murders. This made the deaths of Lady Macduff  and her two sons all the more chilling, especially as one child was dragged screaming from a hiding place and the lady herself was ultimately dispatched in a tub of water.

What to do with the disintegration of Lady Macbeth towards the end of the play? Lady Macbeth is a driving force in the first half of the play, but increasingly cut off from her husband's plans and inner torment once he has become king. Then, at the end, there is the famous sleepwalking scene, with little to prepare us for it. Farber has created a daring visualisation of  the trauma precipitating this downfall. She has Lady Macbeth bring the advice to Lady Macduff that she should flee with her children, and then still be present to witness the murders. It is preposterous on a realistic level, but psychologically extremely acute, and Saoirse Ronan utterly convinces in showing the trembling panic of an unwilling witness to such babarity. Naked ambition in the abstract, so forcefully embraced by this woman at the beginning of this play, here confronts the horror of its consequences on real lives, and the strain is too much: a brilliant stroke.

What to do about Macbeth? Make him passionate, ambitious, uncertain about murder at the beginning but plausibly easy with the idea as his obsessions take control, completely unaware of the irony (and foolishness) in his determination to connive at the fulfilment of prophecy when it is to his advantage but to attempt to outwit it when it is detrimental. Make the famous lines of despair at the news of his wife's death deeply felt, not just cynical world-weariness. Give the part to James McArdle who conveys initial doubts over murdering Duncan, horror at the deed, abject terror at the appearance of Banquo's ghost and steely resolve to fight to the last, with equal skill and authority.

What do do about the Porter defusing the tension of the murder scene with long disquisitions about equivocation, a subject of no interest to a modern audience? Dispense with him completely, along with the more lurid witches' hocus pocus. In fact a number of other scenes were streamlined or omitted, making for sharper emphasis and an unremitting atmosphere of tension. I am not sure, but I think I even missed the explicit instruction for soldiers to disguise their numbers by cutting branches from the trees at Birnam Wood (a vital point in destabilising Macbeth's self-assurance, which was cunningly foreshadowed by the procession of Banquo's heirs presented to an anguished Macbeh during his final encounter with the Wyrd Sisters). There was no evocation of the holy stability of the English realm under Edward the Confessor to contrast with the dire state of Scotland or the peculiar defensiveness of prince Malcolm when Macduff confronts him. 

There was no final speech by the new king after the death of the tyrant Macbeth. Instead, the surviving cast gathered again in almost the same positions as at the beginning; the wheelbarrow of boots appeared, and one of the three Wyrd Sisters pronouned once more the opening question: 'When shall we three meet again?'. Malcolm was in the spotlight rather than Duncan, but Fate, evidently, is cyclical.

Friday, 25 August 2017

Knives in Hens

by David Harrower

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 24 August 2017

Yaël Farber directs Judith Roddy as the Young Woman, Christian Cooke as Pony William (her husband) and Matt Ryan as Gilbert Horn (the miller) in this revival of David Harrower's 1995 play, designed by Soutra Gilmour and lit by Tim Lutkin. 

Yaël Farber likes to create an atmosphere even before a performance starts; the auditorium is dim, with 'smoke' drifting through the directional spots on stage, and a gradually increasing low hum pervading the space. There is packed earth on the stage floor, black walls behind, and a gigantic circular disk just visible in the gloom, which turns out to be an enormous mill wheel set upright rather than lying flat to the ground.

Sunday, 7 May 2017

Salomé

by Yaël Farber

seen at the National Theatre (Olivier) on 5 May 2017

This play, originally inspired by Oscar Wilde's play of the same name, but much amended by the director Yaël Farber and her dramaturg Drew Lichtenberg, recasts the story of Salomé to take into account the fact that women's actions as recorded by male and prejudicial sources in the ancient world may have been very different from what is conventionally assumed.

Here, Pontius Pilate (Lloyd Hutchinson, representing Rome) and Caiaphas (Philip Arditti, representing the priestly establishment) and Herod (Paul Chahidi, a mere client king of the Romans) are all keen that Iokanaan (John the Baptist) should be kept alive, even though he has been arrested, in order to avoid any chance of a popular uprising should he be killed in custody. But the fatal promise by Herod in a moment of rashness brought on by his infatuation with his young niece is still made, the price - Iokanaan's head on a platter - is still exacted, and the rebellion occurs and is crushed (so Pilate thinks).

There are echoes of the Wilde play throughout, not least in the concentration on the fateful night of the execution, and the account of the oath and its consequences. However, the political situation is given far more explanation through the presence of Pilate, and Salomé's own motivation, and the interpretation of her significance, is completely altered, not least by the fact that her older spirit narrates the story (a white-haired Olwen Fouéré, billed as 'Nameless' in the cast list). I say spirit, because though in this version Herod does not order her death as at the end of the Wilde play, Pilate most certainly does in exasperation at her refusal to explain herself to him.

Instead of a decadent young woman obsessed with kissing the mouth of Iokanaan, Salomé is presented more as the victim of male desire and politics, and indeed in her younger version (Isabella Nefar) she does not speak at all until after her encounter with Iokanaan (Ramzi Choukair) in the cistern prison where he is being kept alive by force-feeding. The notorious dance of the seven veils is transformed from a titillating strip-tease before Herod and his dinner guests into an ecstatic preparation for a cleansing ritual after which Iokanaan baptises her in the dregs of the cistern water. Consequently, she wills the apocalyptic rebellion in order to attempt to free the people from foreign domination, and it seems that Iokanaan is more than half in love with the idea of martyrdom as well.

The production is powerful, but strange and demanding. The Olivier stage is almost bare apart from a few trestle tables and chairs; one long trestle support becomes a very effective ladder down which Salomé 'climbs' to reach Iokanaan (the production is designed by Susan Hilferty). Sand cascades from above at certain moments, reminding us of the desert setting of some scenes, and contrasting with the shallow troughs of water representing the Jordan and later the cistern. The deliberately formal and distancing language of the Wilde play (where it is used) is matched by an extremely ritualised presentation, including wordless singing by two women, and careful positioning of all the cast often on a slowly revolving stage. To add to the sense of strangeness and distance, Iokanaan does not once speak in English, but rather in Arabic (I assume) directly quoting many Old Testament passages from the Prophets and from the Song of Songs. Some of his words are translated on a screen projection, and this is generally enough to convey the import of the incantatory style of his delivery (though maybe many in a modern audience will really have no idea of the references). There is also a minor figure identified as 'Yeshua the madman' looking like a wild beggar from the desert and occasionally saying things recognisable as Gospel phrases, but his presence seems to indicate only that Iokanaan is the more significant figure in everyone's eyes. 

It's engrossing and thought provoking; the auditorium was almost full for a preview performance, and I noticed only two people leave before the end. The play runs for nearly two hours without a break and the audience was, so far as I could judge, genuinely attentive. I was certainly fascinated. At times the narrative of the 'nameless' older woman veered between being too didactic and too knowingly gnomic, with grandiose statements about 'the first and the last' and so forth. This could fall into pretentiousness, but the strength and conviction of the cast prevented this from happening.