Dream a little dream of me
Chris Gatt's Shakespearean productions become bolder and bolder as they are systematically transposed, sometimes kicking and screaming, out of their traditional ambiences into realms that would make the late lamented Kate and Ella Warren rotate and...
Chris Gatt's Shakespearean productions become bolder and bolder as they are systematically transposed, sometimes kicking and screaming, out of their traditional ambiences into realms that would make the late lamented Kate and Ella Warren rotate and shudder in their hallowed graves.
There is nothing new really about these transpositions; the greatest of operas have been reset in Chinese laundries and downtown New York. Anything goes really to give a new look or a new frisson to a work of art that has coexisted with us in a particular way for hundreds of years. It sometimes works and sometimes doesn't; like that awful Romeo and Juliet film starring Leonardo di Caprio that was transposed to gangsterland.
We are of course all very familiar with Shakespeare's most delightful Midsummer Night's Dream, the essence of which always reminds me of an exquisite exhibition that was shown at the Royal Academy some years ago called Victorian Fairy Painting. I queued to get in to the RA for hours to see the Sensation Exhibition that was on concurrently, consisting of works of art from the Saatchi Collection; works by Damien Hirst and his friends.
I did not know quite what to expect, however, like most people who visited the exhibition I was shocked and revolted beyond measure which I found out later was the sole purpose of the entire exercise. I followed these two darling old ladies who were rather like Maggie Smith and Judi Dench in Ladies in Lavender to the Victorian Fairies and with a sigh of happy relief feasted my eyes on these lovely fantasies, the crowning glories of which were a pair of paintings by Sir Joseph Noel Paton RSA called The Quarrel of Oberon and Titania and The Reconciliation of Oberon and Titania, both of which I had seen before in the National Gallery of Scotland and which I was thrilled to see again "in the flesh". I forgot all about the egg-sliced cows, the gruesome hanging bodies with missing private parts oozing blood and other stomach-churning so-called exhibits and was wholly enraptured by the ethereal world of fantasy in the strictly traditional sense.
Because of my experience at the RA, I would, 10 years later have remained a dyed in the wool traditionalist had Chris Gatt's production of this year's MADC edition of A Midsummer Night's Dream not convinced me that a complete departure from lush bowers, garlands of tuberoses and fritillaric butterfly-wings need not detract anything from the intrinsic strengths of the play.
The concept of transcribing the usual Claude-like landscapes to Ta' Tisju Tradin' yard was a bold one which was transcribed into those exquisitely tongue-in-cheek fairy costumes made of milk cartons, rolls of film, corks and plastic cups put together most ingeniously against a backdrop of mounds of car tyres, moveable siege towers and an octagonal pond in the foreground. No; this was certainly not the kind of Shakespeare that the MADC has been churning out year after year in San Anton Gardens since the 1930s; it has finally broken the umbilical cord and moved to the uncompromising ruins of the Opera House where not a leaf, not a blade of grass is to be seen. In fact the ambience reminded me rather forcibly of Mad Max and I was half expecting a leather-clad Grace Jones to burst out of the wings! Well done to Pierre Portelli for putting the whole design together with such homogeneity and inventiveness.
The production, further enlivened by tasteful music from the Ziffa Ensemble, was a quintessentially Maltese one. I am so glad that we have at last abandoned the idea that Shakespeare must be declaimed in stentorian BBC English by the lords and ladies and some sort of cross between yokel-speak and Cockney by the lower orders by actors who are not English but who can all speak the language beautifully and clearly as we speak it in Malta. The result is far more harmonious and natural. What happened this time was that while Theseus and co. spoke educated Maltese English, Bottom and co. spoke the uneducated version with even a few Maltese expressions thrown in. The result was an unforced and relaxed rendering of lines that at last meant what they said and not how they sounded!
I did find the Pyramus and Thisbe interludes excruciatingly funny with strong performances from the inventively funny Edward Mercieca playing Bottom and the gang; Quince played by Paula Fleri Soler, Flute played by Alan Montanaro, Snout played by David Ellul Mercer, Snug by Lino Mallia (who was also responsible for the set-building) and Starveling who was anything but played by Wesley Ellul. As a sort of link between this lot and the fairies was Titania played by Pia Zammit wearing an adaptation of those extraordinary frilly dresses worn by Cretan goddesses. The difference was that the frills were made of celluloid film! A very expansive and earthy performance from Ms Zammit whose Titania was a far cry from the shrinking epitome of Victorian femininity that one is used to. This was a Titania who gave as good as she got only to fall into Oberon's hands with abandon when "enamoured of an ass". Her continual good-humored attitude coloured the fairy scenes and transformed into something quite different to the norm.
The quartet of lovers, Lysander played by Jean Marc Agius Cafa, Hermia by Faye Paris, Helena by Nerissa Pace and Demetrius by Matthew Gatt, was a rumbustuous one indeed. No blushing flowers here and the final tussle in the pond really brought the house down. The action was unflagging and the determination of Helena to get her man in the end could not but be admired.
Oberon and Theseus, both played by Manuel Cauchi, were both charged with that immense dignity that this actor commands on stage; a presence that is all-pervasive. Both characters were at all times dominating and determined single-handedly the balance between moments of seriousness and the ones of outright bawdiness. If Oberon had not existed in this play it would have been necessary for Shakespeare to invent him. This power of the character over something as outré as this production was doubly necessary and Mr Cauchi played the part as if born to it.
I loved Isabella Attard's Puck who is far more than Oberon's sidekick. This Puck was a suave and slick one, declaiming lines in absolute crystalline clarity, concluding the play with the famous lines that not only resolve the action but include us, the audience, in the entire fantasy, with extraordinary panache.
There is nothing new really about these transpositions; the greatest of operas have been reset in Chinese laundries and downtown New York. Anything goes really to give a new look or a new frisson to a work of art that has coexisted with us in a particular way for hundreds of years. It sometimes works and sometimes doesn't; like that awful Romeo and Juliet film starring Leonardo di Caprio that was transposed to gangsterland.
We are of course all very familiar with Shakespeare's most delightful Midsummer Night's Dream, the essence of which always reminds me of an exquisite exhibition that was shown at the Royal Academy some years ago called Victorian Fairy Painting. I queued to get in to the RA for hours to see the Sensation Exhibition that was on concurrently, consisting of works of art from the Saatchi Collection; works by Damien Hirst and his friends.
I did not know quite what to expect, however, like most people who visited the exhibition I was shocked and revolted beyond measure which I found out later was the sole purpose of the entire exercise. I followed these two darling old ladies who were rather like Maggie Smith and Judi Dench in Ladies in Lavender to the Victorian Fairies and with a sigh of happy relief feasted my eyes on these lovely fantasies, the crowning glories of which were a pair of paintings by Sir Joseph Noel Paton RSA called The Quarrel of Oberon and Titania and The Reconciliation of Oberon and Titania, both of which I had seen before in the National Gallery of Scotland and which I was thrilled to see again "in the flesh". I forgot all about the egg-sliced cows, the gruesome hanging bodies with missing private parts oozing blood and other stomach-churning so-called exhibits and was wholly enraptured by the ethereal world of fantasy in the strictly traditional sense.
Because of my experience at the RA, I would, 10 years later have remained a dyed in the wool traditionalist had Chris Gatt's production of this year's MADC edition of A Midsummer Night's Dream not convinced me that a complete departure from lush bowers, garlands of tuberoses and fritillaric butterfly-wings need not detract anything from the intrinsic strengths of the play.
The concept of transcribing the usual Claude-like landscapes to Ta' Tisju Tradin' yard was a bold one which was transcribed into those exquisitely tongue-in-cheek fairy costumes made of milk cartons, rolls of film, corks and plastic cups put together most ingeniously against a backdrop of mounds of car tyres, moveable siege towers and an octagonal pond in the foreground. No; this was certainly not the kind of Shakespeare that the MADC has been churning out year after year in San Anton Gardens since the 1930s; it has finally broken the umbilical cord and moved to the uncompromising ruins of the Opera House where not a leaf, not a blade of grass is to be seen. In fact the ambience reminded me rather forcibly of Mad Max and I was half expecting a leather-clad Grace Jones to burst out of the wings! Well done to Pierre Portelli for putting the whole design together with such homogeneity and inventiveness.
The production, further enlivened by tasteful music from the Ziffa Ensemble, was a quintessentially Maltese one. I am so glad that we have at last abandoned the idea that Shakespeare must be declaimed in stentorian BBC English by the lords and ladies and some sort of cross between yokel-speak and Cockney by the lower orders by actors who are not English but who can all speak the language beautifully and clearly as we speak it in Malta. The result is far more harmonious and natural. What happened this time was that while Theseus and co. spoke educated Maltese English, Bottom and co. spoke the uneducated version with even a few Maltese expressions thrown in. The result was an unforced and relaxed rendering of lines that at last meant what they said and not how they sounded!
I did find the Pyramus and Thisbe interludes excruciatingly funny with strong performances from the inventively funny Edward Mercieca playing Bottom and the gang; Quince played by Paula Fleri Soler, Flute played by Alan Montanaro, Snout played by David Ellul Mercer, Snug by Lino Mallia (who was also responsible for the set-building) and Starveling who was anything but played by Wesley Ellul. As a sort of link between this lot and the fairies was Titania played by Pia Zammit wearing an adaptation of those extraordinary frilly dresses worn by Cretan goddesses. The difference was that the frills were made of celluloid film! A very expansive and earthy performance from Ms Zammit whose Titania was a far cry from the shrinking epitome of Victorian femininity that one is used to. This was a Titania who gave as good as she got only to fall into Oberon's hands with abandon when "enamoured of an ass". Her continual good-humored attitude coloured the fairy scenes and transformed into something quite different to the norm.
The quartet of lovers, Lysander played by Jean Marc Agius Cafa, Hermia by Faye Paris, Helena by Nerissa Pace and Demetrius by Matthew Gatt, was a rumbustuous one indeed. No blushing flowers here and the final tussle in the pond really brought the house down. The action was unflagging and the determination of Helena to get her man in the end could not but be admired.
Oberon and Theseus, both played by Manuel Cauchi, were both charged with that immense dignity that this actor commands on stage; a presence that is all-pervasive. Both characters were at all times dominating and determined single-handedly the balance between moments of seriousness and the ones of outright bawdiness. If Oberon had not existed in this play it would have been necessary for Shakespeare to invent him. This power of the character over something as outré as this production was doubly necessary and Mr Cauchi played the part as if born to it.
I loved Isabella Attard's Puck who is far more than Oberon's sidekick. This Puck was a suave and slick one, declaiming lines in absolute crystalline clarity, concluding the play with the famous lines that not only resolve the action but include us, the audience, in the entire fantasy, with extraordinary panache.