The first production presented jointly by the Manoel Theatre and Mario Philip Azzopardi, L-Indemonjati u Maltin Oħra, written and directed by Albert Marshall, is certainly a striking work, written in an unfamiliar style that tackles boldly, if far from impartially, the political situation in this country over the past year or so.
The work’s hero or anti-hero, known as Dudaj, is clearly based on the maverick Nationalist politician Franco Debono
Marshall states that his work is not a political one, but what can one call a piece that presents Malta as a large prison-house ruled by an oligarchy of scoundrels, ostensibly marionettes but some of whom clearly correspond to leading Nationalist politicians or opinion makers?
Moreover, the work’s hero or anti-hero, known as Dudaj, is clearly based on the maverick Nationalist politician Franco Debono, and the script often refers to his well-remembered public acts or deeds. Whatever the pre-production publicity may have said, this is a kind of epic theatre, with strong elements of teatrin and melodrama, based on a Debono-like figure, who causes great trouble to the rule of the Governor and who is finally forced to disappear (literally) from the scene, with a broad hint that one day he will reappear.
Malta is here named l-Arka tas-Salvazzjoni (The Ark of Salvation). At the beginning, a large vessel carrying all the characters, including the play’s most puzzling character, Grobjana (who is a combination of saint and pretty confirmation class girl), is wrecked on the island’s shores.
Like those on board St Paul’s ship, through Grobjana’s intercession, none of them has been harmed, and as the years go by swiftly, the play’s Indemonjati have become masters of the prison-house.
The couple Joey and Vivi, who voice the ideas of the common man; Grobjana, who is their adopted daughter; and the boy Dudaj, who has now become a man, are the only ones with a profound distrust in their rulers. Oddly enough, however, Dudaj (Sean Buhagiar) has succeeded in becoming an influential member of the oligarchy.
The comic duo of Joey and Vivi , played in teatrin tradition by Mario Micallef and Jane Marshall, voice the common man’s disapproval of the way they are being governed. Joey’s shortcomings appear in his uninformed comments about the euro.
Much of the action shows the governor (Anthony Ellul, impressively morning-coated but unsure of himself), aided by the sexy PRO and blogger Koprilla (Marvic Cordina) and the ambassador Bughats (Kris Spiteri, who remains two-dimensional), negotiating with Dudaj to ensure his friendly co-operation. Koprilla is quite whorish and does her sexual utmost to win Dudaj over, but her wiles do not suffice.
Like Debono, Dudaj is very hostile to Xlomu, who is responsible for justice and police (geddit?), and in one of the play’s most melodramatic scenes, Koprilla and others attack Xlomu and kill him to appease Dudaj.
Another of Dudaj’s bugbears, the ambassador, also gets stabbed in the back (geddit, as well?) and is stated to have been killed, but as someone sarcastically says, he always comes back from the dead. And he does.
Buhagiar is a quietly dangerous Dudaj. He rarely betrays himself through facial expression, his main physical expression being through beating a child’s drum. He rarely blows his top – and here, he is unlike the man on whom he is modelled.
Debono has been ridiculed again and again about his school certificate, but Marshall uses the publication by Dudaj of his certificate as a ruse, thought up by Grobjana (his only ally), to distract the opposition’s attention from what Dudaj has been scheming.
How does Marshall handle religion, the cornerstone of Maltese life? By ignoring it much of the time. Grobjana (a beautiful Larissa Bonaci who changes puzzlingly from scene to scene) is perhaps intended to represent the kind of popular saint we Maltese have always loved, but the most memorable ‘religious’ scene in the play is when the governor and Dudaj take it in quick turns to hear each other’s confession.
Marshall here seems to be taking the Mickey out of the sacrament, something he famously also did in his direction of Sarah Kane’s 4.48 Psychosis in 2009. He rightly states that this piece is not a satirical allegory. It is, in fact, a condensed and stagey but marginally realistic account, written from a point of view utterly unsympathetic to the present government, of events familiar to all who live in Malta.
Though the author, who is also a well-known poet, brings a lyrical touch both to the production’s setting and to a number of scenes in the script, in the past many would have characterised it as a skilful example of agitprop.
Notwithstanding its considerable theatrical merits, this is not the play I would have chosen to inaugurate a season of Maltese drama in what is correctly regarded as our national theatre.