Saris, Sequins and Shakespeare
Katie Allen samples a Bollywood-style Cymbeline
Review. William Shakespeare’s Cymbeline.
Phizzical Productions/Belgrade Theatre. Grand Opera House, Belfast, October 30, 2013
Image: http://www.phizzical.com/cymbeline/
A sign loomed above me: ‘Merry Christmas Belfast.’
Really, I thought, such a sentiment is ridiculous considering Halloween hasn’t yet passed. As I pondered this, a poster caught my eye: May McFetridge smiled gaudily from it, she seemed to sneer at me as she advertised none other than this year’s Christmas pantomime. Oh dear, signs of Christmas popping up everywhere- there was no escape. To distract myself from these thoughts, I focused myself on the production of Cymbeline I was about to see. I was looking forward to it.
So, what was my verdict? Well, it was simply all a bit puzzling. The Shakespearian play opened with a rather cheesy lip-synced number in which the two (I quote) ‘star-crossed’ lovers, danced and gazed at each other with an intensity that can only really be described as a kind of obsessive, adolescent love. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat as I wondered if I had misread the online blurb and mistakenly booked myself into ‘Cymbeline: The Musical’. While trying to reconcile myself to the idea, I also found myself struggling to comprehend the actors’ attire. I was sure that saris glinting with sequins and diamante had most definitely not been around in 16th century Britain. It was then that I realised that this was to be a modern, Bollywood-style take on the Shakespearian classic. Not quite what I had been expecting.
However, I thought it’d be interesting to see how Shakespeare’s language would be changed so as to fit in with the obviously suburban slant the director had elected to put on the play. So, whenever the Bollywood actor opened his mouth and poured forth a stream of most proper Elizabethan English, I involuntarily did a double take. It was a clashing of cultures, and was to act as a forewarning of the blurred edges and blatant contradictions to follow: the combination of the Elizabethan English alongside aviator glasses, bling and a leather handbag, and the substitution of British place names for places in India and Dubai: it seemed a bit bizarre considering the actors were all speaking in undisguised British accents. These incongruities resulted in a confusion of time, place and culture, a confusion epitomised when Clotant (in Shakespeare’s version the next heir to the throne of Britain) cried with great alacrity: ‘I am a Bollywood star!’ To this, Guiderius replied ‘At fools I laugh, not fear them’, at which point I thought: couldn’t have said it better myself.
And for this reason I actually laughed out loud several times throughout the play, unfortunately for all the wrong reasons. For instance, in the scene where a duel and subsequent murder take place, instead of being tensely poised on the edge of my seat, I felt so giddy with laughter that it was all I could do to sink back into the comfort of my chair and keep my composure. It was the (assumedly) toy sword that the character was brandishing (I have seen more realistic children’s toys), which was the trigger, completely undermining the seriousness of the scene being enacted. I also chuckled at a sequence of what I thought was a random but amusing satire of Jackie Chan moves, unaware that these were supposed to represent the closing battle scene where life wages war against death. A similar reaction was evoked on seeing tacky aviator glasses confidently flaunted and worn by Clotant. And then there were the costumes… Now I know that quick costume changes are probably rather tricky to manoeuvre, but these ones were just thoughtless. Plain white robes were thrown over contrastingly black trousers which could be seen poking out the bottom of the outfits, giving the feeling of someone wearing protective overalls rather than a demure Indian garment. The actor playing the doctor was dressed similarly, in a lab coat, but with the horrendous addition of glasses which reminded me instantly of school science goggles. Yes, it suggested a poor homage to the wacky professor, rather than a concerned and respectable man.
Having said all this, there were several redeeming features to the production. The actors themselves, played out the (mostly) Shakespearean lines with complete conviction and commitment. In fact, in his soliloquy, where Posthumus (or in this case ‘Sherudan’) expressed his total disgust at Imogen’s (Innogen’s) betrayal, I felt myself truly persuaded of the character’s pain. In fact, it would have been hard not to feel his wrath, as the actor seemed to be so consumed by it that at one point I actually thought one of the veins in his forehead was going to burst. That, plus the not infrequent sparks of spit that could be seen flying from his mouth, exemplified the very convincing character interpretations: Innogen showed an apt innocence and heartbreak, whilst the slimy Lachimo provided so much slime that at points I actually had to turn my face away in horror, disgusted that such a man might actually walk this earth. The servant Pisanio (or Alianpisaro) hobbled and limped his way through the performance as one with a rather deficient backbone. Therefore there were indeed moments where I was able to sit back and enjoy the passion and beauty conjured up by the words of England’s greatest playwright. However, it is a shame that I may have enjoyed the performance more if I had closed my eyes and been oblivious to the distractions that this production heaped on top of Shakespeare’s raw words.
So, if you’re one of those people who, like me, has noticed the clues starting to appear signalling the premature advance of Christmas, then you will not be surprised that the pantomimes too are starting their performances rather prematurely. Certainly, if you want a light evening’s entertainment (if you can call an almost entire performance in Elizabethan English light), then this show will provide it. (Although the mishmash production will provide a sort of baffling amusement, rather than any true comedy.) However if you would like to see a dignified, majestic and truly moving Shakespeare performance, then unfortunately you will have come to the wrong place.
Really, I thought, such a sentiment is ridiculous considering Halloween hasn’t yet passed. As I pondered this, a poster caught my eye: May McFetridge smiled gaudily from it, she seemed to sneer at me as she advertised none other than this year’s Christmas pantomime. Oh dear, signs of Christmas popping up everywhere- there was no escape. To distract myself from these thoughts, I focused myself on the production of Cymbeline I was about to see. I was looking forward to it.
So, what was my verdict? Well, it was simply all a bit puzzling. The Shakespearian play opened with a rather cheesy lip-synced number in which the two (I quote) ‘star-crossed’ lovers, danced and gazed at each other with an intensity that can only really be described as a kind of obsessive, adolescent love. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat as I wondered if I had misread the online blurb and mistakenly booked myself into ‘Cymbeline: The Musical’. While trying to reconcile myself to the idea, I also found myself struggling to comprehend the actors’ attire. I was sure that saris glinting with sequins and diamante had most definitely not been around in 16th century Britain. It was then that I realised that this was to be a modern, Bollywood-style take on the Shakespearian classic. Not quite what I had been expecting.
However, I thought it’d be interesting to see how Shakespeare’s language would be changed so as to fit in with the obviously suburban slant the director had elected to put on the play. So, whenever the Bollywood actor opened his mouth and poured forth a stream of most proper Elizabethan English, I involuntarily did a double take. It was a clashing of cultures, and was to act as a forewarning of the blurred edges and blatant contradictions to follow: the combination of the Elizabethan English alongside aviator glasses, bling and a leather handbag, and the substitution of British place names for places in India and Dubai: it seemed a bit bizarre considering the actors were all speaking in undisguised British accents. These incongruities resulted in a confusion of time, place and culture, a confusion epitomised when Clotant (in Shakespeare’s version the next heir to the throne of Britain) cried with great alacrity: ‘I am a Bollywood star!’ To this, Guiderius replied ‘At fools I laugh, not fear them’, at which point I thought: couldn’t have said it better myself.
And for this reason I actually laughed out loud several times throughout the play, unfortunately for all the wrong reasons. For instance, in the scene where a duel and subsequent murder take place, instead of being tensely poised on the edge of my seat, I felt so giddy with laughter that it was all I could do to sink back into the comfort of my chair and keep my composure. It was the (assumedly) toy sword that the character was brandishing (I have seen more realistic children’s toys), which was the trigger, completely undermining the seriousness of the scene being enacted. I also chuckled at a sequence of what I thought was a random but amusing satire of Jackie Chan moves, unaware that these were supposed to represent the closing battle scene where life wages war against death. A similar reaction was evoked on seeing tacky aviator glasses confidently flaunted and worn by Clotant. And then there were the costumes… Now I know that quick costume changes are probably rather tricky to manoeuvre, but these ones were just thoughtless. Plain white robes were thrown over contrastingly black trousers which could be seen poking out the bottom of the outfits, giving the feeling of someone wearing protective overalls rather than a demure Indian garment. The actor playing the doctor was dressed similarly, in a lab coat, but with the horrendous addition of glasses which reminded me instantly of school science goggles. Yes, it suggested a poor homage to the wacky professor, rather than a concerned and respectable man.
Having said all this, there were several redeeming features to the production. The actors themselves, played out the (mostly) Shakespearean lines with complete conviction and commitment. In fact, in his soliloquy, where Posthumus (or in this case ‘Sherudan’) expressed his total disgust at Imogen’s (Innogen’s) betrayal, I felt myself truly persuaded of the character’s pain. In fact, it would have been hard not to feel his wrath, as the actor seemed to be so consumed by it that at one point I actually thought one of the veins in his forehead was going to burst. That, plus the not infrequent sparks of spit that could be seen flying from his mouth, exemplified the very convincing character interpretations: Innogen showed an apt innocence and heartbreak, whilst the slimy Lachimo provided so much slime that at points I actually had to turn my face away in horror, disgusted that such a man might actually walk this earth. The servant Pisanio (or Alianpisaro) hobbled and limped his way through the performance as one with a rather deficient backbone. Therefore there were indeed moments where I was able to sit back and enjoy the passion and beauty conjured up by the words of England’s greatest playwright. However, it is a shame that I may have enjoyed the performance more if I had closed my eyes and been oblivious to the distractions that this production heaped on top of Shakespeare’s raw words.
So, if you’re one of those people who, like me, has noticed the clues starting to appear signalling the premature advance of Christmas, then you will not be surprised that the pantomimes too are starting their performances rather prematurely. Certainly, if you want a light evening’s entertainment (if you can call an almost entire performance in Elizabethan English light), then this show will provide it. (Although the mishmash production will provide a sort of baffling amusement, rather than any true comedy.) However if you would like to see a dignified, majestic and truly moving Shakespeare performance, then unfortunately you will have come to the wrong place.