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Paris
Theatre Diary
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December 2005 At the climax of Enrique Diaz's Repetition.Hamlet, Ophelia's corpse is exchanged for a raw hunk of steak. Dressing the meat with parsley, the mourning Laertes takes a hot iron and sears the meat down either side. The stench of burnt flesh permeates through the auditorium. It remains throughout the massacre of the final act. It's a visceral kick-in-the-balls that epitomizes this month's stand-out show in Paris. Rosencrantz and Guildernstern become inflatable Power Ranger dolls. Polonius is killed with a water pistol. Delivered by a trio of frustrated Princes, Hamlet's 'To be or not to be' soliloquy ends with a toy cow floating around the stage. It's a moment of quite inexplicable beauty. But it's this incomprehensible landscape that creates such excitement. Earnest, plodding tragedy is replaced by organized mayhem. Far from spelling disaster though, the Brazilian company of six more than hold Diaz's surrealist imagery together. They live as part of it. It's a shame then that this month's big name directors couldn't provide some of the same excitement. Following the stunning revival of his 1985 piece The Dragon Trilogy, Robert Lepage's new one man show, The Andersen Project is a disappointing fare. A modern-day tale of Hans Christian Andersen, the Canadian director and actor's over-reliance on technology has become all too apparent. One of the joys of The Dragon Trilogy was Lepage's creation of space and setting with the most minimal of touches. In comparison, the countless projected backdrops of The Andersen Project come over as distinctly unimaginative. Le Page's low-key, made-for-TV performance is also a non-event. Constantly mumbling into his mobile phone, the Canadian seemed oblivious to the presence of a live audience. The show did have some entertaining moments though, which is more than can be said for Bob Wilson's production of The Temptation of St Anthony. Well, that's not entirely true - the sheer ridiculousness of the evening did at least make up for its utterly dreadful content. A happy-clappy, gospel-choir interpretation of Flaubert's novel, it had all the subtlety of a US bunker-buster. With such clangers as 'after Jesus science is pointless' and 'does matter matter?' its lyrics also seemed distinctly á la Donald Rumsfeld. In fact, it's hard to think of anything redeeming to say about a production which was musically boring, lyrically absurd and visually derivative of everything from The Lion King to an Ikea store. Fortunately though, by the time you read this the run will be over. Paris will be free from this terrible protuberance of awfulness. A slightly more entertaining evening though was had watching the touring revival of Matthew Bourne's 1995 Swan Lake. The over-sized design may be looking distinctly tired, but the power, grace, presence and purpose of the male Corps de Ballet remain undiminished. Jose Tirado in particular magnificently combines the savage masculinity of the Black Swan with the compassion of its white twin. The second act pas de deux between his Black Swan and Neil Westmoreland's Prince has a sheer brutalism that is rare thing to see on any stage. It's unfortunate then that Bourne so often resorts to pantomime-like story-telling, especially in the opening acts. As is so often the case with ballet, you can't help wondering whether the director thinks you're an idiot. Somewhat disappointed then with the Parisian mainstream I decided to search elsewhere, with some rewarding ventures. Hosted by Theatre du Soleil, the Enfant de Troupes - Premiers Pas is an annual mini-festival that showcases young companies. If it all felt a bit Edinburgh fringe, the standard of work was (generally) much higher. The festival's gem was the Argentine Autor de la strategié la plus ingénieuse port s'épargner la pénible tache de vivre. Looking like a Matisse painting nurtured at Ecole Jacques Le Coq, it was a tender blur of real and imaginary worlds. French company Theatre des Valises' Il y a mille ans aujord'hui, was also an equally enjoyable if over-long infusion of Balinese masked theatre, Commedia dell'arte and Gallic idiocy. Further afield in Saint-Ouen, BlonBa's Bougouniéré invite à diner thrived on the forced intimacy of its fringe setting. Based around the traditional form of Mali satire Koteba, it was an adept mixture of comedy and despair. Set in contemporary Mali, a mother invites a Mr Big Fish from the local UN development agency to dinner. Waiting with her dreamer of a husband, they are visited by their three sons: a devout Muslim, a born again Christian and a drunk artist just fired as the local department store Santa. Played by the rap-star and actor Lassine Colibaly, the sons become symbolic of Mali's political landscape. Its divisions and choices are laid bare. If the premise is a little contrived, there is no doubting the generosity with which the three actors lay open their roles. At the play's end, energy and hope implode. With no UN team in sight, Diarrah Sanogo's previously inexorable mother collapses. The family unifies around the meal that has been simmering away throughout the show. It is a salient reminder that whatever our politics, a future together can only begin with compassion. As if in recognition of this, once the bows were done, the entire audience was invited on-stage to join in the meal. It's a pity more theatre can't be so inviting. John Cardale
Reporter: John Cardale Please note that all three Archive indices are very long and will therefore take some time to download.
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