It hardly seems possible that 35 years ago, I was sitting at Borderline Theatre's future new venue—the converted Darlington Church in Ayr—whilst the BBC were filming Robbie Coltrane performing this very same one-man play. But here we are 35 years later, and Franca Rame and Dario Fo’s masterpiece, the most “blasphemous play in history”, is back speaking truth to power. And how that has become such a cliché, particularly in the context of where we are today.
But Mistero Buffo continues to have the power to comprehend that it is the little people who need to have the platform to speak up and speak out.
And so, our guide for the afternoon, Lawrence Boothman, with such verve and vitality sets us up for a real rollercoaster ride—not just of emotion but of performance.
It is easy to think of Mistero Buffo as simply being some kind of funny play: it's much more than that. As Boothman takes us through the birth of the jongleur, the rising of Lazarus to the slaughter of the Innocents and finally Pope Boniface, this is an exceptional piece of theatre.
Firstly, the Scots version of the play translated by Farrell skites aff the tongue. Later, it tells us these are stories told in piazzas in the language of the people who came to view them, in the tone and cadences of the ears of the people who were the bystanders to history. It gave them a platform to see jongleurs take on the heid bummers, the ones at the tap who should not have the right to rule over us.
Of course, as I sat halfway through, I ruminated on whether or not this was as good as what I remembered 35 years ago, or it was better. I recognised how unfair a comparison would be. Coltrane came to Borderline in 1990 in the year of culture for Glasgow to perform something which was a playwright's dream, which was a Scottish theatre company's dream.
Dario Fo had given Borderline the greatest compliment, telling all that Borderline was Fo and Fo was Borderline. For a European celebration, it became ideal to give one titan of Scottish entertainment the script from the titan of European theatre.
Boothman is a very different actor; and that is what makes this. He has such ability, technique and an astonishing quality which lifts these Scots language beauties, which makes it so different from what was there before that it has freshened it to make it new.
The conceit is that Boothman has escaped from another place where the polis are going to come for him, to take on the stage and deliver his truth. It is physically framed in a different way—side on and off the stage—than we are used to for A Play, a Pie and a Pint. I don't think this worked quite as well, though bringing it down to the floor worked in terms of getting it cosier for us—better than having the distance between us and the stage. However, because it is so popular, the opportunity to extend the seats out beyond the little coterie of intimacy that was established around the staging area means that sight-lines are a bit of a difficulty if you haven't got your pint in your hand and your pie in your mou at least half an hour before “curtain” up.
The direction is a rapid and exhausting choreography of movement, character shifting and use of the entire auditorium that Boothman must be so exhausted at the end of this. It is a phenomenal performance. He manages to inhabit each character—particularly during the Rasing Lazarus. Characterisations are distinct and communal at the same time and are astonishing.
Of course, there are several camp characters who are played close to stereotypes, but they manage to highlight their own theatricality, which means we engage with and find the humour in them. When it gets dark, Boothman takes us along, as director Ben Standish's clearly knows how to blend the dark with the light. It has power.
Technically, the use of the sounds of protest—almost like a Can’t Pay, Won’t Pay style protest in the framing of it—reminds us of the risks that were being taken by jongleurs—and satirists, journalist, campaigners throughout the world today.
Boothman’s recounting of the importance of these minstrels and how they not just spoke to power but took great risks means that we understand that in order to pursue the absurd in charge of us, we have to point out their own absurdity.
Here it is a well-crafted theatricality, delivered with skillful distinction.
I was delighted to skip out 35 years after having seen it in Ayr knowing that it's going back home—albeit in a different venue—to have another run to challenge the new Bonifaces, and if we all hold hands, combine together and refuse to bow our heads but stand in solidarity, we can mount a serious challenge, try real truth to expose power and make their lugs listen.