Have you ever been in the audience for a show and, throughout the whole thing, you find yourself wishing and dreaming that you had thought of it all first? That, somehow, you'd magically be sitting and watching your own terrific ideas unfold in front of your eyes? Yeah, me too. Especially last night, at the National Theatre's new envisioning of Frankenstein, scripted by Nick Dear and directed by Danny Boyle. While having some marked shortcomings, the overall vision of the production is a fusion of intelligent staging, executed with a daring commitment to the power of engaged physical theatre. If you are planning to see the show, please, do yourself a favor and stop reading this blog right now. Give yourself the rare pleasure of being surprised by a theatrical production - Frankenstein may not be a perfect play, but it is a damn good night at the theatre, particularly if you let yourself get carried away by it.
Last night's cast featured Jonny Lee Miller as the Creature, and saw understudy Daniel Ings stepping nervously (at first) but well-deservedly into the shoes of Victor Frankenstein. Miller is exquisite in tracing the arc of the Creature from inarticulate birth to thinking, rationale man, and finally to calculated "villain." I couldn't tear my eyes away during the first fifteen minutes, in which the Creature grapples with his unfamiliar body, and finally, beautifully, discovers how to master it. The movement vocabulary here, meant to evoke the process of learning to walk, is unpredictable and fresh, and feels like it's discovered on the spot, quite a feat in a well-rehearsed and choreographed production. Immediately, I became invested in the Creature, because I was drawn into a relationship of physical empathy with him. We see the bruised, scarred body, hear the mangled voice, and then get to watch this newborn thing learn something, before our very eyes. Through the workings of this human body, I came to "know" the Creature, without text, without narrative, and immediately put my "knowing" into the frame of relation to my own humanness. It's a risky choice, I think, to begin a 120 minute performance (with no interval) with a speechless quarter-hour, but one that, for me, paid off in spades. It's also a brilliant example of the strange power of simple physical theatre on a modern techno-saturated audience.
The performance does feel quite filmic at times, switching locations even faster than the Creature learns passages from Paradise Lost. These scenic changes are eye-popping, inovative, and really draw on the craft of scenic designers and artists, led by designer Mark Tildesley. On the Creature's first foray into town, he is met by the arrival of a steampunk train, a rain shower, and two glorious flocks of birds in the sunset - I am not ashamed to admit that the sheer simplicity of that final image moved me to tears in my seat in the Olivier Circle. Overall for me, the lasting success of this production is in those moments of utter simplicity, as when the Creature, drawn towards an orange and red-lit sun on the back wall of the stage, is gleefully shocked by paper birds that are pulled from a barrel and flock up towards the rafters. Those cinematic moments captured by the magic (and innovation) of live theatre, paired with a commitment to solid physical acting are really quite arresting, and my lingering impressions of Frankenstein.
For the clarity of those moments, and the strength of the performances of Miller, Ings and the elderly benefactor De Lacey, rendered compassionately by Karl Johnson, I'm willing to forgive the falterings of the script and the timid acting by some of the supporting cast. Because the script spans years in a matter of hours, traversing a wide landscape, there are moments where Dear gives way to pastiche of Shelley's novel, instead of the caring adaptation found throughout the rest. The scenes with the Creature sparkle, and fly along at a healthy clip, but some others get bogged down by sentimentality, and, sometimes, a rush to get to the next 'good' scene. In contending with these rough patches, some of the actors like George Harris and Naomie Harris (as Frankenstein's father and fiancee respectively) can't seem to get a handle on their characters. Although likeable, the wind up being unremarkable in the midst of the duet between Frankenstein and his creation.
At this moment, I will again repeat my request that, if you haven't seen this production yet, but plan to, to please stop reading. I'm going to spill my favorite moment, but don't want to deprive you the pleasure of your own shock... So go away.
For those of you still reading, I'm interested in talking about the climactic scene near the frenzied finish, as the Creature first lures in Victor's now-wife Elizabeth to trust him, and then repays Victor's broken promise in-kind, by both raping and murdering her. I call attention to this moment because it reminded me veyr viscerally how magical live theatre is. You see, as I study this year, I'm surrounded by people who say that they don't go to see plays because "it's just a bunch of actors pretending" etc. While I don't agree with them, it does sort of get into my head from time. But then, every once awhile, one has the distinct pleasure to be reminded how powerful watching live acting really is. In this production, the moment I refer to is quite simple; it's a visual and aural trick that most actors have been a part of at some point in time. But it works on the audience every time. The Creature, having finished with Elizabeth, straddles her, takes her head in his head, utters a meant "I'm Sorry" and then, without hesitation, snaps her neck. A simple, quiet cracking sound effect accompanies the action. And three-quarters of the audience growns, grimaces, growls or otherwise (audibly and physically) reacts. Yes. It's a moment of pretending. If it weren't Elizabeth would have a very valid posthumous lawsuit to press against the NT. But the pretending is so invested, so committed to by the actors, portraying characters that we've, in this production, happily accpeted our invitation to relate to, that we CARE. Wr're affected. And we allow ourselves to "believe" what we've seen. That's where live theatre gets me every time. It is a distinct pleasure, in a sick sort of way, to be fooled like this.
Frankenstein is not by any means a perfect play - Dear would perhaps have been better to focus on his two main characters whom he gives the most care to, and leave out the supporting ones, who don't seem to captivate his creativity. But, under the eye of Danny Boyle, the National Theatre's production sings, showing us just what can be accomplished with an exquisite design in harmony with well-explored acting. As an example of what solid actors can do with sensitive direction, Frankenstein comes to life in the best possible way.
No comments:
Post a Comment