Titus Andronicus
TITUS ANDRONICUS
Written by William Shakespeare
Produced by Cry Havoc and atyp
Directed by Kate Revs
Production platform ATYP took something of a risk with their programming of a controversial Shakespearean classic this year; if this production is anything to go by, it may be a good idea to avoid doing so again. Despite some strong performances and a lot of industry buzz, their true-to-the-original rendition of William Shakespeare's vicious Titus Andronicus is tainted by childish shock tactics and a kind of bloodlust the likes of which are, in this context, utterly tasteless.
Stage blood is great, when used effectively, of course. Well-choreographed on-screen and on-stage violence can be harrowing, thought-provoking, and sometimes just outright entertaining. There are some great moments of stagecraft on display here in Titus, but you know something is amiss when there are audience members laughing out loud during one of the most extended and gratuitous rape sequences in Sydney's theatre scene.
Titus is a remarkable work on the page - the ancient precursor to Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs, in that it broke into the mainstream almost solely on the basis of its reported violence. It also has what is surely the first "your mum" joke.) The rape of Lavinia is a horrifying sequence, one that Shakespeare of course chose to occur offstage, and the difficulties in presenting it, as well as the common reasoning behind staging it for all to see, are clear.
However, the rape of Lavinia that Revs has orchestrated here takes up roughly 8 minutes of stage time, with Chiron (Gabriel Fancourt) and Demetrius (Demetrios Sirilas) taking absolute pleasure in devastating the female form. The first severing of a limb in this sequence was genuinely shocking, but the length of the scene caused it to descend into lurid obscenity. While Chiron seemed wholly (awfully) engaged in the act, Demetrius was far too flippant and silly about it, which added to the disgust at seeing not Lavinia, but actress Eloise Winestock forced through the motions of this sick dance.
The final sequence is clearly a gag, and there's no real problem with this. The use of 'Little Spanish Fleet' during the dinner sequence makes that very clear, and the crimson tides spraying about the place are an amusing spectacle. Lavinia's sequence, however, is nothing to laugh at - rape and mutilation never are.
In defence of her work, Kate Revs is adamant that "these things happen every day" and that we should be exposed to them - a philosophy which, at root, is noble. However, her statement is hackneyed, and her attempts to open our eyes are flawed by her obsession with showmanship, turning a supposed gesture towards Sadean clarity into a deplorable joke. Her spectacle has far overstepped her intention, and one can practically hear Aristotle weeping as the blade falls on sweet Lavinia over and over again.
And then there's this "hilarious" advertising image used to spruik the show on Facebook and beyond. Not only is it just a crappy joke, it also tries to further make a farce of one of theatrical history's most famous rape victims. It is a step way too far, and it's disgusting that it ever made it out of the rehearsal room. If Revs can explain exactly how this base, twisted gag makes me question my "safe, middleclass, western existence", I'll be more than surprised.
Some years back, I watched in awestruck horror as the remarkable Robyn Nevin cowered and orated with a kind of horror I've never seen the likes of on stage, in Barry Kosky's intense adaptation of Euripides' classic The Women of Troy. Here on full display were the contemporary horrors of female suffering in times of war, particularly potent considering that the statements Euripides made with this play's premiere thousands of years ago still resonate today. Gunshots echoed from around the stage as the audience lived out the torment of Troy's 'survivors'. It was an unforgettable performance, harrowing and frighteningly clear. When Melita Jurisic was raped, only her hand could be seen gripping the floor in pain - and there was not one breath from the audience throughout, let alone a trio of people laughing. Nor were there the simply idiotic displays of severed limb-fucking or cannibalism which appear in Cry Havoc's show.
Kate's attempts to mirror the hardened gaze of Hecuba fall horribly short, to the point where it is possible to picture the Trojan queen spitting at her feet. I can't imagine a rehearsal space in which Eloise's delicate position was considered as carefully as the technical conundrums associated with 'believably' pulling off arterial spray and dismemberment. And there was rather little joy to find in Lavinia's smiling vengeance as she chewed off Chiron's penis - another piece of prosthetic distraction in this ridiculous performance.
While there is much to be said about Revs' excellent use of her actors' vocal soundscapes, the rather nice lighting by Joshua Veitch, and strong performances from Aaron (Anthony Taufa), Saturninus (Berynn Schwerdt) and Tamora (Suzanne Pereira), the show falls short almost entirely because of the rape scene. This director has a long way to go when it comes to sending a message. She needs to learn that, if you want people to surface from the sea of ignorance, you need to do a lot more than laugh as you drown them in blood.
Stage blood is great, when used effectively, of course. Well-choreographed on-screen and on-stage violence can be harrowing, thought-provoking, and sometimes just outright entertaining. There are some great moments of stagecraft on display here in Titus, but you know something is amiss when there are audience members laughing out loud during one of the most extended and gratuitous rape sequences in Sydney's theatre scene.
Titus is a remarkable work on the page - the ancient precursor to Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs, in that it broke into the mainstream almost solely on the basis of its reported violence. It also has what is surely the first "your mum" joke.) The rape of Lavinia is a horrifying sequence, one that Shakespeare of course chose to occur offstage, and the difficulties in presenting it, as well as the common reasoning behind staging it for all to see, are clear.
However, the rape of Lavinia that Revs has orchestrated here takes up roughly 8 minutes of stage time, with Chiron (Gabriel Fancourt) and Demetrius (Demetrios Sirilas) taking absolute pleasure in devastating the female form. The first severing of a limb in this sequence was genuinely shocking, but the length of the scene caused it to descend into lurid obscenity. While Chiron seemed wholly (awfully) engaged in the act, Demetrius was far too flippant and silly about it, which added to the disgust at seeing not Lavinia, but actress Eloise Winestock forced through the motions of this sick dance.
The final sequence is clearly a gag, and there's no real problem with this. The use of 'Little Spanish Fleet' during the dinner sequence makes that very clear, and the crimson tides spraying about the place are an amusing spectacle. Lavinia's sequence, however, is nothing to laugh at - rape and mutilation never are.
In defence of her work, Kate Revs is adamant that "these things happen every day" and that we should be exposed to them - a philosophy which, at root, is noble. However, her statement is hackneyed, and her attempts to open our eyes are flawed by her obsession with showmanship, turning a supposed gesture towards Sadean clarity into a deplorable joke. Her spectacle has far overstepped her intention, and one can practically hear Aristotle weeping as the blade falls on sweet Lavinia over and over again.
And then there's this "hilarious" advertising image used to spruik the show on Facebook and beyond. Not only is it just a crappy joke, it also tries to further make a farce of one of theatrical history's most famous rape victims. It is a step way too far, and it's disgusting that it ever made it out of the rehearsal room. If Revs can explain exactly how this base, twisted gag makes me question my "safe, middleclass, western existence", I'll be more than surprised.
Some years back, I watched in awestruck horror as the remarkable Robyn Nevin cowered and orated with a kind of horror I've never seen the likes of on stage, in Barry Kosky's intense adaptation of Euripides' classic The Women of Troy. Here on full display were the contemporary horrors of female suffering in times of war, particularly potent considering that the statements Euripides made with this play's premiere thousands of years ago still resonate today. Gunshots echoed from around the stage as the audience lived out the torment of Troy's 'survivors'. It was an unforgettable performance, harrowing and frighteningly clear. When Melita Jurisic was raped, only her hand could be seen gripping the floor in pain - and there was not one breath from the audience throughout, let alone a trio of people laughing. Nor were there the simply idiotic displays of severed limb-fucking or cannibalism which appear in Cry Havoc's show.
Kate's attempts to mirror the hardened gaze of Hecuba fall horribly short, to the point where it is possible to picture the Trojan queen spitting at her feet. I can't imagine a rehearsal space in which Eloise's delicate position was considered as carefully as the technical conundrums associated with 'believably' pulling off arterial spray and dismemberment. And there was rather little joy to find in Lavinia's smiling vengeance as she chewed off Chiron's penis - another piece of prosthetic distraction in this ridiculous performance.
While there is much to be said about Revs' excellent use of her actors' vocal soundscapes, the rather nice lighting by Joshua Veitch, and strong performances from Aaron (Anthony Taufa), Saturninus (Berynn Schwerdt) and Tamora (Suzanne Pereira), the show falls short almost entirely because of the rape scene. This director has a long way to go when it comes to sending a message. She needs to learn that, if you want people to surface from the sea of ignorance, you need to do a lot more than laugh as you drown them in blood.
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