Jane Austen's Persuasion: A New Musical Drama

Jane Austen’s Persuasion: A New Musical Drama

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Though Jane Austen is undoubtedly one of Britain’s most prominent literary names, Persuasion is perhaps her least widely-read work. Published posthumously, the novel furthers Austen’s biting satire and thematic development of gentrified society, love, and constancy which are also such features of its partner Northanger Abbey. It tells of Anne Elliot, her history of broken love and her hopes of reconciliation with Captain Wentworth.

This original production, by Barbara Landis, debuted in Chicago with the same company in 2010 and retains several of the original cast members. One of the most striking observations for Austen fans (in a festival featuring further spin-offs and adaptations of the writer’s novels) is Landis’ commitment to retaining much original dialogue which is complemented superbly by Austen’s favourite music and luxurious costumes.

Opulence is established immediately with the stage washed in purple as a perfect accompaniment to the chandeliers and carvings which are aptly provided by the Music Hall at The Assembly Rooms. From the outset we revel in the childish overindulges of John B. Boss’s Sir Walter Elliot who steals the opening with his boundless energy and expression. In this number, the musical credentials of the company are confirmed as there is perfect synchronicity between cast and impressive chamber orchestra – the virtuosity of the musicians from time to time showcased during quieter onstage moments. The dexterity of pianist Anatoliy Torchinskiy is particularly apparent during his rendition of Haydn’s Piano Sonata in D Major.

There are a great many highlights to this preview performance – not least the rousing sailor songs which confirm the vocal talents of the entire company and treat us to Irish tap routines of the highest order! Particular mention should go to Anne Marie Lewis for her constantly reacting and vibrant Mary, to Kristin Johnston and Sarah Kropski for their endearingly giggly and flirtatious Louisa and Henrietta Musgrove and to Simon Kyung Lee for a couple of simply sumptuous song-bursts!

The telling of the story, in addition to the device of Austen as narrator, is aided by means of absorbing projections which transport us from the noble Kellynch Hall to Bath via the seaside at Lyme. Certainly, in terms of aesthetic, this production ticks every box.

As with the novel, the ultimate success of the piece relies upon our investment with the character of Anne and on our concerns for her eventual happiness. In this area, unfortunately, tonight’s performance suffered. The character lacked the delicacy and selflessness which a reading of the novel suggests. She lacked the vulnerability of a young woman who is still essentially mothered and nurtured by Lady Russell and all too often there was little real distinction between the twenty-seven year old Anne and the forty-one year old Austen who formed the second half of this dual role. Of course, artistic interpretation is to be welcomed, but it may be hoped that the character is softened during the run in order to add more emotional connection to the technical excellence of the production. 

Does Anyone Care? (Reflections on the Plymouth Fringe)

As has been demonstrated in past missives from this blog, participating in and watching Fringe Theatre is one of my favourite pursuits. It comes from artists whose sole concern is their own carefully crafted and curated work and it is theatre which is free from stuffy institutions, exorbitant pricing, and passive reception.

It was with great joy that I realised the serendipitous timing of the past week's maiden Plymouth Fringe Festival which coincided so delightfully with this teacher's half-term break. Scheduled to take place at the same time as the very well-established Brighton Fringe, it was with a great deal of interest that I first thumbed through the programme. Great credit must go to Tom Nicholas and his theatre development organisation 'Toast' for attracting such a vibrant spread of practitioners from across the region and beyond.

An integral element of any successful festival is accessibility and the pricing offer system this week has certainly stood up to scrutiny in this respect. Taking advantage of the 'Four shows for £20' deal (you'd be hard pressed to see a production in a 'traditional' venue for much less than this) I planned my itinerary for the week. Across three days I would see 'Lutter' by Nivana Jade, 'China Doll' by Bad Habit Theatre, Scratchworks' 'Nel' and, for the second time (having seen them previously at the Bikeshed Theatre during the From Devon With Love regional festival) Squiffy Cabaret with their no-holds-barred 'No Filter'.

First off - 'Lutter'. Notably this was my first experience of the recently erected performance space at the University of Plymouth, understatedly designated 'The House'. The black-box space in which Nivana Jade's Artaudian experiment was performed seems to offer a versatile canvas for future companies. The performance itself echoed Joan Littlewood's 'Oh What a Lovely War' in its episodic depiction of the effects of war. Indeed, the piece was an exploration of the effects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - a subject which seemingly lends itself well to Artaud's assaulting Theatre of Cruelty. As a form which aims towards the 'catharsis' of audience members resulting from the purging of their senses, any piece emulating the style's auteur faces inherent challenges of form. 'Lutter' certainly moves towards achieving this with piercing high-pitched sounds, obscuring smoke, flickering strobes and ear-splitting screams from the performers. The company performed with commitment and their depiction of a mental and emotional decline was well-realised. With a few small changes, the removal of the moralising final speech  being one - an audience perhaps does not need to be explicitly asked 'Does anyone care?' in order to make links to modern day similarities - and a reconfiguration of the staging (this end-on performance was admittedly a change from the piece's Pub Theatre beginnings) 'Lutter' could certainly become something which captures the visceral, recurring pain of shell-shock victims.

Next up was Bad Habit Theatre's creation 'China Doll' - a self-defined 'Neuropera' which invites the audience to 're-evaluate [their] preconceptions of opera'. A lofty ambition, but one which I think is on the way to being possible. As is always the risk with any Fringe performance, there were some technical teething problems but the occasional sound balance issues in no way undermined this interesting piece. Director Bryony Maguire and writer Jakob Robertson set their play in Eastern Europe (and there are strong resonances of Tchaikovsky's 'Cherevichki', itself based upon Nikolai Gogol's accounts of peasant life in Ukraine). As a visual spectacle, China Doll is a feast. The Barbican Theatre was transformed into a quasi-magical, fairy tale landscape with the internal and external forced to merge through the gradual destruction of the tightly arranged feather border of the beginning. Indeed, there is a keen sense of the passage of time with the changing seasons clearly yet simply represented through the gradual flowering of originally bare branches. The narrative itself is well-balanced with the main plot expertly complemented by the comedic couples Gretchen & Otto and Margot & Luca. Compliments to the writing here which ensured a continual contrast between the comedic and the inevitably tragic. Strong vocals from Phoebe Taylor, including a particularly resonant solo set to a re-contextualised 'Gymnopedie' by Satie, contrasted effectively with Alice Morgan-Richards' more vulnerable Nina. With a clearer exposition of the central conceit of Nina and Vincent's child being the titular 'China Doll', something which was not immediately apparent, the piece's denouement would be imbued with a greater degree of pathos which its many strong points need and deserve.

In a complete change of direction, Exeter University graduate company Scratchworks' latest creation 'Nel', based around the life of the eponymous Foley artist, is a sheer joyous delight and triumph of playfulness and ingenuity. Foley artistry is a rarely acknowledged, yet crucial aspect of film-making and defines those who create the sound effects which are added to motion pictures. The company have acquired a plethora of props with which they immerse the audience in consistently surprising, and always spot on the mark, sounds. The success of 'Nel' is in part confirmed by the fact that, about halfway through the piece, I forgot that everything was being created onstage rather than being played as a recorded soundtrack. 'Nel' is a piece with something for everybody. Each performer is extremely strong in their own right yet they are able to blend together as an ensemble with consummate ease. The four voices combine perfectly in the musical numbers, the swift dialogic exchanges are hit immaculately time after time, and the transitions from outrageously drawn characters to Bouffon-esque jesters are seamless. Most notable is the power of the few moments of silence - particularly poignant in the life of one so constantly based around auditory stimuli. In terms of Festival programming I see it as crucial that this sort of work is placed alongside the more overtly shocking and assaulting pieces on offer - particularly during a half-term week. My hope is that there is an audience for 'Nel' to continue to develop and thrive as it is a testament to what can be created with a little imagination and no little skill.

To complete my debut Plymouth Fringe experience, it was an excited return to Squiffy Cabaret's 'No Filter'. No Filter by name and, goodness me, very much no filter by nature. Even the performers themselves seemed shocked on occasion by the apparent improvisations of their partner - a particular reference to 'spit' seemed particularly unplanned. As this was my second viewing of the piece it was the changes and developments since the first iteration which were of particular interest. And credit to Magda and Anya, they have not been shy in examining their dramaturgy and making some quite stark alterations. Now, the audience is drawn into an even closer relationship with the performers as they are required to indicate their responses to a series of uncomfortable questions throughout the evening. We are kept on edge by the constant boundary-pushing narrative, yet the direction to have our eyes closed while we raised our hands in response to the questions ensured that people were willing to contribute and even examine their own gender-based behaviour. Undeniably this is a piece which will not be to everybody's taste, yet the pair's greater emphasis on the autobiographical, and on their presentation of themselves as real people, I feel, endeared them to more reticent audience members. The concluding series of observations ('I am a woman and...') is crucial to the overall impact of the piece as it suitably challenges the assumptions and generalisations that the various characters have presented throughout. This is still a piece in development and, with a few more performances, the conversational-style will reach a level of fluency and verve to match the frankly flawless vocal abilities of both performers. I look forward to seeing 'No Filter' version three at some point soon!

All in all, the inaugural Plymouth Fringe can certainly be deemed a success. In terms of work staged it is an overwhelming confirmation of the burgeoning strength of the South-West arts scene. Operationally it doesn't quite reach the standards of Edinburgh yet, but this is to be expected. As the Festival grows there will be no space for companies to overrun their time slots as happened on a few occasions this week. Most importantly I look forward to a greater engagement with the Plymouth public next year. Show after show I found myself surrounded in the various auditoriums by the same familiar audience members who clearly attend and create theatre regularly. The festival has at times felt like an echo-chamber for already arts-minded individuals - the challenge for Toast is to spread this work to the people for whom it is truly made. The challenge is encapsulated in Lutter's question - yes it's a great Festival, but really 'Does anyone care?'.

Time to re-engage...

It has been far too long since I was able to contribute to this blog. I am glad that it has been my own creative, artistic and educational pursuits which have stood in the way and that there is a wealth of material which I am going to be able to dissect and explore in the coming weeks.

Since the last missive, there has been play-writing, poetry, theatre-going and musical direction. At the beginning of this year the promise I made to myself - and the challenge I set for myself - was to maintain a steady involvement in the arts so as not to become entirely bogged down in the potential mire of overwork and employment-induced stress which is evidently an imposing feature of teaching today.

I am glad to report, up to now - success!

Until a more focused submission comes in the next week or so, a glimpse into one of my recent projects - a further foray into the crazy world of Gilbert and Sullivan.

One of my orchestral players agreed with me that the sound we had managed to create was truly a credit to how well we had gelled as a group. His pertinent comment ran along the lines of 'If amateur musicians feel valued and are really enjoying themselves, then they will play their best music'.

This seems like sound and simple logic (unlike the minefield of Gilbert's often non-navigable plot turns and implausibilities...) and surely something which may be equally transferable to an educational setting.

During my several conducting lessons a few years ago one thing in particular stuck with me,

'Always remember that the people you are conducting are all far better on their own instruments than you are'.

This maxim has informed my approach to all of the groups I have worked with since and has, to my mind, contributed to establishing the excellent dynamics present in each of those various ensembles.

In the labyrinth of data which teachers are expected to negotiate with fleet of foot, it seems expedient to remember that each student under our baton is also an individual with areas of interest and knowledge that are unique to them and from which we ourselves may learn.

By facilitating the conditions of feeling personally valued and intrinsically motivated, we may also get a fairly decent tune out of our bands of students.

Recall of the Wild

Having spent a fair amount of time this year in two of Britain's greatest (in my opinion) cities - Edinburgh and, most recently a couple of weeks ago, London - it has proven impossible to avoid the allure of visiting some of these locations' most notable buildings and architectural sites. Indeed, a sizeable proportion of the theatre I have sampled has been housed in extravagant, ornate palaces of the arts which quite serve to elevate the works on offer to a level of worthiness apparently deemed suitable for their reception.

Indeed, the irony was not lost on me of seeing the National Theatre's 'Great Britain' lately at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket (Haymarket, London - not Haymarket, Edinburgh on this occasion...). Once more, a newly-written play (and one in whose contemporaneity I revelled - bravo to the NT for offering a satirical piece of truly relevant social commentary) which speaks to the common man, was priced out of many people's access and placed beyond the horizons of even London citizens who have the central theatres on their doorsteps.

What, and who, is theatre for? It is an interminable problem.

We need a revolution. We need a liberation. We simply need to blow the bloody doors off.

We gravitate careeringly towards bricks, structure, sanctuary in mortar. We congregate in communal pockets of habitation and, most troublingly, we confine ideas - rich, mind-enhancing, problem-posing ideas - within narrowing, institutionalised walls.

One of the most impacting and memorable experiences in Edinburgh this year was a performance in which we, the audience, joined the performer, our guide, on a silent walk through the grounds of the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art and its outlying environs. For forty minutes we traipsed through woods, alongside rivers - sharing the space with unconcerned waders and rabbits - united in our shared obligation: to feel.

We are thinking beings, yes. But we also possess a unique capacity for more rounded sentience.

Should it be that fully adverting to the senses in an outdoor space feels so much of a novelty?

In this shared experience I was forced to reengage with my environment, I was put on an equal footing with my fellow audience members (and with the performer!) and there was no pretense about dressing up in one's best clothes to hear artists, themselves often scraping a living, present their art.

There are, of course, seemingly insurmountable problems in reclaiming theatre from stifling institutions. And there are plentiful reasons for not doing so - at least we know where to find it. But when 'theatre' becomes more explicitly associated with the Victorian chandeliers and winding carpeted staircases than the artistic product itself, I feel myself despairing,

And why stop there? Why limit ourselves to the comfort provided by walls? We live in the world - unconstrained. Yet our formative educational experiences are, for the most part, limited to monotonous classroom routines.

As I say to my students, writers rarely operate in such externally-imposed, inflexible conditions. The demand for creativity far outweighs the opportunity, nay the propensity, for establishing the conditions in which true creativity and inspiration may truly be aroused.

Following a half hour creative writing mini-lesson, which took place in a swirling wind on the center of the school playing fields, the sixteen-year old students confirmed, without prompt, the assertion that it was far easier to produce writing in such an 'authentic' environment as opposed to the classroom. The work that they had produced attested to this.

Necessarily, the example is brief and anecdotal but it illustrates my germinating belief that there exists much untapped potential for creativity and learning outside of the classroom. After all, is not a significant purpose of our school experience that of being prepared for life outside of this regulated space?

In short, it seems exceedingly simple. Theatres and schools alike have both been termed 'black boxes' in their various fields. Both are about pushing and challenging boundaries. Why do we not, therefore, push a little harder and challenge ourselves to break free, even if it be only slightly more regularly, from our comfortable, safe, environs?

Uncomfortable viewing - I like it!

What do they all have in common?

 

A classroom. A press conference. A court of law. An interview room.

 

...

 

A police interrogation cell?

 

Well they are certainly not places that I have visited recently. A classroom in August?! [Edited to add: Ok I crumbled - I went into school on Monday morning last week...]

 

Nor are they arenas in which passivity is likely to be a comfortable course of action. Such an approach may at best result in detention, misrepresentation, harsh sentencing, blank column inches and, depending on your chosen decade, a taste of the law's proverbial long arm (in no particular order).

 

Fortunately, for those of us inclined to occasionally seek respite from the multitudinous thrills and vexations of daily life, there are sanctuaries to which we may surreptitiously slope.

 

Blissfully mindless entertainment is readily available. Television. Cinema. Concerts. Watching Plymouth Argyle (always mindless, occasionally - I am assured -  entertaining). Theatre.

 

Theatre?

For many theatregoers, entertainment is indeed the sole or predominant motive. Although theatre devotees acknowledge its multiple forms, uses and purposes, it cannot be ignored that the major commercial theatres of London's West End, according to a Mayor of London report into the capital's dominant revenue streams (or oceans), account for close to sixty per cent of the UK's entire theatrical financial takings. Certainly, a good number of the productions showing at these venues have been designed to appeal to the mass audience as typified by the rapid proliferation of 'juke-box' musicals (Jersey Boys, Dreamboats and Petticoats, We Will Rock You etc.) and increasingly those which appeal directly to popular culture - see the acclaim afforded to X-Factor spoof musical I Can't Sing in spite of its premature closure.

And so I add to the original question: is theatre best as an inherently passive experience for the audience?

That is certainly debatable and far be it from me to decry a spectator arriving at a performance with the dubious aim of seeking entertainment - indeed they have at least chosen to go to the theatre which should surely only be encouraged!

However, three performances in the last few weeks have each caused me to consider my own position as a spectator and I would venture that my experience was in each case improved as a result.

The first was an intriguing piece of new writing by Irfon Rickard. His one-man exploration of the vicissitudes of aspects of the human condition in The Nihilist (performed by Mike Fish) somewhat inadvertently produced an instant split among his intimate audience. Offered the choice between a glass of red wine and a cup of coffee on arrival, the audience swiftly becomes implicated in the claims made by the title character. It emerges that those drinking wine are the risk takers with the coffee sippers favouring rather more sheltered lives. This accusation is made early on and immediately each audience member is made conspicuously aware of their choice of beverage and the new implications it suddenly has for how they are perceived. For indeed, the coffee drinkers are being silently judged. Of course, as a rational human being I am not to be moved by such sweeping generalisations as this. That is, sadly, until The Nihilist himself confronts your correspondent and challenges the saucer in my right palm. As an unavoidable reflex I'm on the defensive!

'I'm driving'.

Never before has such a reasonable statement sounded quite so pathetic. Not wanting to be viewed by the rest of the audience in Tavistock's grand Bedford Hotel as a handkerchief-waving violet, I felt compelled to prove that I too could be a 'risk-taker'. I too could live on the edge. But it would have to wait until my friends had been delivered safely to their doorsteps...

This play (without necessitating myself to comprehensively review the thing) certainly did a lot more than this - it negotiated the line between musing philosophical exploration and unadulterated angst with mostly successful guile and did provoke thought regarding the difference between optimists and pessimists - apparently my personality type would tend towards expecting a friendly embrace from an onrushing freight train... The discomfort of the audience may have been unintentional but it was strong enough to become worthy of note.




Actor Mike Fish as 'The Nihilist' in Irfon Rickard's new play.





My next outing of this performance trio was to see a far more established play, the National Theatre's own One Man Two Guv'nors, at the Theatre Royal in Plymouth. This time I arrived with a firm sense of what to expect. The play has received total acclaim since opening several years ago and evidently has wide audience appeal. I did not expect to be overly challenged by this play - indeed, Goldoni's original Servant Of Two Masters, upon which this new play is based, was in the tradition of the Commedia dell'Arte, a highly stylised physical-comedy genre.

 

While those expectations were more or less met, my position as passive spectator was certainly troubled. Without spoiling the action, there is frequent interaction (apparently unscripted...) between performers and audience. While we believe that the events are being partially dictated by our fellow audience-members, the experience quickly becomes an occasion of 'them against us'. As one the audience cheered, laughed and applauded the efforts of those unwillingly taken onto the stage in true panto fashion. Yes, despite descending into the truly farcical, the audience is never allowed to get too comfortable. The theatre becomes volatile and a person in any seat becomes vulnerable to random attack by those whom we have paid, ostensibly, to watch.

 

And finally, a further new play written for a specific community and performed both by professionals and members of that close collective group. 'The Day We Played Brazil' at Exeter's Northcott Theatre told the true story of the build up to and aftermath of Exeter City's infamous footballing tour of Brazil in immediate pre-war 1914. As with any good community theatre it was written and performed partially by, with and for the community itself. For this reason I, as an absolute outsider as a Plymouth Argyle fan, was made to feel excluded from the warm sense of well-being shared between cast and audience in the auditorium.

 

Plymouth Argyle and her loyal, wind-buffeted (metaphorically and quite literally) fans were mocked and derided intermittently throughout - the lady next to me, with whom I had spoken before curtain-up, looked pointedly in my direction each time and I felt as though the collective eyes of the city of Exeter itself were glaring accusingly at my blood which runs with more of a green than a red and white tint...

 

Despite the mild awkwardness, I felt rather pleased that I was experiencing something totally different from almost every other spectator. I was unable to share in the spirit created by the piece but was interested to find that the entertainment sought to be created by this play was hugely dependent on the previous experiences of the audience - for me, I was able to remain far enough removed to watch simultaneously the action on stage, and the action in the stalls, without being drawn into the finer details of Exeter City's triumphs.

So, perhaps if you'd never considered the possibility of theatre being anything other than pure entertainment I would exhort you to try something new. Perhaps a piece of new writing rather than an established play; perhaps a piece of community theatre, perhaps a production taking place in a warehouse rather than a luxurious theatre. You might find the experience unusual but exciting.

Or perhaps that freight train is actually just going to kill me...



 

Of tortoises...ish.

Within twenty-four hours of opening a blog account a week ago, I was informed by means of the 'stats' on my page that I had received eighteen (!) views from around the world. All this without the merest suggestion of advertisement or promotion.

This alone made me consider that there may, after all, eventually, be something of a readership for whatever I may choose to record here.

It also gave rise to the question of what eighteen independent blog surfers, who assumedly have no idea as to my identity, were anticipating finding on a blog enigmatically entitled 'Tortoise in the Spotlight'. I envisaged hoards of ardent tortophiles (yes I was surprised by the existence of that word too but I assure you of its authenticity) scouring for new insights into shell-care and top tips for ideal lettuce-cultivation conditions... The title of the thing really did cause me trouble. Not enough to incite sleepless nights, but certainly enough to inhibit the early enthusiasm of creating my own, admittedly relatively inconsequential, mark on the internet.

Well, let's set things straight from the very beginning.

This blog will not be about tortoises.

So, a kind hello and welcome to those of you remaining after that great disappointment. I can only hope you stick around once I have fully illumined the true purpose of my writing.

For indeed, there may well be a purpose. Eugène Ionesco may well disagree.

Or indeed, he may well have done (he died in 1994). Ionesco was a Romanian playwright of the absurd who, in his many writings, expounded the pointlessness of existence itself. He also gritted his teeth against the realism being portrayed on stage and against the notion of using the theatre to stir the audience to social activism - both of which were evident in the first half of the last century.

Now fear not. I certainly do not intend on making this a forum for an angst-ridden tirade against the structures and injustices of society.

As a reaction against utter realism, Ionesco believed in the fantastic, the irreverent, and in the scope and wonder of the imagination. He once wrote:

 

I personally would like to bring a tortoise onto the stage, turn it into a racehorse, then into a hat, a song, a dragoon and a fountain of water. One can dare anything in the theatre and it is the place where one dares the least.

EUGENE IONESCO, Notes and Counter Notes

Ah, so there's our tortoise!

Yes, my blog name is a nod to Ionesco and to his propensity for marvelling at the ordinary. For taking delight in the mundane. And for seeking opportunities to ignite the imagination and to see life a little bit differently.

Contrary to Del Boy's 'he who dares wins', Ionesco makes no reference to success. For him, it is sometimes enough to simply dare and to see what may come of it.

 

This, then, is what I hope for this blog to become. Perhaps a document to chart the events which get my own creative neurones firing or which make me challenge my own perception of reality or normality. I hope to share my experiences and thoughts on the creativity I encounter in artistic or theatrical settings but also within my own classroom. There we are then, creativity in the arts and education - and hopefully how the two combine (as I fervently believe they should!).

 

If this sparks a conversation as a result so much the better.

 

Now to see how many more page views I've accrued. Sorry tortoise fans, I don't think you can withdraw your original contribution to the total...