Dire Desire

This review of the new musical produced by the NCPA (in collaboration with others) was commissioned by Mumbai Theatre Guide and is available here: http://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/dramas/reviews/25-english-play-review-club-desire.asp
The play is frankly awful and raises the question of why and how such tacky work is staged in this city.

“Club Desire”

Written by Sapan Saran.

Directed by Sunil Shanbag.

NCPA, Tata Theatre, 24 October 2013.

The opera “Carmen” is one of those univerally-appealing theatrical works that has been adapted countless times…with varying degrees of success, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous. “Club Desire” which is said to be “inspired” by the opera, comes dangerously close to the latter end of this spectrum.

To begin with, one wishes the “inspiration” had dug a little deeper. For “Carmen” is a work about fundamental conflicts on several levels: between good and evil, law and lawlessness, society and the self, love and lust. In this, the soldier Don José’s passion for the wild gypsy girl Carmen is contrasted by the chaste love he shares with his childhood sweetheart Micaela; his need to serve his “flag” and do his duty as a soldier clashes with Carmen’s demands that he throw it all away and follow her (and her smuggler friends) in a life of unbridled freedom.

Carmen too faces a conflict of her own: whether to allow herself to be fettered by the bonds of love which José demands; or be free to follow her primal instincts in responding to the irresistably sexual charisma of the bullfighter Escamillo.

“Club Desire” dispenses with the Micaela character almost entirely, keeping her firmly offstage with only a couple of half-baked references in the dialogue. Thus she ceases to be an effective counterpoint to Carmen, who is here a nightclub singer, appropriately named Chahat (desire, in Hindi). Don José becomes Jayam, a somewhat nerdish, language-obsessed poet; and Escamillo, a flashy DJ named Abeer. The personal conflicts are merely twofold: that of Jayam’s call of duty towards his dying mother vis-à-vis Chahat’s demands; and her choosing between the two men…though even this is made a non-issue when she says its quite all right to sleep with one man while loving another.

Another conflict of sorts is introduced in Sapan Saran’s script by pitting the high art of poetry against the skill required to mix a DJ-set. Hardly earth-shaking; but Ms Saran makes a meal of it. She also holds forth at great length on language, on how “precious” words are, with interminable, jejune debates on their correct usage and expression. Considering all of this begins with an etymology of the expletive “f**k”, it is difficult to take seriously. Ms Saran alternates these intellectual exercises with dialogue that is mercifully naturalistic; and though the latter may not be great writing for the theatre, at least it isnt boring.

The same dichotomy exists in Arundathi Subramaniam’s lyrics, which  attempt to be pithy and raw…but so much ends-up sounding pretentious. A prize line is “The heart is a verb; and it hurts” (WHAT does that mean??). And when she tries to be simple (as in Chahat’s only ballad, near the end of the play) the results are embarassingly cloying and clichéd.

Sunil Shanbag is an immensely respected director; and one wonders why he chose such trite material to work with. One senses he is trying his best; but there are some longeurs during scenes and awkward transitions between them. Also, one senses his hands are tied by fear of the “moral police” in this city; as the interplay between Chahat and her lovers has about as much sexual aggression as adolescent groping in the school backyard. Ditto for her violent encounters with Jayam.

The music is generally hard rock; much of it monotonous, derivative, tuneless and forgettable. The few exceptions are Chahat’s ballad; and a couple of sensuous rhythmic “loops”. There are even a couple of references to the music in “Carmen”, with Chahat attempting to sing Carmen’s signature Habanera to a pop rhythm.

Which brings one to the performances. Manasi Parekh Gohil is a refreshingly “open” unmannered actress; and thus perfect casting for a character like Chahat who is free as a bird. She conveys a sexuality that is integrated into the characterisation rather than a too-obvious add-on. Unfortunately, her voice lacks a true “centre”, coming across as somewhat high-pitched in speech. In song, however, she employs her lower and middle registers more often…though there is a slight, audible “rasp” (probably brought-on by misuse) and some strain on the high notes. Her singing of the lyrics is mostly unintelligible in the rock numbers; or made so by the excessively loud band accompanying her.

Faisal Rashid as Jayam gives a finely-graphed characterisation, going from innocent poet to psychotic, spurned lover. One wishes, however, that his character had been made an English poet, as the frequent departures into flowery Hindi are irritating and distracting in what has been advertised as an English play.

Gagan Dev Riar offers comic relief as the vividly-etched nightclub-owner, though the comedy is too broad and stagey to make him truly convincing. On the other hand, Karan Pandit as the DJ has little meat on what is essentially a two-dimensional character; but he makes the best of it…though one misses a more libidinous swagger.

Ultimately, the most powerful image one remembers from this production is the DJ’s simian-like jumping, gesticulating and nodding to a mind-numbing, repetitive, electronically-generated rhythm. This is, sadly, a sign of the times, one of the themes driving the play. However, it is equally sad and apparent that “Club Desire” panders to the lowest common denominator in the cultural life of this city.

Tales from the holocaust

The review was commissioned by Mumbai Theatre Guide and is available on this webpage: http://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/dramas/reviews/9-parts-of-desire-english-play-review.asp

“Nine Parts of Desire”

Written by Heather Raffo.

Directed by Lillette Dubey.

NCPA, Experimental Theatre, 11 October 2013.

Heather Raffo’s “Nine Parts of Desire” is a meditation on “the pity of war” and its effects on the lives of ordinary people, specifically Iraqi women, during and between the two Gulf conflicts and subsequent occupation.

The play was apparently inspired by the painting of a nude woman clinging to a barren tree; and it does indeed seem like a portrait-gallery of diverse female characters spanning generations, ideologies, backgrounds, even continents; but sharing the common “spine” of suffering and surviving the most severe physical and emotional conditions.

Layla the painter is central to this group, setting the scene and returning later to offer further exposition and comment. So, to a lesser extent, is the exiled intellectual Huda, nursing her Scotch and providing historical perspective. But it is the image of Umm-Ghada, the black-clad mother of a girl who died when the Americans mistakenly bombed a civilian air-raid shelter, that encapsulates the play’s essence in her taciturn, numbed (and numbing) narration of the horror of what happened.

However, for all its passion, the play seems a little too episodic in its many vignettes, lacking development towards a climax. Lillette Dubey’s direction does not try to induce one; and thus the end does seem somewhat anticlimactic. Even so, the drama flows at even pace, allowing the script to “breathe”, never flagging tension or interest; hard-hitting, humorous, compassionate and angry in turn, with movement and tempo-rhythm to match.

Much of the credit goes to Ira Dubey, the sole performer onstage, who gives something of a tour de force in embodying all these women. Her sheer concentration, energy and range, both expressive and emotional, allow her to paint vividly-etched characters, aided only by simple costume-changes. A minor drawback would perhaps be her near-constant reliance on the lower half of her vocal compass, with the result that some of the women sound a little alike. Although the Iraqi accent tends to vary, sometimes coming dangerously close to Russian. Even so, it is a vital, brave, searing performance.

The production is endowed with an extraordinarily communicative set, designed by Bhola Sharma and Lillette Dubey. This multi-layered mise-en-scène, aided by Mr. Sharma’s evocative lighting, conjures a desolate, tragic tapestry, both internal and actual.

Similarly, Gandhaar Sangoram’s sound-design (with help from Lillette and Ira Dubey) strikes all the right notes (literally) in supporting and commenting on the action. For example, the soft sound of a crying infant underlaying the Umm-Ghada sequence is utterly, appropriately chilling.

One wishes the audience (at least at the NCPA) would not clap or talk after each story…or worse, during a monologue. It breaks one’s concentration and undoubtedly that of the actor onstage, also fracturing the cumulative build-up of tension and emotion.

“Nine Parts of Desire” is not for the squeamish, as made obvious by the involuntary gasps of horror heard from the audience during the performance. However, in its unflinching, unromanticised look at the traumas of war and oppression; and in its sheer humanity, the play offers a powerfully cathartic and intense experience.

Addendum:

On watching the play again, I was struck by the improvement in performance. The vagaries in accent were gone; and the voice was now used to its fullest range and extent. Emotionally too, the interpretation had deepened. In Ira's own words, her performance is now "nicely cooked"!