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.
No comments:
Post a Comment