Shobha Yatra/It Happens Only in India

This review was written in the year 2000. Never published, as far as I can remember!

The independence of a country is never easily won. It takes men of commitment, daring, strong ideals and breadth of vision to galvanise a nation and throw the intruder out. This actually happened in India, a half-century ago.

Fifty-three years on and nationalism is a forgotten emotion. And no wonder, for we have become a nation riddled with greed, pettiness and hypocrisy; with scant respect for law-and-order, discipline or decency; aping the worst of the West and paying mere lip-service to our own heritage.

"It Happens only in India" is the English version of Shafaat Khan's Marathi play, "Shobha Yatra", a scathing expose of what we have become vis-a-vis what our founding-fathers fought and died for.

The play drives its point home by way of an ingenious juxtaposition. Six people, each dressed-up as a character from India's freedom-struggle, are about to take part in a ceremonial procession commemorating fifty years of Independence; ironically organised by an underworld don or "Bhai". The procession keeps getting delayed; and the group waits in a godown, unable to leave as they are in costume, "trapped in history".

As they wait, they reveal their own natures, superficially similar to those of the historical personages they are portraying; but, in actuality, diametrically opposing their idealism and all that they stood for. Each "actor" is linked, overtly or covertly, to the unseen, sinister figure of the Bhai who is pulling their strings --- all except the woman playing the Rani of Jhansi, a school-teacher who could be pregnant. She becomes a symbol for the Motherland, threatened with annihilation.

There are secondary characters, important to the play's development --- a street urchin, blissfully unaware of history, who brings refreshments to the group in the godown; the Bhai's top henchman; and an expat Indian girl from America called Barbie, a trendy photographer who creates sexual tension.

Shafaat Khan's play draws from many genres --- comedy, satire, thriller and Theatre of the Absurd, combining all these in a multi-layered and richly provocative tapestry of truth and make-believe, historical reference and present-day reality, masks and faces, wheels within wheels.

The original Marathi production, directed by Ganesh Yadav, tears into the script and goes for the jugular in a manner that keeps one at seat's edge. Actors enter and exit at will, seemingly without reason; the production revels in real and hallucinatory images of terror and violence, all highlighting the play's Absurdist leanings.

Vikram Kapadia's production is quite different. It is based on Shanta Gokhale's English translation, which flows naturally and is easy on the ear. The director has preferred to retain Hindi in certain passages; and one wishes he had also encouraged the actors to use Marathi interjections. With names like Bapat, Jadhav and Sabnis, it is surprising that these characters never communicate in their mother-tongue, however fleetingly.

This production is, in a word, tame. Gone is the wildness, the headlong pace, the feeling of unpredictability. Moreover, the play has been cut, most damagingly in the scenes involving the school-teacher/Rani. Scenes have been transposed and shuffled at will, severely compromising the building of tension. This re-arrangement often puts similar episodes back-to-back with "buffers" removed, making the play seem repetitious and long-winded.

Initially, one welcomes the relaxed pace, the ability to drink-in detail. But the tempo-rhythm hardly ever accelerates; there are far too many pauses and delays in actors' responses, pointing to insufficient rehearsal and the fact that the cast for any given show depends on who is available on that day, as each role has been double-cast.

Having seen both, the Marathi and English productions, each twice, one becomes aware that the latter lacks the cohesion and confident drive of an unvarying team in sync with each other.

Even though the actors in the English production seem somewhat tentative, they generally turn-in committed, professional performances, some better than others; Hemu Adhikari's Bapat/Gandhi and Suruchi Aulakh's Barbie being particularly memorable. However, nobody eclipses the sheer incandescence of Vidula Mungekar's school-teacher/Rani in the Marathi version.

The sets and lighting seem somewhat self-conscious. The fastidious harmony suits the English production's sedate tone; but is a far cry from the heady combination of hyper-realistic set and vividly imaginative lighting in the Marathi production.

For those who do not understand Marathi, "It Happens Only in India" is one way (although diluted) of experiencing "Shobha Yatra". A Hindi production is also playing; a Bengali version is apparently in the pipeline.

The importance of "Shobha Yatra" can never be over-estimated. In the derivative world of contemporary Indian theatre, it is a work of rare originality. Its path-breaking style and raw, pithy substance make it one of the great plays of our time.

The Truth

This review was commissioned by Mumbai Theatre Guide. An edited version is available here:
https://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/dramas/reviews/the-truth-english-play-review-naseeruddin-shah.asp


This is my original piece:

“The Truth” written by Florian Zeller, translated by Christopher Hampton.

Directed by Ratna Pathak Shah and Naseeruddin Shah.

Prithvi Festival at the Royal Opera House.

9 November 2018, 6pm.

 

The young playwright Florian Zeller is a wunderkind of the French theatre, one whose plays have been very successful across the English Channel. “The Truth” is the second play written by him to be staged in this city by Motley, who also presented his hugely acclaimed “The Father” last year.

The two couldn’t be more unlike. Whereas “The Father” is a searing study of dementia and its consequences, “The Truth” has been described as “a millefeuille of truth and deceit” (by Kate Kellaway in The Guardian) and takes a hilarious yet unsettling look at the pitfalls of marital infidelity. In this, it owes as much to Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal” as to the tradition of French farce.

The play reminds one of a Baroque court-dance in which couples switch partners; but with only two main players onstage at a time. Motley’s production has adapted the script, setting it in Mumbai. The characters are certainly familiar: educated, well-to-do professionals, artfully co-ordinating their convoluted private lives and seemingly normal societal existence with nonchalant skill. Here, we have two couples in which the husbands are best friends; and one of them is having an affair with the other’s wife. But what appears to be a simple, one-sided deception turns out to be far more intricate; and gradually reveals a Pandora’s Box of lies and cover-ups. The cheating husband finds himself increasingly embroiled in these, ending with the horrifying if hypocritical realisation that he is more sinned against than sinning.

This production, co-directed by Ratna Pathak Shah and Naseeruddin Shah, is presented in a naturalistic, conversational style rather than with farcical intent, thus making the characters and their predicament all the more believable. But the pace tends to slacken sometimes, tension abates; and one misses a more crackling, pointed approach. Even so, the inter-personal dynamics of the characters in each scene are perfectly realised.

Naseeruddin Shah plays the husband in an understated, almost casual manner…though not entirely devoid of mannerism. The underplaying is in keeping with the production as a whole; but, while it is true to the character by itself, he doesn’t quite come across the footlights and grab you. However, Mr. Shah displays a surprising comic ability in the delivery of some of his lines, with impeccable timing.

As his wife, Avantika Akerkar offers a highly focussed interpretation, in which every thought and emotion is precisely expressed, vocally and physically. It is a riveting performance, especially in the final scene during which the wife’s own  duplicity is tantalisingly hinted-at.

Shruti Vyas, in the role of the friend’s wife, is a direct, “open” actress who makes the character and what she is going through immediately communicable, while Gaurav Sharma as her husband presents a cool façade of subterfuge.

The production’s design is simple yet effective. The single set ingeniously becomes six separate locales, each presented convincingly (without any glitches, thanks to efficient stage-management) and accurately lit by Arghya Lahiri and Rahul Rai. The sound-design and execution, by Saahil Vaid and Dhruv Kalra, is realistic though sometimes the sound-effects were a little too loud. One was really happy to note that body-microphones were not used by the actors; and one welcomed the natural aural perspectives owing to well-judged sound re-inforcement, in which the superb acoustics of the Royal Opera House certainly played their part.

“The Truth” might be regarded simply as a comedy about extra-marital sex, not too different from the many bedroom-farces staged in this city over the years. But, beneath its entertaining surface, it forces one to examine not only the tenets of modern (a)morality where “anything goes” but also how far one is prepared to go…and how much truth is good for you.

Baby's Blues

Drama review commissioned by Mumbai Theatre Guide, available here:

https://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/dramas/reviews/babys-blues-english-play-review.asp

“Baby’s Blues” by Tammy Ryan.

Directed by Ila Arun and K.K. Raina.

NCPA Experimental Theatre, 7 October 2018.

 

The bond between mother and child is tenacious, yet tenuous. The very act of carrying a living, breathing being inside oneself for nine months, the pains of birthing and the ensuing sense of emptiness and loss all cumulate to an experience that can be extremely exhausting and traumatic, yet cathartic and joyful. However, some women suffer an ordeal which is worse than others, owing to post-partum depression.

Tammy Ryan’s “Baby’s Blues” is a harrowing study of this crippling phenomenon and how it affects the physical and mental well-being of one such mother. In this, Susan is unable to come to terms with what she has gone through and how to deal with its end result. Her conflicting feelings about her baby: helplessness, anxiety, frustration, rage and love, take her on an emotional  roller-coaster that descends into depression and psychosis. But ultimately, acceptance and love become her salvation.

The play is constructed like a spring that is progressively wound tighter until it reaches breaking point; and is then released. Yet there are moments in the writing where the focus meanders…until it comes back on track. This production, jointly directed by Ila Arun and K.K. Raina, follows its course faithfully, with the result that sometimes the tension seems to flag; but is quickly remedied as the play resumes its trajectory into this young woman’s private hell. The play mixes the surreal hallucinations experienced by Susan along with her reality; and, in this production at any rate, one is sometimes left a little confused: for example, as to who exactly the young girl at Susan’s side really is.

Dilnaz Irani initially seems a little one-notey as Susan in the first half; but comes into her own superbly during the second half in the confrontation with her husband, which is perhaps one of the truest, emotionally-naked scenes this critic has seen onstage. Her reserves of sheer energy: physical, vocal and emotional, are quite remarkable; and allow her to graph the woman’s devolving condition vividly.

She is ably partnered by Ankur Rathee, who is utterly uncontrived and natural as her husband; and an excellent supporting cast, among whom Anjula Bedi stands out as Susan’s mother, giving a chilling glimpse into what made her daughter what she is.

The production is an object-lesson in the art of staging, with an austere yet beautiful set, designed and gorgeously lit by Salim Akhtar. The music and sound-design by Sanjoy Dazz and Ambar Das is atmospheric and perfectly judged in its conveyance of an unsettled psyche. The popular children’s song, “Row, row, row your boat” becomes a leitmotif, heard in various vocal and instrumental guises through the play, and is entirely appropriate. The use of body-microphones on the actors certainly helps in immediacy and comprehension of the all-important words; though occasionally it becomes a little obtrusive. Having said that, it is still relatively subtle, compared to the heavy-handed, over-loud applications of this technology that one has sadly become used to in the theatre these days.

In sum, this production of “Baby’s Blues” does wonderful justice to the play. Although it can be heavy-going, it is ultimately uplifting; applying not only to the agonies of giving birth but to life itself, as in Susan’s final realisation: “Honey, you’re on your own…sink or swim”.

The Importance of Being Articulate

Commissioned by and originally published on Mumbai Theatre Guide here:
http://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/dramas/reviews/the-importance-of-being-earnest-english-play-review.asp

Oscar Wilde: The Importance of Being Earnest

Director: Jeff Goldberg

Royal Opera House, 4 March 2018.

Oscar Wilde’s “The Importance of Being Earnest” is probably the playwright’s most famous play; and the quintessential Victorian “comedy of manners”. Apart from taking a satirical look at the superficiality and pretensions of British society at the turn of the century, it is also a supremely elegant piece of writing in Wilde’s epigrammatic fashion, peppered with delicious witticisms.

A successful staging of this warhorse demands, above all, an awareness of the correct style required. Jeff Goldberg’s production seems to be confused about what that is. The director is sometimes able to invest the comedic happenings onstage with a civilised grace; but the proceedings soon degenerate into loud, broad farce. Movement and blocking are often clumsy; and one wonders at the bizarre choice of keeping the butler onstage almost constantly, as it is unnecessary and uncalled-for in the script.

Moreover, this is a play that celebrates the English language and requires the words to be spoken precisely and eloquently, while maintaining a fleet, smooth tempo-rhythm. But, in this production, the actors tend to gabble through their lines with poor articulation and projection, with the result that syllables are swallowed and words become unintelligible. Many of the more famous lines are thrown away or do not have the requisite punch. And there are MANY mispronunciations of simple words, names of places and even those of the play’s own characters!

There are some edits made to the script; and while these may be noticeable to someone who knows the play, in general the cuts do not bleed. However, several memorable lines are missing; and this robs the script of colour. The three acts have been compressed into two (which is often done) but the interval comes at an odd point: instead of happening after Act 1 which is set in a London flat, it occurs unnaturally in the middle of Act 2 which is played, along with Act 3, in a country-house. The two butlers, each belonging to one of these establishments, have been cleverly combined into a single character, which works…somewhat.

Perhaps the truest acting in this production comes from Takshay Tarneja as John Worthing, the play’s protagonist. Although he is somewhat pallid, he does no wrong and somehow manages to convey the character’s essence quite consistently. A greater contrast could not be imagined than with Shreyas Porus Pardiwalla’s Algernon, who is spirited and flamboyant but a little too campy and overtly farcical, playing to the galleries. As for their sweethearts: Taniya Kalra’s Gwendolen looks the part but is under-characterised, while Pashmina Roshan is charming and vivacious as Cecily but often so indistinct in her speech that she cannot be understood.

Neeti Singhi in the role of Lady Bracknell (made immortal by Dame Edith Evans) is young for the part but tries to carry it off with an imperious manner, although her intentions are compromised by unfocussed execution. Helen Absalom as Miss Prism looks the right age and initially promises a vividly-projected characterisation; but this quickly becomes grossly and irritatingly overdone. Sankalp Joshi as Dr. Chasuble is too youthful to be her romantic interest; and Ankit Narang as the butler speaks and walks in a strange, contrived way.

The production’s design is minimalistic and quite effective, but with a couple of glaring flaws: a painted, oversized clock displaying a constant time; and a roaring fireplace depicted by a large, static photograph. The women’s costumes are pretty and appropriate but those of the men leave a lot to be desired, with wrong jackets and a towelled bathrobe (worn by Algernon) in which no self-respecting Victorian gentleman would have ever received guests.

On the whole, the production leaves one with strong, mixed feelings. On the one hand, it is heartening to see a group of young actors trying their best to pay homage to the classics. On the other, one realises that if THIS is currently their best, they have a long, long way to go. And what is needed is an awareness of higher standards, with better and more intensive training to achieve them.

Sweeney Todd

This is the text (with some edits) of a lecture given at the American Center in Bombay many years ago, prior to the video-screening of a stage production of "Sweeney Todd".
Music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, directed by Harold Prince, starring Angela Lansbury and George Hearn.

“Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd!

His skin was pale and his eye was odd;

He shaved the faces of gentlemen

Who never thereafter were heard of again.

He trod a path that few have trod,

Did Sweeney Todd,

The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

He kept a shop in London town

Of fancy clients and good renown;

And what if none of their souls were saved,

They went to their Maker impeccably shaved

By Sweeney,

By Sweeney Todd:

The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.”

What a charming introduction! You can hardly wait to meet the man, I’m sure! And you do soon enough, for he joins in with the Chorus and principal cast members in this opening number of the musical, addressing the audience, Brechtian-style.

Who exactly is Sweeney Todd? Man or myth? Actually, a little of both. He made his first appearance in a short story entitled “The String of Pearls” written by one Thomas Prest; and serialised in a cheap newspaper, a “penny dreadful” as they were called, in London in 1846. Mr. Prest used to search the news for his story ideas; and it’s possible he drew inspiration from recent gruesome happenings --- most notably of a barber near Fleet Street who cut a customer’s throat in a jealous rage, believing the latter to be having an adulterous relationship with his wife; next, a Scotsman called Sawney Bean, who was probably one of the most successful serial-killers of all time, being known to have murdered around 160 passers-by and then eaten the corpses, in collaboration with his family; and, most significantly, the chronicles of Joseph Fouche, the Minister of Police in Paris around 1800, who wrote of a barber who killed his customers and supplied their bodies to a neighbouring pastry-cook, to be served-up as pies. Similarly, Todd’s accomplice is Mrs. Lovett, who runs an eatery and cooks his victims.

The story had many subsequent avatars. In earlier versions, Mrs. Lovett was a reluctant or oblivious accessory; and one of Todd’s early victims --- in fact, in George Dibdin Pitt’s melodrama “The Fiend of Fleet Street” (which had a long and successful run) she herself was disposed of, halfway through the play.

It was the British playwright Christopher Bond who lifted this story from the realms of gruesome Grand Guignol and sensationalist melodrama; and gave the characters psychological resonance and motivation, in his play “Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street” which opened in 1973 at the Theatre Royal, Stratford East. This was seen by Stephen Sondheim, who commissioned Hugh Wheeler to adapt the script into a “book” for a musical.

In melodrama, characters are seen as either black or white. Bond made his ogre human, a man wronged by the system; sent away on a trumped-up charge to an overseas prison-colony, by a lecherous judge who coveted his wife. He returns after years, only to find she was raped by the Judge and then took poison; and his daughter in the clutches of the same Judge who now wants to marry her. When his plans for revenge fail, his mind snaps and he vows to vent his anger on the entire human race, which allows such cruelty to exist.

Luckily for him, his landlady, the pie-shop owner Mrs. Lovett whose business is failing, is only too willing to dispose of the victims expeditiously --- and profitably! She is cheerfully amoral, a cannibalistic capitalist who is actually quite lovable because she is so utterly honest --- until her own duplicity comes to light. She is also shown to have an amorous interest in Todd --- unrequited, because he is still obsessed with his wife.

And then there are the “good” characters --- Todd’s daughter Johanna, prisoner of the Judge and the archetypal damsel-in-distress; the sailor, appropriately named Anthony Hope, who saves Sweeney from shipwreck, brings him home to London and then falls in love with his captive daughter; and Tobias, Mrs. Lovett’s simple-minded helper who dotes on “Mum” and is determined to protect her from “demons” such as Sweeney.

Then there is the Beggar Woman --- a mad hag, whore and scavenger, who mysteriously appears at key moments in the plot, indicating she has a greater significance than she implies. That significance is made evident in the play’s denouement, where she becomes the embodiment of innocence defiled.

And then, there is London itself, accurately portrayed as it was in 1846, a city of crime and grime; of filthy sewers, polluted air and corrupt morals; its lawgivers as lawless as its law-breakers; the perfect Dickensian setting for this macabre tale.

Harold Prince, the director of the original production, would certainly agree. He has described his conception as “the incursion of the Industrial Age; and its influence on souls, poetry and people”. The curtain rises on a huge iron foundry, with a cloth hanging in front, depicting the British Beehive or social structure with the King at the top, the Parliament, Judiciary, Church and so on, going downwards to the lowest common denominator. An organist plays; two workmen enter and tear-down the hanging to the sound of a shrill factory-whistle, exposing a rusty world of girders, gears and overbridges. The back wall eventually rises to reveal a screen with a sketch of London at the time, Thames and all.

This was a bone of contention between Prince and Sondheim, who apparently preferred his work to be seen as a more intimate exploration of one man’s misbegotten obsession, rather than assume epic proportions. However, I think this union of universal and personal has produced a very credible love-child that defies classification; and very happily exists at whichever level you choose to look at it.

And speaking of children, seldom has a marriage of music and lyrics been so productive, because the progenitor in this case was one --- Stephen Sondheim. In writing what is perhaps his most ambitious and complex score, Sondheim matched it to coruscating, uncompromising lyrics; pithy and witty, defiant and disturbing. Music and word, music and character, music and mood, all combine to create a magnificent melange. The parts of this musical live and breathe as one; even though some of the combinations are certainly unorthodox: for example, a gang-rape to a courtly dance; the famous duet about cannibalism, crackling with black humour, to the rhythm of a Viennese waltz; graphic throat-cuttings to music of poignant lyricism. And yet, when lyricism occurs, it is ALWAYS underscored by uneasy harmony or murky underpinning, that reflects (and promotes) a feeling of something not quite right. And this feeling remains with the listener, in spite of the dips into comic patter-singing, operatic floridity and music-hall kitsch.

 

Musicians and music-lovers will marvel at the inventiveness and sheer intelligence of the writing (especially in the complex and densely-layered ensembles); would certainly recognise the influence of several 20^th Century composers; and follow the many leitmotifs floating about, subtly elucidating the drama; and ultimately revealing clues about what is hidden and what’s about to happen --- for this is, according to its creator, “a musical thriller”. The two most significant among these motifs are Sweeney’s long-lost wife’s theme; and the Dies Irae, the traditional liturgical chant from the Latin Requiem, depicting the Day of Judgement, which appears in the Prologue as the Chorus sings, “Swing your razor wide, Sweeney!” and then re-appears at appropriate moments, turning Sweeney the barber with his razor held high, into the Grim Reaper with his unwavering scythe.

Finally, and above all, there is the sound of the factory whistle that begins the play. It recurs repeatedly and frighteningly --- and becomes a shriek of terror and anguish, a war-cry and also a symbol of oppressive authority; a fitting signature to a piece that states:

“The history of the world, my sweet,

Is who gets eaten and who gets to eat…

Its man devouring man, my dear,

And who are we to deny it in here?”

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"!

Terror....inside and out

This review was commissioned by Mumbai Theatre Guide and is also available at:
http://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/dramas/reviews/17-english-play-review-27-11.asp

“27/11” adapted by Rahul Da Cunha from “The Mercy Seat” by Neil LaBute.
Directed by Rahul Da Cunha.
Cast: Shernaz Patel and Nadir Khan.
NCPA Experimental Theatre, 13 December 2012, 7pm.

Neil LaBute is an enfant terrible of the American theatre….or rather, theater. His plays take a misanthropic look at the dark side of human nature; are laced with gender politics and imbued with emotional sado-masochism. All of these are apparent in “The Mercy Seat”, his theatrical response to the World Trade Center attacks on September 11, 2001.

Rahul Da Cunha’s adaptation is called “27/11” and sets the play, not surprisingly, on the day after the terrorist attacks in Bombay on 26 November 2008. However, the script is not about the attacks per se; but uses their occurrence as the backdrop for a tenuous adulterous relationship betweeen boss and employee.

In this, Nina Mehta is the mistress of her married underling Raj Mirpuri, who just happened to be at her home that evening, enjoying her “special Bangkok massage” instead of a boys’ night out at the Taj Mahal Hotel....which was the scene of a bloody terrorist attack. His constantly ringing cell-phone becomes the manifestation of the play’s crux: should he play dead and use this opportunity to disappear and start a new life with his mistress? In examining the options, a veritable Pandora’s Box is opened and the relationship laid bare in all its mutual use and abuse.

Rahul Da Cunha’s staging establishes this dynamic from the outset, with these people “faking the orgasm of life” accosting each other in confrontation, coming together in affection or stalking one another warily across the room. Considering this is a wordy script with only two characters, there is rarely any sense of it dragging, as the tension is maintained more-or-less consistently. However, it becomes clear the play depends almost entirely on the performances by the two actors; and here the results are uneven.

Shernaz Patel endows Nina with her customary sincerity and honesty, especially in the more emotional passages which can be quite searing. Even so, one can't help feeling that some facets of her characterisation remain under-developed, as she is sometimes merely elocutionary where more delineation is required.

Nadir Khan does not seem to have got under Raj Mirpuri’s skin. With insufficient projection of both voice and character, this incredibly insecure, selfish man comes across as a too-generalised and nondescript creation onstage. And there is hardly any electricity between him and Ms Patel.

The production’s design by Dhanendra Kawade could best be described as strange. With long, sharp shards of newspaper hanging from nets suspended over the realistic set, which also boasts a window with three staggered frames made of newspaper and a TV of the same material, it seems a “statement” is being made, trying to place the play in context of the horrific events of 26/11. But the truth is, the script has very little to do with what happened that day; and what might have been truly frightening, had that actually been the case, comes across here as quite unnecessary, pretentious and even obtrusive. The living-room set itself, though, is finely judged and beautifully lit by Kawade and Yael Crishna.

It seems this production of “27/11” is a work-in-progress. One hopes the teething problems of opening night will soon be resolved because, with more work and a little re-think, the play’s potential could be fully realised.

Americana as microcosm

“Our Town” written by Thornton Wilder
Directed by Akash Khurana
Experimental Theatre, NCPA
9 December 2012, 7pm.


“Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it --- every, every minute?” asks Emily in “Our Town”, a play about life as it is.

In this, Thornton Wilder’s Pulitzer Prize-winning script presents vignettes of daily life in small-town, turn-of-the-century America as a microcosm of universal human condition. However, instead of offering intellectual Existential meanderings about the “why” of things, it concentrates on “how” people live --- their daily chores and concerns, the growing pains of childhood, the discovery of love, the institution of marriage, the finality of death. It urges us to savour each detail of our lives, especially those we take for granted, and make the most of living….before it has passed us by.

This canvas of universal existence is, appropriately, a near-empty stage with a minimum of sets and props; and actions are played-out on it with an extensive use of mime to denote realistic, everyday situations. The audience’s imagination kicks-in, colouring the ‘picture’, aided by sound and light and prompted by the Stage Manager, who acts as narrator, friend, philosopher and guide, taking one through the play from the simplistic scenario of the opening to its surrealistic end.

In Akash Khurana’s production, the script’s three acts have been telescoped into one, dropping some lines and a few minor characters; but the cuts dont bleed. In fact, the experience becomes all the more concentrated and all the better for it, making for an intense ninety minutes. The choice is a courageous one and demands utmost involvement from actors and audience.

It is to Mr. Khurana’s credit that one’s attention doesnt flag….most of the time. There is thankfully no attempt to mimic any kind of American accent (let alone the specific rural New Hampshire variety) but one cant shake the feeling that most of the characters, the older ones in particular, somehow dont ‘look’ right. There seems to be too large a difference between what is said about them (by the Stage Manager) and what is actually seen and heard onstage. It seems the doctrine of ‘universality’ has been taken too far, as some of these characters are robbed of distinctive colour, and therefore, credibility.

Khurana has paced the play judiciously, neither breathless nor somnolent. Though opening night could have been a shade tighter, the action dovetails neatly from scene to scene, some of which are quite complex with multiple simultaneous goings-on, orchestrated masterfully. The miming, however, tends to be somewhat approximate.

The director himself plays the Stage Manager. He was initially a little flat but warmed-up expressively thereafter in communicating with the audience; though one always felt there was a certain distance maintained, perhaps intentionally. The finest performance of the evening came from Lucky Vakharia as Mrs. Gibbs, utterly true and spot-on in emotion and characterisation. Abir Abrar, as Emily, was an unfortunate disappointment, lacking the vocal range and a certain incandescence required to bring this pivotal, trenchantly-written role to vivid theatrical life. The rest of the cast was more than competent.

The production’s sound-design by Dilshad Edibam Khurana is beautifully judged; the many sound-effects, offstage and on, accurately chosen and executed. The mise-en-scène, aided by Akarsh Khurana’s adept lighting, conjures-up a three-dimensional world, extending well into and around the audience.

One only hopes the audience would feel similarly involved, because, on the whole, this production of “Our Town” remains earthbound. The play’s deceptively simple script has nuggets of quiet, homespun philosophy which can transcend into a deeply uplifting, even spiritual experience….a transformatory magic seldom realised in this staging.

Tender yet uncompromising

My review of the play "Tuesdays with Morrie" was commissioned by Mumbai Theatre Guide and is also available there at: http://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/dramas/reviews/01-tuesdays-with-morrie-english-play-review.asp

“Tuesdays with Morrie” by Mitch Albom and Jeffrey Hatcher

Directed by Meera Khurana

Cast : Adhaar Khurana, Akash Khurana and Lucky Vakharia

Stage, Lighting and Sound-Design : Akarsh Khurana

Experimental Theatre, NCPA : 28 October 2012

“You cant always do it alone…..we need teachers” says Professor Morris Schwartz to his young student Mitch Albom, in the latter’s play “Tuesdays with Morrie” adapted (with the collaboration of Jeffrey Hatcher) from his autobiographical novel.

The play describes the relationship between Mitch and Morrie, which is revived after a gap of sixteen years when the older man is dying of degenerative nerve-disease. In a series of weekly meetings, every Tuesday, Morrie offers tender yet uncompromising life-lessons which ultimately help his “student” alter his hard-bitten, hard-driving attitude to himself and the world. It is not surprising that Mitch often refers to Morrie as “coach”.

The play’s “teachings” are made all the more poignant by their truthfulness and a steadfast refusal to wallow in sentimentality. The realities of illness and death are shown as they are; neither exaggerated nor covered-up.

Meera Khurana has directed with a fine, sensitive hand. There is a welcome respite from artificially-accelerated pace, which is so often used (and misused) to sustain audience-interest; at the same time, there is never any sense of self-conscious portentousness imposed on the play’s tragic trajectory.

A portion of the credit for this surely belongs to Akash Khurana, whose portrayal of Morrie does not fall into the trap of mawkishness or tear-jerking. An 'actor’s actor', he offers a subtle, insightful characterisation, conveying the man’s facets of charm, pragmatism, humour and wisdom. Even so, the scene where the professor breaks down in tears, unable to eat because of poor muscle-control, is very moving; and Khurana graphs his physical decline with frightening, near-clinical precision.

Mitch is played by Adhaar Khurana with a deadpan quality which, towards the play’s end, becomes more emotive as the character softens. However, there is a difference between playing deadpan as an actual expressive choice by an actor; and a lack of any expression, becoming deadpan by default….wherein lies the younger Khurana’s weakness. As a result, the character only rarely leaps across the footlights.

Here, one has to mention a couple of faux pas. We are told Mitch is an accomplished jazz-pianist; and he plays a piano onstage, while accompanying his singer-wife. But it becomes obvious that the actor’s knowledge of the instrument is rudimentary at best; and it would be kinder to give him a pre-recorded soundtrack of piano-accompaniment. Morover, the latter part of the scene, where a background score does indeed take-over during Morrie’s imaginary dance with Mitch’s wife, is clumsily staged.

The production’s design by Akarsh Khurana is exemplary. His set is spread right across the NCPA’s Experimental Theatre, with four clearly demarcated locales, each of which is accurately, beautifully detailed (with the exception of the car, which looks like a sofa with a steering-wheel). His lighting has tremendous finesse, responding vividly (yet delicately) to changes in mood and emotion; delineating faces, objects and spaces with the masterstrokes of a painter.

In all, “Tuesdays with Morrie” is a rara avis in the theatre today: a quiet play in the midst of so much fatiguing hysteria. However, its civilised gentility packs a hidden punch in sheer wealth of truth and meaning, for those who seek and value it.

When Less is More

(This review was commissioned by Mumbai Theater Guide; and appeared on their website http://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/ in April 2012.)

“A Man for All Seasons”
Written by Robert Bolt.
Directed by Arjun Sajnani.
Nehru Centre, 22 April 2012.

Robert Bolt’s “A Man for all Seasons” is a morality play in the strictest sense of the term. Its basic premise is the clash between principle and pragmatism; a conflict as old as the ages and one that is as contemporary today as it was in 16th century England, in which the play is set.

Its hero is Sir Thomas More, Chancellor to King Henry the Eighth, who was forced to choose between compliance with his sovereign’s wishes and adherence to his own moral code and conscience. His inability to betray his soul, his “self”, ultimately cost him his head.

An adjunct to this was his utter faith in the law. He believed that, by sticking fastidiously to the letter of it, he couldnt be touched; and used the ploy of remaining totally silent when asked why he wouldn’t swear allegiance to the Act of Succession, which would give the King absolute power over the Church as well as the State; an Act that most of his peers acquiesced to, out of fear or desire for advancement. Ironically, he was sent to his death on account of perjury by a witness during his trial.

The script, written in language filled with wit and wisdom, views this battle of wills between the individual and the State through the eyes of the Common Man, who addresses the audience directly and enacts several roles through its course, changing costumes and arranging props as required. This Brechtian device brings a further dynamic into play, contrasting the matter of spiritual versus temporal authority, and Sir Thomas’ personal conflict therein, with the everyday needs of a common person who may or may not have the luxury (or awareness) of principles; but must do as best he can to make ends meet.

Arjun Sajnani’s production has, to its credit, a Spartan economy which is in keeping with the script’s uncompromising arguments. The overall style is generally naturalistic and understated; moments of uncalled-for melodrama or bombast, few and far between. If one were to sum it up in a word, it would be “conventional”….which is preferable to deliberate attention-seeking. But its blandness exacts a price: the play rarely “lifts off”, remaining bound to the stage-boards.

A large, grey, open-plan set, with a drawbridge-like staircase, is used to convey many locales, illustrated by a few simple props and add-ons. The mise-en-scène is simple, elegant and effective, with one especially magical moment: a moonlit boatride across a river shrouded in mist.

The costumes seem to be well-researched and authentic to the period; but there are many oddities in fit and finish, which just dont look right. The original music-score (with a nod or two in the direction of some Baroque pieces) is also effective and economical….though it could do without the syrupy, tear-jerking violin obbligato at the beginning and end of More’s prison-meeting with his family.

The cast, on the whole, do justice to their roles though most are somewhat two-dimensionally interpreted. Naval Narielwala’s cameo as King Henry stands out in his able depiction of this mercurial monarch, although he looks older than Henry was at the time. Ashish Sen’s Duke of Norfolk takes a while to establish character but, once there, is articulate and expressive. Nakul Bhalla as Richard Rich, the man who finally betrays Sir Thomas, goes the other way, beginning with a nicely-pointed urgency which dwindles into a kind of sullen monotony by the play’s end. Susan George has a lovely voice and presence as More’s daughter Margaret; and Vivek Madan all but steals the show as the Common Man, enlivening the proceedings with fresh charm and agility in his many avatars.

The one major disappointment is Aporup Acharya, who plays More’s nemesis, Cromwell. This seems to be a case of miscasting, since he lacks the right physicality and also the range to convey the motivations and layers in this truly dangerous, formidable antagonist.

The play’s protagonist is, of course, Sir Thomas More; and, as interpreted by Ashok Mandanna, he comes across as somewhat….pedantic. Certainly, punctiliousness is a major facet in the man’s character; but one is left with the distinct feeling there is so much (pardon the pun) more, which is only hinted-at, rarely glimpsed in its complex human entirety. Consequently, one’s involvement with his predicament remains equally aloof and limited.

In sum, this production of “A Man for All Seasons” is a fairly accomplished, faithful, even-handed rendition of a classic play….even if it doesnt quite achieve theatrical incandescence. As such, it is a worthy effort to keep a tradition alive, in a theatre too keen to jettison the beauty of language and ideas, in favour of cheap, dumbed-down show-business.

Blasts from the past!

Three drama-reviews from the (recent) past: "Zen Katha", "R&J", "Evita".

"Zen Katha" by Partap Sharma.
Directed by Lillette Dubey.
mid-2004.
Originally published in the theatre-newsletter "The Script".

The best thing about Partap Sharma’s new play “Zen Katha” is that it is informative. Few people are aware that Zen, the Martial Arts and even Budhhism were exported from India to China by one Bodhidharma, a prince-turned-monk from the Ancient Indian kingdom of Kanchi. This is apparently a matter of more than passing interest to some; and the rest of us would surely raise an eyebrow or two in surprise!
However, the “enlightenment” ends there. What promises to be the chronicle of an intense voyage of self-discovery, becomes instead a dreary docu-drama, wending its desultory way through the annals of history and geography. Mr. Sharma gives little or no insight into the workings of his hero’s mind and heart; little or no inkling of struggle, suffering or sacrifice. One is left with a biography of the most superficial kind; and is appropriately impressed yet completely unmoved. In addition, the second act’s interminable lec-dems of the various disciplines developed by Bodhidharma are made all the more tiresome by an air of self-conscious didacticism.
For all that, Mr. Sharma does have a gift for piquant turns of phrase, tossing-in modern repartee like dashes of Tabasco, enlivening the proceedings.
Lillette Dubey’s production exacerbates all the play’s faults; and adds more than a few of its own. There is hardly any sense of dramatic development, of working towards a climax. The endings of most scenes are flaccid; some of the movement is stagey and artificial; pace and rhythm are severely hampered by awkward, uncalled-for pauses. The overall impression is one of amateurish, under-rehearsed approximation.
Even so, Ms. Dubey does have an eye for detail; a certain sensitivity in the more intimate scenes. These nuggets save the play from total annihilation.
Since the martial arts are one of the major focal-points of the play; and since Sensei Pervez Mistry was in charge of choreographing the (many) fights, one would imagine that these at least would provide some thrills. Alas, not so. All but one (maybe two) of the fight-scenes verge on the ludicrous, the actors moving clumsily and with little sense of actual physical combat, hardly ever conveying the feeling of real and imminent danger.
Almost every actor plays more than one role. While one appreciates the difficulty, one questions the necessity; as it forces actors to caricaturise in an attempt to make each avatar “different” from the others. The results are generally two-dimensional and often irritating.
Denzil Smith lends class to the production, as the hero’s teacher in Act One, speaking and emoting with wonderful clarity and resonance. However, he too caricaturises his next appearance in the second act, playing the Chinese Emperor with an exaggeratedly high voice and high-camp accent.
Rajiv Gopalakrishnan as Bodhidharma tries hard; but simply does not have what it takes, vocally and emotionally, to convey the character’s transition from callow prince to enlightened being. To his credit, he moves well and shows some semblance of transformation; but it seems superficial, not an internal, spiritual growth.
The production’s design is cheap and tacky in the extreme, featuring blown-up photographs of pillars, statues, mountain-scenery and foliage; plus a couple of bright-red columns, surely borrowed from a Chinese restaurant. And Mahesh Tinaikar’s original score sounds like bad Indo-Jazz fusion or Kitaro gone wrong.
Ultimately one is glad the play holds forth at length on its hero’s teachings. They should be heeded. One certainly needs them towards the end of the performance!

"R&J" (Romeo and Juliet) by William Shakespeare.
Directed by Alyque Padamsee.
October 2002.
Originally published in the Sunday Times, Mumbai, 27 October 2002

“Romeo and Juliet” has probably had more modern interpretations than any other of Shakespeare’s plays. This is so, because its story of young love set against the forces of warring clans rings true and is, sadly, timeless. These “star-crossed lovers” have appeared in widely-diverse garbs, locales and time-frames; in versions that jettison the original text to those that preserve (some of) the words but change the milieu.
Alyque Padamsee’s “modern version” is among the latter. Set in India, it substitutes “communities” for clans; and while any outright reference is studiously avoided, the liberal use of teekas and topis offers no prize for guessing. The point of communal disharmony is made richly and repeatedly; the horror of the violence therein, vividly rendered. If the text, under Padamsee’s scalpel, resembles a Reader’s Digest condensation, that is a price purists have become accustomed to paying; more seriously, some of his heavy-handed attempts to evoke sympathy or shock are unintentionally hilarious. Such gaucheness, along with some corner-cutting, is surprising from a director known for his finesse.
A chief offender is Merlin de Souza’s muzak. Though it is very effective in underscoring violence and terror, using tablas and other percussion, its syrupy tunes (including one song with jejune lyrics) make one gag --- especially since these form the continuous background for entire scenes, in the manner of bad TV drama.
Bobby Mukherji’s set is, thankfully, another matter. In pristine white, with diaphanous curtains, it conveys a much-needed peace and neutrality in the play’s troubled waters.
However, it is said one can play Shakespeare against sackcloth, as long as one plays him truly. In this respect, a more contrasting pair of lovers could not be found --- Aditya Hitkari’s pleasing and expressive voice and physical presence are marred by a mannered staginess; Peeya Rai Choudhuri’s Juliet, though not as obviously accomplished as her counterpart, has touching moments of sincerity and truth that more than make up for her occasional awkwardness. The rest of the acting generally varies from the glaringly amateurish to under-developed attempts at characterisation (not helped by costumes that are often garish or bizarre) with many actors vocally ill-focussed or indistinct.
“R & J” ends with a rousing disco number during the curtain calls, setting an apt seal on this production. One leaves the theatre knowing the operation was NOT a success --- however, the patient, thanks to the Bard’s immortal words, still breathes….barely.

"Evita" by Webber/Rice.
Directed by Alyque Padamsee.
circa 1997-2000.
Originally intended for publication on a cultural-events website, which folded. Eventually posted on mouthshut.com

Women in politics --- history has provided many examples proving that the so-called weaker sex is more than a match for its male counterpart, in this arena.
The name of Eva Peron would appear in any list of politically-prominent women, particularly those from the post-War era. Originally a small-town girl, she rose through the night-club circuit and television to marry General Peron, who eventually overcame his rivals and became President of Argentina --- a virtual dictator. Eva, or "Evita", was said to be the power behind the throne, and became a popular cult-figure for the Argentinian masses.
A likely topic for a musical? Perhaps not; but composer Andrew Lloyd Webber and lyricist Tim Rice proved the sceptics wrong when "Evita" became a smash hit on London's West End in 1976. It has proved to be the most enduring of the Webber-Rice collaborations as, twenty-odd years later, it still remains in public consciousness --- most recently, through the medium of cinema.
Its popularity is well deserved. It has all the requisite ingredients --- an engrossing plot, pithy lyrics, memorable melodies and infectious (Latin-American) rhythms. However, this musical attempted something unheard of since the days of Bertolt Brecht --- political comment. Drawing from recent history, the plot has an immediacy; the familiarity of recent headines and how they compare with current affairs.
The title character too is easily identifiable --- the quintessential modern career-woman, with all her ambition and ambivalence. Her story is told through the cynical observations of Che Guevara, a Communist rebel.
"Evita" has had many productions over the years, throughout the world. This is its third staging in Bombay and, like the two before, it has been directed by Alyque Padamsee.
Or rather, "Conceived and Directed by Alyque Padamsee", according to the "Creative Credits" in the programme. The names of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice do not figure anywhere in this publication. One wonders why, especially since copyright demands it.
In the "Director's Note", Padamsee says his production is "an examination of how a myth is manufactured and sold to the public" by the media. Sure, we do occasionally see a person holding a Handycam running around the stage --- we are even afforded a glimpse of what he is "shooting" by way of a clever virtual-video projected onto the cyclorama. Also, at one time, we see a crowd of reporters aimlessly milling around Evita's sick-bed. Such references to the media are few and far between --- if this is a "conception", it is far from immaculate.
The production is actually a pretty straight-forward, typically glitzy presentation with no earth-shattering insights. Though there is no spoken dialogue as such in the musical, Padamsee departs from the norm by introducing commentary, spoken by Che, between the numbers. The purist will find this an intrusion; however the average person's grasping power and attention-span being what they are today, the commentary serves an elucidatory purpose, though some of the asides are insufferably arch.
The director's real achievement lies in his creation of stunning, memorable stage pictures, especially in the big crowd scenes; for example, Evita's funeral at the beginning and end of the play. The production is something of a technical tour de force, as Padamsee makes full- blooded use of all the techno-magic at his disposal. Indeed, one has probably never seen some of the special effects before in this country (though God help the man who is allergic to the foul-smelling smoke emitted from the fog-machine, which is used often and with gusto).
Another worthy feature of the production is Terrence Lewis' vibrant choreography. Dancing, in the musical theatre, must be a part of the action, the dancers becoming actors. It is to Lewis' credit that he follows this principle at least some of the time --- to such great effect that one wishes he never varied from it by opting (as he often does) for the merely decorative. In any case, his dancers have athleticism, precision and pizzazz.
But what of Evita herself? This musical stands or falls on the strengths of its star; and Sharon Prabhakar Padamsee, on the whole, does not disappoint.
The voice has retained its freshness and now has an added bloom of maturity that makes it sweeter, less strident than before --- she sings her opening number like an angel. One is less happy with her vocal mannerisms, nor can she vocally convey Evita's "steel" in later scenes. And, though the idea of interpolating "Memory" from "Cats" (with different lyrics) makes the character too cloying, who can comp1ain when it is so beautifully sung, the final note held for ages, in full voice, with near-complete security?
Yet, one musn't forget that acting is part of the deal; and here Ms Padamsee strikes too many poses and is too superficially driven, to make her portrayal of this multi-faceted woman truly come to life.
Similarly, the young Chaitanya Bhonsle does more or less what one expects as Che Guevara, though one misses a sense of inner fire. He moves well but his diction is sometimes unintelligible. It is a strange voice, hard-toned at times; and taking a while to warm-up (the opening "Oh what a circus" was a disaster) but with free, ringing top notes.
Farid Currim lacks the right physicality and vocal quality for General Peron, coming across somewhat weak, when self-assurance, underscored with menace, and a darker tone are called for.
In sum, this production remains very much a vehicle for its director and star. While one admires all the expertise that has gone into it, one can't help feeling that the musical's essence is lost somewhere, in all the exorbitance.
Ultimately, this "Evita" may excite the senses; but rarely touches the heart.

Relentless jamboree

Review of
“The Sound of Music”
Tata Theatre, NCPA, Mumbai
26 January 2011.
(An edited version of this review was originally published in the Times of India, Mumbai, on 29 Jan 2011.)

Rodgers and Hammerstein’s final collaboration “The Sound of Music” is one of the world’s best-loved musicals, thanks mainly to the iconic film which made it immortal.

It tells the true story of Baroness Maria Augusta von Trapp, who left the confines of a convent to serve as governess to the seven children of a widowed, autocratic Naval commander whom she ultimately married, bringing back music and joy into the life of this dysfunctional family. After the Nazi annexation of Austria, they escaped to Switzerland, embarking on a concert-career as The Trapp Family Singers.

The play’s heartwarming tale of courage, faith and the healing powers of music and love; and the lilting songs which have become “standards”, are the bedrock of this musical. When presented simply and directly, it can be an extraordinarily moving experience. This production by Raell Padamsee, directed by Advait Hazarat, is not.

The reason is, in a word, excess, overwhelming any real meaning or emotion in a relentless, fatiguing jamboree. It begins in the foyer, where one is greeted by children singing songs from the musical, and continues onstage with a pair who become our “hosts”, introducing the show and its participants; and return at the beginning of Act 2 to give-out prizes from a lucky draw.

We are told, repeatedly, of the many child-welfare organisations whose children have been given this wonderful opportunity to present their talents in a professional production. And indeed they do, appearing in hordes without explanation or dramatic plausibility (the exception being the choir from the Happy Home School for the Blind) in an attempt to augment some of the musical numbers; thereby taking-away focus from the seven Von Trapp children who are actual characters in the play. By contrast, My Favourite Things, choreographed by Karla Singh and featuring just Maria and the seven kids, is truly charming.

In Mr. Hazarat’s staging, characterisations are generally two-dimensional; either hammy or underdone, with actors talking “at” each other and some of their movement seeming aimless or contrived. However, Delna Mody’s Maria is a sincere creation, with a voice that is both strong and sweet; though her phrasing could be more musical. Dalip Tahil’s beautiful singing-voice has aged gracefully; but his Captain von Trapp is perhaps a shade too poker-faced to make the transformation entirely convincing. Among the children, Simran Jehani’s Liesl stands out for sheer confidence and ease; but the boys look too young.

Marianne D’Cruz Aiman is also too young and light-toned for the Mother Abbess, more lyric soprano than Earth-Mother contralto. Even so, her rendition of Climb Ev’ry Mountain is a show-stopper, thanks to prodigious breath-control and secure high notes. She is Vocal Director of the production; and her chorus of nuns make heavenly sounds.

Fali Unwalla’s sets are gorgeous but hampered by the limitations of the Tata Theatre’s stage, which is also a stumbling block for director Hazarat, though he makes imaginative use of the entire auditorium. However, one’s suspension of disbelief is tested to the utmost by some of the ludicrous choices made; not helped by Technical Director Alyque Padamsee’s lurid, multi-coloured lighting and over-use of the fog machine. To say nothing of the bombastic “background music” culled from diverse sources (including Carmina Burana) and used to create tension and terror when called-for, a la Bollywood.

No expense has been spared to “impress” and this makes one wonder what priority drives a production such as this. Is it to present a timeless classic in as extravagant a manner as possible; or engender a feel-good atmosphere at any cost; or, simply, to do charity? But, in the final analysis, it hardly matters because no amount of exorbitance or exuberance can compensate for inability to move an audience with dramatic truth. In this respect, this production of “The Sound of Music” with all its good intentions (and astronomical ticket-prices!) leaves a lot to be desired.