Venice No More
A Pound of Flesh and Two For My Dog.
First published (in abridged form) in the Mirror Magazine, September, 2006.
I recently had the need for a firearm. At first I figured a pistol would be sufficient, something along the lines of a Glock 17 or a HK USP .45. But the range to my targets of between 30 and 40 meters might be less than ideal for effective handgun use.
I then considered a submachine gun or an assault rifle. An MP-5 would be the obvious choice. Reliable and accurate, but doesn’t quite carry the statement I wish to make. A Steyr AUG A3 with heavy barrel, under-slung M203 P1 grenade launcher and telescopic sight might just do it, but then again the overall complexity of this weapon contradicts my simplistic need of placing a few grams of metal into a target. For my purposes, the tool of choice would have to be the Automat Kalashnikova 1947. Simple, rugged, reliable and a 7.62×39 round to a vital organ is quite unmatched in its finality.
And the target? The current adaptation of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, or ‘Venice’ as it is titled in homage to the dyslexic. It is a play that inspired in me the need to point the afore-pondered firearm at the stage with the ultimatum: “Amuse Me! Entertain Me! Induce in me any emotion other than this seething rage I feel towards you!”
It is a play so unbelievably, mind-blowingly horrible that I feel the need to pick at its bloated, over-pretentious carcass in an attempt to understand just how it is a work that has endured four centuries could be perverted beyond recognition, crammed full of music and dance, and displayed in public for profit.
So let us start at the beginning with…
The Title…
... quite appropriate as it warns the patron that the production may not be quite the Shakespeare play they are accustomed to. However, the fact that the play attempts at every turn to distance itself from the original is not immediately conveyed through the title alone. For that the viewer needs to be introduced to…
...The Stage.
A monstrous affair on three levels. Large steps ascending the entire dimensions of the sides and rear plus two large triple-leveled podiums on rails occupy the centre stage where actors may stand and be slid to and fro for emphasis or whatever whims artistic license see fit to call for.
A stage that forces the actors to spend the majority of their time ascending, descending, tripping, falling (in slapstick or otherwise), sliding or simply standing around with one leg higher than the other is a stage that was conceived without consideration for the actors or the subject to be presented upon it. It exists because it can exist, a reflection of self-importance that permeates other aspects of this production, and serves no purpose other than it’s existence.
The Fog.
Atmosphere, that ephemeral quality that is the hallmark of a great production. Here they chose to make do with a smoke machine and a podium on rails. And not just any ordinary haze machine that lays down a subtle mist to cover the floor, but one that chooses instead to blow a thick pall of smoke out the back of the stage every five minutes with a sound akin to a world champion yodeler blowing through a straw.
“Were you being drawn into the dialog? Are you starting to see the underlying strength of the script?
FOOL! FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
The Costumes…
...were not bad. There was nothing about them that would have drawn my attention had it not been for the difficulty some of the actors had in ascending and descending the stage without tripping over their heavy costumes. This would not have been an issue had the play been performed on a flat stage so it may be unfair to blame the costumes for this glitch.
The Music.
No complaints with the band. They sounded good, which is a pity as the singing varied in quality from ‘strained’ to ‘pack of dogs in heat (while out of tune)’. I can’t comment on the choice of music but I’m sure that Billy didn’t intend for his soliloquies to end on a cover, Faith Hill or otherwise.
I will be reviewing the Production’s CD, which will hopefully not be reminiscent of the live performance and will update this review as that happens.
The Cast.
This production required two separate casts, each performing on alternate days over an entire production run of just over two weeks. A two cast show smacks of a reluctance to weed out the stragglers and instead let everybody have a go. Conversely it could be argued that a two week schedule required two separate casts to reduce chances of burnout and a two week schedule was required so that the cost of the production could be recovered. Now, wouldn’t having one (good) cast, smaller sets and less elaborate costumes reduce production costs and free up more time and resources which could be used to increase the strength of the play itself?
Special note should be made here of the horrible level balancing of the actor’s microphones. Why a theatre as small as the chosen venue would require amplification is beyond me. Maybe the cast was handpicked from the local Asthma Awareness Group. Certain actor’s microphones were loud enough to cut through the feedback filters while others had to make do with stealth vocal performances.
The drawbacks of using clip-on microphones were dramatically highlighted as, after a week of dress rehearsals and a further week of performance, the cast were able to collide with each other in such a way as to cause maximum auditory distruption.
The Acting.
The best I can say here is that there were a few actors who may have been spectacular had they not been held back by the mediocrity of their surroundings. On occasions when I felt myself drawn into the dialogue or starting to relate to a character… some half-wit in the background, would fall over, do a cart wheel or just plain do the least appropriate and most intrusive thing they could possibly do to ruin the moment and break the spell.
The majority of the humour comes across as an in-joke that may have been funny when it was first concocted six months prior but when presented to an audience unaware of its original context it loses all meaning.
Furthermore, the production should be applauded for its ability to introduce two counts of penile humour (grabbing and bashing) within the first five minutes of the play.
Some characters wallow in their performances and draw them out to the limits of interminability, clinging to their lines, barnacle-like lest their limelight fade.
The Production.
The production does not respect the original work, but instead strip-mines it for whatever it can use to further itself. The script is neglected in such an offhand manner that one would be forgiven for forgetting that it was first written by Shakespeare and not some half-illiterate government worker (with a stutter).
The production does not respect the audience as it goes to great lengths to instill in the viewer a sense that one is privileged to be divested of ones money in exchange for three hours of fluff that could have been done in two.
The people involved may have joined for their own reasons and exhibited varying levels of commitment. Some may have believed in the script, others in the group but the overall impression is that most were just along for the ride.
A production of this nature exists because it can, because the environment around it has allowed it to exist. Sponsers have sponsored it. People, who’s expectations are tempered by the general standard of theatre in the country, pay to see it. Parties with vested interests who should have been questioning whether the production did justice to anything apart from itself instead chose to allow nature to run its course.
This is an amateur production, produced and performed by people who have a completely seperate primary income and devote their free time to this endeavour and are hence, amateurs. But when these amateurs ask sponsors and audiences to invest in them their amateur status no longer applies. They become indebted first to the script, then the audience and sponsors and finally, to themselves.
This production does not have the maturity, nor the common sense or decency to know this.
In Conclusion
This review will be frowned upon for being overly critical of an amateur production. For not respecting the feelings and dedications of the cast and crew who have invested a lot of time and effort to make this production a reality. For judging the production by standards inapplicable in this country.
This is true.
It is also true that this review does not cost the reader three hours off their lives, the local theatre-going public and their sponsors vast sums of money in return for an experience that could be easily simulated by having rusty nails driven into one’s feet while the name of the play is branded on one’s posterior, though I suspect the latter would be the more satisfying of the two.
This production could have been smaller, less extravagant, with more focus on the script, the cast and their performances which, if done right, may have been a truly enjoyable experience.
Instead a more self-indulgent alternative was chosen, one that wallows in it’s own self importance at the expense of everything around it.
It is a disappointment in the truest sense of the word.
