In my review of the Cheek By Jowl
Russian company’s
Boris Godunov
a couple of weeks ago I felt unusually positive about director Declan
Donnellan’s technique of using the spatial relationships of his players
onstage to indicate emotional and psychological relationships between
characters. It couldn’t last, of course.
CbJ’s English company’s
Troilus And
Cressida is also played in traverse; the audience sits on either
side of a long, narrow stage about two-thirds the size of a singles
tennis court. And for much of the three-hour-plus evening, it feels not
unlike watching a tennis match, but one in which the players are only
allowed to stand either at the baseline or the net. Either end or the
middle, that’s pretty much it. When Troilus (Alex Waldmann) finally
meets his beloved Cressida (Lucy Briggs-Owen) in person, he moves right
up to her to make his first direct profession of love, but as soon as
he begins speaking he jogs backwards about 30 feet; this may be
psychologically illuminating (denial of gratification and whatnot), but
not as much as it is theatrically annoying. Meanwhile, beyond the walls
of Troy among the besieging Greek forces, the wily Ulysses (Ryan
Kiggell, in the best-pitched performance of the evening) practises what
Jeeves called “the psychology of the individual” to persuade the
arrogant Achilles to take to the battlefield once more, but he conducts
this one-to-one chat from a distance that virtually requires bellowing.
Matters improve a little after the interval: you can’t fight
hand-to-hand at such a distance. The scene in which the Trojan lords
are feasted in the Greek tents on the eve of battle also pays off the
initially odd-seeming decision to have Richard Cant play the
misanthropic Thersites as a Scouse drudge in light drag (I defy anyone
to watch his performance and not think of Lily Savage): this is
illuminated when, done up in Dietrich glam, he lets fly all his most
scabrous truths under the licence of cabaret. The warlords of both
sides then begin waltzing together, which again may say something about
masculine martial camaraderie but strikes me as a little
too “Greek” in the circumstances.
In this staging, the main plot is devoid of amorous tension in either
the winning or the losing, and likewise nothing feels at stake either
in the war overall or in the Greek factionalism.
Written for the Financial
Times.