Worst. Post-apocalyptic dystopia. Ever.
…as Comic Book Guy would say. We don’t know what disaster has struck
the America of “soon” in Anne Washburn’s play, only that it has wiped
out more than 99 per cent of the population and, most importantly,
extinguished all electrical supplies. The few who barely survive band
together to re-construct half-remembered stories that recall the old
life and values. In this case, the story is “Cape Feare”, one of the
murderous-Sideshow-Bob episodes of
The
Simpsons.
Washburn covertly suggests that the longest-running American scripted
primetime television series owes its success to being at once a
caricature of American values and an affirmation of them, and if that
resonates in our post-ironic age it also would in an era which was
post-virtually everything. In Act One, it is not just the script’s
reminders of how they used to live that bring the various individuals
together around a makeshift brazier; the act of recollection and
re-telling forms a bond in itself. In Act Two, set seven years later,
surviving society has evolved to the point where travelling mummers’
companies trade in these reconstructions: some Shakespeare, but mostly
Simpsons. “Our” company intersperse
their Springfield material with “commercials”, mini-dramas which serve
as pretexts for mentioning lists of consumables as a nostalgic paean to
the days before all the Diet Coke ran out, and a bizarre, hilarious
medley of chart hits.
Robert Icke directs his ensemble cast of eight with the same blend of
energy and shock he brought to his version of
1984, now transferred from the
Almeida into the West End. For much of the first two acts, however, it
feels almost endlessly interesting and entertaining rather than
convincing on any deeper level, as if it may have been unable to cross
the Atlantic whilst retaining its potency of association.
Everything comes together in the third and final act, set 75 years
further on, in which the stories become rituals which combine all the
elements previously seen: grand opera (since Sideshow Bob sings
HMS Pinafore in the original story
– here, the score is by Orlando Gough and Michael Henry), the episode’s
references to both of the film versions of
Cape Fear itself and also to
The Night Of The Hunter, religious
death-and-resurrection ceremonial (the company first appear in skull
masks, then the family’s hairstyles become ornate headdresses, with
Bart’s spikes translated into a coronet), and even snatches of numbers
such as “Livin’ La Vida Loca”. Sideshow Bob is now translated into Mr
Burns, who had hitherto been a significant absence that nevertheless
bulked large in the collective memory, and Bart’s struggle against him
is in effect a struggle for all this future society holds dear.
Gradually this absurd, unreal performance comes to encapsulate not just
the old, now-mythical way of life and the new one within the world of
the play, but also our own. It feels increasingly like one of the
oldest Greek dramas which served to affirm the
polis to which actors and audience
alike belonged; it is no surprise to find that Washburn has also made a
free adaptation of Euripides’
Orestes.
The intellectual fascination of the patterned material meshes with an
emotional significance on an instinctual level. Artistic director
Rupert Goold considers this an exemplar of the kind of work he wants to
bring to the Alemida, to which the fitting response is “Ex-cell-ent”.
Written for the Financial
Times.