Catherine Bennett resumes the weekly look at the performing arts world, with the sad end of Jerusalem, the luck of a cabbie, and French revolt. Do you hear the people sing?
Adam Alcock reviews Nigel Kennedy playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons and his own Four Elements at York Opera House.
Catherine Bennett highlights the trends in the performing arts world today.
Jonathan Cridford reviews 'Ghosts', one of the Freshers' plays for this year.
Reading the blurb for Ten Days, with its references to an AIDs crisis, a Jewish rabbi, and most intriguingly a ‘homosexual autodidactic scientist’ one could be forgiven for thinking Qaisar Siddiqui was playing a sort of taboo bingo with his script. In the play remnants of the population struggle to survive in a desolate landscape, under the control of the tyrannical Icarus. It explores a society devoid of morals, encapsulated in the settlement's name ‘Arcled’ that consciously distorts the nurturing connotations of it’s anagram ‘Cradle’. While the opening lacked a sense of urgency and agitation this was made up for by a pervading restless impotence, escalating to an intensely draining second act - with some secure performances along the way.
The grey, sterile set, its bareness littered only with the odd salvaged desk or barrel, allows focus on the actors. Ominous barbed wire overhead evokes the claustrophobia of a concentration camp, in keeping with the Jewish presence in the play. A prominent UN flag, and especially its removal for the second act, serves to emphasise the states' disintegration.
The cast, in matching blue t-shirts, represented a people with the individuality beaten out of them, and their identity tags suggested a sort of militaristic branding. It was a pity that the overall effect was more of post-apocalyptic holiday reps than anything else.
An absence of music fitted the emptiness of the setting and the lighting, particularly the use of candlelight, was simple yet effective. The heavy overuse of blackout between scenes, however, frequently alienated the audience rather than allowing them to become immersed in the action. This was unnecessary since no set changed; it could easily be remedied with more creative transitions.
Given the heavy subject matter – rape, murder, madness and abject despair – the actors faced a considerable challenge, to which they did their best to square up. Any failure on their part to convey these convincingly is due more to the relentlessly sensational writing than their abilities. Anjali Vyas-Brannick as young rabbi Sarah was suitably pious and displayed an impressive mastery of Hebrew. Florence-Anne Stratton’s brash sarcasm and hardened exterior were poignantly undercut by moments of helplessness in the pained delicacy of lines such as ‘Icarus says no’. Joe Williams’ casually vicious delivery, hooded eyes and sneer contributed to an impressive performance as Icarus. Most striking was the introverted, gauche physicality of John Askew. The childishness of his manner reminded us that these characters are nearly all under sixteen - despite the premature maturity they have had to assume. His tentative, halting mannerisms provided a touching contrast with his more tortured lover (Ryan Hall), who moved deftly from resigned to erratically manic.
Siddiqui’s script is at its best when, eschewing melodrama and grandiose philosophy, it portrays glimpses of humanity between characters. There is a beautifully awkward scene where Askew and Vyass-Brannick perch on the end of a bed, negotiating intimacy. The simple dialogue and quick ripostes bring moving naivety and a much needed lightness of touch. Similarly the homosexual relationship could have been extremely moving, but moments like these were swallowed up by the wordiness of the script. Especially in the cathartic second act the dense lines appeared stilted and at odds with the characters’ powerful emotions; these were more effectively expressed by, for example, the raw aggression of William’s physical violence that conveyed his frustration and rage at the futility of the situation.
The play deals with themes - and so many of them! - far removed from the audience’s experience, and suffers accordingly. Siddiqui would be better off dealing in more sensitivity and nuance with just one of these issues. Nonetheless he can be applauded for his determined and uncompromising tackling of the controversial. Moments of tenderness shine through the performance, and combine with some creative production elements to make Ten Days worth a look for a harrowing glimpse of our possible, if unlikely, future.
Written & Directed by Qaisar Siddiqui Produced by Kirsty Farthing
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