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ITALY
TRIO STRAVINSKIJ
The concert is a journey through the Nineteenth century, moving from the learned music of the European tradition to typically American languages, amongst composers who were influenced by various music genres and cultural trends: musicals and ballads alongside jazz, which is cultured in itself.
Indeed the programme is made up of continuous contaminations from jazz music, to the colours of American folklore, cabaret and music-hall.
The first piece will be a piece by Bernstein, an eclectic composer of neo romantic inspiration, who was sensitive to North-American folklore. The second piece is by Milhaud, an author who, having started out within the setting of the Six's poetic in France, went on to be influenced by the most disparate influences (south American rhythms, jazz, multiple tones and circus music); a Sonata by Copland shall also be performed; the composer from the United States strove to create a typically American style, with elements taken from folklore, jazz and film music.
The final piece will be a trio of one of the greatest composers of the '900th century, Stravinskij, who was, in some way, the Maestro and the measure of the three previously mentioned composers. He greatly influenced that century's musicians with L'Histoire du Soldat, a work in which different languages perfectly coalesce, from jazz to cabaret and on to multiple tones.
Giambattista Giocoli, clarinet
Valentino Corvino, violin
Andrea Rebaudengo, piano
PROGRAMME
Leonard Bernstein Sonata for clarinet and piano
Darius Milhaud Suite for clarinet, violin and piano
Aaron Copland Sonata for violin and piano
Igor Stravinskij Suite da L'Histoire du Soldat
for clarinet, violin and piano
VENUES AND DATES:
Monday July the 28th 2008, 21.30 p.m. Astonomical Observatory
Strada Statale 65 - Loiano (BO)
Tuesday July the 29th 2008, 21.30 p.m. Church in Tolè
Via Giovanni XXIII - Tolè di Vergato (BO)
FOR FURTHER INFORMATION
Associazione Culturale Perséphone
Tel. 051.583034
Mobile 347.5080913
e-mail: info@attisonori.it
website: www.attisonori.it
Free entrance
Information provided by : Jasmine Alessia Puoti
TURKEY
"Reviews by Laurence Raw"
a) Operation: Orfeo. Directed by Kirsten Dehlholm. Performed by members of the Latvian Radio Choir at the Ataturk Cultural Centre, as part of the Istanbul Theatre Festival, 30-31 May 2008. Subsequently touring.
Described as a musical work, drawing on the principles of visual art rather than speech and drama, "Operation: Orfeo" re-tells the myth of Orpheus in the underworld by means of a capella singing from a group of performers dressed in long black smocks with crown-like structures on their heads, who stand on a picture-frame set topped with mirrors in a variety of studied poses, each one designed to represent a particular aspect of the myth. The performance, the programme tells us, is dedicated to the memory of the legendary Turkish opera singer Leyla Gencer, who died recently.
By focusing exclusively on the music, director Dehlholm forgot to render the performance dramatic. The experience resembled that of a listening to a broadcast of classical music in a variety of languages - French, Danish, Latvian - only some of which were translated. The programme described "Operation: Orfeo" as "simple as a surgical incision and as complicated as major surgery." I'd sum up the production more concisely - it was just plain boring.
2) Deleted Messages. Performed by HR8 (Croatia) at GarajIstanbul as part of the Istanbul Theatre Festival, 30-31 May 2008. Then touring.
"Deleted Messages" is a 50-minute drama combiing music, dialogue, mime, computer-generated images, live-action shots of the audience and an ever-present recording of Dean Martin singing "Let It Snow."
If anyone wonders how such disparate elements can form a coherent whole, the answer is that they don't. "Deleted Messages" is an example of what used to be termed 'Living Theatre' where the audience are herded into an empty room while the actors mingle among them in an attempt to involve everyone in the dramatic action. A laudable intention, but perhaps difficult to achieve in practice, especially if the spectators are reluctant to cast off their inhibitions as passive witnesses to the action. This is what happened with "Deleted Messages:" the seven-strong cast worked hard to encourage participation, but the majority of the audience just seemed embarrassed, not knowing what to do next.
Nevertheless, on its own modest terms, "Deleted Messages" actually worked as a piece of drama. The show offered a series of allegorical representations of the effects of contagious disease; how it can spread without warning and strike victims down in a moment. The actors assumed a variety of roles, from pseudo-efficient doctors to innocent victims. Each one of them wore microphones, and they kept whispering incoherently as if to suggest the ever-present threat of disease. The Dean Martin song conjured up an ideal world of happy families and Christmas cheer, contrasting starkly with the play's grim subject-matter. The live-action shots of the audience, projected on to a vast screen at one end of the playing area, indicated how everyone could become a victim of disease; this was further emphasized on several occasions by means of spotlights shining on everyone in the playing area. They resembled rabbits caught in car headlamps, unable to escape death. "Deleted Messages" offered no solutions; it ended with the actors counting down from thirty to one, almost as if they were signallng the launch of a spaceship. Nothing so optimistic was happening here; the countdown symbolized a gradual descent towards for everyone.
The sheer variety of images, coupled with the actors' insistence on moving round the playing area made "Deleted Messages" a difficult show to follow. Nonetheless, I congratulate the Croatian theatre company's efforts to force the audience to reflect on the ever-present nature of disease, and thereby demonstrate the power of theatre to communicate an urgent social message.
3) "Atrocity Boulevard" written and performed by Serap Erincin. Performed at the French Cultural Centre as part of the Istanbul Theatre Festival, 31 May - 1 June 2008. Then touring.
"Atrocity Boulevard" can be described as a work relating the microcosm to the macrocosm - or more specifically, the lives of individuals to the world they inhabit. In this monologue Erincin recounts her persnal life, her sufferings and her more joyful moments, and tries to relate them to the experiences of other people around the world. Her basic thesis is that everyone should work collectively to create a better world, so that suffering might be eliminated.
Despite the actress's undoubted conviction, this play resembled a self-indulgent meditation on her sufferings. So acute did they seem that I was prompted to sympathize with her; how could she be so singularly unfortunate as to be injured almost annually in one way or another? Erincin's lack of technique was palpable - although blessed with a powerful voice that echoed throughout the small theatre, she did not always know what to do with her body. On numerous occasions she resembled a gawky child performing in front of her relatives, which served to emphasize the play's basic superficiality. To describe "Atrocity Boulevard" as reminiscent of a student drama is not to denigrate it; I use the term to stress how it was performed with conviction at the expense of technical skill.
Whether the play should form part of the official repertoire of the Istanbul Theatre Festival, however, is another matter. Perhaps the organizers should consider establishing a fringe for future festivals (existing alongside the 'official' repertoire) wherein plays like "Atrocity Boulevard" could be more suitably accommodated.
This is my final review of what has been a long an exhausting season. I have seen more play this year than at any other time during my reviewing career in Turkey. Hopefully I will have as enjoyable a time next season as this season. So, until late September, when this column will resume, I wish all readers of "Theatreworld Internet Magazine" a very happy break.
Ashure - A Migration Song in Twelve Anatolian Languages. Performed by Garaj Istanbul Theatre Company at the Akun Theatre, Ankara, 13-19 May 2008, then touring to Anatolian Turkey and Europe.
Premiered in 2004, Mustafa and Ovul Avkiran's musical evening, performed by eleven actors and musicians, tells of the experience of the Turkish Republic's minority language speakers who were forced to migrate and eventually forsake their local languages as successive governments encouraged them to pursue the nationalist cause by speaking Turkish only. Staged on a bare playing area flanked by a series of spotlights, the musicians recorded their experiences through native folk songs sung in the minority languages - Kurdish, Arabic, Bulgarian, Caucasian. The experiences were startlingly similar - of families being broken up and forced to emigrate or move to the other end of the country. The songs were played by an on stage band and accompanied by a series of movements recording the migrants' experiences - violent beatings, being deprived of their livelihoods and turning to drink for solace. Even alcohol ceased to be a suitable palliative; the migrants were left with nothing. At one point an actor scattered bird-seed on the playing area; other actors picked it up, suggesting that they had been reduced to living like animals.
As the action unfolfed, the lyrics of each song were projected on screen at the rear of the stage with Turkish translations underneath, making audiences aware of their significance as laments for forgotten or threatened cultures and languages. Periodically some statistics were also projected on the screen, listing the proportions of the populations who still spoke minority languages. Until the mid-1990s the percentage of minority language speakers significantly declined: some of them were destined for extinction, were it not for some politically committed individuals vowing to ensure their survival.
The directors made ingenious use of lighting and sound effects to make their points. Sometimes the spotlights formed a square around the playing area, suggesting that people were trapped, both physically and emotionally. On other occasions the actors' faces were illuminated; they were representatives of an entire race. The songs were frequently interrupted by the whine of a speaker or the hiss of a microphone, preventing the audience becoming too emotionally involved with the (sometimes jaunty) rhythms.
The drama ended with the performers all coming to the front of the stage, laying down their instruments and listening to a song in Turkish - a cry for help. They fell silent, while a single actor walked among them, giving the recipe for ashure - a sweet Turkish dessert found at most reputable patisseries. The point about this recipe was that it requires a lot of different ingredients to be combined together in a satisfying whole - an apt metaphor for a show calling for cultural tolerance and the restoration of diversity. Everyone should be able to live together, regardless of ethnic origin, and have the right to speak their own language. Only then can society acquire the capacity to experience the sweet taste of ashure.
This was the kind of show where every piece of stage-business acquired a new significance, as the 11-strong cast sought to make people aware of the importance of their message. The only saddening aspect of what was otherwise a brilliant performance was that so few people witnessed it on the night I attended. I sincerely hope that the good citizens of the capital can stump up the money to buy tickets for the rest of the run. Even if they hated the performance, they could nonetheless enjoy the unexpected pleasure of buying fresh ashure in the foyer after the performance had finished.
Un Grand Cri D'Amour - A Great Cry of Love by Josiane Balasko. Performed by Aysa Theatre Company at the Sinasi Theatre, Ankara, 8-9 May 2008. Touring.
This French farce has a predictable subject - two leading actors are engaged for a theatrical performance. They are in love with one another, yet hate one another so much that they find it difficult to work together. They provide a perpetual headache for the harassed director and the laconic producer, as they disrupt rehearsals and generally behave badly while perpetually threatening to leave the production. However this proves to be nothing more than a theatrical performance in itself; the two actors cannot live without one another and eventually reunite to give a great first night performance.
With stories like these, the sole interest lies in the characterization - will the actors themselves be able to invest a familiar tale with any real interest? Selcuk Yontem and Tilbe Saran certainly looked the part - the big burly actor set against the diminutive actress with the powerful voice. Sadly their characterizations seemed somewhat unconvincing; they tended to play to the audience rather than to one another, making the play seem like a series of comic turns purely designed to generate laughter. There is nothing wrong with this - if the leading actor happens to be a comedian. But to ask actors to employ this technique may lead to the play falling flat, with the audience not reacting to the supposed comic scenes. This is what happened in this revival: all four actors (Hazim Kormukcu and Bekir Aksoy played the director and the producer) worked extremely hard, but I was left wondering at the end whether it had been worth all the effort.
In the past I have commented on director Isil Kasapoglu's approach to comedy - let the actors run about the stage, do not impose too much discipline on them, and hopefully the laughs will emerge, simply because the actors are trying to be funny. It did not work for "The Miser" a few years ago (in a particularly disappointing State Theatre revival), and it did not work here either. Far from being uplifted at the end, I just felt sorry that so much potential acting talent had been wasted.
Bir Mahalle Ki (The Wonderful Neighbourhood), written and directed by Munir Cahir. Performed by the Ankara State Theatre at the Cayyolu Theatre, 3 May 2008.
This matinee provided one of the strangest experiences I have ever had in nearly fifteen years of reviewing. Originally I had booked to see Dostoyevsky's "Notes from the Underground," but the performance was cancelled due to the leading actor's indisposition (no understudies at the Ankara State Theatre!). In its place the management scheduled "Ask-i-Memnu" but this was likewise cancelled as the leading actress had a cold. Shades of Oscar Wilde ("To lose one parent seems bad enough, but to lose two seems like carelessness"). "Bir Mahalle Ki" was the third choice, performed in front of a minuscule audience, most of whom did not want to see it anyway. A dearth of suitable announcements informing people about the changes had meant that may playgoers - myself included - had journeyed out to the Ankara suburbs expecting to see Dostoyevsky, but ended up disappointed.
Nonetheless, I stayed at the theatre out of a (masochistic) desire to see exactly what "Bir Mahalle Ki" was like. Performed in Ottoman costume by an all-male cast with an onstage band, the play was a pantomime-like comedy full of slapstick, role play, verbal crosstalk, music and dance. It made deliberate satiric reference to contemporary issues such as Turkey's proposed membership of the European Union (and its potentially destructive effect on Turkish identity) and the sale of land to foreign investors, especially Arabs and Jews. This gave the cast the chance to indulge in some heavy-handed racial stereotyping.
To describe this production as 'comic' was really to stretch a point. The cast looked bored as they performed to a sparse house; the musicians tried their best, but failed to inject any vigour into the proceedings. The Ankara State Theatre season ends in two weeks; on the strength of this play it seems as if the ending cannot come quickly enough.
However the journey to the Cayyolu Theatre did not prove entirely fruitless, as I had the chance to see Sinan Cetin's film "Komser Sekspir" (2002), which made some good points about the state of Shakespeare in the Turkish theatre. The plot was familiar: a police lieutenant (Kadir Inanc) stages a performance of "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" for the benefit of his dying dughter (who takes the lead), using prison inmates as the cast. Eventually the performance proves so good that the company are invited to perform on a television talent show. The lieutenant takes the role of the wicked queen at the last moment (understudies do exist here!) and performs the climactic scene with his daughter, who dies at the end.
Cetin makes the point that the theatre has the capacity to humanise people, making them understand that life exists beyond the daily ritual of earning a living, so long as one gives full rein to the imagination. Shakespeare becomes a symbol of imaginative power; the lieutenant unveils a statue of him in the centre of the police station to encourage his cast to greater efforts. This Shakespeare looks nothing like the Elizabethan dramatist; he has been Turkified, complete with bushy moustache and long flowing hair.
The film ends with the actors concluding their performance and resolving to enter the professional theatre. The liutenant quits his job for acting. Their first production will be "Romeo and Juliet" written by "our" Shakespeare (as one of the actors puts it). He is so universal that people can appropriate him for their own specific socio-cultural purposes - in this case, to found a new troupe dedicated to performing "real theatre" appealing to the imagination. "Komser Sekspir" is a fascnating piece of work - a tribute to the power of the Turkish theatre which at it best can transform people's imagination. It can be found on DVD with English subtitles.
A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams, Baskent University, Ankara, May 2008.
Although very specific in its social setting - New Orleans in the late 40s - Tennessee Williams's classic can appeal to audiences in any context on account of its characterisation. The author creates memorable portraits of people trying and failing to control their emotions in an unsympathetic and brutal world. "Streetcar" has forever been associated in the popular imagination with Marlon Brando and Vivien Leigh. Leigh found the experience of the play such an ordeal that it eventually affected her mental balance.
Ugur Arac and Berk Yuce's plays was well staged with careful eye for period detail, both in terms of music and setting. Jazz music was used to signal the beginning and end of each scene: the furniture in Stanley's apartment looked shabby, as if no one really cared about it. The youthful cast coped manfully with the demands placed on them by their roles. Baran Germen seemed perpetually on the edge of madness; when faced with Blanche (Ozum Erdil) who was so much his social superior, he could only respond through violence. His sense of masculinity (equated with dominance or being the head of the family) was perpetually under threat. Germen certainly looked the part with his sweat-ridden brow and scowl.
"Streetcar" would certainly seem to appeal to Turks, especially the younger generation who (like Stanley and Blanche) experience the frustration of having to conform to pre-ordained social roles, even if they actively detest them. This was certainly evident in Erdil's Blanche, who tried and failed to come across as an educated, urbane person. In reality she was a passionate woman - someone who (like Stanley) possessed an animal instinct that could scarcely be reined in. Her confrontations with Stanley unfolded with a perpetual undercurrent of violence; here were two people dedicated to destroying one another, as they had no other way of expressing their emotions.
This revival had its longueurs, but I nonetheless congratulate everyone involved for a compelling (if at times uncomfortable) evening.
Enchantment, performed by the Hope Street Theatre Company, Liverpool at the Little Theatre, Ankara, 27th April 2008. The production continues to tour internationally as part of the company's repertory.
"Enchantment," Hope Street Theatre's international children's show, has already toured Europe and (according to the company's website) proved the hit of the Ordu Children's Festival in Turkey's Black Sea region.
This 35-minute show of intrigue and physical comedy tells a well-worn tale of a young prince encountering an evil emperior. The two fight; the emperor emerges victorious and throws the prince into jail. The prince escapes and begins an odyssey through the wilderness, in which he encounters three friends - a monkey, a lion and a giraffe. After numerous physical hardships - for example, being stuck in a swamp - the prince encounters the emperor once again, and this time vanquishes him.
"Enchantment" has echoes of "The Lion King" in its use of puppets (operated by three black-clad actors) and jungle rhythms. The dialogue has been kept to a minimum, save for a few simple Turkish phrases; the characters communicate by means of guttural grunts. Two songs - sung in English - express the characters' emotions. The set is minimal, consisting of some painted flats and two spotlights shining upwards on to the playing area from the floor at the front of the stage. The props are ingeniously employed - a long black sheet of cloth suggests the swamp, while a piece of blue chiffon (held at each end by an actor) indicates the river, where the prince and the emperor have their climactic struggle. The actors change roles rapidly, save for the leading player.
The play was perhaps a tad too short (its abrupt ending left the audience feeling somewhat short-changed) but held the attention throughout its limited running-time. Perhaps it might have worked better in a classroom rather than on the proscenium stage of the Kucuk Tiyatro (Little Theatre), but it provided agreeable entertainment on a warm spring afternoon.
Diary of a Madman by Nikolai Gogol (Ankara State Theatre till 31st May 2008); The Ankara Sanat Tiyatro (Ankara Art Theatre) - a celebration; Ask-i Memnu (Ankara State Theatre till 27th May 2008).
I wish I could have liked "Diary of a Madman" more on this return visit. Performed in a circular theatre seating no more than 100 people, the play offered the chance for leading actor Erdal Besikcioglu to show off his technique with the spectators no more than 10-15 metres away from him. He worked extremely hard on a warm evening and received a standing ovation for his eforts; but his performance remained relentlessly uninvolving. Perhaps the set was partly to blame; Besikcioglu had to perform the entire lay in the box of a giant crane placed at the centre of the playing area. The box moved up, down and around the stage ensuring that the actor was visible to everyone. But its presence seemed superfluous: Besikcioglu could have achieved a similar emotional effect if he had been sitting on a swivel chair.
Then there was the question of the acting-style. Gogol's original novel offers trenchant social criticism of a fundamentally brutal world that incarcerates free thinkers - on the basis of being considered 'mad' - yet permits convincted criminals to roam free. So long as they conform to the system, then no one cares a jot about what they are doing. Meanwhile those who speak out against the government are kept quiet in a madhouse. Such sentiments retain their importance today, when supposed democracies are ruled by despots unwilling (or unable) to allow anyone to criticize them. However if this point is to retain its significance, then "Diary of a Madman" has to be performed with conviction. Besikcioglu worked himself up into an emotional lather, but his characterization lacked light and shade. He actually seemed like a madman; and thus the point of his criticisms was lost. Perhaps he should have tried to be less 'theatrical' in style.
While visiting "The Roman Bath" at the Ankara Sanat Tiyatrosu (reviewed recently), I picked up a copy of their 45th anniversary book, published by the Besiktas Belediye in Istanbul. Through a combination of black-and-white photographs and contemporary reviews, it tells the story of the company from its inception in 1963 to the present day. In the opening season "Waiting for Godot" and Brendan Behan's "The Hostage" were reviewed; the following year brought Strindberg's "The Dance of Death." In the next few years the Sanat Tiyatrosu's repertoire included Gogol's "Diary of a Madman" and "The Government Inspector," Brecht's "The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui" and Anthony Newley's "Stop the World, I Want to Get Off!" as well as numerous Turkish plays. Most productions were staged on a shoestring on a pint-sized playing area; costumed were inevitably recreated from older costumes, with sets largely consisting of painted flats. The set-up resembled that of a provincial repertory company in Great Britain; the acting-style, on the other hand, attracted considerable critical plaudits on account of its naturalism. What audiences saw on the Sanat Tiyatrosu stage was a reflection of their own lives. This is what the company understood by 'socialist' theatre - the kind of performance fulfilling a social purpose in speaking to local playgoers. The book catalogues in exhaustive detail the company's fortunes, which have veered widely over the last four decades. There have been numerous financial crises, but they still manage to put out plays every year under director Rutkay Aziz. The text is in Turkish, but even for non-Turkish readers there is considerable material to divert the attention - for example, using the photographs to consider the ways in which British and American plays have been treated by the company.
I revisited Mehmet Atay's production of the classic novel "Ask-i Memnu" at the Grand Theatre, and wished I hadn't. The performance has quite simply declined into a travesty, provoking guffaws of derisive laughter from a packed house. The sooner it is put into theatrical mothballs, the better.
The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare. Translated and directed by Nesrin Karakaya. Performed by the Pera Theatre Company at Tiyatro Pera, Istanbul. First performance 11 January 2008. Now playing till June 2008.
Nesrin Karakaya's production updates Shakespeare to the contemporary world. Antonio (Muhammet Uzuner) and Bassanio (Kayhan Teker) are sharp-suited business tycoons, forever on the lookout for a good deal. With their black suits, gelled hair and Ray-ban sunglasses, Lorenzo (Erdinc Anaz) and Gratiano (Mehmet Aslan) recall the Men In Black from the Hollywood films of the same name - people who place style above substance in their search for public recognition. Portia (Karakaya) and Nerissa (Basak Mese) are the ultimate city slickers, watching the television screen for the latest share prices and judging a person's worth purely on their marketability. In a significant change from Shakespeare's text, Morocco and Arragon make their false choice from the caskets in two connected scenes. This is conducted via a television screen, with the caskets appearing as a computer graphic to be clicked on with a mouse. The two suitors never appear on sage but communicate with Portia via video camera. The entire sequence shows how technology and money alienate people from one another: Portia has no interest in meeting (or loving) her future husband; his bank balance is all that matters to her. As portrayed by Karakaya, she is a ruthless schemer who will stop at nothing to increase her profits in a dog-eat-dog world.
Shylock (Mehmet Ali Kaptanlar) likewise strives to profit from this world, but experiences racist abuse at work and in the home. In a newly-created prologue Karakaya shows Shylock and his family happily enjoying a feast in a room at the back of the stage. Antonio and Bassanio burst in, clearly intent on arguing with Shylock, who responds by asking them to leave. Eventually they do so, but both of them spit in the Jew's face in contempt. Despite their protestations of piety - as expressed later on in the production - they are basically intolerant.
The two themes of profit and racism were painfully evident when Shylock came looking for his daughter Jessica (Zeynep Ozden) at a masked ball (in a rewritten version of the original text (II,ix)). Karakaya situated the action at the Venice carnival, an annual event where the citizens dress up and play out morality themes. Salarino (Ozkan Kayabas) and Salanio (Ilker Yigen), both disguised as devils, espied Shylock on the Rialto and decided to have fun at his expense by taunting him about his religion and his (allegedly) misplaced concern for his daughter. The two of them prepared for the 'sport' by snorting cocaine; with plenty of easy money to spend, they didn't believe in taking life too seriously. Abusing the Jew was a game for them; the kind of thing young children might try in the playground.
This fondness for game-playing assumed a more serious aspect in the trial scene, when Shylock tried to claim his pound of flesh. Portia and Nerissa clearly enjoyed their little charade, as they disguised themselves as the lawyer and the assistant, freed Antonio and forced the unfortunate Jew to convert to Christianity. Their sympathies were almost exclusively with the Christian; they might not have liked him very much, but they realized that he might provide a useful source of income for them in the future. The climax of this scene proved especially harrowing as Shylock shuffled out of the courtroom, while the Christians hugged themselves in self-congratulation on their 'achievement' in ridding their society of a potential threat to their stability.
However Karakaya was not content to leave the Jews in isolation. In a newly-devised ending she showed them gathering once again in a celebration of community (recalling the party in the opening scene). Shylock re-entered and embraced his friends. All of them looked at the television screen, which showed an airport timetable with a flight to Tel Aviv at the top. Jessica came in, having realized that her marriage to Lorenzo (and her proposed change of religion) was nothing more than a sham; the Christian simply wanted to get his hands on her family's money. She shyly approached her father, and the two of them left the stage together. Although expelled from Venetian society by a racist Christian culture, the Jews sustained their sense of community, which gave them hope for the future once they had returned to Israel.
This revival made for uncomfortable viewing, as Karakaya showed how money corrupts people to such an extent that they no longer have any conception of right and wrong. This does not bode well for a country like Turkey, where the nouveaux riches appear to increase year by year, and old-style family values are superseded by 'lifestyles' and commercialism. The acting was perhaps a little too broad at times: Shylock's gestures occasionally recalled Tevye in "Fiddler on the Roof" while Karakaya's Portia veered towards the hysterical, especially while disguised as the doctor. Nonetheless, this revival took Shakespeare's play by the scruff of the neck and recast it as a modern parable in a translation (also by Karakaya) that seamlessly incorporated contemporary references into the text. This was one of the most lucid and gripping Shakespearean performances I have seen in a very long time.
Blackbird by David Harrower. Translated and directed by Emre Koyuncuoglu. Performed by Dot Theatre Company, Istanbul. First performance 14 February 2008, and continuing in performance until June 2008.
David Harrower's "Blackbird" is an emotional roller-coaster of a play that quite literally grabs the audience by their collective throats and refuses to let them go throughout its limited running-time. The central character Ray, a 60-something office worker (Cuneyt Turel) falls in love with a 20-something colleague Una (Mine Tugay). But this is no May-to-December romance; it transpires that Ray first bedded Una when she was twelve years old,and has already undergone a 7-year prison sentence for paedophilia. Since his release he has changed his name and tried to rebuild his life. The play scrutinizes Ray's state of mind; what prompted him to commit the offence in the first place, and whether the prison sentence has had any effect on his sexual urges. Scottish playwright Harrower also focuses on Una as she tries - and fails - to come to terms with her experience that blighted her life at such a young age. "Blackbird" has a particularly shocking ending as Ray finally convinces Una that he has always loved her. The two of them embrace, when suddenly there is a knock at the door and another young girl (Nazli Bulum) comes in. Immediately we comprehend Ray's motives: love has no place in his scheme of values as he consistently abuses children to satisfy his perverted sexual instincts. He remains a threat to social stability - the prison sentence has not reformed him at all.
Emre Koyuncuoglu's revival,staged on a postage-stamp sized playing area, emphasized the fact that Ray had as much regard for Una's feelings as one of the polystyrene fast food cartons strewn about the stage. He was perpetually trying to wheedle his way into Una's good books, either by pleading or (if that failed) shouting. If words could not persuade her, then perhaps violence might work: Turel grabbed Tugay by the arms and threw her to the ground as if she were a rag doll. Tugay gave as good as she got by calling Turel an emotional cripple; but eventually her resistance was broken down as she actually believed that the older man had fallen in love with her. Koyuncuoglu stressed how vulnerable such women actually were; their childhood had been ruined, and they were perpetually in search of a father-figure. The way Una embraced Ray at the end emphasized this; she did not want to make love to him, but rather hoped that he would hug her. Ray took advantage of her by pulling his trousers down and lifting her dress. Love never entered into his system of values in spite of her protestations.
Turel and Tugay sustained the emotional energy throughout what must have been a difficult play to perform. In the Turkish context in particular, plays like "Blackbird" bring to the surface an issue that tends to be swept under the carpet, or dismissed as a family matter and not considered suitable for the public domain. Harrower demands that such issues be discussed in the open, if only to ensure that children are protected from potential paedophiles. And this is something which assumed particular significance in a society like that of Turkey, which tends to be even more patriarchal than other western countries.
The Roman Bath by Stanislev Stratiev. Performed by the Ankara Sanat Tiyatrosu (Ankara Art Theatre) at the Ankara Art Theatre, 18th April 2008. Running in repertory until the middle of June 2008.
The Ankara Art Theatre is forty-five years old this year. Throughout that time they have endeavoured to offer an alternative to the State Theatre, offering politically committed, often controversal new plays interspersed with revivals of political classics. Their favourite foreign dramatists are Beckett and Brecht. Even today, when their theatre is falling to pieces, and they have very little money to continue, the company still tries to perform three times a week to a loyal if dwindling audience, mostly composed of students and ageing radicals.
"The Roman Bath," written by the Bulgarian dramatist Stanislav Stratiev, ran for ten years when it was first staged under the old Communist regime in 1979. Published by the then Ministry of Culture, it offered a satiric portrait of human foibles, especially where bureaucracies were concerned. More remarkably, it was surprising that such material was tolerated in Bulgaria at the time it was produced; of all the former Soviet satellites, Bulgaria had one of the most intransigent regimes. The play examines socially dangerous individuals who prefer to make life dogmatic and senseless. It is full of paradoxes as Stratiev seeks to understand social and pyschological disorder, especially at it applies to bureaucrats. The only way to escape such people was to pursue the creative life.
The Ankara State Theatre's decision to produce the play seemed particularly appropriate in today's Turkey, where bureaucraries are top heavy with workers doing very little else except drinking tea and trying to make customers' lives as complicated as possible. As in Britain, government workers do not exist to help their clients, but are dominated by the jobsworth mentality - nothing is worth more than my job's worth. The same applies to educational institutions, where lunch breaks are sacrosanct and student-teacher interaction is kept to a minimum. Rutkay Aziz's production was full of colour and movement - I especially liked the fluid Turkish translation by Huseyin Mevsim from the Bulgarian original. The 9-strong cast worked hard; I particularly single out Melih Yetkin and Senol Onder for their efforts.
It would be criminal if an outfit like the Ankara Art Theatre were to cease performances due to lack of funds. If there is a rich philanthropist out there, who is stuck for something to spend their money on, I suggest they beat a path to the Art Theatre as quickly as possible.
Nobody's Perfect. Performed by the Izmir State Theatre at the Altindag Theatre, Ankara, 15-20 April 2008. Then returning to the repertory until end of May 2008.
Oh boy does Leonard have a problem. The high heels and lippy aren't going to help either, especially when he's the one wearing them!
Normally writing under a pseudonym creates no confusion at all. You can lead a parallel life and everything in the garden's rosy.
So what if you're a man writing as a woman? Well that shouldn't be a problem either, life should go on regardless and never the twain shall meet. Except it's not going to work quite like that for poor old Leonard, he's about to make the biggest mistake of his life and pay for it big time!
Statistician Leonard works from home. He likes it that way. He can keep an eye on wayward daughter Dee Dee and his even more annoying wayward Father Gus. Leonard yearns to see his name in print, write a best seller, try out his masculine wiles. Well maybe not, because our stammering Leonard's a little shy and staid and the nightmare of a publisher Harriet enjoys throwing men's efforts in favour of women. A publisher 'For women by women'. So he's well up against it!
Not to be put down though, Leonard decides to submit his next book as the flamboyant Myrtle Banbury, and very soon he's enjoying the freedom of writing under the pseudonym of Myrtle, gaining the confidence he lacks, throwing caution to the wind, and you're right, you've guessed it, the editor of 'Love is all around' loves it, and a publishing deal is winging its way to him.
Wow, can't be bad, Leonard's cracked it! Things are looking up; the book's in the bag instead of in the bin; money in the bank; no stopping him now; life is good. Well it was until feminist editor Harriet decides she would like to meet Myrtle otherwise the deal is off.
Desperate measures are needed and Leonard finds himself assuming the identity of Myrtle, not some busty blonde, more the Joyce Grenfell type, typical of an Aunt if he were to have one.
Dee Dee and Gus remain oblivious to his cooked up charade of 'Aunt Myrtle' just until Harriet turns up on the doorstep of Leonard's flat, and very soon, they put two and two together especially when Leonard gets the 'hots' for the editor from hell. Cross-dressing, cross wires, cross anything really because 'Happy ever after' is off the cards and panic is top of the list!
The play itself is straight out of the Whitehall farce tradition, blissfully oblivious to anything that might have happened in the direction of female equality, feminism or the fact that women might think differently from men. Obviously we are meant to think of Leonard as a loveable rogue, who actually has his heart in the right place, despite the fact that he pretends to be a woman. In truth, one yearns for him to leave the stage; or better still, to undergo a sex-change operation in an attempt to make him understand exactly how women might think and feel.
The Izmir State Theatre production directed by the old master of farce, Ali Hurol from a translation by Filiz Olfluoglu contained a few routine laughs, with the actors horsing around the stage with a certain panache. But I did get the feeling that if this is what people think is a good example of British drama, then perhaps we might as well return to the era of the Whitehall farces, bring Brian Rix out of retirement, exhume his fellow-actors from the grave, and forget about the future of the theatre.
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