'Twoud be a foolhardy knave who'd pertain to the view that Bell Shakespeare isn't at the pointy end of bardly business; or the business end of bardly pointedness. None moreso, from that stallion stable, than the feisty fillies under the baton of director Marion Potts, in her The Taming Of The Shrew. (Marion, of course, is artistic director of Bell's development arm, by day and, if this is where it's going, well, more power to her. Having already made her mark at STC, the Australia Council and other arenas, she's clearly helping Bell stay relevant and as fresh as just-baked bread.) I say her Shrew, as she's made it very much her own. Imagine your local rissole's function room, or gala(h) ballroom, or something of that, ah, calibre. The regal, gold-on-burgundy carpet. The sturdy foldaway tables. The plush, velour-upholstered chairs. And a karaoke machine. Picture an aimless Kate, slumped in one such chair, idly blowing-up balloons, then letting them sputter, fizzle and fall. The scene is set. The karaoke machine becomes the device which links and binds the action. Very original. Pure genius. Did I mention the cast is all girls? Yet, unlike some faux rock group from the 70s, it's no gimmick. It heightens and sharpens all the comedy, lining it with supreme irony.Needless to say, Anna Tregloan's design has helped, almost immeasurably, in bringing the play into the accessible present, as have, for example Petruchio's contemporary bonking gestures, which got laughs of recognition, every time. Paul Jackson, too, has done some clever things with lighting as well as downlights, there are sidelights, which create an authentic clubland ambience. Inescapable composer and sound designer, Max Lyandvert, has brought his unmatched expertise to bear, once again, with everything in just the right place, all the time: no glitches, no fuss, no fumbled fades, no intrusions. Scott Witt has choreographed minimal fight sequences to comic perfection, with Shannon Murphy very ably assisting Ms Potts, by all indications.
With this kind of backbone, the fleshly contributons of the actors are made so much easier; but it's still Shakespeare, done to death (not that any number of outings can kill material made from such fabric), and to inhabit it with something new, unusual and enchanting is, as the podiatrist said to the bishop, no mean feat. Fortunately, the performances are delightful, delicious, precocious and, in short, bloody-well brill.
Beth Aubrey delivers a measured, rather straight-laced Hortensio, with great clarity. Emily Rose Brennan is fine indeed as the demure and coveted Bianca, younger sister of the celebrated changeling, Katherina. Van Downing makes an excellent, shrunken, bespectacled, slightly befuddled Gremio, the most elderly and unlikely suitor to Bianca. It's particularly good to see Judi Farr onstage again, this time, in a sense, reprising her put-upon, loyal, aproned role in Australian television's unheralded solid-gold classic, My Name's McGooley, as Biondello, and later appearing as the opinionated widow for whom Hortensio humbly settles. Sandy Gore is exceptional as the (god)fatherly Baptista, dowr-broker for his divergent daughters. Gore's doona-warm timbre is, of course, well-fitted to her masculine casting. She also has a facility to keenly emulate the male body's biomechanics. Luisa Hastings Edge is a better-than-average karaoke singer (LOL) and vividly depicts the wily, but well-meaning Lucentio; with verve and gusto. Her reading lends great momentum, matching the rhythm of the language to a tee. Anna Houston is a delicious Grumio: a template for cruel sycophants, many extreme examples of which we've seen come to life in the last hundred years and more. Ksenja Logos, as loyal & clever servant (to Lucentio) Tranio serves, conversely, to show how easily and, perhaps, often, the mastered can transcend the master, for little or no reward than its own sake. Wendy Strehlow as Lucentio's latecoming father, Vincentio, is a study in cross-dressed role play; like Gore, (if you'll pardon) convincingly carrying the correct chromosomal composition.
Almost inarguably, however, and notwithstanding almost universally surpassing performances, the two shining, beckoning stars are, coincidentally, Shakespeare's heroes. And not just because they take most of the pith. Lotte St Clair, playing away, from home (if you will), is the very picture of 'a difficult woman': truculent; uncompromising; Germaine Greer in her heyday (not that she's any such now). Jeanette Cronin, while looking overly nervy (according to my companion, at least) mocks the male beast so roundly, yet affectionately, as to persuade that we are the simple creatures we're often alleged to be: observable, imitable, laughable. There isn't a gesture or mannerism she adopts that isn't authentically masculine. Yet, as Petruchio, her contrivance isn't without pity, or empathy: she also reveals something of the strengths, as well as foibles, of the character's gender.
All in all, I can't, and couldn't, rate this production highly enough: no amount of hyperbole or adjectival indulgence would serve to describe it's sheer perfection. It earns ovation from me (if not genuflection, and I'm not even Catholic). And I'm quite sure, were he with us in body, as well as spirit, Old Bill would spring to his feet, exclaiming profuse 'bravo!'s, too. And you've gotta love him: even amidst high farce, raucousness, ribaldry, irony, ferocious wordplay and whatever else he might conjure, he finds a place for the consolations of philosophy; in this case, despite its late 16th-century origins, in the form of timely advice for 3GS WiiPhoneberry Twitterdom. And, thus, he quoth. 'Tis the mind that makes the body rich and as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, so honour peereth in the meanest habit. What, is the jay more precious than the lark, because his feathers are more beautiful; or the adder better than the eel, because his painted skin contents the eye?' Ah yes, the whirligig of time does bring in his revenges!
Bell Shakespeare presents
The Taming Of The Shrew
by William Shakespeare
Directed by Marion Potts
Venue: Illawarra Performing Arts Centre
Dates: 23 - 27 June 2009
Bookings: 02 4226 3366
Also Touring Nationally - visit www.bellshakespeare.com.au for details
