I suppose I didn't approach the Sydney Theatre Company's production of Romeo and Juliet at the Drama
theatre in the Sydney Opera House with the right reverent attitudes.
Of course, I am rather keen on C. J. Dennis' The Sentimental Bloke, written a century ago in Australian vernacular—and in
particular, the part where they go to see said play. Here's an excerpt, but the whole of this portion is here: strongly recommended!
'Wot's in a name?" she sez. 'Struth, I dunno.
A still from the Raymond Longford's 1919 Australian silent movie of The Sentimental Bloke. |
Billo is just as good as Romeo.
She may be Juli—er or Juli—et ——
'E loves 'er yet.
If she's the tart 'e wants, then she's 'is queen,
Names never count ... But ar, I like "Doreen!"
A sweeter, dearer sound I never 'eard;
Ther's music 'angs around that little word,
Doreen! ... But wot was this I starts to say
About the play?
I'm off me beat. But when a bloke's in love
'Is thorts turns 'er way, like a 'omin' dove.
This Romeo 'e's lurkin' wiv a crew ——
A dead tough crowd o' crooks —— called Montague.
'Is cliner's push —— wot's nicknamed Capulet ——
They 'as 'em set.
Fair narks they are, jist like them back—street clicks,
Ixcep' they fights wiv skewers 'stid o' bricks.
That aside, there were warnings in the foyer that there
would be bangs, flashes, smoking and nudity.
Clearly, this was to be a modern production, and I am a bit of a
traditionalist.
I grimaced slightly at this news, and declared that if Friar
Laurence got his kit off, I was leaving.
No worries there, it was only R and J who disrobed—and they kept their
knickers on, mainly because all the actors were miked (!!) and they needed
somewhere to hide the battery pack and transmitter. Sadly, the microphones did nothing for their
diction, but that was OK because they were messing about with the script.
Anyhow, it being Grand Final season in Australia, when the
non-round-ball football codes (we have a number of them, but Rugby League and
Aussie Rules are the worst in terms of making the fans silly) send out their stupidest alpha males to maim each
other, and all the bogans go mad. So I
asked Chris if we should barrack for the Montagues or the Capulets, and then
things started to degenerate.
I think it was two of the men (Capulet and Paris, as I recall), playing a sort of gentle squash game with tennis racquets and a tennis ball against one wall of the revolving set while they chatted. The revolving set was at rest at the time, and it worked well—it was actually two concentric revolving floors. Apparently it has had some teething troubles, but now all is well.
Then again, maybe the rot in my mind started earlier. Even before the opening, a ladder somehow got involved with a
part of the audience as it was carried down off the stage before being taken back
into the wings, and I expressed the hope that they would enliven the
proceedings by a short excerpt from 'Pyramus and Thisbe', re-scored for two
choruses, with the ladder playing the part of Wall and offering a plethora of
chinks for the chorus members to use. That
would have been good, I said, and after the play—but only then—she agreed.
Still, we had no such luck getting a look at P&T, but hope springs eternal, and just after
Friar Laurence slipped in one of the sonnets (116: "Love is not love which
alters when it alteration finds ...") as the marriage lines, I began to
hope for a proper pastiche. (This is
named after Jean-Luc Pastiche, the inventor of the Hashed Mashed Potato Treat.)
(I might add that Friar Laurence was seen on stage,
puttering around in a garden of ferns, collecting flowers from them! Some botanist and druggist he'd be! Mind you, they were probably GM ferns, so I
suppose anything's possible.)
Given the sonnet cross-over, I began to hope for a cage
fight between Macbeth and Macduff (didn't happen), a cream pie fight between
Titania and Oberon, formation nude bathing in a bird bath by knights in armour,
a cameo role for Caliban and a kraken (all ditto). It wasn't my fault: with dodgy diction, I had to fill in the gaps for myself.
I began to long for Sir Andrew Aguecheek on roller skates or the return of the ladder
to retrieve helium balloons that had escaped in the party scene, with Bottom
and Falstaff as the retrievers, dancing on the ladder to the rock music playing
for the party. Again, no luck, but all
the party-goers wore white rabbit masks and that was a plus.
Mind you, it wasn't hard to spot Capulet, though, because he had a greasy
pony-tail that looked silly at the back of a rabbit. They drank a lot but ate nothing, making it unlikely that we would hear Puck's immortal line:
"Lord, what foods these morsels be!"
But at the end, Juliet was still alive, and she had a gun,
and apparently knew how to use it. I'm
fairly sure that's not how it happened in the 1600s. I hoped she would fire a shot into the fly
loft, with two rubber chickens falling to the stage, but Paris had used three
shots to try and kill Romeo, Romeo got the gun and used one to kill Paris, and
she must have wanted to make every shot that remained count, so no rubber chickens.
Still, when a pantomime horse crossed the stage, followed by
a hunchback crying "A Norse, a Norse, my Kingdom for a Norse", a
flood of slaughter ran through the theatre when we realised he was doing a
Danish accent and waving a skull. We
were a sophisticated audience.
Actually, that last bit might not have happened (but it should have),
or if it did happen, it might have been a flood of laughter that ran: my notes
are hard to read, and by then I was concentrating on the structure of the next
book, and trying not to echo 'The Bloke' in the fight scenes:
"Put in the boot!" I sez. "Put in the
boot!"
"'Ush!" sez Doreen ... "Shame!" sez some
silly coot.
Well might we all say, "Put in the boot" to this
performance.
Next time, I want a re-run
of Charley's Aunt. If it has nudity, I want the actors on skates, on ice, and juggling, so as to improve the chances of a satisfactory and fundamental shock to them, rather than to the audience.
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