Mostly Con.

From the combined talents of two famous and successful playwrights one would expect a play that is the last word in theatrical effectiveness. And "Lucrece," presented by V.U.C Drama Club earlier this month, is very nearly that last word . . . . . but unfortunately at the other end of the scale. Can it be that Andre Obey has failed, with "Le Viol De Lucrece," to reach the standard he set himself with "Noah," or is it Thornton Wilder's adaptation that is at fault? Thornton Wilder, who has given us such exciting theatre as "Our Town" and "The Skin of Our Teeth." But whatever the successes of these men may be, this is not one of them.

"Lucrece" is, of course, the dramatisation of Shakespeare's romantic poem "The Rape of Lucrece," but whereas Shakespeare is content to leave it as a poem Obey and Wilder choose to present it as a play, and it suffers not only in comparison with the poem but also as a piece of dramatic writing. It has little of the beauty of Shakespeare, is clumsily written in parts, and has the constructional weakness of being out of balance. It reaches its greatest dramatic peak at the end of the second Act and not at the end of the fourth, which means that it fails to keep the interest of the audience by building, in a series of climaxes, to a highest point at the end of the play. This I attribute to the difficulty of depicting a scene of passion on the stage. If it is not to become coarse or embarrassing or to assume an importance far out of place with the plan of the play, it must be handled with the utmost delicacy, and in "Lucrece," where a scene of rape is the focal point around which the whole play revolves, passion cannot be subjugated to other emotions no matter how strong they may be. And so Shakespeare shows us the thoughts, emotions, and circumstances which lead to Tarquin's undoing, and the playwright prefers to give the emphasis to the events following. To Lucrece and her death. It is a worthwhile task, but cannot be expressed effectively on the stage.

The production was preceded by a reading from Shakespeare's poem, and although Miss Ross-Smith read intelligently, it was to little effect, and one began to wonder for what purpose this had been included, except perhaps to "Brush up your Shakespeare." But the reason became apparent with the first scene of the play, which is surprisingly badly written. It is set at Collatine's Camp at Ardes where two Roman Soldiers, on guard outside his tent, overhear and coment on what is being said within. Usually an author devotes the entire First Act of his play to introducing his characters and explaining the circumstances under which they are brought together. In "Lucrece" this explanatory matter is clumsily lumped into one short scene and the important task of setting the plot is left in the hands of two completely colourless characters who do not appear again in the play. A production can stand or fall on its opening minutes and it is essential that every effort be made to secure the attention and interest of the audience as soon as the curtain rises, and it is particularly important that such a badly written scene as this should be put in the hands of the strongest actors that can be found. Perhaps we don't expect Roman Soldiers to be good actors, but in this case they had to rise above poor material and seize the attention of an audience already wearied by the reading of interminable stanzas from Shakespeare. And so, after much fumbling, the play is under way.

As one of the narrators, Miss Maureen Ross-Smith gave a thoughtful and effective performance but never succeeded in interpreting her exact function in the play. For this she is not entirely to blame as the script indicates several identities for the narrators. At one time observers and commentators, at another, near participants in action. Their mental and physical link with the players was never quite clear and caused some bewilderment. John Macdonald, the second narrator, had a good voice but did not use it to as great an advantage as he might have done. He was inclined to over-emphasise his gestures, and movement was bad.

Miss Robin King, as Lucrece, managed her earlier scenes well, but was not equal to expressing the shame and agony of mind that resulted from the wrong done to her. This was particularly evident when, in preparation for her self-inflicted death, she gave her last instructions to the servant. The audience experienced none of the intense sorrow that she must have felt in saying farewell to everything and everyone that she loved. Terence Baylor's Tarquin stalked villainously about the stage, which is about all that he could have done under the circumstances. He seems such a minor character, put in merely to give Lucrece the cue for her shame. The scene between Tarquin and Lucrece in Lucrece's room meant nothing but embarrassment for the audience and, I think, for the actors too. Only the finest artists could manage such a moment on the stage, French actors playing to Frenchmen are in a happier position than New Zealanders playing to their countrymen.

Paul Treadwell, as Collatine, lacked strength in his performance and certainly did not give the impression of being a great warrior. He appeared as more of a weak character. Brutus, played by Bruce Hamlin, brought a fire and energy to the stage that was unfortunately not echoed by any other member of the cast. If his part had been bigger he would have overshadowed the rest and dominated the play, which is a tribute to the strength of his acting.

The set, draped in white, was most effective. Some of the make-up was good and some of it very bad indeed. So bad as to be distracting.

My main impression of this production is one of weakness. Weakness of play and of acting. Just to what extent the one is influenced by the other I am not prepared to say, but it adds up to very little. The play was not a good choice for the Drama Club, nor is it for any amateurs. I have seen productions by the Canterbury College Drama Society and by other small groups and I feel that in every case the choice of play is far too ambitious. It is far better to do a play well than to do even the best play badly. I realize that this is a controversial statement and I am ready to be convinced otherwise, so far nobody has succeeded. I [unclear: a] also well aware that this criticism is in almost direct contrary to those published in two local newspapers, but I see no reason to accept these opinions as the only gospel of the theatre. After ell we are all critics in our own right and entitled to our opinions. I am not suggesting that my remarks are neccessarily true, far from it, but in New Zealand we are inclined to leave dramatic criticism to the professional journalist and accept their opinions as law whereas it should be in the hands of those experienced in production or acting, certainly those people who know what it is that they are talking about. And so I write the Criticism because I refuse to accept what I am told in the Newspapers and because I want to see instituted a standard for the theatre in New Zealand, a standard that can rise only from a standard of criticism.

I feel that I am just as qualified to speak on these matters as the newspaper critics, and so are you, and so you will.

Delerium