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Salient. An Organ of Student Opinion at Victoria College, Wellington, N.Z. Vol. 14, No. 3. April 5, 1951

Obey * Wilder * Dronke * Shakespeare — —The Drama Club and Lucrece—

page 5

Obey * Wilder * Dronke * Shakespeare

The Drama Club and Lucrece

If amateur critics must carp at the Drama Club's "Lucree" (pace you who imperilled your status by actually taking money for what you wrote) those with the purest motives will attack the fabulous monster Obey-Wilder (a Leviathan called up by analogy with the Chester Belloc) rather than the producer or the cast.

Con Meets Pro

As always Madame Dronke's production was excellent, notably in the absence of the feelings one sometimes has that an amateur production has occurred by a (questionably) happy coincidence of actors, like the philosopher's Parthenon from odd bricks. This is largely to the credit of Madame Dronke—and not much to the Obey-Wilder—for "Lucrece" is a play entirely without idea. This is not to say it is devoid of ideas, and there are more than enough questions raised, but it lacks a theme. Even a thesis would have been better than nothing, but though two are suggested neither could be said to dominate, let alone be resolved by, the play. The germ of one is in the apostrophe to Opportunity (how unlike Shakespeare's fate in Romeo) and there is that directly argued by the two narrators that the importance of the tragedy is in its public aspect, but this comes too late in the play—it has somewhat the effect of an afterthought consequent on the playwright's own bewilderment at what he had so far produced. The female chorus is speaking for Lucrece as a woman, the male for Rome and history, by her actions, her being "a great lady in misfortune" Lucrece decides for history, but the curtain goes down on the male narrator deciding for the "poor bird."

This considered is theme and variation, with its pathetic and majestic overtones is pleasing, but in its last analysis a little pointless; we are left with no oneness of feeling—no sense of tragedy or history or anything of the sort, but only with the impression of having looked into a scrapbook of emotions and events.

The most unpleasing scene in the play is where Tarquin comes to Lucrece's bed. It is perhaps too much to hope for a rape in blank verse, and it is very likely the difficulty of escaping this scene that made Shake, speare reject the story for dramatic purposes. The situation in "Lucrece" is developed as far as decency will allow and then the curtain falls—this smacks of Hollywood both as technique and approach. It is a way out which would have been technically impossible for Shakespeare—and one asserts confidently, artistically so. Tarquin's lines are uninspired realism, devoid of any poetic suggestion, and remain very much on the level of a cinema sequence (one sees, we have implied, the censor hovering). It is reminiscent rather of the decadent Roman theatre than of genuine tragedy; to follow the Greek convention of keeping this sort of thing off the stage would be to irritate the audience less.

In justice to the actors involved, however, one must admit that they handled this utterly uninspiring scene magnificently. I say this with the reservation that our context is amateur acting. Terry Baylor as Tarquin was excellent, despite the particular banality of his lines, but Robin King's Lucrece was superb, and indeed she acted throughout the whole with restraint and feeling (she has gained in the former virtue since her Cleopatra) that produced an exquisite characterisation.

The technical usefulness of the narrators depends absolutely on the effectiveness of manner of the persons playing them, and [unclear: in] (and [unclear: part] from a certain incomprehensibility and scrambledness in Maureen Roes-Smith's opening Shakespeare), one can have very little to complain at Once warmed to her work she gave a performance equal to her majestic Voluminia (which in default of ever seeing a contemporary immortal in it, we are inclined to take as definitive) and John MacDonald was in no measure put to shame. The excellent balance of these two most competent players was one of the remarkable things in the production. They were luckier in their lines than the others (even poorish rethoric is better than nothing) but it is an indication of their ability that they could utter such horrors as—"a sinister suitor to have about the house" and still remain convincing.

Paul Treadwell's Collatine was sympathetic, especially in the short sccene where he consoles Lucrece, but lacked variation, either within itself or from his other parts—it is to be hoped that he is not cast as a Roman a third time. He is usually at his best in contemporary drama. Bruce Hamlin as Brutus was inclined to enjoy himself a little too much for the entire comfort of the audience. The comic soldiers and the giggling girls were both in their own kind effective, though how much Mr. Curtin would have fetched in the slave market would have depended largely on the price of bread (not to mention circuses). He would have been more economical to support than Valenus.

P.A.E.

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

Mostly Pro.

Lucrece, is the wife of Collatine and a symbol of all that is good and virtuous in Roman life. Tarquin, inflamd by her beauty and virtue in setting out to "satisfy the monster within him," rapes her, and in doing so violates all that Lucrecia represents.

"Nothing is left of ail that I treasured most in myself," weeps Lucrece.

Collatine, is called back to his home, where his wife informs him of the misfortune that has fallen on his house: then kills herself.

Collatine and his friend Brutus set out to revenge Lucrece and Rome.

The producer, Maria Dronke chose this beautiful play and produced it artistically. Anthony Treadweil, in designing a superb set gave the production an excellent start.' The two narrators and leading players, Maureen Ross-Smith and John McDonald played with force and colour. Maureen, drew a sympathy from the audience which the actors were not able to fully sustain.

Robin King, as Lucrece was convincing only in the first act, but the "great lady in misfortune" simply was not there. Paul Treadweil as Collatine acted well and was most impressive in the latter part of the play. Terence Baylor as Tarquin looked and acted well, his hands however were not as impresive as his legs.

Valerius and Emilia were played by John Yaldwin and Elizabeth Oliver respectively. Both gave pleasing portrayals. Among the remaining women members of the cast, Betty James, ornamental as always, spoke and laughed convincingly, and moved with grace and fluent ease.

Margaret Loftus and Geniveve Leicester appeared to be in the best of spirits, but the former could have been more petulant and the latter more audible. Bruce Hamlin as Brutus was Brutus witty and vigorous. The soldiers, Bill Sheat and Gerard Monaghan, translated and commented with relish.

The inadequacy of Francis Curtin as the little serving lad was undeniable.

The costumes by Muareen RossSmith called for the highest praise. The play is beautiful but difficult, for miming is always difficult. The narrators first remove the element of surprise from the ensuing action and forced the audience to create personal images of the characters, which may or may not fit the actual players. The actors are handed a climax which only exceptional acting can hold and mould.

The music in this production was excellent. But why try to create an atmosphere during intervals and then destory it by noisy traffic to and from the side exits thus tending to reduce the show to the village concert level.

Dodo.