Drama

Spiridon Written and Directed by' Dick Epstein (Recently run at Unity Theatre)

There is a character in Spiridon who does a flying leap through the air in what he thinks is a murderous attack, and falls flat on his face. Very spectacular. He actually looks like he's six feet off the ground. Spiridon himself, feverishly masterminding abortive plots to have his ex-lover and her new man killed, killed, anticipates wearing a spider costume to the ball he has arranged, only to find his servant wearing the clothes, so he must reconcile himself to the trappings of a clown. The enormous red nose warrants a look, and the metaphor is not lost.

These two moments have a brief captivating interest which unhappily serves to comment on the whole play. Spiridon, stricken by lost love which he did not know how to appreciate when he had it, is totally incapable of effective action. His hired murderers are bunglers also, on a simpler level. The play is about just that: people's inability to understand themselves and their own facilities. Their consequent responses to love is the vehicle for exposing this theme. Epstein's courage in facing this, for we can assume he is facing himself in order to give us the play, can be commended. The vicious irony is that whatever he may feel about people generally, and about himself, is given overwhelming evidence by the play itself. Misconception, in every possible sense, is the name of the game.

It exists in actors who have not bothered to learn their lines, but also in those who care so little that they leave their colleagues floundering when they could help them out It exists in actors who do not appear to understand what they are saying, in those who do not have even the most elementary idea of how their voices and bodies function onstage; in those who cannot see the difference between mannerism and characterisation; in those who imagine they are in the wings as soon as they are called upon to get there; and in those who will place a pot-plant where actors must get tangled up in it; in those who allow talk of a wonderful party and then show us bits of bread and plastic glasses with half an inch of wine in each. . .

Of course this is an amateur production, and the resources are limited, but these are no excuses. Amateur does not mean incompetent, and involves as all theatre does, a degree of responsibility for ensuring the audience does not waste its time and money. As to resources, well there are certain conventions for circumventing the practical limitations — you don't just do the best you can.

Familiarisation with the techniques of theatre, from writing to props management, is essential in every production. Spiridon has a protagonist who is supposed to gain our sympathy yet has a 'fatal flaw;' it contains an abundance of sub-plots (one for every couple,) cameos for everyone from cook to poet, the high life and the seedy side, humour and pathos, tragedy and irony, high-flown speech and colloquialism. It is tidily constructed so that thematic focus is always kept under control and no loose ends are left dangling. These things do not make a play. They are the schema; knowing about them and knowing what one wants to say are not enough. Shakespeare usually fits into such a schema and that about speaks for itself. I am not suggesting that any would-be playwright needs to be thoroughly conversant with the theatre before he picks up his pen, but he must recognise his limitations and be prepared to subject his work to the judgement of those who have the training.

Such a play as Spiridon, and there are many, calls for much attention in the working process if it is to succeed. Play market run a script advisory service free of charge: this is the first step. From there on to the stage involves rehearsals in workshop. There is nothing wrong with Dick Epstein's themes, only with his opinion that he knew best how to develop them. Any production will give those involved an experience of theatre. This does not in itself imply a worthwhile experience, for a narrowing of outlook can very easily be the result of a misguided approach Even the plays of established writers like Craig Harrison are subjected to intensive reworking before the public are invited in. It is a lesson which must be learned.

— Simon Wilson.