I must admit
that I had some trepidation as I entered the theatre. The first act
was supposed to be an hour and 45 minutes with another hour to go after
the interval. Would the play be able to sustain my interest over nearly
three hours? Let me say that it did that and more, much more. Irish
playwright Martin McDonagh's The Pillowman is now going
down as one of my all-time favourite scripts for its imagination, intelligence
and daring, rivaling in power and intensity, another favourite of mine,
Peter Shaffer's Equus,
and director Tracie Pang and her cast and crew managed to bring me so
completely into the play's dark and twisted world that I left
the theatre that night buzzing from the experience. Even now, I still
vividly remember images and moments from the play, as if I were caught
in the web of a dream I have not fully awakened from.
A nightmare would be a better description, of course: The Pillowman
opens with Katurian (Daniel Jenkins), a writer of irreverent fairytales
with extremely dark and violent narratives, being interrogated in an
unspecified (but I'm guessing European from the script's
diction) totalitarian state by two police officers, Detective Tupolski
(Adrian Pang) and Officer Ariel (Shane Mardjuki). We find out that Katurian
is being accused of horrific crimes, all of which are retreads of gruesome
acts detailed in Katurian's stories. So as not to spoil the play
for readers who have yet to see the play, I shall give away little else
except to say that the play, at one point, also introduces Katurian's
mentally challenged brother, Michael (Michael Corbidge) and that, through
the recounts of events from different perspectives and the narration
of a few of Katurian's fairytales, it plays with our ideas of
fact and fiction, guilt and innocence right until the very end.
There are many themes in the play for audiences to wrestle with. Abstract
concepts of guilt and blame are explored - for example, can any
of us really take responsibility for our actions when we are shaped
by our environment and upbringing? Katurian's insistence that
his stories must be preserved, no matter what the police do to him,
also speaks powerfully about the relationships between artists and their
work and the destructive power of censorship. Meanwhile, the director
writes in the programme about the power and impact of narratives -
what are the consequences of the stories we tell? Should you believe
everything you read or are told? - and also questions whether Katurian's
stories are really so perverted, considering that at the root of every
traditional fairytale are acts of violence or cruelty: how, then, do
we define what is acceptable behaviour for civil society?
If I seem to be glossing over these themes quickly, it is because
while they are clearly present in the work and they certainly gnaw at
your brain as you watch the play, I do not feel they are the true source
of the play's power. The writer, while happy to introduce them,
doesn't necessarily seem interested in dwelling too deeply into
these complex themes. A quote from an interview with the playwright
that is captured in the programme, reveals his true purpose: "Story
is everything - story and a bit of attitude"; and that McDonagh
certainly delivers in spades. The narrative is compelling, well-paced
and unfurled with deft skill, the characters are all rich and full realized
and, best of all, woven into the tale are a pervasive sense of danger
and thick cords of extremely uncomfortable but equally irresistible
black humour that deeply enrich the experience of watching the play.
You are squirming in your seat, not wanting to watch any more but, at
the same time, you are enjoying yourself so much, even laughing out
loud, in this case, at the sharp wit which undergirds the writing, that
the last thing you are thinking of is turning away: this perverse pleasure
is the mark of any truly inspired work of horror.
The play is well-served by a director who knows when to employ theatrical
spectacle and when to step back and let the power of the words and actors
take centre stage. In the scenes where Katurian is narrating his fairytales,
she complements him sometimes with a small ensemble cast playing out
the scenes and other times, with the projection of specially rendered
comic book panels that illustrate key moments in the stories. Both are
equally effective because of how they add to the tone and central ideas
of the play. Continuing to blur the lines between fact and fiction,
between what is beautiful and what is grotesque, the scenes acted out
by Andy Tear, Susan Tordoff and Alecia Chua are particularly disturbing
because of the cool, plastic detachment that Tear and Tordoff display
as they indulge in various acts of cruelty. With their perfect clothes
and the almost-robotic precision of their unison movement and speech,
they are like a Killer-Ken-and-Barbie. Similarly, the mostly black and
white comic book panels by Alien, Flaky & Friends Animation Studios
which are projected onto the walls, play with our expectations. The
simple cartoons make you think of children's art and the innocence
of childhood but the haunting images are anything but kid-friendly:
a geyser of red erupts from a wrist slashed by a razor blade, a child
is sent flying in an explosion of blood after being hit by a car, a
grinning Pillowman - a cuddly figure made out entirely of pillows,
cushions and buttons - is the harbinger of death. This Gothic-lite
style of comic book art has found mainstream popularity with teenagers
- you can find it on t-shirts and school bags - but I had not seen it
used like this in a play before and the unexpected infusion of this
evocative art form was just another surprise in a series of many that
watching the play offered me.
It was not only Pang's imagination and creative vision that
impressed me, however, but also her careful attention to the fundamentals
of her craft. The execution of the play was clean and sharp, there was
a good rhythm to the way the play unfolded, she mined the opportunities
in the script (I loved the dramatic irony and mischievousness of having
Adrian Pang's character mockingly pretend to be a Chinese man
in one of the stories he narrates) and, most importantly, she drew out
possibly career-best performances from actors who had already turned
in a series of great performances over the years.
Katurian's role is a difficult one to play because of the depths
of emotions that the actor has to plumb. This is a man who is not only
being accused of some truly horrendous crimes against humanity but is
facing a likely death sentence if found guilty. This is a man who is
in deep desperation and anguish, not only for himself but also for his
brother who is slowly being drawn into the investigation. Jenkins manages
to internalize all these feelings and present the character with such
conviction and authenticity that we have no difficulty following him
along his rollercoaster of emotions as the situation Katurian finds
himself in constantly shifts like sand beneath his feet; I completely
invested in the character. Where Jenkins positively mesmerizes though
is when he is narrating Katurian's fairytales, whether it is to
the police officers or directly to the audience. His presence is so
commanding and alluring, it is impossible to focus your attention on
anything other than the story. It is as if he not only tells the story
but inhabits it. Though, of course, Jenkins the actor is always fully
aware of his audience, there are times when you'd expect him to
pause for dramatic effect to milk a moment more but he steamrolls on
against our expectations; this has the intriguing effect of making the
actor seem as if he is too caught up in the story, too much a part of
its fabric to worry about something as extrinsic as the audience.
Adrian Pang as the wisecracking police detective is an absolute delight.
Detective Tupolski always knows exactly what to say and when to say
it to manipulate his over-enthusiastic junior colleague and their prisoner
and to provoke the desired reaction from them, and Pang plays the part
with the palpable glee of a puppet-master fully in control. He makes
full use of his sparkling stage charisma, nimble body movements, over-the-top
facial expressions and impeccable sense of timing here but also proves
capable of holding his own when things take a darker turn. In these
scenes, he can switch with great force, suddenly becoming a truly intimidating
presence capable of sudden explosions of violence or else he quietly
but effectively simmers with hidden secrets.
Corbidge has the most showy role of the three, playing Michael, and
he performs the part with absolute commitment, right down to transforming
the way he holds his body and face, and also careful nuance so that
he does not slip into lazy caricature. What makes the role particularly
difficult is that the character of Michael is oddly lucid and insightful,
even sarcastic, at times, despite being apparently mentally retarded
(I personally feel this inconsistency was indirectly addressed in the
play but my companion did not agree). You are, therefore, never completely
sure just how aware the character is of what he has done or is doing.
I feel that ambiguity is vital to the success of the character and Corbidge
nails it. I also especially liked the chemistry that Jenkins and Corbidge
share. The two actors were remarkable together as friends in Lonely
Planet and they show here that they can convince as brothers
as well. It is truly heartbreaking when Katurian lovingly tells Michael
his favourite story to help him go to sleep, despite everything that
has happened or will happen between them.
The only weak link in the cast was Shane Mardjuki. He wasn't
bad per se and I know he received a glowing review from the reviewer
of a local paper but I personally felt he was trying much too hard to
play his bad cop character with the required cool and danger. Unfortunately,
there is nothing less cool or dangerous than someone trying to be cool
and dangerous. This unbalanced the interrogation scenes: Jenkins and
Pang were strong and grounded but Mardjuki was flitting about on stage,
almost distractingly so, all excessive tics and insistent finger pointing.
If I had a criticism of the director, it would have been in her casting
and direction of the fidgety Mardjukie who is a competent actor -
he certainly had the required conviction and gravitas in his later scenes
- but was perhaps an odd choice for the role in the first place.
First Impression
Fact and fiction, innocence and guilt collide in this dark, perverse
and utterly compelling tale about a writer who is accused of a series
of horrific crimes. His adult fairytales which serve as the backbone
of the play, are brought to life by some truly haunting multimedia work
and a tour de force lead performance by Daniel Jenkins. Adrian
Pang and Michael Corbidge are not to be outdone: they, too, turn in
perhaps the finest, most electrifying and vibrantly alive work of their
careers. The script by Martin McDonagh explodes with imagination, black
humour and razor-sharp wit: you will find yourself laughing (uncomfortably)
even while listening to gruesome stories about dismemberment, torture
and murder. It's that sort of play: you have been warned. An absolutely
unmissable psychological thriller: a running time of close to three
hours and I was captivated for every minute of it.
|
"Woven into the tale are a pervasive sense of danger and thick
cords of extremely uncomfortable but equally irresistible black humour
that deeply enrich the experience of watching the play."
Credits
Playwright: Martin McDonagh
Director: Tracie Pang
Production Designer: wu + brown
Lighting Designer: Suven Chan
Sound Designer: Darren Ng
Multimedia Designer: Alien, Flaky & Friends Animation Studios
Cast: Daniel Jenkins, Adrian Pang, Shane Mardjuki, Susan Tordoff, Andy
Tear, Alecia Chua and Michael Corbidge
|
