Tag Archives: Ellen McDougall

Faces In the Crowd

Faces in the Crowd

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Gate Theatre

Faces In the Crowd

Faces in the Crowd

Gate Theatre

Reviewed – 21st January 2020

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“a stunning exploration of narrative infidelity, space, and the way in which stories shape our view of the world, and of ourselves”

 

If a baby’s crying in the room next door, how can you sit down and write? When children’s toys litter the ground, and the only desk is taken by your husband, how can you find space to be creative? If fiction resembles life too closely, how can you be sure what’s real and what’s not? Ellen McDougall’s new play, at the theatre she artistic directs, is a stunning exploration of narrative infidelity, space, and the way in which stories shape our view of the world, and of ourselves.

Adapted from Valeria Luiselli’s 2011 novel, published in an English translation by Christina McSweeney in 2014, three interweaving narratives form a vibrant tapestry on stage. The Woman, played with vigour and conviction by Jimena Larraguivel, attempts to tell her audience a story. A nagging child (played alternatively by Juan-Leonardo Solari and Santiago Huertas Ruiz) interrupts with comments and questions. A baby’s cries force her away, leaving little notes for her husband to read out at her command. Upsetting the flow of her tale, these moments of male pressure remind of the ease at which women’s creative potential can be disturbed. One long table dominates the stage. At first, The Husband (Neil D’Souza) sits here to work. It’s only after The Woman befriends a neighbour, The Musician (Anoushka Lucas) that she finds a table, and space, of her own to write. Working as a translator in Mexico City, she discovers a book of letters by Mexican poet Gilberto Owen that so reflect her situation she feels compelled to get them published. As her attempts hit various stumbling blocks, Owen comes to haunt her present, causing her grip on what’s real and what’s not to slowly dissolve.

Larraguivel is a dominating force in this production. Holding the audience in her grip throughout, this is her story to tell. Direct address keeps us hooked, and intriguing moments of introduction – β€œThis is what I looked like smoking a cigarette” – underscore how narration and presentation are two very different beasts. Unafraid to be messy, Bethany Wells’ design brings in the bright colours that invoked Mexico for English people like me. George Dennis’ sound design set an immediate sense of time and place in brief moments, and the songs provided by Lucas throughout are simply gorgeous.

McDougall’s collage-like adaptation interlaces the narratives neatly. The theatre’s programme and posters credit the original author and translator prominently, fitting in a play where translation becomes a key aspect. In fact, the whole market of Latin American translation is almost mocked. What is it that English-speaking audiences seek from these texts? What do we expect? As The Woman asks, who is made invisible when we experience these stories?

If Faces in the Crowd has a flaw, it feels a little too long, the text not always gripping when it should, and at times the narrative strand a little unclear. But perhaps that’s the point. Like the house in which The Woman writes, telling stories can get messy. Find your space, and fight for it.

 

Reviewed by Robert Frisch

Photography by Ellie Kurttz

 


Faces in the Crowd

Gate Theatre until 8th February

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:
Dear Elizabeth | β˜…β˜… | January 2019
Why The Child Is Cooking In The Polenta | β˜…β˜… | May 2019
Mephisto [A Rhapsody] | β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… | October 2019

 

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Dear Elizabeth

Dear Elizabeth
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Gate Theatre

Dear Elizabeth

Dear Elizabeth

Gate Theatre

Reviewed – 23rd January 2019

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“the cold reading approach precludes us form caring about the characters and is an unfortunate roadblock before we even start on their journey”

 

The playwright Sarah Ruhl came across the lives of American poets, Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell, reading a book of letters between them. She found there was β€œsomething deeply compelling about the way these two lives intersected”. The letters, which span three decades from 1947 to 1977, tell the story of their relationship that defies easy definition. It wasn’t quite a friendship, nor a love affair: they seldom met, and both lived independent lives: Bishop was a lesbian and Lowell was with a variety of women. But they put their entire lives into language for the other. This intangible, intense connection forms the basis of Ruhl’s β€œDear Elizabeth” which dramatises the beauty wrought from simple correspondence.

First produced at Yale Repertory Theatre in 2012 and later in New York, director Ellen McDougall has added an extra dimension by casting a different pair of actors each night and having them perform unprepared. It’s a fascinating idea, one that can potentially give a real edge to the drama, yet it is easy to go over that edge and into the pitfalls that come with this experimental approach.

The actors (on the evening of this review; Phoebe Fox and Nina Bowers) discover the story of the person they are representing as they go along. This can occasionally be awkward but gives an authentic messiness to the performances which reflects the intended β€˜life-as-it-is-lived’ intention of the piece. Fox and Bowers quickly fall into time with the rhythm of the text and shed their self-consciousness. However, the cold reading approach precludes us form caring about the characters and is an unfortunate roadblock before we even start on their journey. There is a flicker of redemption towards the end when Fox relates a desperately moving account of Elizabeth Bishop’s lover’s, Lota de Maceda Soares, suicide; but it is all a bit too late.

Surreal moments promise to break up the fairly static narrative; during which, in parlour game fashion, the actors react to stage directions they are given. But these theatrical devices fail to get to the heart of the matter. Bishop’s alcoholism is clumsily touched upon by the appearance of a bottle of rubbing alcohol and Lowell’s chronic depression earmarked by a pillbox of tablets spilled onto the table.

In an interview Ruhl professes to asking herself β€œwhy am I so captivated” by the poets’ lives. A rhetorical question with an obvious answer: the letters themselves are an intimately honest documentation of two bruised souls opening up to each other. In McDougall’s hands though, Ruhl might be prompted to ask the same question again.

 

Reviewed by Jonathan Evans

 

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Dear Elizabeth

Gate Theatre until 9th February

 

 

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