“A glimpse of the potential of what Tate can achieve with the piece, we long to break down the door and see more of the full picture”
Pablo Picasso’s father started taking him to brothels in Southern Spain at the age of thirteen, instilling in the young man a sexual desire that would prove to be a burden but also an inspiration throughout his career. He would go on to have two wives, a good half dozen celebrated mistresses and countless lovers. Some of his most iconic works feature these subjects, so it is no surprise that they are also the subject of many books, plays, films and popular music.
According to Terry d’Alfonso’s “Picasso”, the artist’s insatiability and tenuous hold on fidelity is rooted in his relationship with his mother; and the betrayal he felt upon his sister being born when he was two years old. The birth is graphically and anatomically described, but more so the sense of betrayal that little Pablo felt. Peter Tate, who bears a striking resemblance to Picasso, pulls back a thin, gauze curtain to reveal himself, addressing the audience as though he were presenting mitigating circumstances in a court of law. It is done with a curious mix of self-congratulation and self-deprecation, the former unfortunately outweighing the latter. We occasionally catch a twinkle in Tate’s eye but for the most part we get a fairly unsympathetic portrayal of the character. What the writing does show, however, is the contradiction between the respect for Picasso’s legacy and the disrespect for his use and abuse of women.
Originally staged at the same venue in 2017, Tate has since dispensed with the supporting cast, adapting the piece into a one man show. The women are still present as projections onto the flowing back curtain, like silent movie stars. We miss the substance, though, and feel that their voices are taken away to be manipulated by Picasso himself. This could be a deliberate ploy by Tate, but it strips our sympathies further.
The narrative comes from beyond the grave and is directed to the audience, almost like a lecture at times, – often focusing on the women. “You ladies here are lucky I am already dead”. Self-assured and poised, Tate mixes Picasso’s lines and those of his women, and adds generous doses of background information. But given the short running time we are offered just sketches. Olga Khokhlova, his first wife, who left Picasso after he had impregnated his model and mistress, Marie-Thérèse Walter. Dora Maar followed, or rather overlapped. The personalities fail to come across in this staging. There is no real sense of the significance of these formidable women; especially Marr, who was the one who fiercely challenged Picasso – emotionally and intellectually. We also briefly see art student Françoise Gilot, and one of Picasso’s last loves Geneviève Laporte. And finally, there is Jacqueline Roque who, forty-five years his junior, became his second wife.
It is like keyhole theatre (is that a phrase? If not, I’ll take the credit for coining it!) in that we get a restricted view of Picasso and the women in his life. A glimpse of the potential of what Tate can achieve with the piece, we long to break down the door and see more of the full picture. Whether it is budgetary or artistic criteria that relegated the female roles from flesh to fantasy, the voices need more than just one channel. But it is a channel that, under Guy Masterson’s direction, is bravely and charismatically explored by Tate. A bit of a tease though – we ultimately feel that something is being held back. Either that, or Tate needs to be given a freer rein to really take this role by the horns. A tantalising taste of what could have been is finally revealed in the stunning final moments.
Reviewed on 26th January 2023
by Jonathan Evans
Photography by Brigitta Scholz-Mastroianni Nux Photography
“Alexander’s interpretation has only served to shine a brighter light on the problems of this story, resolving none of them”
At its best, Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice is wildly problematic. But, being so iconic, so confounding and complex, we just can’t simply do away with it. As with so much of Shakespeare, the prose has become idiomatic, and speeches such as Shylock’s heart-crushing, “If you prick us, do we not bleed” could no more be discarded than Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” or Mercucio’s “A curse on both your houses.” But! Be all that as it may, the play remains problematic.
‘Shakespeare in Italy’’s A Merchant in Venice promises a modern take on the old script, cutting the cast and focusing on only six characters and their relationships with one and other, wrestling with “Justice and Mercy, Marriage and Money, Race and Class” and “the tortured nature of love.” A modern take is exactly what this play needs, magnifying the complexities and drawing them out, and throwing away anything that no longer resonates with a contemporary audience. Unfortunately, adaptor and director Bill Alexander has completely wasted this opportunity.
The main thrust of the story is that a rich Venetian, Antonio (John McAndrew), guarantors a loan for his friend Bassanio (Alexander Knox) with moneylender Shylock (Peter Tate), affectionately termed “The Jew” for most of the play. Antonio being his longstanding enemy, Shylock only agrees to the loan on the term that should Antonio fail to repay the loan by its due date, Shylock should be entitled to a pound of Antonio’s flesh. When terrible misfortune causes Antonio to lose all his money, Shylock comes knocking.
With the loss of smaller parts, the remaining characters must carry their burden too. Portia (Lena Robin), for example is left to fend alone in her introductory speech, where once her handmaiden Nerissa would have made it a conversation. Rather than a witty back-and-forth regarding her ridiculous suitors, we’re left with a long, glib ramble, superficially improved by the use of a mobile phone prop in a poor attempt to modernise.
The script has been cut, and in some places, I believe actually rewritten. If you’re going to edit Shakespeare, do so boldly. Instead, the general semi-opacity of Shakespearian English remains, but much of the poeticism is lost. This might also be blamed on the delivery though, so I can’t put it all on the edit. I wasn’t sitting with a script on my lap, so I don’t know for certain what was cut and what wasn’t, only that, perhaps in an attempt to lighten the play’s hefty discussion of endemic racism, the plot has been simplified to goodies and baddies, the Venetians being the goodies, and “The Jew” the baddie. Which ironically makes for a far less modern discussion than is allowed in the unabridged version.
I did briefly wonder whether perhaps I was simply too sensitive to the play’s anti-Semitism, given that Shakespeare was around a pretty long time ago. But, seeing the CLF Art Café’s 2019 production I recall vividly that, despite the confusingly ‘happy’ ending (resolved only by lopping it off and ending with the scene prior), they had done well to flesh out the nuances of the tensions between Antonio and Shylock, highlighting Shylock’s humanity, and the causes of his great bitterness. So, it is absolutely possible to leave this play without feeling somehow complicit.
In a way, the production’s lacklustre design- mostly black costumes and some fold-out chairs- and thoughtless stage set-up- a thrust stage, forcing the performers to show their back to much of the audience when giving their boldest speeches- simplifies things. You’re not missing anything.
The only positive note is that Alex Wilson’s Gratiano, is quite wonderful. His character is rich and complicated, playing the bully and obsequious friend to a tee, despite having very little to work with from the rest of the cast.
Obviously, a lot of people worked hard on this production, and I don’t suggest anyone had deviant or malicious intentions. But it is very much the case that Alexander’s interpretation has only served to shine a brighter light on the problems of this story, resolving none of them. To a large extent it’s a poisoned chalice to begin with. Best leave it alone and pick a less controversial number, like Othello.
