1992
Ramaz’ Gala Performance
Rustaveli Company
Space
Reviewed by Murray Bramwell
When the Rustaveli Company performed in Australia in 1986 they remained imprinted in the DNA of everyone who saw them. The most distinguished state company from the distinguished theatrical state of Georgia, the Rustavelis have toured extensively in Europe and North America presenting their unique readings of classic works – Shakespeare, a staple in Georgian theatre since last century, and Brecht, whose Threepenny Opera and Caucasian Chalk Circle are also long established items in the repertoire.
The Rustavelis’ return in 1992 is under the auspices of the Belvoir Street Theatre in Sydney where, as in Adelaide, the company has been giving master classes. Whereas previously the company toured full productions of Richard III and The Caucasian Chalk Circle, this time they are offering a program of highlights – Richard III, Chalk Circle and for the first time, King Lear. Described as Ramaz’ Gala Performance the show emphasises lead player Ramaz Chkhikvadze, the engine of the Rustaveli Company but by no means its only moving part.
Seeing the Rustavelis in the Space is a particular pleasure. Their work is so clearly and crisply formulated that it’s good to move in close. In no time it became evident that the strong after-images from the last tour were not exaggerated or misplaced. With Richard’s opening lines, Ramaz established anew the terrible rhythms of the villain. Hunched, but not orthopedically impossible, this bottled spider is only marginally more monstrous than those around him. He intuits the collective evil and energises it for his own gain. The wooing of Lady Anne beside the coffin of her husband is an erotic pantomime made possible only by her own ambition.
Ramaz’ Richard is fluidly reptilian. His tongue flicks in anticipation, he tastes power and gorges on it. In the scene of Anne’s downfall Richard looks like an old bodgie with his crown shoved down so far it almost splays his ears. He despatches his enemies with paranoiac haste. A kiss for his queen suddenly becomes a devouring, her crown is removed and she becomes an non-person.
When Tyrell is summoned to murder the princes Stanley stares downward, his eyes averted throughout the scene. Buckingham, Richard’s loyal fixer, is the last to go. Kakhi Kavsadze’s performance is, as elsewhere, an important foil to Ramaz. Tall, gaunt and strangely still he counters Ramaz’ movement and depicts the realisation of all who have been loyal to psychopathic tyrants and done dreadful things in their name. He finds that he also is dispensible. His ability has become a liability.
The Caucasian Chalk Circle brings a contrast to the program -led by Janri Lolashvili as the Lawyer, whipping up the action like a Leagues Club crooner and setting the action for Tamar Dolidze, sublime as Grushe the peasant girl. Guram Sagardze’s Captain has a comic gusto but a menace also as he bullies his one man army and leers at Grushe. The high comedy comes with Ramaz- as Adzak, the tramp made judge. In pink torn, clownish rags, a touch of rouge and thatched wig he trills and capers, anarchically mocking, bespeaking a fool’s wisdom. This Chalk Circle is not perhaps as Bertolt would have wished but it again shows the verve of the company, in interpretation and performance.
The familiarity of the first two items in no way prepared for the impact of the scenes from King Lear. A gallows is placed to one side of the stage and the storm is raised. But despite symphonic flourishes on the synthesiser the centre of the storm is frighteningly still. Lear is surrounded by the Fool, Kent and Poor Tom. Janri Lolashvili’s Fool is like a butler – black suit, butterfly collar, bow tie, his hair sprouting at the sides of his large bald head. He is holding his boot while Lear prattles hectically.
When Jan Kott wrote of the connections between Lear and Samuel Beckett this is what he meant. The dialogue is like a vaudeville routine, as cracked as the universe has become. Lear apostrophises Goneril by caressing his face with the Fool’s boot, and then Regan with a tiny flick-knife. But just before things start to get too downbeat, too much like sad clowning, Ramaz’ Lear, with the blank look of a dysfunctional child, pushes the knife into the Fool’s belly. It is a terrifying act – and with equal indifference, almost clinical detachment, he repeats it, and again until the Fool expires.
Lear is cut to the brains and the Fool cut to ribbons. Kent watches aghast, Edgar dissembling as Poor Tom looks like he is going to go into permanent psychosis. Lear is led away and the Fool is the last to leave the stage. Picking himself up and dragging one leg he performs a manic burlesque under a single spotlight while a heavily amplified bass guitar thrums in sync with his whooping movement.
The scenes with Cordelia are equally compelling. She returns from France wearing business black with a single silver epaulette. Lear is demented with fear and grief at the sight of her- which makes the final scene the more powerful. Lear drags the body of Cordelia like it is the weight of the world. Moving slowly around the edge of the stage he comes to rest downstage near the gallows. The text is cut- two nevers, no dog, horse or rat. The scene is wordlessly inconsolable. The refrain, King Lear I love you -sung ethereally from the flies- could have been totally banal. Instead, combined with the grim tableau of Lear and his dead daughter, it is one of those experiences which vindicates the authority of the theatre.
The Adelaide Review, No.104, July, 1992, p.39.