Death and the Maiden, produced by South Wales Theatre Collective

Chapter Arts Cardiff

24^th March 2011

"The time is the present and the place, a country that is probably Chile but could be any country that has given itself a democratic government just after a long period of dictatorship."

What struck me were the stark similarities between events 20 years ago and those of the present day, the play’s content is as relevant now as it was then and there are elements of the world that haven’t really changed in two decades of technological, political and social change: the location simply changes. The difficulty with Death and the Maiden is it cannot decide whether it is set in Chile or is somewhere else suffering similar oppression, whether this was a conscious act by Ariel Dorfman in order to avoid repercussions I cannot speculate.  Making reference to known methods of torture and government commissions yet never once mentioning Chile, General Pinochet or the name of the proceeding President gives ambiguity and allows it to relate to modernity but that also frustrates, it feels like it should be one or the other.

Engineering a small, confined set mirrors Paulina’s life, as Gerardo points out:  she has secluded herself and not moved on with her life so she lives within a small circle and routine.  The set also accentuates the darkness, the intensity created by the situation and back story – there is nowhere to run from this secluded beach side retreat. The moments of ‘lights down’ when shadows fill the gloom are orchestrated with sharp clarity – the moment Paulina’s resolve breaks and Miranda becomes her victim would not have had the same effect had it been done with the lights on full. The dimming and brightening of spotlights as Paulina tells the story and he writes his ‘confession’ creates poignancy, except for the distracting stage ‘clearing’  that can be accidentally heard all too clearly in this performance.

The gun: a stage prop that provided the biggest shock, I was not expecting it to be fired yet after momentarily recovering I recognised that it should have: it’s firing seals Gerardo’s opinions of his role in proceedings and Paulina’s resolve to see her actions through. The play takes this point to shift gear towards the end; Paulina is no longer a prisoner in her own life unable to forget or forgive.  The violin playing throughout has a key part, it complements the darkness and solitary confinement within the characters lives: it sets the scene at the start and provides increased tension throughout. I did find the single, drawn out note near the end difficult to comprehend – it was an unnecessary addition to a piece progressing skilfully and creatively as an entity and within Chapter Arts Stwdio space. 

Gary Knowles’ Dr Roberto Miranda is a convincing yet ambiguous character, you never find out if he truly is the man behind Paulina’s torture. Are the ‘alterations’ he makes to Paulina’s story fed via Gerardo the accidents of a man under intense pressure or the truth of a twisted, guilty perpetrator?  The tone of voice lends to the quiet, innocent man he professes to be and gives his dialogue the intensity it needs. The intensity of Paulina however, does come across as slightly monotone: her tone and voice level perfect for moments of high intensity and emotion i.e. when Gerardo finds Paulina has kidnapped their guest and each time she brandishes the gun. Paulina’s strong, loud, demanding voice could be softer in order for the audience to hear and see her pain – Gerardo’s softer tones are more suited to his role, having to talk Paulina down, but his character could gain strength and power in more places by varying tone and volume: where you feel he should be arguing with her, not begging. Their fleeting argument over the car jack is a perfect example of the loving, familial sides to their characters that invite momentary tonal changes and an insight into the people they can be when the trauma of torture and oppression does not hang over their heads. Voice is a key part of the play as it is Miranda’s voice that Paulina recognises, bringing her past flooding back and causing the ensuing drama. Fifteen years of silence and a single voice can change everything.

Beachy Head Theatre Review

7th March,
Weston Studio, WMC

In death are we little more than a statistic? Or is there more to it than one death for every half a second? With a production that resonates with the soul Beachy Head sets out to cleverly bring the individual and emotions out from behind closed doors and off the sheet of paper that tells us that 1 in 9000 deaths are suicides. Beachy Head addresses one man’s suicide and the ripples that the action causes and the extraordinary circumstances of a suicide being caught on camera than the death itself.

With no sign, no warning it has been a month since Stephen jumped and his wife Amy is picking up the pieces, trying to understand why and struggling with the box that Stephen’s life has been reduced to. Filmmaker’s Matt and Joe on the other hand struggle with the morality of the 8 seconds of film capturing Stephen’s last moments, after all what do you do with footage like that? Delete it, or is that disrespectful? Use it and build a film around it? In Dr Rachel Sampson’s world it is clinical, scientific and removed. Her role brings the emotions and confusions back to earth but without the cold hard slap, it creates a balance that allows us to see the facts behind suicide that no one thinks about.

The use of the multimedia is cleverly played out, weaving theatrical and filmic techniques that produce a film within a play, a reverse of what film has done before. As the filmmakers build their documentary the story plays out and character monologues become talking heads and the audience is brought in to represent the masses. Very little is pre-recorded; all the ‘hand held’ camera work is fed through a live studio feed onto the screen. The use of the eerie musical sound-track sound track and visions of the cliffs brings a realistic outdoors into the artificial inside space.

Steven’s character is never fully explained: “He didn’t share what was in his head” (Amy) and his often silent, fleeting presence on the stage deepens the mystery. Concluding that you never really know why he jumps, down to his removal of his shoes.  The script plays carefully not to focus too much on why he did it, focusing on depression as an all out answer can be clichéd, his cliff top phone call is simple and powerful. Even Steven cannot explain himself: “I just have bad days”. As Amy summons the courage to de-box Steven’s possessions she discovers his last notebook, a story about a boy who cannot stand all the light surrounding him. The plot creates juxtaposition between the boy and Steven – asking the question are they the same person?  Steven’s ghostly presence acts out the story as Amy reads, his own voice blending with hers at certain points, making it clear that it is significant.  The beautiful scene at the end of Amy throwing the pages off the cliff is theatrical and poignant, freeing her emotions and Steven’s soul.

Handling such a sensitive subject is difficult; especially one that has been in and out of the news in recent years. In response the research ploughed into Beachy Head by Analogue is clearly evident, even in the smallest of details. The production artfully weaves around the emotions and facts brought about by suicide, analysing them with great sensitivity and care and with the utmost creativity. I almost don’t want to pick, but there is a piece at the end where Steven’s jump is re-enacted as Amy watches the 8 second clip, whilst very emotive and artfully done it feels a little strange, as if the act itself is out of place amongst the emotion and cold hard facts. The audience and Amy have only just begun to recognise the multiple reasons to why he could have done it and understand it cannot truly be explained, I am still unsure how I felt about it.

Analogue are touring Beachy Head around the UK until the end of March.