't Barre Land, Queens Theatre Adelaide, March 14 - The 12 steps
RealTime, 17 maart 2000 - door Gail Priest
1989. First year drama school. Learning to hate Chekhov. They tell me it’s comedy. The 3 Sisters, The Cherry Orchard. “ I am a seagull.” I’m not laughing (or not when I’m supposed to anyway).
1991. Krakow.The Wedding.Chekhov in Polish. Hysterical. I start to wonder what’s been lost in translation.
2000. The Club, Adelaide. I am dancing like a Cossack, sweating out my drunkenness to the Romany band Fanfare Ciocarlia who have just run from the opening night of Langs de grote weg. Finally I understand Chekhov. It’s all about vodka.
We stand down a lane, outside a roller shutter. I hear someone say that this is the oldest theatre still standing on the mainland. We enter the space to the rolling ‘ oompah’ refrain of the Fanfare Ciocarlia that repeats with variations until the action starts. The theatre is old and derelict, like a gutted church. We are seated on precarious rostra that appear to be almost randomly placed; little tables and crates with shot glasses scattered over them are distributed. On stage are great vertical brass plates that serve to close the chasm-like space and a long table covered with vodka bottles. The actors are already on stage, barely distinguishable from the audience. The band does a chaotic lap and the play commences. The lights are left on.
At first it feels like an absurdist play. The actors appear to be a bunch of lost people in a nowhere place. Through most of the piece they adress the audience while talking to the characters behind them. They don’t gaze through or above us but make pointed contact. You feel unsure as to whether you are actually meant to answer. Just as you decide, yes he is asking me, the character behind answers.
They are travellers stranded at a tavern by the bad weather and they need a drink. One man has no money ans says “ If I don’t get a drink right now I may do something really awful. It is not me who is asking, it is the illness.” The barman lurks on the periphery and abuses the customers. The desperate man offers his coat, the barman won’t take it. Eventually he offers the locket around his neck saying “ Don’t touch the picture,” and the bar erupts in activity. The band starts up, the bar is brought forward and we are generously plied with vodka to spare.
Now just for the record, let it be said, I was enjoying the piece before Stolichnaya appeared. After the vodka it really took off, mainly due to the memorable perfomance of Jacob Derwig who suddenly appears in the tavern, or pub as they call it (the actors themselves translated the pley from Dutch to English), who regales us with the tale of Bortzov, the drunk who had given his locket for a drink. Once a mighty landlord, he has been destroyed by the misguided love of a woman and the demon drink. At first the object of scorn, he now becomes the object of pity and he is further plied with spirit. And so are we!
Not a lot happens in this early work of Chekhov, but the single plotline is beautiful embroidered with rich characterisations and gentle humour. There is a spirit of energy underlying stillnes in the play and the performance that I haven’t experienced in theatre for a long time.
Okay, so I am the only one standing and ovating at the end, and yes the vodka warms a poor lonely girl’s heart on a cold Tuesday night in Adelaide, but those around me, who are all chatting and toasting each other by now, seem to have had a pretty fabulous time too. As one of the characters says, “ Happiness always hides behind your back, you never get to see it.” Well, vodka and ‘ Barre Land might just give you a glimpse.