Irish Times writers give their verdicts.
Amadeus, Samuel Beckett Theatre, Dublin
By Helen Meany
We might complain about arts councils' strategic plans and focus groups, but as Peter Shaffer's drama about Salieri and Mozart reminds us, things could be so much worse. The play's observation of the power politics of the 18th-century Viennese court still has bite: in that hothouse the composers' livelihood entirely depended on their capacity for fawning. The cowardice, hypocrisy and conformity of Emperor Joseph II's acolytes are highlighted in this stylish production from Ouroborus Theatre (formerly Theatreworks), directed by Michael Caven.
In other respects, though, the work has not aged well, and his frequent rewriting of it since its premiere in 1979 suggests that Shaffer is aware of this. A play that remains a work-in-progress is an intriguing idea, but it's hard not to deduce that the playwright is circling around an extraordinarily potent theme but not quite pinning it down.
In this, its final version, he has added a new scene in which the tormented Salieri begs Mozart for absolution - a fusion of the religious and psychological themes that have been held in counterpoint throughout. It's a moment that demands a high emotional pitch, impressively sustained here by Denis Conway (Salieri) and Patrick Moy (Mozart) - and it has the direct dramatic force that is missing from much of the writing.
Reflecting on the hand he has been dealt by God, Salieri has to deliver what is, in effect, a long monologue, which, in Brechtian mode, frames a series of flashbacks. It now seems very cumbersome - as do the constant scene changes and exits and entrances. Ferdia Murphy's neo-classical backdrop, with revolving mirror-doors and white tiles, creates an elegant white space (exquisitely lit by Paul Keogan) which is not used to its full advantage until the second half of the play, when the stage is cleared of clutter and Michael Caven gives his fluid choreography full rein.
Patrick Moy twirls and prances engagingly as Mozart in a performance that is at times extremely moving, despite the limitations of Shaffer's characterisation of him as a childlike genius/holy fool. He is matched by marvellous performances from Simone Kirby, Jonathan White and Robert O'Mahoney, which help ease our way through this marathon evening.
For much of the play Salieri is bargaining with God; perhaps Ouroborus could have bargained with Shaffer, saying "OK, you may add one new scene if you subtract a few others".
Once Beneath the Skin, Granary Theatre, Cork
By Michael Seaver
The audience at Once Beneath the Skin were either leaning forward searching for meaning or sitting back happy to let everything sweep over them. In getting beneath the skin and into the memories of the performers, choreographer Michael Klien, an open-palmed advocate of process, has unearthed intangible and individual memories, unknown to the audience, and laid them bare through equally individual and idiosyncratic movements. The premise is simple enough - take 50 memories and reconstruct yourself through these memories alone - but the final product still left the viewer either desperately probing for a way in or blithely accepting exclusion. Klien's intention is probably both. Placing the piano onstage meant that members of the audience could follow the individual journeys of the dancers and also allow themselves to be distracted by the vigorous live performance of Bach's Goldberg Variations by pianist Lance Coburn.
The overall tone was of struggle, as dancers Nicole Peisi and Angie Smalis externalised moments from their lives. Even small details, such as a pants leg getting snagged on a heel, caused unease and, in contrast to the music's austerity, visually everything was casual. Dressed in everyday clothes the dancers committed dance no-nos such as wearing personal jewellery and too-long baggy leggings and socks, while the movement was presented almost absent-mindedly.
Equally, the audience seemed overlooked in spite of the close proximity that allowed observation of the smallest details. Sharing motifs such as left arms reaching searchingly behind them or a slowly twisting sickled foot, the performance energy of the dancers was nevertheless distinct. Peisi was more off-hand, with a cheeky grin and sprawling but perfectly controlled limbs, while Smalis was quieter and more considered.
Adjacent to the music's contrapuntal commentary the movement vignettes rejected symmetry and harmony and, from the first isolating arm movements, created a feeling of dislocation of any formal body. Textural variation in the movement was minimal, but with the shaded changes of dynamic in both music and movement an interplay developed that allowed for complement and contradiction.
With this first touring work for Daghdha Klien has set out his stall of rigorous intellect and internalised choreography through unconventional presentation.
Beautiful Thing, Andrews Lane Studio, Dublin
By Gerry Colgan
Jonathan Harvey's play is set in a block of down-market flats in an English town. Living in adjacent units are Sandra, a single mother, with her son Jamie; Ste, who lives with his alcoholic father and brother; and Leah, a disturbed girl hooked on the songs of Mama Cass. Sandra has men friends, and is currently with Tony, an inept Londoner.
The play is built on the relationships of these five people, and is centred on the emerging recognition by Jamie and Ste that they are gay. As their relationship moves towards mutual trust, the others become aware of it. This generates tension at first, but is eventually replaced by understanding and acceptance.
This is really a simple romantic story with a love-conquers-all dénouement in which Jamie and Ste, Sandra and Leah dance around the flats to a sentimental Mama Cass number as the prelude to heading out to a gay bar. As an ending, it is not only incomplete, but also untrue in the sense that it does not mirror a recognisable reality, like much that has preceded it.
The play is also undramatic. There are no depths probed here, and no events that make one sit up and take notice. The play just trundles along, developing a mini-theme that is so slight as to be almost inconsequential, and the characters are given no room to grow. Occasionally the dialogue jars, eliciting guffaws, and the Mama Cass material is typical of the mushy sentimentality that simmers beneath a pseudo-crusty surface.
The actors are excellent, with Glen Montgomery's Jamie taking the honours, and Maurice Walsh's Ste playing well against him. Annette Tierney is a strong Sandra, and Tara Nixon O'Neill, as Leah, shows a passionate commitment. Karl Mullane, as Tony, has the least sympathetic role.
The direction by Sean Colgan is a competent mining of the obdurate text - but with no nuggets.
Runs at the Granary until July 10th, then tours
Piotr Anderszewski (piano), Killruddery House, Bray
By Michael Dungan
Bach - French Overture. Szymanowski - Metopes. Chopin Mazurkas Op 63. Chopin - Sonata in B minor.
Polish pianist Piotr Anderszewski plays with an individuality that is striking rather than subtle. His ability to flavour his playing with personality but without diminishing the music was what made Tuesday's recital in the Killruddery House conservatory a memorable event.
This capacity was most obvious in his Bach, the French Overture in B minor, BWV 831. He selected and pointed up detail - especially within contrapuntal textures - like someone lovingly picking out favourite volumes from the shelves of a personal library. Such liberties could, of course, leave the integrity of a piece of music in tatters. Anderszewski's judgment, however, was unerring, so that trust in his discernment grew with each episode.
His Bach revealed a mixed approach, namely steady tempos combined with a rich exploitation of the wide dynamic range and the varying articulation that the modern piano and the sustaining pedal make available.
As he did for his NCH recital five years ago, Anderszewski programmed music by his compatriot, Karol Szymanowski. The Metopes - inspired by scenes from Greek mythology and subtitled "three poems for piano" - date from 1915, near the start of a new phase in Szymanowski's writing for the instrument.
Among the various discernible influences the clearest is that of Debussy, so that the powerful evocation of sea-spray and waves, beauty and danger in L'île de Sirenes has strong associations with water-inspired music from French impressionism. Anderszewski availed of a vast colouristic palette full of fine detail and poetic power.
He turned to Chopin after the interval, following the three Op 63 Mazurkas - of which he took the middle one daringly but convincingly slowly - with an intense, titanic account of the Sonata No. 3 in B minor.
It was in the Largo, as in the slow Sarabande of the Bach, that Anderszewski changed into an expansive, inward gear, in which he created all the time in the world for reflection of profound personal depth.
