Friday March 29, 2024
Mary Stuart
Review

Mary Stuart

November 9 2008

Mary Stuart by Friedrich Schiller, adapted by Peter Oswald; Ensemble Theatre, Sydney. October 28-December 6, 2008.

GRETA Scacchi is undoubtedly the drawcard for the sell-out houses at the Ensemble for Mary Stuart, because the play – by Schiller and adapted by Englishman Peter Oswald – is something of a departure for the venerable (celebrating 50 years) establishment. It could be accounted for by two things: Scacchi wanted to do it and so did relatively new associate director Mark Kilmurry. Whatever the reasons, the result is fascinating.

This is because Mary Stuart is a fascinating play and the production itself is also fascinating. Both brim with contradictions, ideas and psychological conundrums. It’s immediately entertaining to watch and, much later, you’ll find yourself pondering thoughts about it that have somehow stuck in your mind.

Mary, Queen of Scots (Kate Raison) is one of the more dramatically compelling characters in British history and she was never more so than in this play. She is rivaled only by her half sister, Elizabeth I (Scacchi) a woman who has also been the subject of her share of theatrical and operatic dissection; never mind Cate Blanchett’s two recent turns as the movie version of the Virgin Queen.

So what makes this play so captivating? First of all, Schiller has taken dramatic license with history and injected a few “what ifs” into the known facts. In the context of the drama on stage the most gripping is the meeting of the two, in a meadow close to Fotheringay Castle, (which never happened). For the internal impetus of the play, the psychological portrayals of the two women are acute and often unexpected. And these are made more so by the design (Julie Lynch) and directorial decisions.

History has brought down to us a fierce and courageous Elizabeth who defied the French, defeated the Spanish and whose reign turned into a golden period (the Elizabethan age) for England and who once said, “I may not be a lion, but I am a lion’s cub, and I have a lion’s heart.” In contrast, Mary is a more enigmatic and figure; not least because she was imprisoned by her cousin for 19 years and then beheaded.

Schiller, however, virtually reverses the roles. Elizabeth is imprisoned by her role and – ironically – by her power, by the constant intrigues and plots and danger to her person and the England; by the need for diplomacy in relation to France and her own vexation when she is faced with her nobles’ call for Mary’s head. As played, magnificently and subtly, by Greta Scacchi, she is at once imperious and nervous; decisive and vacillating; brave and terrified. Imprisoned by circumstance and even by her regal garb (huge wired ruff, immense skirts, stiff lace, rigid corset and bodice; jewels and wig) Elizabeth paces and swirls in a constant rustle and swish of discomfiture. Even her face is imprisoned – by its stark white-lead make-up – and is virtually immovable but for darting, emotion-filled eyes; at moments of acute anxiety she chews mercilessly at her finger nail and her mouth and teeth are the most mobile element of her person.

Compare this with Mary, imprisoned for 19 years; a life spent in exile of various kinds and in various places. She was highly educated and intelligent and – unlike her cousin – had no real outlet for her talents. Although crowned queen of Scotland as a babe in arms, she never ruled; betrothed to the young Dauphin as a child and married to him at 16, neither did she rule France. As well, in Mary Stuart, the action takes place in the period leading up to Mary’s execution, when she was imprisoned and powerless. Yet it is Mary who is the one with freedom. This is signaled by her simple, flowing robes and loose, flowing hair (historically inaccurate but that’s not the point). It’s also indicated and becomes a recurring motif: Elizabeth is physically rigid and hemmed in by advisers and courtiers; Mary is just the opposite. She has no finery, no adornment except for a crucifix and rosary; her court is her lady-in-waiting (Julie Hudspeth). The contrast could not be more extreme nor thought-provoking.

What is freedom? What is power? What is morality and what is immorality? What is the difference between justice and the law? What is the difference between love and hate? Miserably, Elizabeth wrestles with these questions as she is urged by all around her to do away wit Mary and the threat she is seen to pose to the English throne. This is an Elizabeth we are not accustomed to: uncertain, changing her mind between one swirl of skirts and the next; desperately seeking someone – anyone – to take away this particular responsibility.

Mary Stuart

Meanwhile, incarcerated in a castle keep, without recourse to decisions, power or any prospect of life beyond its walls, Mary somehow floats free. As the doomed queen Kate Raison is by turns girlish and regal – as befits a monarch who has no influence and no realm. Her anger and despair are countered by her faith in her (Catholic) god and a flickering belief that Elizabeth will not behead her.

Ironically, Elizabeth’s own seesawing torment is also extreme as each moves towards the other and the inevitable outcome of their places in the scheme of things. Although the two queens are rarely on stage together, their narratives are so entwined the effect is utterly enthralling.

Peripheral to the two are the men, powerful and not so powerful, who surround Elizabeth and – in their Mary too. Ben Ager, Alan Dukes, Daniel Mitchell, Jonathan Prescott and Michael Ross are like ants around a sugar bowl: anxious, needy, harried and hurried. The exception is Patrick Dickson whose weariness is profound as he warily circles the fatal obstacles of court life. Mitchell and Dickson are the strongest of the men but, in truth, they are peripheral to the life and death struggle for moral and worldly supremacy that rages between the queens.

In 1800, when Schiller wrote Mary Stuart, George III signed the Act of Union which brought Ireland into the United Kingdom, with such ghastly consequences; Napoleon was on the rampage in Europe, political turmoil, intrigue and treachery were everywhere. The play could have been seen as a a virtual docu-drama, or one of those allegories that, in earlier times, hadallowed playwrights to obliquely comment on events of their day.

The same could be said of our own time, when politics is just as corrupt and morality is a blurry concept. The adaptation by Peter Oswald is muscular and also sprinkled with surprising humour. The laughter heightens the tragedy at the heart of the play and altogether the overall effect is a satisfying, intensely dramatic and often very moving two and a half hours of theatre.

It’s pretty well sold out, apparently, but if you can get a ticket: do.

 

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