God of Carnage
GOD OF CARNAGE Sydney Theatre Company and presenting sponsor Goldman Sachs JBWere, at the Drama Theatre, Sydney Opera House, October 8-November 14, 2009; www.sydneytheatre.com.au; images by Brett Boardman
YASMINA REZA is, to Paris, somewhere between David Williamson and David Hare. That is, a consummate entertainer – and satirist – of the bourgeoisie whose political overtones satisfy her audience’s hunger for vicarious social relevance; as well as a comfortable place to stow their consciences for a couple of hours. And as Reza is French, her eminence weighs mightily in London and New York, viz to wit, the play’s awards: Oliviers: Best New Comedy, Best Play Tony, plus two more Tony awards: best direction and best leading actress – all 2009. Perhaps that’s why the play has been staged with such alacrity by QTC in Brisbane, while Melbourne Theatre Company’s version, starring Pamela Rabe and Hugo Weaving, has just completed a successful run down south in a production said by one critic to have been the highlight of the company’s 2009. In other words, Yasmina Reza is it. But what exactly is “it”?
The basics of God of Carnage, in Christopher Hampton's witty translation from the French, are the consequences of a playground incident between Ferdinand and Bruno, two unseen 11-year-olds, whose stoush with a stick has resulted in Bruno collecting a fat lip and two damaged teeth. Incisors, to be precise. Bruno’s mother Veronica (Sacha Horler) is a walking bleeding heart who works at raising awareness of the plight of Darfur and suchlike. She has called a meeting with Ferdinand’s parents – the reluctant Alain, a big-pharma lawyer, and Annette, who’s “in wealth management”, (Marcus Graham and Helen Thomson) and Veronica’s equally reluctant husband Michel, a retailer of household plumbing goods, (Russell Dykstra) – to find closure and go forward and any number of modern weasel solutions to old-as-the-hills childhood problems.
A portentous essay in the program goes on at length about the prevalence of violence in the lives of the modern western child via TV, computer games and so on. But this seems like a red herring that distracts from the actual violence in the play – between and by the adults in their oh-so-polite and dishonest dealings with one another. God of Carnage is, I think, a less obvious work, much like the clafoutis that plays such a central role in revealing the essence of the four characters.
According to my Larousse Gastronomique, however, clafoutis should be made with cherries. If other fruits are used for the filling (Veronica’s is a daring mix of apples and pears) it should correctly be called a flognarde. Funnily enough, this is one of the few things not argued over by the two couples. Instead, the four perform a 90-minute verbal gavotte of hostilities, subtly and beautifully choreographed by director Gale Edwards. It has them constantly forming and reforming in the seemingly civilised patterns of the old French folk dance; while Marcus Graham’s pompous lawyer Alan even includes the dance’s characteristic hop step in his mobile phone-distracted perambulations around Veronica and Michel’s apartment!
The serious intent of the play is highlighted by the high and low comedy performances of the four actors. Gale Edwards has drilled them like a platoon of elite soldiers so that the vital timing, comic business and nuances of character are clear, sharp and hilarious. On opening night the only failure was the time it took the audience to catch up and get with the program. It caused some straining and overplaying during the first ten minutes or so, after which the ensemble (actors and audience) were in tune and the action picked up pace and meaning. There were some mixed responses afterwards, but a normal audience will love it: God of Carnage is a crowd-pleaser.
Between them, designer Brian Thomson and lighting designer Trudy Dalgleish have created a finely defined playing space for the quartet. Stacks of art books and elegant modern sofas and coffee table speak of social aspiration; while the back wall is both a mosaic of screens that effectively come into their own at the beginning and end of the play, and a large screen that allows a distorted shadow play extension of the actors’ physical presence. It adds another element to Edwards’ choreography and helps transform what might otherwise have been a visually static work. Costume designer Julie Lynch also raises the visual ante with a clearly themed outfit for each character. All in all the playwright has been well served by the creative team on this production.
The actors, too, give of their individual and collective best. Helen Thomson is comically brilliant and gives a gloriously sustained performance even when projectile vomiting and trying, without success, to disguise her state of falling down drunkenness. Sacha Horler holds the centre intelligently, and with equally sustained concentration, as the liberal woman whose inner demons are at war with her social ambitions. Meanwhile Russell Dykstra and Marcus Graham are generous as the polar opposite marital book ends who enclosed the flashier and rather more three-dimensional women’s roles. Both epitomise men whose superficial morality conceals beliefs and behaviour that are totally at odds with appearances; at one extreme is a hamster, at the other is the ghastly side effects of a bad drug. You have to go see it to find out how it all pans out.
In the end, however, what we learn is that apparently civilised adults are as bad as or even worse than the children they studiously avoid judging. Ultimately they are as rude, silly, mean, faithless, cruel and fickle as 11-year-olds and not to be trusted with hamsters, tulips or mobile phones. And certainly not with a bottle of rum and the tender affections of others. Come to think of it, maybe it’s not actually about learning this but about being reminded of it. Yasmina Reza really is a total clever clogs. So there, nyah nyah nyah.
