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CYRANO DE BERGERAC
Review

CYRANO DE BERGERAC

November 16 2014

CYRANO DE BERGERAC, Sydney Theatre Company at the Sydney Theatre; 11 November-20 December 2014. Photography by Brett Boardman: above - Yalin Ozucelik and Richard Roxburgh; right: Julia Zamiro and Eryn Jean Norvill.

Richard Roxburgh is a fine actor and over the years has proved it time and again, on stage and on screen, in comedy and drama. Yet to play the title role in Edmund Rostand’s classic of 1897 (set in 1640) requires something more: charm, charisma and – as Cyrano so famously says of himself – panache. Happily, Roxburgh has it all and more: he exudes the humility and decency that balance out the rest. It can’t be faked and is priceless when bringing to life the unique character of Cyrano.

This production then, directed and adapted by Andrew Upton from Marion Potts’ translation, has a solid gold heart and an excellent cast. Most notable is Josh McConville as the too funny – and therefore insufficiently nasty – pastel-clad mincer de Guiche. He’s a scene-stealer and who can blame him! De Guiche, with the assistance of his equally foppish friend Valvert (Dale March) is not only determined to kill the irritatingly brilliant Cyrano but also to marry the divine Roxane (a credibly exquisite Eryn Jean Norvill). Another in their firing line is Bruce Spence as the shambolic poet-drunk Ligniere. His loyal friendship with Cyrano and intemperate utterances mean disaster for both… 

Chris Ryan is all teeth and smiles as Roxane’s inarticulate, would-be lover Christian. He worships Cyrano, especially his turn of romantic phrase and as he is oblivious to Cyrano’s hopeless love for Roxane, he begs his assistance to woo her. 

Firmly believing that the excessive size of his hooter means Roxane could never love him, Cyrano applies the clamps to his own aching heart and agrees to help. At least he gets to write what he’s always wanted to write to his love – and before long, to say it too as he becomes the daft hero’s mouthpiece.

Aiding and abetting Cyrano – and anyone else who can versify – is David Whitney as the poet-baker Ragueneau whose baguettes are much better than his villanelles. Yalin Ozucelik (Sport for Jove’s 2013 Cyrano) is here cast as the man’s relatively sober friend Le Bret and is a delight; as is Julia Zemiro in the small yet beautifully cut and polished role of Roxane’s duenna. while Alan Dukes leads the ensemble of Gabriel Gilbert-Dey, George Kemp, Kenneth Moraleda, Michael Pigott, Emily Tomlins and Aaron Tsindos.

So far so good. The actors, in particular Roxburgh, very nearly carry all before them. Not quite however. There is a lack of focus that seems partly to do with the direction: with 16 actors diffused and scattered across the depth, height and width of the Sydney Theatre’s big stage. 

It can be hard enough at the best of times to hear and see what’s going on in the space and on this occasion it’s often impossible to keep track. On opening night sections of the audience laughed at different things at different times, while others obviously missed whatever it was that provoked mirth, not least because their attention was steered elsewhere. 

CYRANO DE BERGERAC

The absence of focus seems also partly to do with a set by Alice Babidge with associate Renee Mulder, that has activity in and around a mini-proscenium arch plonked in the middle of the main stage. Most everything else takes place on a high catwalk around the black-painted sides and back wall. And it’s when the action is on the catwalk that focus is again a problem. For a start, unless one is seated in the centre of the theatre, whatever is happening on the sides is invisible (said several who were seated on the end of rows). 

Secondly, as access to and from the catwalk is via vertical ladders, actors in high-heeled boots and shoes teeter precariously on the rungs and take forever to cautiously ascend or descend. It’s awkward, distracting, time-wasting and not interesting to watch. It was an idea not fully thought out. And pity poor Roxane – doing it all in skirts and petticoats; Ginger Rogers would sympathise.

Then, making sense of the story is problematic because a chunk is missing. The first half closes with Roxane having persuaded De Guiche not to send the cadets to war but to keep them in Paris and frustrate the hell out of Cyrano. The second half opens with the cadets in dry ice and definitely at war and it’s a serious WTF? moment. (Missing is where De Guiche returns to Paris, sees that Roxane is in love with Christian and decides to send the regiment to the worst battlefront and, therefore, certain death.)

Finally, the undignified and therefore tragic manner of Cyrano’s death is fudged to the point where few would know why he is staggering around the stage. Why he is about to swoon. Nor where, finally, does the streak of blood down his face come from? All this while one should be listening without distraction to what the man is saying.

And what he is saying – in poetic death throes – must be a complete mystery to many because it is whispered hoarsely and authentically but – because of the peculiar qualities of that theatre – inaudibly. Nevertheless, on opening night there was whistling, cheering, stomping and much enthusiasm. 

Richard Roxburgh is the real deal and a delight to watch and listen to (his voice can be a seduction in itself), while McConville, Norvill, Whitney, Zemiro and Dukes, in particular, are all immensely watchable when given the opportunity. Ultimately there is a panache problem: it’s missing in action.

 

 

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