Category: Mary Woodward Review

**** (4 stars)

“A Brilliant Concept!”

I don’t know quite what I was expecting with this collaboration between Scottish Opera and KAJIMOTO, but what I found was much food for thought and some exquisite moments fusing art and music.

The Japanese artist Hokusai is probably best known to most Brits as the man who painted ‘that famous picture of the enormous blue wave towering over a tiny mountain’.  Composer Dai Fujikura and multi-disciplinary artist, writer and producer Harry Ross, with the assistance of a team of very talented creatives, offered us a series of scenes from the life of the artist. 

We began in silence: mourners bring single lilies to lay on what one assumes is a coffin – though like so many things in this opera, the shape and purpose of the central object is not immediately clear to a western eye.  Hokusai is dead, but his spirit watches over his daughter Ōi as she remembers coming to live and work with her father.  A shivering Chinese flute provides an unearthly accompaniment.

Hokusai is struck by lightning.  While unconscious, he has a vision of being in a small fishing boat from which he can see a distant view of Mount Fuji.  A giant wave nearly overwhelms the boat.  He becomes consumed with the need to survive, and to paint the Great Wave.

We go back and forwards in time: scenes from the funeral; public art-making by the painter; his financial struggles and the acquisition of a pot of Prussian Blue pigment [‘more valuable than gold’]; the ageing artist sharing health-giving tea with his daughter; his move to Obuse and interaction with the people there: and a final dream-like scene in which the painter’s spirit commingles with and disappears into the mythical Tiger and Dragon. 

Throughout the opera, the constant refrain is “give me ten more years” – Hokusai the artist never sits still, confident that he had ‘got it right’: he is always looking to refine his art so that every line, every dot expresses the essence of what he is trying to portray.

I guess my first reaction was “Quite what is an opera?”  The Great Wave is not filled with jealousy, rage, despair, unrequited, thwarted or forbidden love, dynastic tangles, sibling rivalry, mistaken identities, or tragic deaths: so is it opera?  Certainly there are words and there is music, but any emotions are restrained almost to the point of non-existence.  Blessedly the dialogue is in English, and there are supertitles to help when the pitch of the notes or the timbre of the voice make comprehension difficult.

The music took some getting used to – not because it was not pleasant to listen to, but because it was all completely new, with few ‘comfort zones’ in which to rest for a while.  There was some gorgeously evocative Chinese flute playing – fascinating to see the instrument itself when its player took his bow at the final curtain.  There was a gloriously bubbling accompaniment to the drinking of the health-giving tea offered by daughter to father, and some terrifying moments during the dream-storm during which Hokusai experienced the Great Wave. 

The music certainly doesn’t fit into a standard operatic pattern of conversation [recitative] to advance the action and song [arias and ensembles] in which the singer or singers reveal their feelings.  In telling a friend about the challenges of making sense of it, especially on a first hearing, I was reminded of Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande, which similarly consists of a number of scenes [which I described to her as inscrutable] from which one tries to work out quite what is happening and what is each character’s motivation, with little help from the music.   There were very few moments in The Great Wave when more than one voice joined in harmony – and those few were most welcome.   As with other modern works, I feel I would benefit hugely from hearing it more than once, whereupon it might begin to make a lot more sense.

Visually the piece was very impressive.  Initially, a huge whiteish cylinder dominated the stage – until it separated into three sections which, when rotated, revealed a gigantic representation of the Hokusai painting so familiar to us all.  Most of the costumes were creamy-white, so when in the second half Hokusai and Ōi’s costumes were infused with some of the Prussian Blue, it was a striking [and welcome] contrast.   There wasn’t much other moveable scenery – though at times there was a large group of stagehands getting props on and off stage: good that they got their own applause at the final curtain. 

Applause, too, for the puppeteers, whose sinuous weaving of Tiger and Dragon throughout the final scenes contributed hugely to the spectacle.  My companion summed it up nicely when he suggested that Hokusai was dissolving into and becoming one with the world of Tiger and Dragon – a brilliant concept which is difficult to portray on a Glasgow stage: it could be done so superbly with film effects…

Running through the whole piece was a meditation on what is life about? what is being an artist about?   As I’ve said, “Give me another ten years and I will be a better artist” was Hokusai’s constant refrain.  At times we got many of his pictures, projected on to the segments of the cylinder.  Unfortunately for those on the edges of the auditorium, the projections were not always particularly easy to see clearly.  The Great Wave itself, though, was utterly fabulous, on a mammoth scale commensurate with the wave from the artist’s dream.

There was also the challenge of understanding something from an unfamiliar culture. The representations of ‘Japanese culture’ that we receive mostly from western artists and western ideas of what ‘Japanese’ is [think Puccini’s Madam Butterfly, or Gilbert and Sullivan’s Mikado] all very good, but rarely if ever representations of the real Japan. 

My recent obsession with K-drama on Netflix was an eye-opening introduction into a completely different cultural world where gestures, facial expressions, behaviour, and the niceties of language all mean something which I am only slowly learning to understand.  The recent film Rental Families was another instance of how hard it can be for westerners to understand oriental culture.  How easy to judge by western standards rather than try to grasp the reality…  It was very helpful to read the synopsis of the action before the show began: I would have found it equally helpful to have an introduction to the basics of Japanese culture and manners, costume and behaviour!

Cast and creatives, too many to mention individually, have worked together to create a novel and challenging work.  Huge credit to everyone involved in The Great Wave – yet another amazing Scottish Opera first! 

Scottish Opera presents The Great Wave, Theatre Royal, Glasgow, Run Ended. The production will play the Festival Theatre Edinburgh on Thursday 19^th and Saturday 21^st February for more information and tickets go to: https://www.capitaltheatres.com/shows/the-great-wave/

***** (5 stars)

“Gloriously life-affirming”

Australian stop-motion artist Adam Elliot is new to me – somehow I managed to miss his previous animation, Mary and Max.  Oh my goodness what a talent!  What an imagination!  And what a splendid collection of characters, settings and props – every one of which is hand-made.  It’s visually stunning, brilliantly created, and a real emotional roller-coaster [insider reference to a significant moment fully intentional here].

Grace Pudel is a twin.  She and her brother Gilbert live with their father: their mother died at their birth – just as snails do – and their father, a French street performer who moved to Australia when he married their mother, is severely disabled after an unfortunate accident.  Their life is hard, but not without its joys, until the father dies.

Heartless Child Services separate the children and place them the opposite sides of the continent.  Both are extremely unhappy, but have no way of being re-united: all they can do is write to each other.  Gilbert is lodged with apple farmers who practice a very extreme religion – this is so horrifically well-portrayed I couldn’t laugh at it.  Grace is simply neglected by her incredibly toothily smiling ‘parents’, who follow one extreme fad after another.  The only things that make Grace’s life bearable are her growing collection of live snails and snail memorabilia   

– until she comes across the indomitable Pinky, who brings life and colour into her drab existence.

You wouldn’t think things could get any worse, but they do.  I was beginning to wonder whether there would be any relief in this catalogue of disasters – but be reassured, dear reader: there is light at the end of a very dark tunnel, but I’m not going to share any spoilers!

Memoir of a snail explores the strength of human connections, the extent to which people will go in pursuit of what they firmly believe to be right regardless of its effect on others, and humans’ reactions to extreme stress and unhappiness. 

Surrounding oneself with a snail shell of Stuff creates an impermeable barrier to any sort of relationship with other humans or the world outside: it can take a great shock or an immense amount of courage to leave the safety of the shell and dare to risk being alive, to live rather than simply exist.  Thank heaven for Pinky’s final utterance – “potatoes”…

This is a gloriously life-affirming film – which is available on the BFI website if you weren’t able to be at the FilmHouse last night.  There’s a lot of humour [though some of it made me wince rather than laugh].  It’s an exploration of the perils of hoarding and keeping guinea pigs, and a very strong warning about the dangers of extreme religion [and possibly apples]. 

I am definitely going to add it to my ‘when you’re feeling really bad and need to know there’s hope somewhere’ list.

I hope you’ll discover and enjoy it too.

Memoir of a snail, Manipulate Festival, Film House Edinburgh, RUN ENDED

**** (4 stars)

“An honest and courageous show”

Created and performed by Ninon Noiret, The Raft of the Crab uses words, music, puppetry, contemporary dance and the Chinese pole to explore Ninon’s relationship with the cancer which might have destroyed her performing career and taken her life.

The fact that Ninon was in front of us, displaying a breathtaking ability with said pole among her many other talents, could perhaps have indicated that neither of these fates came to pass – but still the audience was gripped by her narration.  From the beginning, where she sadly sings ‘happy birthday’ to herself, to the final quizzical introspection – ‘what will you do with the rest of your life?’ we are drawn into the confusion and challenge of her world, into which the dreaded crab – cancer – so rudely erupted.

She puts a brave face on it – but the fear is there too, the rage, the loneliness, the despair: the insensibility of others and the black humour with which she attempts to survive when at her lowest.  The words flow out – sometimes English, sometimes French, and sometimes inaudible: the really important pieces of information and comment, however, are delivered with a microphone and a dazzling smile, even when the message is grim.

Two puppets assist her.  One is life-sized – the self to whom she speaks when she is pondering how the crab first came into her body.  The other is half her size, a shrunken and virtually bald image of the self she becomes through chemotherapy, constantly tugging at her inadequate hospital gown, smoothing it down, ‘making herself decent’ – heart-breaking.

There’s also a large blue crab: the cancer, with whom she has a love-hate relationship – a friend as well as an enemy, something both inside and outside her, something which takes away a part of her but is also at times her whole identity.

This is an honest and courageous show in which Ninon reveals a lot about herself and those around her.  Sometimes the battle isn’t with the cancer but with the people she has to deal with – even her family, at times.  She questions herself – even in this dreadful time, the artist/ performer part of her is thinking about how she can put her experiences into a show…  The graphic physicality of her struggle to regain mobility, confidence, the courage to fly up the pole is striking.

So too is her final question: what will you do with the rest of your life?

It’s a question we could all ask ourselves, whether or not a crab appears to ruin our birthday celebrations.

The Raft of the Crab, Manipulate Festival, The Studio Theatre, Edinburgh, Run Ended

***** (5 stars)

“Totally absurd anarchy”

KAR is a show which makes me wish I had a completely new vocabulary with which to describe it: ordinary words seem utterly inadequate.

As we enter, we are thanked for coming and for our condolences.  If we wish, we can take a small red nightlight holder whose candle is lit and place it in front of a rectangular plinth on which a man is lying.  Two black-clad men, one on roller skates, are in attendance on him – one attends to the cigarette in his mouth, removing it and tapping its ash off when required.  The other joins him when it becomes clear that the recumbent man needs a drink [which appears to be either whisky or vodka].  All this time, the [very poorly looking] man wheezes out a short musical phrase on the small piano accordion on his chest…

Having ushered us all in, the third man leaves his post at the door and scrutinises us all, checking against a long list in his hand.  Suddenly “Where’s Anya?” – utter chaos ensues but she doesn’t appear.

At last the dying man speaks – “I’m leaving” – a violin lament accompanies his last tortured wheezings

“He’s dead”…

Respectful silence.

Suddenly the man sits up, pronouncing “Not yet….. later…. Tomorrow….”  It’s both a shock and a huge relief

And we plunge into an hour of totally absurd anarchy, which is virtually indescribable!  Five extremely talented artists keep us immersed in their surreality.  It might help if you have a nodding acquaintance with Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina [which I read quite a few decades ago] and possibly understand Russian – there are some haunting folk-like songs weaving through the show. 

But quite honestly, all you really have to do is sit and silently admire the staggering virtuosity of the performers – Anna Bubníková, Jiří N Jelínek, Ivo Sedláček, Pavol Smolárik and Matija Solce.  Not only are they accomplished singers and musicians – violin, cello, double bass, piano accordion and a jaw-dropping array of percussion implements, including at one point a scythe – but also puppeteers, mime artists and comedians with very impressive physical dexterity and an impeccable sense of timing.

There’s a lot of vodka, some tea, two tiny steam locomotives, glasses of all shapes and sizes, an urn, a Eurasian woodcock…

And among it all, an irrepressible zest for and celebration of life

Yes, we will die

But later…tomorrow…

Not today!

Fekete Seretlek: KAR, Manipulate Festival, Festival Theatre Studio, Edinburgh, Runs until 5^th February for tickets go to: Kar – Capital Theatres

***** (5 stars)

“A wonderful winter warmer!”

Carlos Acosta’s Nutcracker in Havana is the perfect antidote to the winter blues, and a packed Festival Theatre was loud in its appreciation both during and at the end of last night’s performance.  Rhythm, passion, fire and fun infused a sunny, joyful celebration of simply being alive.

The basic Nutcracker story was all there – the Christmas celebration; Clara’s nutcracker doll – broken by her brother Fritz, who believes his sole purpose in life is to torment his sister, and mended by the magician Drosselmeyer; the midnight fight between rats and soldiers, brought to an end by Clara; her reward when the nutcracker, now a handsome prince, takes her to the magical Kingdom of Sweets, where she meets the Sugar Plum Fairy and is entertained by a series of dances.

So often Nutcracker can simply be an almost sickly-sweet confection danced by talented but slightly unreal and generally white dancers.  [I must say that Scottish Opera certainly don’t come into this category, but are very much alive!]

Carlos Acosta, by moving the setting to Havana, and using his own childhood experience of growing up in a humble Cuban home in a country where the celebration of Christmas was illegal, has produced a lively, energetic celebration of both the Christmas spirit and the sheer joy of dancing.

A very meagre Christmas celebration is underway when suddenly Tio [uncle] Elias appears in his classic Chevrolet Corvette.  He brings three life-sized dolls with him – two of the many Yoruba gods, Changò and Oshùn, and a Tin Soldier.  With a wave of his hands, the humble hut and sparse decorations are changed into a mansion with glittering ornaments on a suddenly taller tree.  The dolls dance, the families dance; there is a wonderful clog dance, with everyone wearing [or in one case continually losing] chancletas; a maypole’s ribbons come down from the ceiling and are joyfully woven and unwoven.

Peace returns as everyone goes to bed: but life-sized rats emerge and are engaged in battle by Mambises, soldiers who fought to free Cuba from the Spanish.  Clara appears when things are looking desperate, and despatches the Rat King.  The Nutcracker transforms into a handsome Prince, and dances with Clara.  Snowflakes appear and dance round them: as snow falls, Tio Elias appears with his car and takes Clara and the Prince for a magical ride.

Clara, the Prince, and Tio Elias are in the Kingdom of Sweets, where cooks present a dazzling display of confectionery for their delight.  They are welcomed by the Sugar Plum Fairy, and under Tio Elias’ direction a succession of dancers entertain Clara – who is so delighted that at times she can’t resist joining in with the dancing, and is very reluctant to go back to her seat.

All good things must come to an end, and Clara is taken home, falling asleep clutching her nutcracker doll, where her family find her and lead her back to her bed… was it all a dream???

The Cuban flavour didn’t only colour the action, but infused and energised Tchaikovsky’s already wonderful score.  Some of the music was presented more or less ‘straight’, simply with more exotic orchestration: some of it was really boogied up, and infectiously – at one point I really, really wanted to get up and join the dancing.  I’m sure I wasn’t alone in this!  Pepe Gavrilondo and Yasel Muñoz have created a singularly uplifting and energising score which I’d love to hear again and have on tap for when I’m feeling blue.  I defy anyone to feel down if they could dance around to this engaging and appealing treatment of the Nutcracker score.  Yunet Uranga’s costumes were a wonderful mix of ‘everyday’ and ‘wow! spectacular!’ with a special shoutout for the Arabian, Chinese and Russian dancers’ costumes.

The dancers were all brilliant – even one small Oops! moment was gone in a flash, making me wonder if I’d dreamed it.  Thalia Cardin lit up the stage as Clara [reminding me a bit of Emma Raducanu when she’s really glowing with happiness].  Alexander Varona was an impressively magical Tio Elias, taking delight in his own cleverness while also bringing joy to everyone else.  Most of the rest of the amazingly talented cast were double- treble- and even quadruple-cast, and it was lovely to see that members of the Acosta Advanced Training Hub in Woolwich were on stage in a couple of the large group numbers – what a joy and privilege to take part in such a vibrant and joyful production!

Applause and cheers were loud and prolonged not just at the final curtain but throughout the performance as the packed house showed its appreciation of the talent displayed for them.  I’m sure many of the audience were experienced balletomanes, but I’m hoping that a large proportion were people who’d never seen live ballet before.  My, what a treat for them, which I hope will lead them to come to more ballets and discover a box of delights which is not just for Christmas.

Thank you, Carlos Acosta, for devising this sparkling production, and for bringing it to a dismally dreich Edinburgh last night.

Carlos Acosta’s Nutcracker in Havana, Festival Theatre, Edinburgh, runs until Wednesday 4^th February for more information and tickets go to: https://www.capitaltheatres.com/shows/nutcracker-in-havana/

The Production completes its current UK Tour at the Theatre Royal Norwich from 10^th to 11^th February.