A Soldier's Tale
Inspired direction, refreshingly innovative lighting design, excellent spatial development and a happily disconcerting Surrealist film compliment
| 07 Dec 2007
Here is a sparkling, bushy-tailed production, its theatrical enthusiasm and quick-witted directorial intent strangely borne of monochrome war-era fear and despair. Presenting as ever more sombrero than sombre, this fable nonetheless wears a translucent skin, beneath which we see the organs of a suspicious and distrusting post-war society.
The Academy of St Martin in the Fields has achieved near perfection in their concept. The choice of narrative seems almost inconsequential: the cast performs not The Soldier's Tale, but the essence and core of Stravinsky himself. Above the stage he dangles; a strange, looming, lolloping creature of mismatched phrases and cold-hearted voicings, dancing his gangly dance, singing his deafening, lonely song. The characteristics of a potent soundworld are then slapped ferociously like playing cards onto a prismatic, three-dimensional Cubist montage, hovering loudly between inspired direction, refreshingly innovative lighting design, excellent spatial development and a happily disconcerting Surrealist film compliment.
The Academy has struck upon the epitome of cross-disciplinary theatre by staunchly refusing to compromise their specialised musical identity. Rather than a half-hearted conflation of flimsy elements, they have extended their own musical range and sensitivity to dictate the natural continuation of sound and idea into neighbouring media.
The lead characters are well-cast and equally magnetic: a pinkish-tinged Devil, a captivating French Julie Andrews, a narrator, silvered and aloof. Critically acclaimed solo violinist Anthony Marwood gives an exuberant, arresting performance as the soldier, eliminating the stunt double and performing himself, often by heart, the twisted, metrically tangled and undeniably virtuoso violin part usually mimed by the onstage soldier. This is realised with the pizazz of a world-class musician. A semi-staged discourse is set up with the ensemble, which suddenly appears not as supporting technicians, but a lively stage presence in its own right. It is exactly this dissolution of pretence, both in treatment of narrative and overlapping media, which imbues this production with the authenticity to float equally as a socio-political war commentary as a fantastical Faustian rollercoaster.
The Academy of St Martin in the Fields has achieved near perfection in their concept. The choice of narrative seems almost inconsequential: the cast performs not The Soldier's Tale, but the essence and core of Stravinsky himself. Above the stage he dangles; a strange, looming, lolloping creature of mismatched phrases and cold-hearted voicings, dancing his gangly dance, singing his deafening, lonely song. The characteristics of a potent soundworld are then slapped ferociously like playing cards onto a prismatic, three-dimensional Cubist montage, hovering loudly between inspired direction, refreshingly innovative lighting design, excellent spatial development and a happily disconcerting Surrealist film compliment.
The Academy has struck upon the epitome of cross-disciplinary theatre by staunchly refusing to compromise their specialised musical identity. Rather than a half-hearted conflation of flimsy elements, they have extended their own musical range and sensitivity to dictate the natural continuation of sound and idea into neighbouring media.
The lead characters are well-cast and equally magnetic: a pinkish-tinged Devil, a captivating French Julie Andrews, a narrator, silvered and aloof. Critically acclaimed solo violinist Anthony Marwood gives an exuberant, arresting performance as the soldier, eliminating the stunt double and performing himself, often by heart, the twisted, metrically tangled and undeniably virtuoso violin part usually mimed by the onstage soldier. This is realised with the pizazz of a world-class musician. A semi-staged discourse is set up with the ensemble, which suddenly appears not as supporting technicians, but a lively stage presence in its own right. It is exactly this dissolution of pretence, both in treatment of narrative and overlapping media, which imbues this production with the authenticity to float equally as a socio-political war commentary as a fantastical Faustian rollercoaster.