Outrageously funny, creepy and filled to the brim with innuendos and openly sexual scenes, Joe Hill-Gibbins’ interpretation of The Changeling makes it very hard to believe that the play was written nearly 400 years ago. At the Young Vic.
It seems like a perfectly straight-forward setup for royal intrigues and misunderstandings: Beatrice is just about to be married off by her father to a man she does not love. Just then, she catches the interest of young Alsemero, and so the daughter of the house decides that a good-looking fellow like that is well worth sinning for. But the conundrum is, of course, that she doesn’t really want to get her hands dirty while ridding herself of the unfavourable future husband. So she turns to the one person on court she utterly despises and feares and makes a deal that’s based utterly on a grave misunderstanding. What starts innocently enough in a church turns quickly into an absurd bath – not just of blood, but of all sorts of bodily liquids, smelly pulps and excessive trifle.
The main plot is supplemented by a story set in a madhouse – and in this piece, William Rowley’s contribution to Thomas Middleton’s piece is a cleverly distorted and grotesque mirror of the main story at court. The moral demise of the characters and absurd situations they put themselves through resonate with many topics relevant today: especially the connection between male, political authority and the power that is being exerted over women’s bodies.
The space that has to serve as a castle and an insane asylum at the same time resembles a big gymnasium, with blue sport mats and one of those big nets that keeps audiences from being hit by ricocheting balls. It’s a daring way of creating theatre in the round that experiments with different seating options for the audience, but one that also has a distinct drawback for approximately half of the audience. It is actually quite irritating being forced to watch a play through this net for two hours straight and it detaches the viewer from the action on stage. I know that this is probably the point of the whole thing, so well done to the design team (Ultz, who was responsible for the design of the much-discussed Jerusalem) for actually reading Brecht and shoving an alienating device in my face. I would imagine the play would be a whole different experience if you manage to get a seat in the commentary box-like structure very close to the jello-laden action that’s always a tad too creepy to actually be sumptious.
So yes, after moving the play from the smaller Maria Studio (where the play had a run at the beginning of this year), the space and the stage in the main house are a bit too wide to allow the viewer proper submersion into the story. Nonetheless, it’s a masterclass in visually irreverent theatrical design, because the messiness it creates is never pointless. My favourite visual joke involves three different coloured puddings being smeared over in ecstasy writhing bodies.
The fourth act is a disjointed beast, but the director still manages to get a fairly good grip on it, and the excellent actors help to reign the piece in even when the plots weakens slightly. Zubin Varla, who earlier this year could be seen in Don Juan Comes Back From The War at the Finborough, returns in an equally visceral role, but here, with his flakey forehead, he is more of an anti-Don Juan. He plays pitiful and facially disfigured de Flores, who is taking advantage of Beatrice. Sinead Matthews plays the tragic leading lady as a slightly sneaky woman who is all too ready to give up moral standards to achieve her goals, but who is also forced by the men in her life to act in exactly that way. Harry Hadden-Paton’s Alsemero is a bit of wide-eyed drip who never seems to realise that his actions (and proclivities) have caused many the conflicts in the first place.
It’s exciting to watch; intellectual and raw at the same time, with convincing performances that lack any modesty. Although, the number of times I have heard Beyoncé’s Single Ladies used on stage to comment on a play’s sexual politics… I can assure all burgeoning directors and designers that this device has now definitely run its course, but this piece wins the prize for the most mischievous and sardonic use of it.