Academy Award Predictions: Happy Oscars Everybody! 

It’s Theatre Thursday! Today’s show is the recent streaming production of ‘Mr. Burns’ from the Guidhall School of Music & Drama. It was live-streamed in late May and then reshared for pick-your-own-time-with-the-ability-to-pause-it viewing (unbeatable) this past month.

Mr. Burns, Anne Washburn’s lauded (and somewhat divisive) 2012 play, analyzes how culture evolves over time, with the help of The Simpsons. In Washburn’s dystopian society, an apocalyptic event has wiped out most people and all the power — the proper stylized title is actually Mr. Burns, a post-electric play. Overall, the play is fascinating in how it weaves details of a single episode of TV into markers of cultural importance over distinct time periods, in a fun (for Simpsons fans, not that the downer of a play is any fun) clever way of contemplating how history and culture are formed.

In this newest incarnation, I think it was hinted at that a virus did the people wiping part (gotta make shit relevant and more terrifying!), and the lack of sufficient people to attend to places like nuclear power plants did the rest. We meet a scraggly bunch of survivors around a campfire, where the zigzagging conversation intertwines stories of cities they’ve traveled to and what they found there, with a discussion about The Simpsons. The group tries to collectively share the play-by-play of the episode from memory – of course, as that’s all they have. It helps to be familiar with The Simpsons, especially the crucial episode Cape Feare – crucial for Simpsons fans, I believe (and musical theatre fans), and for appreciating this play.

This first act is filled with frustration and sadness — at the lack of knowledge about what’s going on in other parts of the country and who else has survived, as well as at their inability to ever truly find out what parts of the episode they are forgetting or misremembering. In this strongest part of the play, the emotional roller coaster from the excitement as the characters finally remember a line of dialogue, from the terror when someone new happens upon their location, from the grief and misery when they deliver their memorized lists of names of people they’re looking for, it’s a lot but it all feels earned.

But it’s the ensuing acts that show the cleverness of the play’s central concept. It jumps to 7 years later, when groups of survivors have become like traveling theatre troupes who perform — episodes of The Simpsons, especially Cape Feare. The way the seemingly casual campfire conversation has become one of the most fundamental parts of the society they’re forming is so interesting. It’s something that most people remember watching at some point, but they’ve latched onto it and given it enhanced importance in this new world, seemingly just to share something they can believe is important. The details have gotten messier, the lines a little paraphrased, as memories have faded and altered. Strangely, the survivors have given the same reverence to the inclusion of commercials in their productions. While it’s interesting to see what kinds of things they think would be advertised, there is way too much time spent on showing us their commercials, and even more time spent on a non-Simpsons non-commercial musical performance. Details from this performance make it into the third act in compelling ways that support the central idea, but the same result is achieved with the Simpsons details alone.

And that third act is wild. It’s now 75 years later, and the society has developed what seems like a serious religion and candle-filled religious ritual based on what has lasted from this episode of The Simpsons. Mr. Burns, earning the title placement, is now a murderer trying to kill the entire Simpsons family, and, well, doing so. The entire act is this religious ritual, a music-filled performance of what’s now their sacred stories. The once remembered details now have obviously been completely transformed, mutated into something unrecognizable but still with familiar aspects – the character names, the boat, the singing, the Gilbert & Sullivan lyrics. It’s an insane ride. I loved how all of these sections show how culture and history adapt over time, as certain things are remembered, misremembered, and reconstructed in human societies. It’s a reminder that the history we know and study all depends on a human’s retelling of an event, and humans are imperfect, biased historians. The way certain details hold fast through all three time periods in the play, and the way others morph into unrecognizable and surprising new cultural tenets, are a fascinating reflection of culture and how tenuous it is.

However. This third act is too long and overindulgent. It takes the unnecessary and overly long musical number of the second act and forking runs with it. This section is so long and chaotic and disconnected from the emotional beats the previous two sections had managed to achieve that I actually got annoyed. I may have audibly sighed. It didn’t help that the singing wasn’t great (I won’t say any more about the actors, who were all fine, because I think they’re students and like, they’re not done training). But even so this act was overall Too Much, nearly negating all the clever goodwill from before.

Information:

Run & running time: Mr. Burns runs about 2 1/2 hours. (It should run about 2 hours 10 minutes.) Hopefully Guildhall will release the stream again, or a new production (that makes cuts) will come, because it is such an interesting play.

Technicals: The stream froze every 5 minutes. For the amount of streaming theatre we’ve watched in the past year (it’s a shittonne), we’ve really only had issues when the stream is set up to defend a higher quality image instead of reducing the picture quality when necessary and focusing on continuous play and sound. I don’t know how to describe it I’m not a computer. But that’s the issue most of the time. Always choose continuous play over the image quality mes babies.

Toilets & Audience: Watched at home baby!!

What antisemitic thing did I notice this time*: The programme describes the ragtag group of characters as ‘schlocky’, which is a Yiddish-derived word used to describe cheap, junky goods, so it was very much not used properly. [*A new question I will probably need to ask more going forward! (Obvs I am joking about it being offensive…just to my history as an editor.)]

It’s Theatre Tuesday! Today’s show is Equus, playing at the Theatre Royal Stratford East in London until Saturday. 

​Equus, often referred to as the play about horse-blinding, is (obviously) not one that I ever actively wanted to see, not even when it starred Daniel Radcliffe in the role that famously gets nekkid (in fact, as much as I love Danny Rads I do not want to see baby boy HP naked). Not only is there the animal cruelty that kicks off the action, there’s also insinuation (at the very least) of bestiality and some bizarre af conversations about religion and worship. Not to mention gutting children as part of ritual sacrifice! Suffice it to say, I was ready to avoid another production of this intense show. But then I noticed all those dastardly other critics raving about how amazing this production is, and how it’s the best production of this enduring work that you will probably ever see in your lifetime. So I had to see the big forking thing! And you know what? It is disturbing, it is unsettling, it is alarming, and it is quite possibly the best production of Equus you will ever see in your lifetime.

I know, that’s some serious praise for a play that could be called by the (hilarious) nickname for the 2018 Best Picture winner if you replace ‘horse’ for ‘fish’ (and ‘play’ for ‘movie’ obviously). Despite the outrageousness of the topics raised, all the shocking, provocative bits fit together with all the deep psychological questions like puzzle pieces that together fascinate by asking what is normal and who gets to decide. Equus, written by Peter Shaffer, is such a weird, intense show, but with impeccable direction by Ned Bennett and stellar, incredibly physical performances, it feels significant and vital in its scrutiny of what causes psychological issues and whether they are indeed abnormal. Although it got a bit close for my taste at almost excusing the actions depicted, the play effectively forced a deeper look at what constitutes wrong vs. right, normal vs. abnormal, and evil vs. sickness.

Equus concerns the aftermath of a horrific event: when teenager Alan Strang blinds six horses at a stables in his English countryside town. I know, if you are not a maniac, you’re like what a forking asshole, send that kid into a hole and seal it shut! But instead of being imprisoned, he is sent to an inpatient psychiatric facility under the treatment of Dr. Martin Dysart, because some people think that sending every troubled person to prison to rot and waste resources and never have the chance to get needed treatment or other kinds of help might not be the smartest thing to do as an overused default! I know!

As the troubled teen Alan, the actor Ethan Kai is riveting. Kai possesses that magic presence, I don’t know if it’s his offset eyes or his wild curls (curlygirl method?), but he demands your attention regardless of whether he’s speaking. This is some perfect casting. He’s terrifying in his intensity and you hate him for his evil actions but you also want to figure out why and how he got so broken. I’m not gonna go so far as to say you root for him, but you start to kind of care. As does his doctor, played by Zubin Varla (who we last saw as the father in Fun Home), who so strongly feels a connection to this kid that he begins to question why he is the one considered normal while Alan is the troubled one. Why, Dysart asks us, is a guy who has wasted his life doing the same routine, never feeling anything but what comes from the mundane acts of everyday life, the one considered normal, correct, someone who has succeeded, when he himself feels like a failure for that very monotony. Although Kai has the more obviously difficult, dynamic role, Varla has an equally challenging task with Dysart, who is even-keeled but having revelations that threaten his natural state. Varla sometimes veered into comedic faces and voices to handle this character’s changing thoughts, which didn’t jive with me, but that’s a tiny quibble.

What brought this production to a higher level of theatre was the direction. Ned Bennett’s vision focused on an empty, stark stage, literally no set pieces to start except a mug for ashes (there was too much onstage cigarette smoking, btw; I’m over this as a way to develop a character). As the show unfolded, an entire effective world was built with lighting, physical movement, and creative set work. The expert use of lighting, the impressive backstage mechanics sending whatever was needed through the flowing curtains on each side, and the use of minimal but effective set pieces (like the sand castles that were shoved out, wow) all created an unbelievable sense of world cohesion and beyond creative stage magicians. More than anything, the magic on that stage came from the actors’ movement. Shelly Maxwell’s movement direction helped the actors behave scarily like horses, especially the standout Ira Mandela Siobhan as the most beloved horse Nugget. He begins the show slowly morphing and moving exactly like a horse, which is the moment when I thought ‘oh this shit’s gonna be SPELLBINDING.’ And it was, especially when he was onstage. He must be a dancer of some sort. Man those shoulder blades can TURN. When he and the other main horse dude (Keith Gilmore), as nurses, picked up Alan while he was curled in a ball like he was an immovable object, I almost gasped. That was some amazing shit! And the two of them, whenever it was their turn to be a horse (sometimes with the other as rider, I can’t even fathom how strong they are), were so convincing and committed, I would put them up against the War Horse puppet any day.

Even though this is exactly the sort of play that gives me endless agita, Equus is one of the rare masterworks that makes the agita worthwhile and essential and important, in no small part because of how it is directed here. I have never been so struck by how flawless, innovative, imaginative direction can so transform a show. Equus is a psychological thriller but not in the usual sense – instead of a murderer on the loose or something like a typical thriller, it’s literally a thriller about psychology, about how a person can get so forked up, whether it’s because of his parents, because of religion, because of nature, or a mixture of all these possibilities. Sure the more theoretical discussions about what can be worshipped and how (hint: probably not horses, probably not with bestiality) are off the forking rails if you take a step back, but when you are immersed in the world of the show, they can convince you that all of these thoughts and ideas can be profound and not just troubling.


INFORMATION
Equus is playing at the Theatre Royal Stratford East until Saturday, March 23.
Theatre Royal Stratford East is outside the Westfield mall area of Stratford in East London. You know, the region that is always hella crowded with yoots hanging at the mall. YOOTS. It’s also one of the worst section in London for homelessness, which boggles my mind because I don’t understand how a developed country can allow its citizens to be homeless and just not do shit about it. It’s like government officials were the ones brutally blinded by an unstable teenager!