Comedy of Errors jumps the shark, but is lots of fun
With the best of intentions, director Jeffrey Renn strives mightily to make Shakespeare palatable to the youngsters with his wild and wacky adaptation of The Comedy of Errors. This ambitious and rambunctious University of Victoria production, wrapping up today at the Phoenix Theatre, cranks the kooky knob to 11. This Comedy of Errors is transformed into a noholds-barred dance party set in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. A mostly student cast dances and sings to pop hits (mixing Shakespeare’s verse and the original lyrics) such as Queen’s Somebody to Love and Bohemian Rhapsody, the Black Eyed Peas’ Let’s Get It Started, Justin Timberlake’s Mirrors, Sir Mixalot’s Baby’s Got Back and Beyoncé’s Single Ladies.
Grinning nuns tap dance, Solinus steers a clown car, glowin-the-dark skeletons cavort, plastic handguns are brandished. There’s more than plenty going on in this show, which includes 354 lighting cues, 55 sound cues and more than 65 costume changes.
Buried in the midst of the cockamamie celebration lies Shakespeare’s 16th century farce, which is — alas — no longer particularly intelligible. There’s no question this dog’s breakfast of a romp is plenty of fun — and the amount of work that’s gone into it (the musical parodies, the hellacious shenanigans) is breathtaking. That said, The Comedy of Errors jumps the shark repeatedly with a gonzo zeal that would delight someone such as Christopher Guest.
Tucked deep within the flashing lights and zany costumes is the tale of two sets of twins. There’s a Canadian Antipholus (Brendan Elwell) and an American Antipholus (Douglas Peerless). And there’s a Canadian Dromio (Emma Grabinsky) and an American Dromio (Chantal Gallant).
The latter twosome, almost identical in flannel shirts and dorags, are played by Grabinsky and Gallant with delightful energy and joie de vivre — indeed, this talented duo is the best thing about this production.
In dramatic terms, the razzledazzle musical approach overshadows the storyline, which, although light-hearted, is already complex. Musical theatre requires strong voices and heightened acting, something not always in evidence during a Wednesday night performance. As well, some of the young actors need to bear in mind the importance of articulating with clarity and projecting themselves across the footlights.
Some musical interludes are entertaining and charming, including the tap-dancing nuns and a gospel sequence set to Nina Simone’s O Sinnerman featuring the rubber-limbed Tallas Munro as Brother Baptiste.
The Comedy of Errors has its final performances today at 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. At a recent performance of Atomos at the Royal Theatre, video screens descended from the heavens. This was greeted by a rustle of delight from the audience — it was time to don our 3-D glasses!
Choreographed by Britain’s Wayne McGregor, Atomos is a meeting of live dance and technology. The video screens, which materialize about halfway through the 65-minute work, project various 3-D images: green ants, numbers, computer code, an industrial silo, something that could be a torso, something that could be a nuclear mushroom cloud and black-and-white footage of dancers dancing.
During the latter clip, the attractive and beautifully trained dancers from Company Wayne McGregor left the stage briefly. The break was no doubt well earned, although I wondered why we were watching a dancing video when perfectly good dancers were in the wings. A more important point is: did the blend of technology and live performance work?
I’m not convinced the video art contributed much. People tend to gravitate to technology in a somnolent way no matter what the context. In this case, the video seemed to distract from the live movement. Still, there was much to admire in Atomos, which played the Royal on March 16 and 17.
The movement is a mix of contemporary and ballet technique — an unrelenting array of turns and lifts were executed with seeming effortlessness. The dance is relatively varied and yet, curiously, Atomos exudes a sense of sameness (it dragged somewhat toward the end).
The piece begins with a tight group of dancers writhing in a manner that seems both tightly choreographed and free form. This is followed by a playful pas de deux for two women. In midperformance, the dancers gather solemnly in a row for synchronized movements that recall barre exercises — the line then breaks into two circles, arms uplifted, in a manner that suggested ecstatic tribalism.
The music, composed by A Winged Victory for the Sullen (the ambient music duo of Dustin O’Halloran and Adam Wiltzie), is predominantly solemn layers of chords: synthesizers, strings, piano.
Sometimes the repetitive quality of the movement reminded me of a minimalist Gavin Bryars; elsewhere the score recalled the detached, lost-in-space quality of films such as 2001: A Space Odyssey.
With no traditional narrative, the choreography is oddly cool and abstract. Atomos seems even detached from the music, partly because the score offers little in the way of rhythm.
The performance was interesting, the dancing impressive — yet I found Atomos only sporadically engaging on an emotional level. Perhaps that’s precisely the point; maybe McGregor invites us to dispassionately ponder science and technology in a brave, new world.