Something wicked this way comes
Shakespeare in the Park’s 20th Invercargill production is a muscular one – so parental guidance and perhaps some backstage peeking are advised. Michael Fallow reports.
The immediacy of live performance, done right, prevails in an outdoor setting.
Sometimes a bit of outdoor Shakespeare charms. But sometimes it’s drama red and tooth and claw. Shakespeare in the Park, now marking its 20th anniversary in Invercargill, will this time be free of fairies, whimsy and chucklesome cavortings.
Nobody ever called Macbeth fun for the whole family. It’s among the bard’s most Game of Thrones-y works, steeped in blood and violence, and the small matter of truly reprehensible behaviour, treachery and human weakness. And witches. Heh-heh-heh.
You don’t want traumatise the passerby or the toddler. Nor to let the excitement seep away either.
The 2020 cast and crew are up for it. And unexpectedly – unless you remember that these productions have reliably been more about inclusion than exclusion – it’s a performance that will open up to include potentially younger audience members than you might otherwise expect.
Parental discretion is, you better believe, recommended and it simply isn’t a show for the very young. But in order to ‘‘deconstruct’’ the experience in ways that might make it rewarding for some children, parents and caregivers are invited to bring them backstage beforehand to look at how the fake blood is used and the weaponry crafted.
The idea is to help them understand the make-believe elements of theatre in ways that will empower them to enjoy the performance.
‘‘Kids are not stupid,’’ says director Ange Newell, a central figure in the developing tradition of park performances here. ‘‘When you show them how something works, they’ll look at [the production] with that knowledge. And with great interest. But they’re not scared by it.’’
Compelling without being traumatising. That’s the goal. And being alert to the concept of behind-the-scenes fakery might itself be considered a life skill to be encouraged as early as reasonably possible.
Surprisingly visceral
The lead role is one Auckland’s Mike Edward, familiar on screen from Shortland Street, Spartacus, Ash vs Evil Dead, Filthy Rich and, sure why not, Power Rangers, has long coveted.
In fact it’s been one of three, just three, roles on his bucket list. He won’t say what the others are. ‘‘I don’t want to jinx it.’’
He already had a professional relationship with Newell, so when she wrote him asking if he knew any actors who might be interested in this production, he knew just what to do.
He considered the wealth of talent and experience and, frankly, availability around him, and he forwarded the news on to . . . nobody. Instead Newell received back a brief summary. One word. ‘‘Me?’’
The physicality of the role – Macbeth is the greatest warrior in the kingdom – was part of the appeal, for sure.
Edward’s famed muscles aren’t only for show. Much as he’s an experienced stage actor, no stranger to Shakespeare, he has also thrilled audiences as an aerial cirque performer.
Little wonder Newell has been happy to leave the fight choreography to her star.
It’s not a production that wafts around the park setting. The staging is quite industrial, quite ugly, relying on drama and action to draw the audience into the story.
But the immediacy of live performance, done right, prevails in an outdoor setting. ‘‘You can see a million explosions on screens and sit there numb,’’ he says. ‘‘You can see someone on stage get a real punch in the face and you gasp. It’s a different engagement. ‘‘It’s always more surprising and visceral than people think. We all know the story of Macbeth. But the second someone on a stage near you says, ‘I’m going to kill my best friend’ – and says it with intent and truth – it’s a totally different experience. A shock.’’
Deserving of audiences
Throughout its 20 years, Shakespeare in the Park has occasionally forayed into intense territory. Remember Shakespeare in the Dark a decade ago? That one was a rarity, eschewing the usual settings of Queens Park, or the Otepuni Gardens, Anderson Park or Hawthorne Garden, for the innards of Lazerland.
Oftentimes, however, the annual performances have been light and airy, frequently alternating between full productions and promenades in which audiences are guided in groups around park settings, for scenes from many of Shakespeare’s works.
Newell, the most central figure in the two decades of development that the series has become, has developed a keen eye for finding the perfect nooks and crannies for intimate performances.
Vital funding support has enabled ticket prices to be kept no higher than $25 for senior admission, or $20 for seniors and the unwaged, and free for the school-aged.
And if other passing park users nearby might encounter a performance and pause down to catch a bit of it for free, and perchance a bit more than a bit, nobody’s minded to go crook about that. The thinking is that this is a public space, after all, and these performances, and the plays themselves, deserve to be seen.
After two decades it can be easy to lose track of the collective scale of the undertaking. We’re talking about 600 cast and crew members, not including a legion of supporters and helpers.
For the audience proper there’s a licensed bar, and some seating, and people are encouraged to bring picnics, deck chairs and rugs.
At times people have been shoulder-tapped – or you could say coerced – for a reassuringly undemanding vacancy, like an extra soldier, and have agreed ‘‘as long as I don’t have to do any Shakespeare’’.
Oftentimes, they’re back next time, perhaps ready for just a small part this time. Because? ‘‘We have fun,’’ Newell says.
Not all scenes go exactly the way she envisaged them.
There was that time Invercargill mayor Sir Tim Shadbolt, in her mind, was going to make a dramatic entrance riding through the avenue of trees, on a proud steed, ready to deliver Henry V’s stirring pre-battle speech. Instead he arrived in slow motion on a 28-year-old Clydesdale, plodding precisely as quickly as it was minded to do.
Fairies a firm favourite
Actors in fur-lined, heavy brocaded costume have sweltered in summery conditions – albeit perhaps not as badly as whitepainted figures baking on top of the pergola in the Queen’s Park rose garden in 28-degree heat. Whereas skimpily clad fairies have at times flitted through bracing cold.
Fairies have tended to be widely admired, oftentimes for their talent and charm – perhaps none more so than the youngest ever cast member, a winged baby on a swing.
‘‘The baby deserves an Oscar!’’ gushed one commentator afterwards. Other fairies have been appreciated on different aesthetic levels: ‘‘Those fairies were hot babes!’’
Some of the comments suggest you really had to be there to understand the appeal: ‘‘I liked the red-haired guy who talked to the fish!’’
Interlopers have of course intruded, both human and not.
One passing drinker found the whole thing mightily engaging. His heckling wasn’t nasty, but it was hardly Shakespearean either.
Overhead aircraft tend to make dramatic if incongruous appearances, prompting Jonathan Tucker as a clergyman in Twelfth Night to gaze upwards, make the sign of the cross to protect himself against such devilry, and carry on regardless.
Shakespeare famously wrote that the show must go on, but in Southland Andy Fraser is the man whose judgement the park Shakespeareans have come to prefer on that score.
The 45’South Weather Services forecaster’s expertise has led to cancellations or reassurances that would have confounded amateurs going off the more generic daily forecasts.
‘‘For us it’s a case of ‘the guru has spoken’,’’ says Newell. In all the years of collaboration she can remember once he was astray. By a couple of hours.
See Macbeth at Queens Park, Invercargill, from February 5–8.