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Bart Soroczynski as Il Matto (The Fool) and ensemble. Pictures: Robert Day La StradaCoventry Belgrade**** FRANCO Fellini
won a Best Foreign Language Movie Oscar for four of his films:
La Strada,
Nights of Cabiria,
8½
and
Amarcord,
and an Oscar for Lifetime Achievement in 1993, six months before he
died. Surprisingly,
La Dolce Vita
did not triumph, but picked up an Oscar for
Best Costumes (in monochrome), as did
8½. Fellini only started directing at
the age of 30, having worked in the 1940s, mainly on scripting, with
Roberto Rossellini, His other best known films include
I Vitelloni,
Juliet of the Spirits,
Satyricon
and The Clowns. La Strada
was the second of his big hits (I
Vitelloni came a year earlier). It’s
both a vital, moving and at times disturbing story, about a young girl
who is ‘sold’ to the travelling entertainer Zampanò (Anthony Quinn in
the film, here Stuart Goodwin) to be his assistant. Her task is to
travel with him in his motorbike caravan (here most amusingly created by
Set/Costume Designer Katie Sykes, whose general shambles of a set
reflects, like Fellini’s, the hand-to-mouth, unpredictable, unsettled
‘on the road’ feel. Goodwin makes an aptly brusque character of
Zampanò, more lithe and mobile than Quinn’s lumpen original, but every
bit as dismally moody and unresponsive. He has only one trick: breaking
a heavy metal chain with his chest alone, prefaced by Gelsomina, his
youthful aide, beating a drum (a duty for which he trains her up in one
of the funnier sequences of this play with music). He was more generally
butch than specifically defined: perhaps a bit more directorial
invention (from Sally Cookson) was needed.
The music is important, but being mainly instrumental, it only incidentally qualifies as a Musical – although it does have three or four songs, one of them electrifying. Here however we meet the band, who double as an acting ensemble, and do so with notable aplomb and flair. In the absence, however (with a couple of exceptions) of any pure dance, although Bart Soroczynski as The Fool from the circus, to whom Gelsomina (to Zampanò’s chagrin) takes a fancy, and whose every move is like a kind of pirouette (Movement Director: Cameron Carver). The actual moves, while well plotted, are only
adequately coordinated. A couple of blockings are brilliantly achieved;
some of it is a bit too happy-go-lucky. The instrumental playing, it should be said, is
terrific, and Benji Bower’s new music periodically gives them something
to get their teeth into – a kind of flamenco swing at one point, some
vibrant, often short, numbers for two cellos, expressive violin and
double bass, guitar and ukulele-like mini-guitar, and two accordionists
who mainly lead the music, all of which goes with a swing and – albeit
somewhat mongrel in style (perhaps deliberately so) – at its best,
captivates. The Fool’s antics are a delight: a hypnotising
pretence at a high tightrope walk (the film has a real one), full of
wobbly character, which little Gelsomina tries to emulate; and most
eye-catchingly, a potentially perilous ride on a unicycle, on which
Soroczynski steers around the set at breakneck speed. His control when
hurtling is miraculous. The lights are a great help. In a sense a bit bald, being usually single colours projected across a rough-hewn backcloth, Aideen Malone’s reds and pinks, lilac and green, dark and light blue, still help to sustain interest in the events on the relatively simple set (two telegraph poles are used to throw human shadows effectively, and a nice bit of gold and silver spotlighting again intensifies the feel). It’s a bit bland, but beneficial.
Audrey Brisson as Gelsomina The soaring star of the show is Audrey Brisson’s
chirpy and cheerful Gelsomina. She has almost animal appeal, her
smallness suggesting a teenager, and with antics to match. She tries her
best to get on with the gruff, unwelcoming Zampanò (Quinn is a master at
grumbling) , but soon realises he won’t change and they simply endeavour
to tolerate each other. She interacts refreshingly with the ensemble,
winning their friendship. She does her own little dances and tumbles,
all of them enchanting. She is like a mascot, even a monkey, and her
drumming and trumpet playing delight the circus. But perhaps the best moment of this whole,
slightly uneven, show is when Gelsomina herself bursts into song. It’s
not till near the end, and up to then the only real melody we have heard
was from a rather good baritone in the ensemble. But Brisson’s voice is
sheer delight, and her descanting over the sound of the nuns from the
top of one of the prominent telegraph poles (Zampano finally dumps her
at a nunnery here and in the film), and then her own magical ditty which
soars gorgeously on high, is utterly overwhelming and unexpectedly
ravishing. I wish there had been
more like that in this version of La
Strada. Oscar or no, Fellini’s film
does rather lumber along, perhaps missing opportunities. And that was
what I felt here – identifying the ensemble characters more closely,
inventing more specific actions and situations for them, and allowing
song to break in and bewitch us all with its power and potential, plus
more touches of modern dance (though some mini-ballets using tyres to
facilitate Zampano’s progress were an inspired idea, a magical touch and
wholly successful) - all that would have helped clarify and enliven both
the story and the show. There’s quite a lot to it, but quite a bit is
lacking too. Not all of it was as
lucid as I’d hoped; but keeping La
Strada loyally close to Fellini’s
original is greatly to their credit. To 18-02-17 Roderic Dunnett 15-02-17 |
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