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dramacub · 10 years ago

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TR Warszawa's "4:48 Psychosis" at St Ann's Warehouse

It’s taken me a little while to decide whether or not I should publish this. Writing an in-depth detailed description of a production and then sharing in on the Internet seems like it crosses some kind of theatrical boundary. Theatre-makers are pretty controlling about revealing content and I assume it’s because they think no one will come see it if it’s “spoiled.”

Well, speaking as someone who likes to read the Wikipedia summary of a film before I watch it, I can say that this fear is both old-fashioned and unfounded (also irrelevant once the show closes). I think people are going to see a play if it interests them, and the more they can know beforehand, the more they’ll be interested. I imagine.

And really, theatre is so ephemeral. It would probably be prudent of us to write shit down more often, because the last thing I want is for productions as amazing as the one I’m about to disclose getting totally lost in the sands of time. Not to mention that a lot of theatre artists (the often young and poverty stricken go-getters who need to see this stuff) can’t afford to fly across the country to catch a limited run of a Polish production of a play that defies pretty much all theatrical convention. I certainly couldn’t afford it. But I did it anyway.

Taken directly from an email I wrote and sent the day after viewing, October 2014:

I recommend (if you haven’t already) reading the New York Times review of the show first because that will create a nice foundation for what I have to say….This is the first Polish production I’ve seen (and actually probably the first European production, unless you count the Trowbridge Community Players’ anglicized production of “Rumors” I saw in Southern England last year…I don’t think that counts) so I have nothing to compare it to, so my response is rather free from comparison and is really just more of a fascination on the general execution of such a technically intricate, visually simple production. The show was in Polish with English supertitles so you’ll have to forgive my verbal disconnect; sometimes I forgot to read what they were saying. Overall, I thought it was magnificent.

Visual: The set was a huge square room, mostly a clinical green tile, a series of white porcelain sinks mounted on the upstage left and center portion, square mirrors above them, a matching toilet area in the upstage right quadrant, separated from the sinks by what appears to be a wall concealing an entrance/exit. The SL wall is an enormous clear plexiglas structure wide enough for an actor to walk through it lengthwise. Green lights illuminate this set piece, and it is mounted on casters so that it moves slowly SR to establish new playing spaces throughout the duration of the play. The only other set pieces are a long rectangular table and several chairs that are moved or struck from scene to scene as needed.

It was remarkable to see a disjointed text of absolute madness find form. There were characters (not named, but figurative…friend, lover, doctor, therapist, etc) and there were scenes. Locations changed, but not really, but they didn’t need to be somewhere else, either. Given the content of the text it is very easy to imagine that all this happening was in her head, or in the hospital, or in many places. The play begins and the woman, dressed in grey sweats and a tank top with pale cherries on it, is with the “friend” character, a scruffy young man in a red “Levi’s USA” shirt. One gets the impression that this “conversation” has been a long time coming: she needs to seek help. The scenes vary in length but are separated by blackouts, wherein the sound swells almost too loud at times (this is probably a personal preference and less of a criticism because I always want things to be quieter). When the lights come up for the second scene, the young man is replaced by a young woman, dressed kind of rock-n-roll, pleather leggings, arm tattoo, vaguely asymmetrical haircut. She is the “lover” and they interact with a deeply loving, half-wrestle half-dance naturalist maneuver that I’m sure had to be choreographed but definitely did not look it. They end up on the floor, giggling, tickling, groping, the lover blows raspberries on the woman’s stomach. It’s immediately bittersweet. Finally the woman breaks free of this and reveals she is “in love with a woman who doesn’t exist,” - so is the lover a hallucination? Or is it just the psychotic paranoia setting in? —Transitions are also mostly triggered by a recorded male voice announcing a number, with a corresponding number projected on the upstage set somewhere.

A similar (minus the loving parts) scene follows but now an older man sits at the table - the therapist. These three characters - friend, lover, therapist - are the only other recurring speaking roles in this cast of seven.

Fast forward through the therapist scene, where she reveals a freshly slashed wrist (a well-executed blood effect), to the first visually stunning and really one of the most incredible acts of theatre I have ever seen:

Lights fade up and the woman is now in the process of pacing a bit behind the table, holding a beer bottle in one hand, swigging occasionally. The table and surrounding floor are covered in small, white, pills. The woman plays with the pills as she speaks the lines about having desirable traits, knocking them off the table, gathering them back together and nuzzling them like kittens or as if she’s trying to snort them intact. All this, and Sandra Dee’s “When I Fall In Love” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4Nso_ZqdAQ) is playing loudly through a soundscape that had hereto been largely the usual tones of droning misery. As she interacts with the pills the song alters itself, echoing itself, distorting itself, speeding up and slowing down - very effective. Finally she comes around downstage of the table, and lays down as if to sleep. As she lays there, lights shift ever so slowly to a more dramatic angle framing just her and the table, and from SL behind the plexiglas wall an 8-year-old girl emerges. The girl is dressed in the same cherry print shirt and has the same blonde hair pulled back in a loose bun. She walks up behind the table and begins to play in the pills in a similar fashion. By now, the Sandra Dee song is playing so slowly it is almost unrecognizable. The girl passes around the table and lays down next to the woman, mimicking her. A beat, then they sit up very slowly, in unison, face the audience and begin mouthing the words to the song, which is still by now very very slow. It was Lynchian, to say the least. Fade to black and the music swells louder and louder until the next scene. The girl is gone and is never seen on stage again.

Lights up and the chairs are now upstage right, against the wall. In them sit the friend, the lover, and a woman probably in her 80s at least, dressed in a bath robe. She does not move or speak throughout the duration of the scene. It would appear they’re in the mental hospital, visiting. Of course this is where I’m thinking, “HOW DID THEY STRIKE ALL THOSE PILLS??” The lead woman emerges from the same entrance the little girl had, only this time she steps inside the plexiglas wall and it moves with her inside it, while speaking, walking lengthwise downstage. It stops almost at center, she gets out, the scene continues.

Another scene, a man dressed in surgical scrubs now stands with her and the therapist, who is seated. The surgeon does not speak, either. She steals his hat and puts it on, she is running around a bit and acting rather manic. She is angry, she wants help. I wish I had the text with me because I’m losing some of the details. This is where it lists the many medications she has been prescribed and how many side effects she has experienced. At one point the therapist raises his arms in a jerking fashion, and the sound swells until he lowers them again. This was the only part I didn’t quite understand. Maybe it’s to show him as the one in control, like a music conductor?

Next, lights come up and the woman stands mostly nude in the bathroom quadrant upstage right. She faces upstage, she looks in the mirror and her lines are either pre-recorded or there is a mic in the sink because her voice comes from downstage. it is very dimly lit, the sound supports the vacuous nature of the huge set. Lights fade once more, and when they come up, she has been replaced by the 80 year old woman, who is completely nude. The young woman now sits in a chair down left, facing stage right. As she delivers her lines, the old woman mechanically turns, slowly walks through the partition, and emerges in the area with the sinks, she passes them and is gone. The number that has been projected on the stage is now multiplying and pouring down the wall like a waterfall.

Next, the young woman, still nude except for her underwear, stands directly downstage center. She is addressing the audience, not more than 3 or 4 feet away. she paces frantically as she speaks until finally she runs full speed upstage and throws herself with force against the partition portion of the upstage area. When she bounces off, she has blood on her head and chest. She continues to pace and speak frantically until she again runs to the wall and this time begins to claw at it, more and more blood appears (it is coming through pinholes in the wall, timed to be triggered when she hits the wall- well done). She does this “sequence” once more. She is covered in blood now. Fade to black.

Lights up, but not really. She stands slightly center and there’s a special on her so tight that you can only see her eyes. The play is nearing its end. The special opens slightly throughout the course of this final text so you can see the rest of her face, but nothing more. Sound is still prevalent and it swells as lights are out again. The latest number is being repeated over and over. At this point the audience might begin to sense that the house lights are coming on, as the sound fades out, both occurring on what I’d estimate was a several minute fade - very gradual. Finally, house lights are fully on but the sound is still very faintly there, the number still repeating. The show is over. There is no curtain call.

*****

(photo taken from The Guardian)

#theatre #tr warszawa #sarah Kane #4:48 Psychosis #tw: self-harm

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