December 2, 2010
Once upon a time, in a totalitarian dictatorship not so very far away from here, there lived a writer of children’s stories. Sitting in a police cell, blindfolded and afraid, he awaits the arrival of two detectives. They have questions about his disturbingly violent stories- but they are more interested in the brutal murders of local children. In the next cell sits the writer’s simple-minded brother, who delights in hearing stories like “The Little Apple Men”, in which a girl is forced to swallow razorblades, or “The Tale of the Town on the River”, where a boy has his toes cut off by a sinister stranger.
The audience are as fascinated and appalled as the detectives- and as nervous and hopeful as the writer, repetitively-named Katurian Katurian Katurian (“My parents were funny people,” he deadpans). This apparently throwaway gag, like many other minor details in the script, takes on a sinister significance as The Pillowman unfolds. Martin McDonagh’s play is a masterpiece of clever writing- by turns funny and horrifying, moving and macabre- and this production does it full (if twisted) justice. The dialogue is sharp and expertly delivered, the mood tense, punctuated by some expertly executed shocking scenes.
It's impossible to single out any performance as especially accomplished- every single one of the small cast were excellent, in some very challenging roles. Will Hatcher's intimidating and sympathetic portrayal of brutal yet principled detective Ariel stood in beautiful contrast to Fraser Prince's equally accomplished detective Tuploski, friendly, confiding- and by turns callous, cynical and cruel. Another double act- of Ashley Wilce and Richard Holt as Katurian and his mentally damaged brother Michael- is brilliantly convincing, making the audience laugh and gasp by turns
Seating the audience on the stage of the New Theatre is an inspired choice. Stepping from a creepily deserted auditorium into the dark backstage (which seems mostly to consist of winding corridors between huge, hanging black curtains) drags the audience straight into the nightmarish world of the play. Nominally set in the police cells of a Kafkaesque totalitarian state, the action mostly unfolds through the eyes of Katurian; we see characters from his stories come to life as children dancing around the stage (a nice performance by Lucie Cox).
The entire production is animated with humour as black as an oubliette. Why, asks Tupolski, are people so quick to blame their parents for their own fucked-upedness? “My father was a violent alcoholic. Am I a violent alcoholic? Yes. But that’s my own decision!” It helps break the tension of interrogation and revelation, and punctuate the despair that Katurian feels as the play progresses.
I've rarely seen a production as gripping as The Pillowman. While other plays entertain and divert, this one grabs you by the neck and throws you headlong into its world, forcing fascination and concern. Like the luckless Katurian, on his knees and attached to a car battery, you await each new plot twist and dawning realisation with a mix of hope and dread. When the shock doesn't come, the actors wring a thankful laugh. When it does, The Pillowman shows how powerful and visceral drama can be.
The audience are as fascinated and appalled as the detectives- and as nervous and hopeful as the writer, repetitively-named Katurian Katurian Katurian (“My parents were funny people,” he deadpans). This apparently throwaway gag, like many other minor details in the script, takes on a sinister significance as The Pillowman unfolds. Martin McDonagh’s play is a masterpiece of clever writing- by turns funny and horrifying, moving and macabre- and this production does it full (if twisted) justice. The dialogue is sharp and expertly delivered, the mood tense, punctuated by some expertly executed shocking scenes.
It's impossible to single out any performance as especially accomplished- every single one of the small cast were excellent, in some very challenging roles. Will Hatcher's intimidating and sympathetic portrayal of brutal yet principled detective Ariel stood in beautiful contrast to Fraser Prince's equally accomplished detective Tuploski, friendly, confiding- and by turns callous, cynical and cruel. Another double act- of Ashley Wilce and Richard Holt as Katurian and his mentally damaged brother Michael- is brilliantly convincing, making the audience laugh and gasp by turns
Seating the audience on the stage of the New Theatre is an inspired choice. Stepping from a creepily deserted auditorium into the dark backstage (which seems mostly to consist of winding corridors between huge, hanging black curtains) drags the audience straight into the nightmarish world of the play. Nominally set in the police cells of a Kafkaesque totalitarian state, the action mostly unfolds through the eyes of Katurian; we see characters from his stories come to life as children dancing around the stage (a nice performance by Lucie Cox).
The entire production is animated with humour as black as an oubliette. Why, asks Tupolski, are people so quick to blame their parents for their own fucked-upedness? “My father was a violent alcoholic. Am I a violent alcoholic? Yes. But that’s my own decision!” It helps break the tension of interrogation and revelation, and punctuate the despair that Katurian feels as the play progresses.
I've rarely seen a production as gripping as The Pillowman. While other plays entertain and divert, this one grabs you by the neck and throws you headlong into its world, forcing fascination and concern. Like the luckless Katurian, on his knees and attached to a car battery, you await each new plot twist and dawning realisation with a mix of hope and dread. When the shock doesn't come, the actors wring a thankful laugh. When it does, The Pillowman shows how powerful and visceral drama can be.