The Black Monk, Road to Burnout, Sherlock Holmes and The Grapes of Wrath

 

Staged in the courtyard of Avignon's Papal Palace with a curtain time of 10 PM to account for the light, The Black Monk was a spectacle of multimedia, creative set design, and imaginative interpretation. None of which could save it from Checkov's source material about a young man's madness, its cure, and the question of what inspires artistic genius. The artistic mind and temperament frequently flirt with or draw from what used to be called madness. Nowadays we call it mental illness, and as such, it takes a far less romantic and far more clinical approach to this particular human condition. I've seen any number of creative works of art that have madness as their subject matter, from Marat/Sade to One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Clearly, there is an audience fascinated with the descent from what we might call a "right mind" to one that is manic and/or delusional. Church work, particularly urban ministry, often puts me close to people struggling with mental illness, some of which are treated by a self-medicating form of addiction.  The story depicted takes us from an ordinary visit to the country to the destruction of a family and the loss of a garden (is this a call-back to Genesis?) that is filled with the destructive pain caused by mental illness. To go through it four times in four variations over 2 hours and 40 minutes and well past midnight wasn't anything I'd like to experience again. But I could appreciate the vision behind the staging and the skill of the performers, even if the result wasn't very enjoyable.

The next day we went in a totally different direction. The girls and I went to see a one-man show in a small black box theater. We chose it because it was advertised as being in English. The two big shows had been sub-titled in English, but that is very much the exception. Our performer, Greg, seemed like a decent guy making pretty cliched observations about office work. I give him an A for the effort of doing his show in English. I wonder if it plays better in French. I think he is Belgian. In terms of production value this 'Off' offering was a long way from Iphigenia and Black Monk. Two days later I took in a Sherlock Holmes piece staged by actual British actors speaking English. God help anyone who hoped to read the French subtitles which were badly and blurrily projected on the wall. The actors were okay, although the Holmes tended to chew the scenery. The actual story was pretty boilerplate and more than a little hokey. Beyond the performance itself, the audience arrived for a 4 PM show on a hot afternoon in southern France. The body odor from a couple of my fellow patrons was powerful. ICK!

Finally, I was intrigued to see an adaptation of The Grapes of Wrath on offer. I knew it would be in French, and I'm not sufficiently familiar with the book to know what was being said. But the piece itself was impressive. Led by a gifted actor who effectively told the whole story using shifting physicality to convey the different characters. Also on stage were three musicians who would occasionally offer a song in the Americana style of the material to great effect. The songs were all in English and they made it an enjoyable experience, even if I wish there had been subtitles to allow me to enjoy the production more. The piece itself is something I would eagerly see in translation if it could be done with someone as talented as the man I saw perform it in French. The space itself looked like some kind of old church. So much more interesting than the black boxes of the other 'Off" festival offerings I saw. However, it did put me off taking in anything else performed solely in French. Just frustrating not to understand. Something to think about.