Volcano Theatre Company has something of a reputation for being a step ahead of the zeitgeist, but even so it seems uncannily perfect timing that the renowned Welsh iconoclasts announced a new production of Anthony Burgess's A CLOCKWORK ORANGE ahead of the wave of riots that swept through British cities this summer. Burgess's inventive, disturbing little masterpiece paints a portrait of teenagers escaping boredom through uninhibited pleasure in violence and destruction, a populace in fear of feral youth, and a draconian state response to social disorder that is at least as worrying as the disorder itself. There have been many adaptations of A Clockwork Orange, of course, but Volcano's exuberant, politically insightful, often outrageous brand of theatre is such an appealing match for the novel that it's a surprise it's taken this long for it to happen. And if Volcano shares one thing with the "droogs" in the novel and the youths on the streets it is a penchant for smashing things up.Volcano's production opens at Taliesin Arts Centre in Swansea on 20 October and tours until 26 November and will be performed at Aberystwyth Arts Centre Thursday 3 November. So, apart from the likelihood of a bit of authentic onstage destruction, what's distinctive about this version? For director Paul Davies, the starting point was that A Clockwork Orange is a problem – a cultural phenomenon that has taken on a life beyond the pages and that is controversial, contested, and perhaps misunderstood. Volcano goes back to the original, uncut novel and its internal questions and peculiar textures, but at the same time keeps a critical eye on what has become of it since. Kubrick's iconic film is part of the problem – Burgess held it responsible for the fact that A Clockwork Orange refuses to be erased from the world's memory, though he considered it not one of his best works and would have happily let it slip away. Volcano likes his meaty, melodious little novel better than he did, and aims to match its textual daring with its own brand of theatrical effrontery. A young, athletic five-strong cast share the role of Alex, rendering his vivid Nadsat slang in deliciously contrasting tones ranging from warm Glaswegian through sonorous South-London to husky New York. Young Icelandic designer Gudny Sigurdar has avoided even watching the movie, so forget the lava-lamps and orange injection-moulded furniture. Her lean set is based on modular shelves and islands of speakers, is and lit by old TV-screens, while her costumes are colour-coded uniforms that track the novel's fascination with different kinds of conformity and transgression. Shrouded sometimes in white sheets, the shelving becomes a projection surface for Mariko Montpetit's intriguing video. Simon Thorne's original soundtrack plumbs the full range of Alex's musical and sensual tastes with a glorious mashup of Beethoven, pile-drivers, and avant-garde composers who might or might not really exist. For all its innovation and brilliance, Burgess's novel is an affirmation of a moral principle that is simple in its rightness and yet troubling in its consequences – that it is better to be a real 'living organism, oozing with juice and sweetness' and yet capable of evil, than to be a mechanism without choice, capable only of good. Kubrick's film is a different animal – daring yet dated, shocking yet quaint and kitschy, meticulous in its cinematic method yet cavalier with a lot of the novel's preoccupations. Burgess was particularly concerned that the movie followed the American edition of the novel in dispensing with the final chapter – a redemptive ending in which our charming and horrible young narrator begins to tire of the repetitive violence of his juvenile exploits and look towards the future. The possibilities of change and complexity embodied in the final chapter, and the importance of the invented "Nadsat" language (which intervenes between Alex and his readers in the novel, placing them at one remove from the implicit titillation of depicting rape and violence) are two things which are restored to their full significance in Volcano's adaptation. The story of A Clockwork Orange is, of course, also a complex tale of controversy, censorship and withdrawal. While Burgess admitted to intending to "titillate the nastier propensities" of his readers, and Kubrick only partially defended his film from accusations of pornography, Volcano grapples overtly with the difficulties and responsibilities of the "live" depiction of violence (whether recreational or state-imposed) and sexual abuse. Its cast includes only one woman, but she is not there to be stripped, paraded and victimised – like her male counterparts, and like the novel's protagonist and most of its characters, she is both aggressor and victim, subject and voyeur. Will it shock? It's difficult to say – those looking to be outraged are probably too busy combing The Daily Mail in search of further evidence of the depravity of modern youth to go to the theatre. But in all its vigour Volcano's Clockwork Orange will certainly attempt to capture something of that "organism lovely with colour and juice" – the human being endowed with free will that Burgess celebrated. As Burgess exhorted us, "Eat this sweetish segment or spit it out. You are free." The performance at Aberystwyth Arts Centre starts at 7.30pm. Tickets are available from Aberystwyth Arts Centre ticket office 01970 62 32 32 or go online www.aber.ac.uk/artscentre |
| web site: www.aber.ac.uk/artscentre |
| e-mail: |
Friday, October 14, 2011 |
Older news
stories have been carefully archived.
2006 | 2005 | 2004 | 2003 | 2002 | 2001 | 2000 | 1999