| An epic piece of theatre |
At Theatr Clwyd |
| Clwyd Theatr Cymru- The Grapes of Wrath , Theatr Clwyd, Mold , November 2, 2006 |
This review first appeared in Planet Magazine, and is reproduced here with their permission...I read The Grapes of Wrath when I was sixteen. I was lolling over a copy of Jackie, the teen magazine of the day, during one of those end of term lessons in the lower sixth at Ysgol Rhiwabon, when my long-suffering English teacher, Mr Derek Owens, put a thick volume on my desk and said something along the lines of, “Read something worthwhile for a change, girl.” Grudgingly I started the book and much to my surprise found myself hooked. My reaction to the novel must have been largely on a romantic level: I loved the sing-song dialogue and I loved the name Rose of Sharon and the image of her suckling the old man at the end has stayed with me always, even though many find it sentimental. Strangely, I have never read the book again, possibly because I found it harrowing and possibly because the act of reading it is so firmly placed in a particular time of my growing up, that to revisit it would be to spoil it. Tim Baker has taken upon himself the daunting task of adapting and directing the journeys and the stories in The Grapes of Wrath for the big space at Theatr Clwyd. The production is vast. There is a cast of sixteen adults and assorted children. The set (Max Jones) and the lighting (Tina MacHugh) manage to convey extremes of climate, such as the heat and aridity of the landscape on the one hand and the claustrophobia that comes with the rain that destroys the cotton crop on the other. There is wonderful attention to detail: beautiful models of homesteads and shanties appear in the far distance, framed by the massive black flat pieces that make them look even further away. In the straw-coloured hard-baked floor, tiny bits of vegetation are inserted. Nothing else can grow here. Boxcars, wooden crate-like trucks that look as if they once transported animals, house the desperate families as sheets of mist oppress the stage in unending rain. Central to the staging is the jalopy that is home, transport and means of escape to the Joad family. It is wheeled on and off, it is spun round, it is climbed upon, it is slept in, it provides a death bed until finally it, too, dies. This is an epic piece of theatre in style and execution. There is, as one has been led to expect from Tim Baker’s work, excellent ensemble playing. Whereas the family members are always the family, everyone else plays many different parts. Sometimes they configure into a chorus of actor-musicians who provide the audience with the historical and sociological facts that inform the story. This serves to make the family’s plight more poignant to the audience, for while we know that there will be no bright California filled with jobs for the Joads, we have to watch how the family’s hopes are lifted and eroded time after time. The playing is on the whole focused and energised. Many members of the cast manage to move us because they can convey their stories on different levels. I am reminded particularly of John Cording’s ex-preacher struggling with his own sense of morality so that he can provide the holy words of comfort that are asked of him by the family; Maldwyn John’s anger and hurt, while trying not to “fret” the family when they meet as his character is leaving California, and Rhys Parry Jones’s tenderness as he decides on the gruesome disposal of Rose of Sharon’s stillborn baby. Indeed it could be said that the camaraderie in the ensemble playing echoes the camaraderie among the characters whose lives cross on the road and in the camps. The production, like the book, is long and could benefit from some cutting, especially in the second half which tends to drag. I think that the reason for this might be that the family is on a journey to arrive at a specific place — California — in the first act and this physical journey and the characters’ journeys of dreams and hopes seem to go hand-in-hand so that the action moves forward without being forced. The second half is more disjointed: the disenchanted and diminishing family is now in a process of fleeing, either they up sticks and leave at the flimsy promise of work somewhere else or they have to escape the law in order to protect one of their own. No sooner are they settled than they have to move again. The pattern at times becomes tedious to watch. Having said that, the second half contains some marvellous comedic moments, such as when the family arrives at a government camp and Ma meets the Ladies Committee. Ma herself (Lynn Hunter) is the family lynchpin who envelops all in warmth and common sense with her need to keep the “fambly” as one unit, and while this aspect of Ma’s generous personality fills the stage and auditorium, there were moments when I would have liked to have glimpsed the more private Ma. There is no happy ending to The Grapes of Wrath, yet it is an optimistic piece. The human spirit survives against all the odds. Poor people share the little they have with other poor people. For example, there is a lovely piece of third person story telling with first person dialogue when a diner proprietor lets a father have some bread and candy for a low price without letting him lose face in front of his sons. Her generosity is noticed by the hardened truck drivers who overtip her to counter her loss. People help where they can, people take delight in other people’s company and take nourishment from it. The Grapes of Wrath is as relevant today as it was in the 1930s when it was written. Immigrants, legal and otherwise, continue to be exploited because they need money to feed and clothe their families just like Pa and Ma Joad did. Tim Baker and all concerned with this production remind us of this in a fresh and moving way. |
Reviewed by: Gwen Ellis |
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