Frankenstein
The use of puppetry to represent Victor’s creation was an absolute masterstroke, and on many different levels.
Blackeyed Theatre returned to the Playhouse with the second half of their informal double bill of gothic horror classics. Last month, we were offered the story of Dr Jekyll, a novella which proved tricky when it came to adaptation for the stage. Given its dense, labyrinthine structure, you might have expected Frankenstein to be an even greater challenge, yet John Ginman and Nick Lane have done a remarkable job of distilling the essence of the novel, while keeping surprisingly close to the narrative of the original text.
Woolstonecraft’s novel is a tale within a tale within a tale, something most stage and screen versions dispense with, but the device was used to good effect. Robert Bradley’s selfish, self-absorbed Frankenstein is able to unload great chunks of exposition by simply talking to Benedict Hastings’s sea captain, without it seeming too clunky. It’s worth pointing out the novel is a Gordian knot of letters, reminiscences and recrimination, and that Ginman and Lane have therefore done a brilliant job of untangling what could have been incomprehensible on stage. Alice E Mayer managed to breathe life into Victor’s love interest, Elizabeth Lavenza, while Max Gallagher brought welcome comic relief to various amusing caricatures. The production was handsomely staged, with flashes of real theatrical invention (ropes and sacks standing in for viscera sticks in the mind). Audaciously, it was left to the cast to create background music and sound effects on stage, with a make-do foley set up that was reminiscent of the Berberian sound studio. All of which gave the production the pleasing feel of old-school rep, entirely in keeping with its source material.
If I have any reservations, it is that they were arguably too reverential, dramatizing even the most incidental of detail. There is a parallel here with the work they did on Jekyll. In both cases, it’s worth remembering that, originally, readers would have come fresh to these works, and would have presumably been thrillingly horrified at the turn of events that ensue. The gradual build up (in this case Frankenstein’s childhood and study) would have served as a portent of, as yet unspecified, doom. It’s fair to say that by dramatizing this part of the novel the play becomes not only entertaining but educational - a useful primer for the young audiences the company are keen to attract – but, dramatically, while I really enjoyed being reminded what the “true” story was, this was at the cost of momentum. The story (much like the creature himself) has taken on a life of its own since. We know what’s coming, and I’m not sure it was wise to leave it until the halfway point before the monster finally appears, superbly staged though its introduction was.
The use of puppetry to represent Victor’s creation was an absolute masterstroke, and on many different levels. Technically, the company’s operation of the six foot giant was faultless. Such was their skill that despite being in full view, they very quickly became invisible to the mind’s eye, as the fully functional beast lumbered around on stage. Operating as a tag team, the cast alternated between playing their own part, and operating a part of the puppet, and to mesmerising effect. In an ensemble cast with no weak links, Billy Irving’s voice of the creature was nonetheless the stand out performance of the night. He invested the monster with such pathos and feeling that, despite standing right next to him, it was almost impossible to see the words coming out of his, rather than the creature’s mouth.
Complemented by the deft operation of his colleagues, he managed to evoke sympathy for, and horror at, the creature in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.
What made the device of puppetry so clever is that it serves as the perfect metaphor. A puppet is, after all, created and controlled by it operator, and when done as well as this it requires little suspension of disbelief to both see it as a living thing, yet know that it is not. Whether it’s Fozzie Bear or Basil Brush we do know they aren’t sentient, but there’s a part of our brain that things they might be, which creates a theatrical frisson unmatched by conventional performance. Brilliant though the National Theatre’s famous adaptation was, we all knew it was Benedict Cumberbatch under all that makeup, whereas Blackeyed Theatre have created something truly otherworldly and magical.
Granted, some scenes came with too much baggage. Can anyone watch the blind man scene without bringing to mind Peter Boyle dropping soup into Gene Hackman’s lap? There were also moments in the second half where the pace dropped – once we had been introduced to the creature the stage was never the same without him. These are, however, minor quibbles. What the production did brilliantly is showcase the extraordinary prescience of a novel that recognised life comes in shades of grey, not primary colours, and that the real monsters are not always those we might immediately assume.
