Fearless, flamboyant reworking of Gorky’s portrait of social upheaval and elite privilege
It comes as quite a shock to realise that Rough Magic theatre company has reached the ripe old age of 40: its output, outlook and vision remain as fresh and challenging as at its formation by a group of Trinity College Dublin graduates. Under the artistic direction of co-founder Lynne Parker, who here directs with terrific aplomb, it has grown into one of Ireland’s leading independent producers, with a reputation for tangential, probing and frequently mischievous approaches to mainstream theatrical tradition.
Its signature ensemble playing style frequently wraps itself around a mix of new Irish writing, reimagined classics and contemporary international plays. This piece, a flamboyant, ironic reworking of Maxim Gorky’s portrait of privileged insouciance by Hilary Fannin, suits the company perfectly. Casting a beady eye across Europe’s past and present, Fannin deftly flags up the fact that, when it comes to the cyclical nature of history, there is nothing new under the sun, no lessons learned. The only constants are art and what the French poet Charles Baudelaire described as “the strangeness of beauty”.
Gorky wrote the play while in prison in 1905, when protestors, demonstrating peacefully against his incarceration, were gunned down by tsarist troops. Even when confronted by state-sanctioned brutality, the affluent elite ignored the writing on the wall until it was too late and the social order that had for so long insulated and protected them was torn asunder.
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The titular children of the sun are epitomised by the self-absorbed, emotionally stunted scientist Protasov, intent on controlling time while developing a formula for hair dye (Stuart Graham, soft-spoken and perfectly paced), his elegant, dutiful wife Elena (Aislín McGuckin, at once regal and put upon) and their peculiar household of psychologically damaged relatives, knowing servants and needy hangers-on. Meanwhile, among the lower ranks, passing strangers beg for shoes, blameless wives fall victim to horrifying marital abuse and ruthless landlords carelessly evict tenants.
Sarah Bacon’s swaggeringly theatrical, split-level set perfectly captures the faded splendour of the family’s rented dacha, crammed with an assortment of mouldering bric-a-brac, recording equipment, a rickety bath chair, photographic apparatus, a steamy laboratory and, outside, a hole in the red earth belching forth menacing vapours.
Fannin could have ended her clever, wryly amusing parallel observations at the point of devastation, but instead she bolts on a surreal, dystopian second act. It’s guided by Protasov’s mad but acutely sane sister Lisa (a magnetic Rebecca O’Mara) and Gorky himself, whose dramatic alter ego is Brian Doherty’s sardonic Chepurnoy, the local vet and lover of Elena. Switching abruptly between rewind and fast-forward modes, proceedings rampage through the repeating loop of capitalist greed, exploitation, power struggles and moral corruption that are now infecting our own time.
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