Ethan Switch - Thursday, January 12, 2006 - Print Version
Crush a pop and watch the silent shock of arms falling off with a hinge to bear. Certain demographics hit the theatre on opening night with lots of light dresses flowing from seat to seat. Sydney Mayor Clover Moore hovers around in the mix, careful not to linger too long with the crowd. Balloons hide in the programs waiting for their turn later in the night.
Casual is the affair with the band high in the scaffolding beating the sounds to set a club atmosphere with skill and ease. Time ticks and the band plays on. The anorak wearing chorus filter through the theatre, so much with ease and commentary underneath their oh so very English breaths.
With the sophistication of a club night cool, Tristan and Yseult mixes flavours of noir, a full body scotch or wine and poetic air, dashing it with hints of various styles of dance and verse.
Open up for the possible chaos of the combination and lie back in awe at their supreme marriage. An impressive concoction for sure and cleverly in place between places no faces can trace.
Presenting the legend of Tristan and Yseult, the players move with gut wrenching love and passion. From all angles of the York Theatre, the broken tale swirls a storm of emotions that leaves little in the way of falsities. The actors breathe their characters. There is no sense of fear and the command they have of the entire complex is a warm hand on the thigh rubbing back and forth with delight.
Humour and joy is a constant and underlying force in the performance. Sly and snide at times and ever so sharp, their presence is ever enduring and forces not its way into note nor out of place in the scheme of scenes.
Balloons in the program guides make their reason known with inclusive affair. Few in the audience fail to heed the instructions but never once leave the actors on stage off their game or guard. With flair, the variations in the seats are no match for the impromptu and acerbic wit of the man known as Frocin, Giles King.
Rising up and down to the crescendo that is the eventual end, the trial and trails leave a heart knowing full well the pain that is the condition of love.
Wait too long in the streets under the rain for the mysterious owner of a car with no plates and the clothes start to collect a sigh of wet.
Tristan and Yseult is the kind of fantastic theatre more people need to experience.
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