This is a fascinating piece of theatre.
It’s a contemporary adaptation of Pedro Calderón de la Barca’s original play, a classic of the Spanish Golden Era.
In both versions, Segismundo is imprisoned at birth because of an omen suggesting he will be a threat to the royal family.
In this version, by Australian writer Claudia Osborne, the story is streamlined and the focus becomes the dreadful impact of marginalisation (which is somewhat different from the original – but more on that later.)
This version begins with a long sequence in which Segismundo is imprisoned in his cell. To justify his imprisonment, his warder, Clotaldo, repeatedly tells him He is dangerous and destructive, but not in this room. We watch Segismundo both deal with boredom and guess at the nature of the outside world he can only know through home videos, books and conversation. For quite some time, we’re not told why Segismundo has to live this existence, and the suspense of this sequence and its hint of allegory seems informed not only by the 17th century original but also by 20th century absurdism. Directed by Solomon Thomas and Osborne, the humour and pathos are beautifully rendered. Thomas Campbell is terrific in his portrayal of Clotaldo, his complicity in an injustice and his love for his prisoner fighting a silent, heart-wrenching battle. Ariyan Sharma as Segismundo gives a brilliant performance, skilfully presenting the physical comedy, while still portraying the character’s innocence and wide-eyed vulnerability.
Then, suddenly, on the king’s birthday, Segismundo is allowed to meet his family for the first time. The sequence that follows is a thrilling tonal change. From the gentle evocative pace of the imprisonment scenes, it now feels as though we’ve been thrown into the living-room-cum-board-room of a hyper-privileged family, where tensions are entirely explicit (partly because of the repetition of refrains like This is fucked up!) Mark Lee as the king, Essie Randles as his daughter, Shiv Palekar as his eldest son, and Ariadne Sgouros as his daughter-in-law bring to this sequence a fierce energy (though I wish the script had allotted more space to the exploration of their characters and motivations.)
But that isn’t the piece’s focus. The focus is the experience of the marginalised, or more precisely, the demonised. And, yes, I’m getting awfully close to spoiler territory, so I’ll tread carefully – but what the piece offers is a powerful warning about the tendency of prophecies to be self-fulfilling. Expect evil, and you encourage it. This is a timely reminder in our current political climate, one in which we increasingly fall into the temptation of deciding that those who are different to us, or who disagree with us, are irredeemable enemies. Our certainty of their evil will prove us correct – and that may well be our only satisfaction.
But it’s not only what this piece does that makes it fascinating, but also what it doesn’t do. Osborne has created a version of Life is a Dream for our era, with our desire for social justice and our condemnation of the misuse of power. Written for a very different era, Calderón’s version ends very differently. And in the original, the title evoked more than the exclusion of the marginalised from what the hegemony might call reality. It also suggested something of Life’s grand mystery, something of the wonder of existence expressed by so many writers in Spain’s Golden Era (and which, incongruously, I’ll exemplify by a quote from the ancient Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi: Am I a man dreaming I am a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming I am a man?)
Awareness of the difference between the two texts invites some rather confronting questions. In our journey to modernity, what we have gained and what we have lost? No one can argue with a culture that’s cured small pox and condemns slavery. But still, one might regret a certain diminishment, a shrinking of the soul, a soul that now knows only answers, and knows not wonder.
But awareness of the difference between the texts, or indeed any knowledge of the original, is unnecessary for the enjoyment of this piece.
It’s surprising and vibrant, fun and thought-provoking.
Paul Gilchrist
Life is a Dream by Claudia Osborne, after Pedro Calderón de la Barca
Presented by Fervour
At Downstairs Belvoir, as part of 25A, until Sept 21
Image by Phil Erbacher
Theatre Red 