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Animal Farm: too cowed down
Animal Farm by George Orwell, presented by StageLight&Magic Inc and directed by Feroze Kamardeen at The Lionel Wendt on July 4-8.

Part political satire, part vehicle for Kreb's Cycle, this musical was an ambitious project for the directors et al from the inception. Orwell was a disillusioned socialist, and his visionary critique of the system's early shortcomings is heavy stuff for the stage. And this ensemble cast managed to make light of it, turning a bitter attack on political manipulation into barnyard banter - replete with hysterical topical allusions (how the PSD has lately gone to the dogs, featured, wittily). But the magic of theatre was missing, and the three-hour revue of penetrating lyrics set to familiar music tasted at times like an endless repast of chicken gizzards.

Kamardeen was sensible, opting to watch fretfully from the wings - rather than strut his stuff, while wearing two hats, as he is too often wont to. It paid off, in a fast-paced production that combined energetic singing with chaotic movement: all animals are mindless, but some are more mindless than others.

The contrast between the manipulative pigs and the other tractable creatures was striking; but were the more docile creatures too easily persuaded? The insidious cancer of political mendacity was laid bare - but... maybe the several brief rebellions of the victimised were too quickly overcome to be convincing. The dichotomy between oppressor and oppressed would have been more telling, perhaps, if the cowed down didn't reek so much of a willingness to be led by the snout - into another song and dance routine.

Shohan Chandiram led the revels with vigour. The choreography, evenly structured and executed, was at odds with the blocked out movements, which were energetic but undisciplined - and led to unshepherded hordes stumbling about in a slightly out-of-sync melee. Beastly business, this: synergising the every move of dumb animals tugged and pulled by diverse voices; but, robustly loyal and deluded Boxer included (whose foil to cunning porkers was admirably rendered by Anuruddha Fernando), the tribe of followers capitulated to "the Practical Pig" too quickly. Do I repeat myself? Very well, then, I repeat myself (the play was large, it contained multitudes of missed opportunities). The potential of Benjamin, the mutely recalcitrant donkey, to be a counterpoint to both strident leaders and the muttering led, was not fully realised. Pity.

Speaking of which, Sonali White of the Haddai label had worked wonders with the elaborate costumes, which stood out as individual articles of craft (well, with exceptions - whoever heard of a blue and yellow goat? Inexplicable. Particularly as cows were lovingly rendered black and white with udder reality, horses had manes and hens feathers). Creative realism apart, here was the chance to colour-code characteristics, themes, ideals; but, with the exception of the devilishly red to skin-pink pigs, the animals went largely ungrouped and/or sorted by shades of meaning. It was a masquerade, but nobody minded much - especially as the masks did not slip, nor was audibility too badly affected.

Sanjeev Jayaratnam roundly led the lusty singing, which did not suffer for a) the could-be cumbersome masks and b) the mikes - regrettable in the case of the redoubtable Jayaratnam Senior, whose baritone is enough to fill a noisy auditorium. A denizen of the balcony on one of the noisier nights was heard to remark, "Are we at the cinema, then?" (This, in reference to the trademark multimedia projection played inter alia to a captive audience - which seems to follow Feroze wherever he goes: the slides, dears, not the audience!) A contemporary touch was also added by dint of popular melodies being pegged to Orwell's biting libretto, which were originally sung to tunes like "Three Blind Mice"; but the adaptation may have lost the gravamen: especially if you consider that the triumvirate of pigs - Snowball, Napoleon and Squealer - were probably caricatures of that socialist troika: Stalin, Trotsky and Khrushchev, who ruled the "sty" once Old Major (Lenin?) passed into the Great Farmyard in the Sky.

Jayaratnam Junior (the mercurial Krishan) trotted out his pivotal role diabolically well; tail, cloven hoof, pointy ears and all. He was "on" ad libitum - to the audience's pleasure. The final triumph of Napoleon - though it is the demise of democracy and everything decent in traditional socialism - seems not such a bad thing, precisely because the way Jayaratnam played it, his character embodied the curiously attractive demagogue whose early populism is at the very root of egalitarianism's defeat. By this time, the bulldozed, numb, remnant of Animal Farm is resigned to its slavery, despite a few chickenhearted attempts to overthrow the porcine yoke. Every dictatorship gets the tyrant it deserves, but some populaces deserve it more.

What do Colombo audiences - those lost sheep of une generation perdue - deserve? Woolly-headed attempts to reverse theatrical alchemy that turn the gold of satire into the base metal of sitcom? Artistic licence to trip on cool vibes from a popular band? A flimsy excuse for a fashion show? A smorgasbord of sponsorship? Why, yes! All audiences are created equal - well, with the exception of those that will not serve the beast of commercialism rampant as culture. Non serviam! Let politicians make a pig's breakfast out of political lying. We will look to theatre for truth.
- Strevan


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