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Edinburgh Fringe 2009:
The Dentist
This is the third terrific show I have seen at the Sweet Grassmarket; a very hot venue, I assume. The play, magnificently performed by Razia Israely, directed by Malka Marin, wrung my heart, drew tears, and moved me emotionally so much that I was unable to speak at its end. That is the power of good live theatre. It turns one inside out.
The Dentist, written by Chaim Marin and Ms Israely, is about a daughter coming to know, accept, and forgive her father his brutal behavior during her formative years. Constantly wishing for his death as she grows up, she eventually discovers secrets he is unable to speak about; deeds he performed in an Auschwitz crematorium.
Another Holocaust story. But this play, so subtly and superbly acted by Ms. Israely, transcends itself. It deals with the most basic issues of mankind. How far are we willing to go in order to survive? How much are we capable of forgiving others? How much are we capable of forgiving ourselves? Did the father who refused to give up his family only to lose them later because of his uncontrollable rages and harshness, really save himself? The grief at the loss of years of love experienced by the daughter as she stands over the grave of her father at the end of the play calls upon all of us to rise to the universal necessity of reconciliation.
I had the great fortune of speaking to Ms. Israely briefly after the show. She told me that this play was only partially autobiographical. She had combined some of her own experiences with others that she had researched thoroughly. She mentioned a book that was her inspiration: We Wept Without Tears by Dr. G. Greiff. Ms. Israely also said that she only recently had the play translated into English and had only performed it eight times before coming to the festival. I, for one, understood every word, and would not have suspected any need for added concentration in performing in a new language. I hope she can tour this piece worldwide. She deserves it. The story deserves it.
The Timekeepers
Another great show at the Fringe; and I mean great. Roy Horovitz gives an absolutely brilliant performance as a gay concentration camp victim conning his way into repairing watches as a means to temporary safety. Through humor and persistence, he convinces the conservative older man whom he is assigned as assistant, to teach him. A friendship is formed, and prejudice and indifference is replaced with deep compassion.
This award-winning drama depicts the private experience amidst the tragedy of millions. It will always have significance as a moving Holocaust play. But it is Horovitz’s performance that affected me most significantly. With a light touch, never sentimental or overdone, he mesmerizes the audience. When one sees acting on this level, one remembers why one came to love live theatre in the first place.
Horovitz, with whom I spoke briefly, told me he had toured this show for eight years. He has reached many with this tale. I hope his future and/or concurrent projects will be equally artistically successful.
The Yalta Game
Dublin’s celebrated Gate Theatre brought three works by Brian Friel to the 2009 International Festival. I saw The Yalta Game. Based on a short story by Anton Chekhov entitled The Lady With The Lapdog, it is entirely under-written, under-developed, and, in my opinion, incapable of capturing Chekhov’s intentions.
There was a great Russian film based on this same story entitled, Lady With A Small Dog. It’s difficult not to make a comparison. In this film the hopelessness of the situation of the two lovers after they realize they are in love is fully explored. I wish the writer or director or actors had seen this work. It may have inspired them.
I will say that the acting was very good, especially by Rebecca O’Mara, but who cares? Without a play, it’s just “fluff.” The staging, several randomly-placed chairs, was a creative idea, as was the cyclorama, although the later was barely used so I wondered why they had it at all.
I wanted to see something at the International Festival because I was becoming a bit discouraged by some of the works I viewed at the Fringe. But at least these less famous, sometimes less adept performers, writers, and directors were striving with all their might to create meaningful, poignant, and purposeful theatre. There was nothing smug about them. Even if I didn’t like some of the shows, I recognized their sincere effort. The Gate Theatre was, for me, a disappointment.