Reviewed
by Will Stackman
When
London's Almeida Theatre brought Jean Racine's "obscure Britannicus", a cautionary historical
drama written to admonish Louis XIV, to the BAC in New York in 1999, with Dame
Diana Rigg as the power behind the throne, that production was overshown by the
author's better known "Phedre," with Rigg in the title role. Brief
note was made of the play's possible contemporary relevance, but the
dramatist's underlying instincts for intense personal conflict -- the action
observes the venerable unities -- remained its primary virtue, even in discrete
modern dress.
At
the ART this month, outgoing Artistic Director Robert Woodruff using a prose translation by
British poet C.H.Sisson -- Almeida performed in traditional rhymed couplets --
was more aggressively modern. The play's central character, the infamous
emperor Nero, played by New Yorker Alfredo Narciso, becomes a wannabe rock star who
also races motorcycles, dwelling in a messy den in the shadows extreme stage
left. Agrippina (the younger), Nero's manipulative mother gets the diva
treatment from OBIE winner Joan MacIntosh. She's shacked up extreme stage right in an a
cramped bedroom with Nero's tutor. The title character, Nero's half-brother
Britannicus, played by Emerson and Juilliard grad Kevin O'Donnell, and his fiance, Junia, the last
descendant of Augustus played by Merritt Janson are the doomed pair caught up in
Agrippina's dynastic intrigue. Junia's role as the pawn between Nero and his
step half-brother is far more interesting and better explored while O'Donnell
plays his completely naively.
Lurking
around the edges is menacing John Sierros as Burrhus, a Praetorian commander chosen by
Agrippina as one of Nero's chief advisers. Most of the main characters interact
with devious Narcissus, played by David Wilson Barnes. He's got a thing going with
Albina, Agrippina's confident played by Adrianne Krstansky, starting with the two having a
quickie before the play actually begins. Pallas, the tutor who's only mentioned
in Racine's text, is played mutely by Douglas Cochrane as Agrippina's bedmate. Octavia,
Britannicus' sister, who's married to Nero and also only mentioned in the
original, drifts through the production like a ghost until bursting into song
just before the finale. She's played by opera singer Megan Roth and performs in French.
These
the two added performers aren't really essential for the six original
characters carry the action right along. MacIntosh plays Agrippina in diva
style, worthy of any mini-series. Narciso's Nero, who starts the show taking a
shower onstage after climbing out of his motorcycle leathers captures all the emperor's
legendary dangerous charm. Janson's boyish heroine is a teenager in over her
head as she weighs Nero's demands. O'Donnell's Britannicus doesn't get beyond
being a victim and a dupe, but is convincingly intense. And Sierros conveys a
sense of disappointed loyalty. As the two conspiring servants, Barnes and
Krstansky handle a lot of the exposition while remaining interesting by their
moments of intrigue. Krstansky has the final messenger speech which describes
Junia's escape after Nero poison Britannicus upstage in dumb show followed by
Barnes' death at the hands of a mob, but the director has planted her unmoving
and seated downstage with unconvincing bloodstains on her white ensemble. Of
course, Agrippina has the final word cursing her son, after which Nero plays a
monotonous power chord while Octavia holds a video camera on him. Pourquoi?
Woodruff's
additions to the play, which strangely don't include the better known
Seneca--Nero's Carl Rove -- and the use of live video projections fortunately don't
interfere with Racine's tightly constructed drama, making this one of the more
watchable shows at the ART in the past few seasons. Riccardo Hernandez's set places the requisite
single acting area on a platform down center with a narrow passage in front.
Seemingly Nero's waiting room, it's sparsely furnished and backed by plastic
projection surfaces behind Venetian blinds. The rest of the stage is bare to
the walls except for the two bedrooms, Nero's nest and Agrippina's hideaway on
either side. Christopher Akerlind's lighting grid looms over the set and the orchestra. Kay
Voyce's costume
plot has Agrippina in glittery back--she's a widow twice over--while Albina her
confidant is in a tailored white power suit. Nero, often bare chested, is in
high-end gray, while Britannicus is youthfully grubby until he shows up for the
fatal banquet in a casual cranberry ensemble. Junia, who was abducted from her
bed, is first seen in her underwear on the downstage edge, silent and tied to a
chair during the first scene, then gets an oversized sweatshirt, boy shorts and
sweatsocks for the rest of the evening. Narcissus, the household spy dressed as
a street dealer, has an orange hoodie under his shabby jacket while Burrhus,
the older tough guy, seems to have escaped from a CIA movie. Octavia in her
wanderings wears a gold evening dress. It's all not very imperial but
sufficiently indicative.
Since
the show would be inaudible otherwise, the cast wears head mikes with the usual
distractions. David Remedios' sound design manages a careful mix but this results in
a common volume level furthering the impression of that this is a prime time TV
drama. Leah Gelpe's
live video, occasionally looped, is a minor distraction which adds little to
the drama but probably keeps some of the audience from being bored from having
to listen to the language. The result of all this effort is tolerable but not
fully engaging. Racine's final drama didn't accomplish his intent of dissuading
Louis XIV from exercising his absolute power unwisely. Woodruff's
embellishments don't do more than illustrate the huge motto hung on the back
wall; "Empire creates its own reality." Only individual performances
by a solid cast become occasionally engaging.