Since seeing The House of Bernarda Alba at the Almeida a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been reflecting on what resonated with me immediately, and why that resonance has quickly dissipated.
Frederico García Lorca’s 1936 and last completed play before his murder by the fascist in the Spanish Civil War parallels the writer’s own fight against the status quo. This play of female oppression and blind dedication to societal structures illuminates the price of repression.
Director Bijan Sheibani takes all of Lorca’s poetic textual nuances out and replaces them with visual stimuli. The opening scene of one of the daughters dimly lit standing behind a scrim which ripples down into darkness is perhaps one of the most beautiful and exhilarating moments I’ve experienced in a theatre. It’s a striking and bold way to open a play wrought with tension and jealousies. However, Sheibani’s direction, although visually striking, lacks Lorca’s textual soul, or duende.
Moving the setting from 1930’s Spain to modern day Iran works well in showcasing the plight of women as
still an ongoing fight. However, the plight of these women is tainted by an intellectual self-awareness.
Shohreh Aghdashloo’s Bernarda Alba is too calm and calculated. She embodies the rigidity but not the core of the blind belief and stubborn disposition behind it. Likewise, the daughters are all too aware of their cage, causing them to think about it freedom rather than desperately trying to be free. Overall, it makes the sisters’ relationships underdeveloped.
Jane Bertish who plays the matriarch’s loyal but forthright housekeeper is the only one who stays honest
throughout the entire play. Here is a woman who is simultaneously aware of her circumstances and able to
live within them. That’s not to say that the other actresses didn’t have poignant moments – they did. But a play cannot sustain itself on just moments.
When I left the theatre, I was still intoxicated by the superb opening and visual stimuli; but now that the effect has worn off, I’m left wanting more.
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