Review - Equus: Losing My Religion

It's easy to forget how ravishingly absorbing an evening at Equus can be if you only consider it as Peter Shaffer's scripted words. Though certainly not deficient in providing a neat little psychological morality drama, what makes the text succeed so well is that, like a great ballet composer, the author knows how to hand over to other artists the opportunity to use his work as a springboard for the creation of emblazing visuals that illuminate with lofty creativity. Equus may not read like great theatre, but director Thea Sharrock's elegant cerebral nightmare of a production shows it can sure play like it.

Shaffer's 1973 work of fiction was inspired by one true fact; that a 17-year-old boy from a small town near London had been charged with blinding six horses. Knowing nothing else of the case, the playwright created Alan Strang, an emotionally repressed lad who, at the time of the awkward emerging of his own sexual awareness, develops an erotically religious fascination with horses, finding comfort and fulfillment through the worship of a deity he calls Equus.

Alan comes under the treatment of psychiatrist Martin Dysart, the play's storyteller and central character. While Dysart certainly wants to stop his patient from committing further acts of violence, he also envies the boy's passion and ability to express devotion toward something, given the doctor's admittedly mundane, though perfectly respectable, existence.

Being the lone person on planet Earth who has not seen any of those Harry Potter movies (please, I'm at the theatre four times a week) I entered the Broadhurst knowing nothing of this Daniel Radcliffe fellow except that he currently possesses the most talked-about penis in British Equity. But in this, his stage acting debut, he gives a gently disturbing quality to Alan Strang that creates strong empathy even while he's creeping you out. It's fine, committed work that brings crackling spontaneity to the piece and I hope to see him visiting the New York stage many more times in his career.

I could have used a bit more physical and vocal variety out of Richard Griffiths' Dysart, but his understated performance is nevertheless a legitimate interpretation of the self-reflective doctor. Kate Mulgrew comes off a bit too actory as his magistrate friend Hesther (a quality that has worked to her benefit in other roles but seems out of place here) but the rest of the supporting company is solid, particularly Anna Camp as the flirtatious girl who attempts to be Alan's first sexual encounter and Lorenzo Pisoni, who doubles as Nugget, the boy's most beloved horse, and as a young horseman.

My equestrian guest was very impresses with the authenticity of Pisoni's physicality in his human role as he was reining in his horse, however she believes movement director Fin Walker got it wrong by having Nugget trot (a two-step) at a point where the script called for him to canter (a triplet). I'll leave it to them to argue that point while praising Walker, Pisoni and the additional stable of actor/horses (Collin Baja, Tyrone A. Jackson, Spencer Liff, Adesola Osakalumi and Marc Spaulding) for enhancing the production with striking, ritualistic movements as they nobly portray their beasts with metal headdresses and platform hooves. Their appearance, designed by John Napier who also provides the sparse impressionistic set (onstage audience members observe from high above as in an operating theatre), when combined with David Hersey's imposing lighting (occasionally through onstage smoke) and Gregory Clarke's pulse-quickening sound design, make the play's climatic moments overwhelm with danger and spiritual fervor.

While Radcliff is the draw and Griffiths is the lead, it's director Sharrock who emerges as the star. Her production doesn't attempt to be innovative, but she achieves an exhilarating freshness simply by corralling strong work from her collaborators and shaping it into stirring visual poetry, treating audiences to a hellava good ride.

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