Review: VENUS & ADONIS, Barbican Theatre
It's getting hot in here: Shakepeare's sexiest story comes to the Barbican.
Putting on something which is so sexy, sensuous and deeply erotic in the middle of a heatwave could be asking for trouble, yet this production of Shakespeare’s Venus & Adonis justifies the gamble, turning the Barbican’s The Pit into a crucible of raw, mythological desire.
When the goddess Venus first sees Adonis, it is pure lust at first sight. In her head, she only wants him; in his head, he only wants to hunt. She arrives in a shell-shaped chariot pulled by two white birds; he barely notices. She implores him for some reciprocation of her feelings; he stares blankly back. Her lips land kisses all over his face, her hands run freely over his upper body; he remains quiet and stiff (not like that but, then again, maybe like that — he’s only human, after all). With a soft but insistent motion, she brushes his lower leg, then brushes his upper leg; then he brushes her hand off. I swear I heard a woman sigh at that point.
Just when all seems lost, Venus finds a way into Adonis's heart; their passion is consummated in a mid-air entwining of limbs. Her victory is short-lived; in a vision, she sees that, if Adonis goes hunting the next day, he will be fatally gored by a boar. She plaintively pleads with him to stay with her; a typical man to the last, he ignores what seems like very good advice and gets himself killed.
Even if its popularity has faded over the centuries, Venus & Adonis was hungrily lapped up by randy Tudor folk and became Shakespeare's most popular work published during his lifetime. While his more famous romances have been dulled to death by repetition and now chiefly serve to give Hollywood superstars their West End break, Greg Doran’s masterful revival is a stirring joy from start to finish that gradually unfurls this hidden gem.
The fact that the lovers in Doran’s production are mute puppets whose story is wonderfully narrated by Simon Russell Beale takes nothing away from its power. If anything, it allows the corps of highly skilled puppeteers to push the physical boundaries of this epic story.
Beale is the marquee name here but, as even he would readily admit, the real stars are the bunraku performers (Bartolomeo Bartolini, Edie Edmundson, Rachel Leonard, Lee Maeda, and associate director Sarah Wright). Through them, we live this vibrant tale full of emotion and humour. When not floating our lovers through the air, they bring on the Bard himself, a pair of amorous horses, a happy hare, the fateful boar and, finally, a giant skeletal Grim Reaper, with its bony arms reaching out across the stage.
Lyndie Wright (co-founder of the Little Angel Theatre) collaborated with a specialist team (Jan Zalud, John Roberts, Stefan Fichert, Simon Auton, and Jungmin Song) to create the fantastic puppets, especially the curvaceous, Rubenesque figure of Venus made from soft leather. Robert Jones’s elegant set design provides an immersive fulcrum and backdrop while Vince Herbert and Lauren Watson’s lighting paired with Nick Lee’s live classical guitar playing add layers of atmosphere to this ethereal tale.
Beale’s superb grip on Shakespeare’s language and how he brings it to bear here deserves its own write-up. He catches every single nuance of the iambic pentameter, expertly shifting from the comedic frustration of unrequited lust to the deep, shattering grief of the tragedy. Delivering the verse with a masterful blend of rhythm and conversational ease, he uncovers layers of wry wit in the text before effortlessly transitioning into a devastating, hushed stillness for the final, sorrowful movements of the narrative.
Often, he interacts subtly with the action, capturing the eyes of the puppets or mirroring their gestures, leaving us feeling far more for these objects. Sitting just off to the side with a sturdy stillness, his physical restraint allows his voice to become a living landscape, bridging the gap between the audience, the live music, and the performers’ movements on stage, ultimately elevating an already eye-grabbing technical display of puppetry into an extraordinarily moving human experience.
For too long, some theatre critics (and those that read their reviews over a mid-afternoon cappuccino) have long condescended to any work featuring puppets, never ever quite bringing themselves to celebrate the innovation and freedom this art form brings. That goes not just for Olivier-winning fare like My Neighbour Totoro, Life Of Pi and War Horse (a play so long in the tooth now that its spirit animal is a narwhal) but for more adult shows like Avenue Q (which walked off with the Tony for Best Musical ahead of Wicked) and Blind Summit’s phenomenal Sex Lives Of Puppets. Works like Venus & Adonis point to hopefully a brighter future for this underrated corner of theatre.
Read our interview with director Greg Doran here.
Greg Doran's latest book Walking Shadow: Love, Loss and Shakespeare is published by Bloomsbury
Venus & Adonis continues at the Barbican Theatre until 27 June, then travels to Theatre Royal York on 30 June and 1 July.
Photo credit: Lucy Barriball
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