BWW Reviews: WOYZECK, Omnibus Clapham, November 27 2013

Woyzeck blinks and twitches. Woyzeck runs and hides. Woyzeck does the right thing and does the wrong thing. Woyzeck snaps.

In Robyn Winfield-Smith's production of Michael Ewans' translation of (one of) writer Georg Buchner's drafts, the action returns to rural 19th century Germany, with its grinding poverty, its militaristic class distinctions and its suffocating restrictions on the human spirit. Of course, it's not exactly pantomime - but it's not without its bleak, black comedy either, much of which comes from the performances of a committed and talented cast. And the set - in the new space at Clapham Omnibus - is beautifully designed by Fly Davis to crush Woyzeck's hopes in the dirt and dust, chopping down his opportunities for escape one by one.

Victoria Ross captures Marie's beauty and pain in her eyes and in the way she covets the glamour of Nicholas Keith's Drum Major - the preening, proud officer being all that her lover, Woyzeck, is not. Liam Smith, revisiting a role he first played 20 or years ago, starts pained, goes mad and finishes broken, his body twisting and closing, as his mind reels off into psychosis. It's a powerful, disturbing, occasionally shocking portrayal of one theatre's most influential characters.

The doomed lovers get excellent support from a variety of turns: Nigel Hastings' bonkers Doctor; Kieron Jecchinis' cruel Captain; David Rubins' showy Showman. There's also some puppetry that astonishes even those who have seen its wonders before - Ruth Rogers' monkey is worth the admission price alone.

Your reviewer is no theorist of theatre - I always treat theatre as entertainment, whether it be directed at the funny bone, the heart or the head - and this is my first Woyzeck. The success of the production - apart from the tremendous reaction of an enthralled audience on the closing curtain - is evident in the way the play is still bouncing around in my mind 24 hours later. Woyzeck is based on a true story, so what tipped this particular (every)man over his particular edge? Is this the tale Buchner wanted to tell, or just the most likely of the four drafts that survived him? Where does the play sit with similar ideas explored in different fields (a little later) by Gustave Courbet, Friedrich Engels and Gustave Flaubert? 100 years on from its first production (and 80 or so more from its writing) what is its relevance?

That I look forward to seeing Woyzeck again to explore those questions further shows the success of this bold, beautiful and bewitching presentation of a disorienting classic play.

Woyzeck continues at the Clapham Omnibus until 7 December.

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