The House of Bernarda Alba is the tale of a brutal Spanish matriarch who uses the death of her husband to impose an eight year mourning period on her five daughters. Cue hormone hell. When the eldest - 39, sickly, ugly and loathed - receives a proposal from the village hunk, fifteen years her junior and after her inheritance, the claws come out. Tragedy is inevitable.
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| Ma of Iran |
Bijan Sheibani has relocated Lorca's classic in Iran. It doesn't work. As the Alba family exit en masse to help stone to death an unmarried neighbour who a) had sex, b) had a baby, c) was so terrified, she killed it at birth and d) was exposed when local dogs dug up the body, Mrs Alba's dictum seems positively benign even if she is a cruel bitch. Alas, it's not just the setting that's wrong. The beginning is laborious: 20+ women on stage praying to Mecca. One hopes they're drama students on work experience or the bill, even on Equity minimum, will add up.
The play depends on heat and sun to build claustrophobia and windows at which much of the action happens, to build tension. The set has none of these. It is a single interior in cold blue plaster-wash, a grey tiled floor, no sunlight except by inference and the only apertures are tiny and unused. The play should bristle with tension but there is none before the second half.
In conclusion: Bernarda Alba depends on strong characterisation. Shoreh Aghdashloo is striking in the lead role, but the girls are much of a muchness as their dialogues are interchangeable. A disappointing evening.
References
Almeida Theatre
Evening Standard review
Almeida Theatre, Almeida Street, London N1 1TA This run has now finished.
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