May 1, 2009, by Peter Kirwan

‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore (WUDS) @ Warwick Arts Centre Studio

Writing about web page http://www.wuds.co.uk/

Warwick University Drama Society’s new production of ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore promised a "noir sheen", and a sheen was duly delivered. Femme fatale? Check, in Maria Askew’s seductive Hippolita. Moody hard men lighting cigarettes under dim street lighting? Check, as Jack Churchill’s skinheaded Grimaldi (referencing the later noir of Taxi Driver) bandaged his bruised wrist. The noise of incessant rainfall? Check. The noir atmosphere, however, was mostly down to the phenomenal lighting design of Elliot Griggs, whose cleverly positioned lamps cast long shadows across the set.  Giovanni’s murder of Annabella was doubly seen in the flesh and in a huge shadow on the wall; many scenes were conducted in near-darkness; actors’ faces magically disappeared into shadow, closing off the windows into their souls and leaving them unknown to us. Atmospheric and exciting, it’s one of the best uses of lighting I’ve seen yet in a student production.

However, the production as a large was actually, and beneficially, far more indebted to the later gangster epic, most notably The Godfather, in its insider depiction of the Italian-American mafiosi, with certain accents taking their cues directly from Brando and de Niro. In a 20s East Coast setting, Don Florio was the local family head, preparing to welcome Soranzo into his family. The Catholic Church, corrupt and powerful, leaned heavily on the gangsters, with even Florio having to answer to the Cardinal. Scenically, the open-plan studio set took us through bedrooms lit from outside by flickering red neon, stoops and balconies, phone booths, a basement bar and a swinging’ jazz cafe. It’s a setting that worked consistently and to the play’s benefit.

While there were some flickers of jazz, the heavily musical sound design evoked the power and influence of the Catholic Church in this city. A choir sat beneath the audience seating added ethereal vocals to moments of violence, sanctifying the horror and placing it in an epic context (cf. the end of the first Godfather). An onstage two piece string band and vocalist (all stunningly good) filled in the soundscape, creating a world torn apart by religious conscience and guilt.

Into this prowled Josh Green’s Friar Bonaventura; holy man compromised by violence, violent man compromised by religion.  As Giovanni stood in a square of patterned light, a voice was heard from above, snarling and growling at the nervous youth. Raised to anger, the shadows moved and, to Giovanni’s terror, the Friar descended. Shirtless and intimidatingly ripped, the sight of this Friar advancing on the young man, clearly longing for a good excuse to tear his arms off, was a genuinely frightening one. This was a fascinating Friar, who used brutal violence on both Giovanni and Annabella in order to persuade them of their sin, making Giovanni’s courage in standing up to him all the more impressive. Delighting in the chaotic results of sin, and hypocritically smarmy around the more powerful gangsters, Green was the play’s dark heart, judging and condemning vice with extreme prejudice.

One of the production’s primary strengths was the lack of any weak characterisations; even relatively minor parts such as Richardetto and Philotis were treated with respect and given full attention, while the nameless officers ordered to put out Putana’s eyes had a period of silent internal conflict as they prepared to carry out their grisly task (performed on stage, with copious blood and screaming). The interest inherent in all the roles rather drew attention to the sprawling structure of the play itself, in which characters could disappear for whole acts before suddenly returning to turn the play on its head. While Giovanni and Annabella’s story formed the main through-line, moreover, there was a genuine sense of suspense involved in the question of who would survive.

Ollie Jones’ moustachioed Vasques provided a fascinating through-line in this, proving the most analogous character to the noir anti-hero. From an impressive opening fist-fight with Grimaldi, to his quietly threatening manner with Giovanni, to his astute manipulation of Hippolita, Vasques showed himself to be the most capable survivor in a dangerous world, only taking extreme action or showing emotion when in absolute control of a situation, such as in Putana’s coldly delivered sentence. His final brawl with Giovanni, extended into a long one-on-one knife battle, thus took on the significance of a major personal duel, the equivalent of Hamlet and Laertes finally facing off in open aggression. With Giovanni dispatched, Vasques slung his jacket over his shoulder and strode off into the rain.

The women of the play similarly borrowed from noir types, with Claudia Massey’s Putana the everyday dame and Askew’s Hippolita, as mentioned earlier, the femme fatale, both with fancy hats and feather boas. The presentation of Putana fitted perfectly as the heroine’s bawdy friend, bringing an honesty and plainness to the carefully controlled environment of the mafiosi that rendered her dangerous. Her fate at Vasques’ hands was the inevitable fate awaiting anyone so unaware of the precariousness of her state that she continues talking regardless. Hippolita’s scenes, meanwhile, took place in close quarters, firstly in Soranzo’s study and then later on a balcony, both intimate quarters in which she could ‘seduce’ Vasques. For the wedding celebrations, here the set-piece that closed the first half, she appeared in mask, corset and fishnets, slinking down the stairs before giving Soranzo a lap dance. Her downfall was her poor playing of the situation, revelling in her ability to hold the gangsters at bay (with all but an evil laugh), before being tricked by Vasques and dying on the floor, coughing up blood.

Despite the attempts of women to break loose and determine their own fates, then, the male world ultimately destroyed them (further emblemised by Giovanni’s ruthless murder of Annabella). The world of the play was governed by the mafia dons, whose reign of violence was all that remained at the end; Donado and the Cardinal looking down on imagined graves. Oliver Baxter and Jeremy Smith, as Florio and Donado, represented the elder end of the family hierarchy, genially managing their childrens’ futures while ready to order a kneecapping in the same breath. Smith’s Donado, in particular, captured the simultaneously gruff and hospitable Sicilian manner perfectly, while Baxter’s Florio showed a softer side in his care of his daughter. At the end of their games, these two did not feel the need to abuse their authorities, merely flexing their muscle when required.

The younger generation, however, were less secure in their positions. Grimaldi, in particular, was a furious youth, strutting with aggressive intent and ready to brawl at a glance. However, Churchill also brought poignancy to the character’s outsider status. This ex-soldier had no home, no network, and his rage at the world was directed inwards owing to the lack of an outlet, thus contributing a powerful tension to his every appearance. There was no suggestion that he felt his suit had any hope of success, but he simply had no other place to go. He was balanced by Will Cardozo Boohan’s young don Soranzo. Soranzo attempted to emulate his elders; sharply dressed, restrained and commanding, he represented the new power moving up to take over. Yet his place was insecure enough that he was still reliant on violence, particularly in his threatening treatment of Annabella after the discovery of her pregnancy. In vest and unbraced trousers, he chased Annabella down the stairs and held a knife to her, resorting in his distress to the only solution he knew, the solution he had built his career on.

Luke Karmali’s Giovanni was simultaneously part of and apart from this young and violent generation. As further referenced in his relationship with the Friar, Giovanni is something of a latter day Romeo, and this production emphasised his separation from the feuding family community he had been born in to. Younger and slighter than the other gangsters,  Giovanni was a lover rather than a fighter, physically threatened by the other men but in his element when alone with Nikki Morland’s Annabella. Giovanni’s final scene, covered in blood and carrying a (real) heart, saw him finally stand up for himself in the man’s world of his father, fighting the Cardinal’s henchmen and struggling desperately for life against Vasques. While increasingly unhinged, we still felt for him as circumstances drove him to his sickening end. Not as much, however, as we felt for Annabella, whose cry of "Why?" resounded as she lay dying on the bed. This Annabella had all the confidence one would expect a crime lord’s daughter to have, treating even Soranzo with contempt; yet any strength she had was gradually forced out of her by the Friar, her husband and, ultimately, her own brother.

I’ve focussed on the characters because this was what set the production apart; its epic and episodic structure around a series of supremely fascinating individuals. Morality was neither here nor there; integrity and survival were the most anyone could hope for.

There were some problems, inevitably. The challenge for a mostly British cast to adopt Italian-American accents, in a noir style, and deliver intelligible blank verse is a formidable one, and sometimes clarity was sacrificed in the effort to maintain the accent – a shame, because an audience would far rather suspend disbelief over accent than miss dialogue. It was also an extremely long production, 3 hours 20 minutes by my count (though it may have started late), partly due to awkward pauses for scene changes and some over-egging of the pudding. In particular, a long dance/movement sequence between Annabella and Giovanni, representing their first sexual encounter, was fair enough in itself, but felt very much out of kilter with the rest of the production’s aesthetic. The production worked best in its more fluid moments, and the use of side sections and balconies to conduct linking scenes while set was being changed elsewhere was crucial in keeping the flow.

I’ve saved til last Jay Saighal and Kwaku Mills-Bampoe’s remarkable double act as Bergetto and Poggio. Bergetto, ever the simpleton, was here medically retarded, with facial tics and a general inability to meet people’s eyes. Poggio was his assistant and full-time carer, trusted by Donado to look after and guide his nephew. In Bergetto, this production found its true heart, the innocent traumatically murdered in the crossfire. Saighal’s performance was often hysterically funny, particularly as he childishly turned to Poggio after every kiss from Philotis (most memorably, with his complaint "I have a monstrous swelling about my stomach"), but also wonderfully moving. At one point, he turned quietly to his servant and asked, mournfully, "Dost take me for a child, Poggio?". Poggio and Donado’s constant frustration with their charge was tempered by love and sympathy in a tender, and rich, reading of attitudes to mental disability, and I found Saighal’s performance ultimately extremely moving, a reaction I’d never expected to have to Bergetto. A production that will bear thinking about for a long time to come.

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