Brilliant white light, the rasping of cicadas - Vesuvius Theatre Company has recreated the atmosphere of an open-air theatre in southern Italy by constructing circular, tiered seating inside the Riding Stables at Collins Barracks. Set in a small village in the Mezzogiorno in the early 1930s and played in the round, this ensemble production of Fontamara (until October 17th) is adapted by Vincent Woods from Ignazio Silone's novel and directed by Vanessa Fielding. Woods has given an Irish flavour to the dialogue that is very effective, since Ignazio's timeless tale of the marginalisation of a tiny rural community could transfer with ease to this country.
As the villagers try to cope with the effects of political change on their own lives, their fate as helpless victims is constantly reaffirmed. Engaged in a hopeless struggle with rocky land, opportunistic officials, complacent clergy and Mussolini's rising militia, they turn for leadership to an outspoken, vibrant young man, Berardo Viola (Seamus Moran, in a fine performance) whose defiance is tinged with a strong vein of fatalism and self-doubt.
The atmosphere is evoked with great immediacy: the blend of superstition, fear and strength of tradition are all communicated, but the amount of exposition demanded by the ever-twisting plot weighs the production down, with the pace flagging, particularly in the second half. At least 30 minutes needed to be trimmed from the opening night's performance, and overall, more imaginative risks taken to break from naturalism would have counteracted the sense of worthiness that clings to the show.
CBCA, BCBC, AMBC . . . is there a pattern, we wonder, to the sequence of speakers in Sarah Kane's play, Crave (Project @ the Mint, until October 10th) as four characters utter short phrases through and past each other, delivered in a declamatory style with a staccato rhythm. Seated on swivel chairs in individual pools of light, like a television studio panel, they lay bare their obsessions, desires and fears over the course of 48 minutes.
A (Alan Williams) yearns for the love of a beautiful young woman, C (Sharon Duncan Brewster), while M (Ingrid Craigie) is consumed with desire to have a child while there's still time and hopes that B (Paul Thomas Hickey) will oblige. In tones that are clipped at first, then increasingly desperate, the characters' memories of child sexual abuse and experiences of rejection, loss, loneliness and anxiety are constantly intercut, sometimes responding to each other, more often with non-sequiturs, creating a fragmented, soundscape of urban anomie that echoes T.S. Eliot and Gertrude Stein, among others.
With its stylish production, brittle humour and wry observations about sex - "I've faked orgasms before, but this is the first time I've faked not having an orgasm" - this piece is self-consciously striving to be contemporary, while remaining formally locked into a Modernist aesthetic that seems hopelessly jaded. The four performers deserve credit for brilliantly straining against the limits of the text, even managing, once or twice, to bring us below its glossy surface.
The Fringe Information Office is in Arthouse, Curved Street, Temple Bar. The Fringe phone number is: 01-605 6833 and information is available on these websites: www.fringefest.com and www.dkm.ie/events
