Irish Times writers review a selection of events in the arts world.
Kirov Orchestra/Gergiev, NCH, Dublin
Borodin - In the Steppes of Central Asia. Rimsky-Korsakov - Sheherazade.
Tchaikovsky - Symphony No 5.
Alexander Borodin's symphonic sketch, In the Steppes of Central Asia, was written in 1880 to accompany one of a series of tableaux celebrating the 25th anniversary of the reign of Alexander II. Borodin's subject was a caravan crossing the Asian steppes with an escort of Russian soldiers.
The work is about as atmospheric as you can get, empty spaces suggested by high violin harmonics, a slow rhythmic tread infiltrated with oriental melodies. Monday's performance by St Petersburg's Kirov Orchestra under Valery Gergiev used every last scrap of Borodin's material to present the work as a haunting, colouristic gem.
Rimsky-Korsakov's Sheherazade, inspired by the Arabian Nights, is another work that thrives on exotic atmosphere, this time of an altogether richer and more sensual kind than Borodin's. It's a somewhat treacherous piece for conductors, with such a lot of trimmings that the ear can tire of details which come around again and again.
Gergiev showed something of the skills of a great storyteller, making sure recurrences always sounded fresh, pacing the peaks so that too much excitement was not delivered too soon. He was supported by strongly characterised playing in the many solos that Rimsky provided for section leaders.
Gergiev got his results by unorthodox means. He stood directly on the floor, eschewing the elevation of a podium, and he directed the orchestra with a stubby stick in his right hand (more like a well-worn pencil than a conventional baton) and a profusion of jerks and fluttering tremors from his left hand. The orchestral presentation he secured was full and forward, with internal instrumental balances closer to what you might expect on a closely miked recording than from a live orchestra in a concert hall.
The full-on effect was not just a matter of sound but was also due to the emotionalism of the playing, which glowed with greatest intensity in Tchaikovsky's Fifth Symphony. Gergiev's particular fervency succeeded due to the careful balance it maintained between visceral drive and good musical taste. - Michael Dervan
Frozen, Half Moon Theatre, Cork
Talking to his mother, serial killer Ted Bundy once said: "I'm sorry to have given you such grief. A part of me was hidden all this time." It's this hidden world that Bryony Lavery tries to excavate in her psychological drama, Frozen, which has criss-crossed the Atlantic since its premiere in 1998.
As a tried and tested product, it's easy to see why an up-and-coming theatre company such as Asylum was drawn to Lavery's commercial hit. Yet closer reading of the text reveals emotional inconsistencies, with theories taking priority over characters.
At the centre of play is a 10-year-old girl named Rhona, who has been kidnapped and murdered. Five years later, her remains are found in a shed owned by a methodical psychopath named Ralph (Ronan Leahy). Ralph eventually confesses to Rhona's murder, along with those of at least seven other girls. While in jail he submits to tests by a doctor, Agnetha (Julie Sharkey), who tries to determine whether his crimes were the result of his own evil tendencies or of damage caused by an abusive upbringing.
As the years pass Rhona's mother, Nancy, struggles to re-engage with life. She decides that the only way to begin living again is to meet the man who ended Rhona's life, thus providing the play's unsatisfactory climax.
In more experienced hands, Ruth Bennett's Nancy should act as a buffer between the psycho and the shrink, reminding us of the human suffering behind cold psychological diagnosis. But Bennett struggles with the emotional range and weighted delivery needed, diverting our attention solely on to the doctor and the killer, who are trapped in a type of doctor/ patient role-play, overly concerned with the effects of past landscape, both physical and psychological. Sharkey and Leahy do their best to paper over the cracks, but despite the efforts of Linda Buckley's chilling sound design and Kath Geraghty's lighting, it's not enough to salvage an uneven production. - Brian O'Connell
Runs until Saturday
Shakers (Re-stirred), Cork Opera House
Shakers (Re-stirred), a farce by John Godber and Jane Thornton, works on the commercial assumption that one size fits all. But to judge by this Mercury Theatre production, one size fits few, least of all this new company. The four-man cast are required to switch roles and genders in their depictions of the staff and customers of a cocktail bar (much like Godber's Bouncers), with sequences adapted to local concerns. The players are also required to mime, strut and sing; here, the one thing they do well is the singing, and there is very little of that.
Although the performers show commitment, the writing is so casual and Neal Pearson's direction is so desultory that no amount of effort can distract from the absence of vocal and physical skill. The mime is imprecise, with one Zimmer-frame episode the only exception to indicate that something better could have been provided. Caricature replaces characterisation, undifferentiated male and female roles slide into one another, and timing seems so alien a concept that the repartee which might have substituted for comedy is left dangling unnoticed in the strangely gloomy setting. The costumes are awkward, cues are ignored, and so on and so on . . . - Mary Leland
