Irish Times writers review Cyrano at the Project, Dublin and the Crash Ensemble at O'Reilly Theatre, Dublin.
Cyrano Project, Dublin
Between his life, his legend and numerous manifestations on stage and screen, Cyrano de Bergerac has built up an impressive CV - soldier, duellist, poet, samurai, fire chief. To this list "Cyrano" (de Barabbas) now adds another profession: celebrity chef.
Relocated to a chrome-finished studio kitchen in contemporary Dublin, surrounded by cameras and trimmed with hanging plasma screens, Cyrano is essentially unchanged. His love for Roxanne (played by Kelly Campbell, as food critic of the New York Times for some reason) is expressed poetically, but covertly, for neither time nor cosmetic surgery have diminished his famously huge schnozz.
Director and adapter Veronica Coburn seeks to unite the witty verses of Edmond Rostand's 19th-century comedy with Barabbas's clowning discipline by using the bridge of a nose - Cyrano's being big; Barabbas's being red. It's an unconvincing connection, made more tenuous by Rostand and Barabbas' s fundamentally different purposes. While Cyrano has always shrugged off the allure of the physical for the seduction of the verbal, Barabbas usually does the opposite.
This may account for a dissonant production, its tensions beginning as soon as Raymond Keane's irascible Cyrano confronts his cocky rival in love and gastronomy (Aidan Turner's excellent Christian) with a whirling compendium of insults directed at his own nose. Keane, a fluent physical performer but an unsteady orator, knows his way around a gymnastic food fight but can't manoeuvre as smoothly through the lines - themselves made rather difficult to negotiate by Coburn's tendency to overwrite.
Oddly there are further impediments to any physical playfulness - from the awkward sightlines created by a thrust stage, to liberal use of amusing but superfluous green-screen effects that subordinate the stage action to overhanging TV screens.
Whatever the justification - that contemporary society is image-driven and media-saturated - the results are confusing. How does this Cyrano manage to tag along, unseen but influential, on rural picnics or hot-air balloon rides? Even more puzzlingly, Coburn manages to make both her Cyrano and Roxanne resolutely unsympathetic creatures, trading stilted e-mails and epicurean odes, while Turner's priapic and likeable lughead simply walks away with the performance.
Those unmoved by Campbell and Keane's halting declarations of love, invoking Einstein's theory of relativity while waxing banal about "euphoric heights" or the "zenith of existence", needn't worry that they have become insensitive boors, however. Coburn doesn't seem convinced either. It's not for nothing, I suspect, that she gives Turner the best and most articulate moments, likening sex to paintball or giving peerless advice about overcoming rejection: "You'll be sad, you'll eat kebabs, you'll get over it." Food for thought, indeed. The play, however, dies without him, proving Barabbas is more comfortable with imps than poets. The show runs until November 18th Peter Crawley
Crash Ensemble, O'Reilly Theatre, Dublin
Good programming and intensely focused playing were the hallmarks of the Crash Ensemble's latest concerts. On Thursday night, we heard music by American composers, and Friday featured music by eight Irish composers, all under 32.
Two works made me think of Ireland's inclination to the romantic spirit - the subtle sonorities of Rob Canning's Construzione Illegitime (2001) for clarinet and electronics, and even more so the quietness of Simon O'Connor's The Paradise, Part III for solo piano.
Irish quirkiness was represented twice at least. Julie Feeney's The Tail Wagging the Dog was written for this concert. Under a poppy surface, there's a musician who can pillage anything and make it her own. For Ian McDonnell's Electronic Set (2006), the stage was darkened; the Apple logo on a laptop computer's lid glowed stilly; but the dimly illuminated composer manipulated the keyboard with the energy of an athletic pianist.
Linda Buckley's Stratus, for seven players, was one of several premieres. In this fascinating interaction between live sound and electronics, "Close up everything is without focus. The shape is perceived from afar." That's a good description of Buckley's handling of long-term rhythmic patterns.
Stephen Gardner's What Passing Bells (2005) lived up to its claims too. With the backdrop of a slowed-down film of troops waiting in the trenches before going over the top, this intense piece gripped you with a gentle yet firm hand. If sustaining things is a virtue, then Gardner is one of the most virtuous composers in the country.
Ed Bennet's Broken Machines dates from 2004, and here was being premiered in a new version. Like many works in this programme, including Karen Power's strikingly concentrated and effective Just One Girl Playin' Around (2006) for cello and electronics, it was full of confidence and used electronic tools for expressive purposes.
The variety of this concert was a telling contrast to the previous night's programme, which focused on James Tenney, one of the most influential American composers and teachers of his generation. His death three months ago at the age of 72 has been mourned internationally.
The cerebral and often-quiet nature of Tenney's music was set against two utterly different pieces. And the contrast worked to the benefit of all. After the extended and quiet explorations of Tenney's Glissades (1982), Tom Johnson's Naryana's Cows (1989) was rip-roaring and funky-tight.
The second half opened with Erik Lund's Missing Intelligence (2005), written for the Crash Ensemble. It's a brilliant, dramatic and gripping exploration of the relationship between live and pre-recorded sound. Then came the quietness of Tenney's Critical Band (1988), and the astonishing. overtone-laden sound of six tam- tams in Having Never Written a Note for Percussion (1971). This was Tenney's night. He is one of the few composers who compels you to listen differently. Martin Adams
