Saturday Dec 28, 2024
Saturday Dec 28, 2024
Saturday, 18 October 2014 00:03 - - {{hitsCtrl.values.hits}}
ay. There is always high drama. And not all of it is staged. So WSP’s Phantom was much more than a ground-breaking presentation of the world-famous Webber operetta. It was an event. Sorry, no. It was THE event of the theatre season. It WAS the theatre season in micro.
The ‘Production of the Season’ featured many more dramatis personae than merely players. By WSP’s own estimation, the cast and crew for this fortnight-long run comprised actors; directors; singers; dancers; choreographers; musicians; composers; writers; artists; 
designers; sound and lighting engineers; stage managers; and backroom- and front-of-house-crew. Phew. So much done by so many to make the ‘Phantasy’ come alive – and yet so very little recognition, leave alone appreciation, at the end of it all. Sucks something fierce? But for all the adulation of aficionados of English-language theatre! To say nothing of the undying fandom of family, friends, and a legion of feverish ‘Phans’ at fever-pitch.
Fails he or she to understand theatre who does not, or cannot, comprehend that “the play’s not the thing”. Oh no. Far from it. It’s all about the hype. It’s all about the hoopla. The spectacle. The spectacular. And, last but not least, the spectral. This particular production hit the boards with a long and chequered history of non-eventuality. And an undone production to its credit or its debit. So let him who is without sin cast the first stone of criticism or more-than-critical evaluation. The Phans will not thank you for anything less than a standing-on-your-head ovation!
No. You need to get serious about it. This is a public performance. Which has been paid for. By sponsors. By ticket-buying trustees and stakeholders of theatre in Sri Lanka. By slightly amused critics. By more than slightly bemused uncles and aunties who remember Sarah Brightman too fondly to let her memory fade…
Which is why one must give Phantom – the very devil – its (or his) due. Not one single solitary night went by when gobsmacked audiences did not float on high out of the Wendt singing the praises of this production in near perfect unison. My hat! What was that? But it was simply divine. Simply devilish. Simply diabolically good…
Amazing. Beautiful. Cavalier. Delectable. Excellent. Fancy. Ghoulish. Hip. Invigorating. Jazzy. Kinetic. Kinesthetic. Lovely; Loaded; Lavish. Muthafreakinggood. Natty. Opulent. Precious. Rad. Spastic. Totally you know, like. Unique. Visceral. Wonderful. X-rated. Yaketyyakblahblahblahblah. Zany.
Words fail one. Words do. Words don’t come easy to the cross section of Colombo audiences who lapped it up like it was Cats all over again, or at least the cat’s whiskers.
A word to the wise. You had to be there to see for yourself how ALPHABETICALLY GOOD it was! Since you weren’t or if you were you’re just a glutton for punishment, here’s the low down…
The costume, set design, and lighting were to die for. No one need be very surprised to find out that someone sacrificed their lives slaving away burning the midnight oil to make it look so good. Neat. Tidy. Rich. And pure. And true to form. And very very real. Hats off to Jerome de Silva for production design. Direction. And set design and direction. Take a bow apiece: Surein de S. Wijeyeratne for musical and choral direction. And assistant-direction. And Shanuki de Alwis for choreography and assisting with the direction. Note those men there: Thushan Dias and the Jayatilleke Bros. (Gihan and Rohan). For lighting and special effects. Well done indeed: Nimal Bulathsinhala and team, for set construction. Will the so-called JoJo (presumably Jovanka Jayaweera) also come out of anonymity long enough to be thanked prettily for the costuming fiesta? Last but not least a bouquet for the behind-the-scenes burden-bearing of producer Akhry Ameer who always seems to be around to make WSP productions fly.
If these stalwarts were there hidden away and anonymous where the true power house of theatre lies, these others shone in the Up-Close-and-Personal Dept. We did not see each of them or all of them. But who the heck cares? This is theatre where appearances and hearsay about rumours of appearances can make or break a heart or a reputation. In order, these impressed. Or were said to have been impressive or outstanding in some sense of a word…
Dmitri Gunatilake, who was the “boy’s own best” Christine Daaé. Stephanie Siriwardhana, of whom it was discovered that she could sing AND stun at the same time. Stephan Anoj as the most athletic of the Raouls, a kind of contradiction in terms of character requirements.
Shanuki de Alwis as a superbly underplayed Madame Giry. Sean Amarasekera as a pugilistic Ubaldo Piangi. Dinesha Senaratne bringing bubbly good-naturedness wherever she went. Kumudini David for being audible to the uttermost parts of the earth, on and off stage. Anuk de Silva being multitalented as Lefevre and the Auctioneer.
Is it fair to single these out for a soupcon of praise and a pat on the back? IS IT NOT?
Inevitably, troupe, some brickbats must pass before the fire in rapid succession to the brickbats! That’s not unfair, it’s inevitable! This is theatre, not national politics!
Two of the Phantoms did not have quite the dramatis or the personae to pass muster as the larger-than-life character of both Gaston Leroux or dear ole Andrew Lloyd W. The opening act of the auction was strangely muted on night after night. Some of the dancers lacked a sense of timing no matter how hard they tried. And ended up looking tired. Which no doubt they were. After burning the midnight hours rehearsing. Music, the forte of Lloyd-Webber outings, was sadly lacking in oomph in several key routines with all but a few performers hitting the high notes or sustaining their sostenutos.
Best of all for local English language theatre was the next level of amateur productions to which the mechanisation of sets and props took it/us. Choreography that could have kept pace was stunted for want of space for the ensemble cast to spread out and make themselves comfortable enough to launch into energetic routines. Candles and candelabra and chandeliers kept the action hot and slick and a few star turns rendered the emotions hot and high and heavy. Jehan Aloysius – looking like Darth Vader, but with character and perfect pitch – interpreted his Phantom with just the right and entirely expected sense of timing. Presence. And passion. It was a role that only one other player could probably have done justice to. And HE was in the director’s seat…
When the music fades – and the house lights come on – and the last Phan has gone home – there will be left some scintillating memories. Most of these will be for those who were and are and will always be intimately and emotionally connected to the production. For average theatregoers what will linger will be a sense of magic. Stimulation that only a class act like this Phantom can bring. And a sense of what might have been. Then, in 2002. Now, in 2014. For between the passion and the performance, falls a shadow. And the Phantom stalks the halls of the abandoned Wendt even today. Days after this run closed. Pining: “The Phantom of the Opera IS DEAD...” – its only consolation that for one brief shining moment, it (or he) (and them) was/were alive! Fireworks, falling chandeliers, fancy special effects, and all!
Pix by Shehal Joseph
