Monday, February 09, 2015
What is to be done?
A major source of suffering for so many of us, I think, is that we can so often see disasters coming and, however much we may protest, seem helpless to prevent them.
The Iraq War for instance…
And the consequences of that disaster have been even worse than we imagined.
Dr. Lanyon in my DR JEKYLL AND MR HYDE suffers from this, and its attendant weariness and despair:
I was made aware of the situation in Bangladesh when I visited Dhaka way back in 1989. It has haunted me ever since.
The country exists at one of the mouths of the Ganges. It is very close to sea level and vulnerable to floods from the river because of the deforestation of the lower slopes of the Himalaya, where the river has its source.
At the same time climate change, the increased ferocity of the monsoon and of tropical storms, make it vulnerable to storm surges and flooding from the sea.
Especially because climate change is also causing a rise in global sea levels.
The outlook for this beautiful and densely populated country is incredibly bleak. Many of the people I spoke to at that tme knew this: but kept on working.
As Calderon says: even in the bleakest of situations, “the good you do is never lost”.
The threat to Sao Paulo is more immediate. Again, I never knew about it until I went there.
The city is running out of water. The largest reservoir is operating at 5.1% of its capacity: and this lessens with every passing day.
Climate change is causing drastic drought in the South eastern region of Brazil; and the privatised water companies have done very little to reduce leaks in their pipelines or engage in long term planning. Instead they have been more concerned with paying dividends to their shareholders.
And this may be why we have heard so little of this crisis. It contradicts the prevuing orthodoxies of those who govern the world’s media: who want to deny the existence of climate change and assert that privatisation is the best way forward for public utilities.
It is compounded by the fact that 95% of industries, offices, hospitals and enterprises in the city have no contingency plans to deal with the water shortage.
100% of hospitals have no contingency plans at all.
The authorities are remaining tight lipped about what measures they will take. But it seems increasingly likely that they will have to cut off the city’s water supply for 5 days out of every 7.
In summer time, when temperatures are reaching 40 degrees.
As I write this, the magnitude of it all so tempts me into the general state of denial.
Surely this cannot be happening?
And I so wish I had made it up.
But I didn’t. Some things are too appalling to invent.
All I can do is write a play that, among other things, tries to warn.
I foresaw the destruction of Bangladesh
Its one hundred and sixty million people being submerged under rising sea levels
I foresaw that the city of Sao Paulo would be destroyed by thirst
Its twenty million people deprived of drinking water
The riots. The chaos. The millions of deaths.
I foresaw that the city of Sao Paulo would be destroyed by thirst
Its twenty million people deprived of drinking water
The riots. The chaos. The millions of deaths.
All I can do is write a play that, among other things, tries to warn.
Labels: Bangladesh, climate change, Jekyll and Hyde, Sao Paulo, water shortage
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Jekyll & Hyde & Ines & Violence on stage
I’m at the rehearsals for my new play, which is based on Stevenson’s “The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde”. It’s Wednesday afternoon and we’ve reached the end of Act One.
I’ve decided on a cast of three, not quite sure why, 2 men and a woman, and making the story work for so small a cast has been one rather fascinating technical challenge.
Stevenson’s storytelling presents another. He takes great care not to be specific in his description of Hyde: so Hyde becomes a kind of blank canvas on which we are free to project our own hatreds and fears.
Apart from a couple of horrible (and unstageable) incidents he has also left it up to us to imagine the evil actions Hyde commits.
Which is fine for a book: but not so fine for the stage.
I happen to think there’s a real wisdom in the old tragic convention of the really violent events happening off stage; and I loathe theatrical depictions of violence.
But I have a strong feeling that in this play we have got to see Hyde doing something. And it’s at the end of Act One.
When the actors rehearse it I find it profoundly disturbing.
And I think: How could I have imagined so horrible a thing?
And I worry. I worry about what playing this does to the two actors doing it. I worry about it being the woman who is the victim. I try to console myself by thinking that the actress concerned also plays the strongest and the most intellectually accomplished characters in the play.
And that I’ve written her a part I would love to play.
But she is still the victim. How banal…
And next day I’m in Glasgow to see the incredibly powerful opera James MacMillan and Scottish Opera have created out of my “Ines de Castro”.
It was in writing that play, way back in 1989, that I first discovered the amazing power of words. In the sense that you don’t necessarily need to depict horror: that it’s more powerful sometimes to describe it in a way that gives scope for the audience’s imagination.
I certainly seem to have horrified the Guardian:
“Jo Clifford’s unflinching libretto contains graphic depictions of sexual violence, infanticide and torture. The whole thing is laced with a dark sensuality that is discomfiting, but the emotional pummelling left me cold. By the time the heads of Inés’s children arrive in a suitcase — just after we’ve heard a detailed account of marital rape — my shock sensors had shut down to numb.”
That shutting down of emotional response in an audience is exactly what I’m most afraid of. And what I try so hard to avoid.
And I want to protest: but there’s so much more to my beautiful Ines than that.
And besides: we have to look. We have to see. And then we have to come out the other side.
And then I’m travelling down to London again and the man sitting opposite me looks like a retired air vice-marshall and is reading a copy of Fly Past magazine: aerial killing machine porn.
And I think: my work is not like that. And I feel quite proud to have upset the Guardian. And the Observer. And the Telegraph.
Proud that my words have that power. And proud they’ve inspired such amazing music.
And I know there is hope shines through at the end of it all.
In the words of Ines, and the words of the Woman at the end of Jekyll and Hyde:
It doesn’t have to be like this. There is another way.
Labels: critics, Ines de Castro, Jekyll and Hyde, stage violence
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]