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Shakuntala - A David Dhawan flop-show
Shakuntala- The annual JU English Departmental play by
Ananda Lal
Picture shows the cover of the handout given at the
performance at Max Mueller Bhavan.
_____________________________________ Interpretation is a
strange word. Under the garb of this term, directors are afforded a freedom
of expression which is oftener abused than used. Every director worth a dime
must somehow tweak the sentiment, modify the script, amputate events and
change an original to somehow reflect the vision of the director. People
might be forgiven to argue that this attitude shows gross disrespect to the
creator of the original and his vision; others might be forgiven allegations
of plagiarism. It is a funny business- on the one hand you are allowing full
credit to the writer of the original script and paying obeisance to him by
using his script; on the other hand you are kicking him where it hurts most,
by making a caricature of his creation. Original writers around the world
must turn in their graves, or wherever else they live after death, at this
attitude which is far from novel. To this extent, one more forgettable
excursion into caricature might be excused or overseen. In India, we are a
little bit more forgiving. Thus Devdas Mukherjee can return from London in
the recent celluloid version, or the Supreme Court can defend plagiarism in
Karishma from Bradford Taylor's A woman of substance. We have
space enough for another caricatured Shakuntala.
Playing an ancient Indian text on a modern stage suffers from some obvious
difficulties:
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Kalidasa's Sanskrit play Abhigyana Skakuntalam
is a classical Sanskrit play, and it does not easily lend itself to
notions of the western theatre we are so used to (the western theatre
in the main traces its origin from the Greek theatre, which was
ritualistic and performance based with mass participation. Classical
Sanskrit plays were poetic, and fall in the genre we call 'closet
play'; they were written in the main for recitation). Bringing
Kalidasa's play on modern stage suffers from what we would call in
computer lingo, a 'systemic handicap'.
-
This play in English (performed by English Department
students) was targeted at a chiefly Anglicized audience, people who
are more acquainted and comfortable with Homer and Eliot than Kalidasa.
True, the story is well known, but a rather alien depiction raised
eyebrows of incongruity. This, however, is no fault of the director
himself, but rather a problem of gap between expression and depiction,
something which we in computer lingo call a 'type-mismatch'. This gap
is not so obvious in reading, but when staged the gap becomes yawning,
and we can question if it could not have been better played in another
'Indian' language (inverted quotes by director only). For example, the
director has used Sanskrit and Hindi in parts as part of his
expression (more of that later) - we are compelled to believe that the
director was incapable of using an alien language to depict a
sensibility and sentiment familiar to us as Indians. The director
starts his 'Director's Note' with a
rebuttal to the, what he calls, 'sceptics'. Well, I remain a sceptic.
From the preliminaries, it is now time to come to the
play proper. A high-brow director playing for a decidedly high-brow
audience,
Ananda Lal has never been shy of courting controversies, and
those who have heard of his plays in past would vouch for the limits
to which he ran in pursuit of his vision (to give just one example,
the 1998 production of Man is Man). He is known for his
minimalist theatre using the minimum of props. Shakuntala too
had the minimum of props, in classical Sanskrit tradition, as the
director assures us. A very thoughtful inclusion was the presence of
girls personifying swaying trees and creepers. Admittedly, this play
is sylvan and the rustic atmosphere plays a significant part. Even the
trees and plants, the blackbuck and lions are as much characters as
other human players. The sad, unsmiling trees in the royal garden of a
remorseful Dushyanta could not have been better depicted. The changing
emotions of the trees, their movements were part of an ambience which
lent the play emotion and sensitivity. The blackbuck, scared,
frolicsome and sad at times was commendable as well. (There seems to
be a slight faux pas- a blackbuck is not really black. The male
is dark brown, the female is light brown. I know this because I just
checked it out in Encarta, where they not only describe it but even
show a male blackbuck. Blackbucks, both male and female have tails.
The lion at the end had a tail, but the blackbuck, presumably female,
did not have a tail. This also seems a little arbitrary as one
creature was given a tail, and not another- minimalist or no
minimalist theatre, arbitrariness should be abhorred). The lion at the
end raised laughs, aimed more at the person who played it. But the
most perplexing inclusion was that of a synthesizer and the girl
playing it. It was lost on all if it signified anything, and if it was
really necessary when all props had been dispensed with (okay, it was
not a 'prop', but whatever it was, it was an object).
For me the most lovable aspect of the play was the inclusion of live music.
The last time live music had been played (1999, in Iphigenia in Aulis),
the play was mesmerising. On both occasions, original lyrics had been
composed. Unfortunately, on this occasion the Sanskrit lyrics was lost on
most of us, but the composition was great. So were the live renditions, both
vocal and instrumental. The sarod, especially as background music at times,
was a grand touch. Unfortunately the synthesizer was crude, gross, unwanted
and incongruous. The Bharatanatyam was tastefully done, and the vocal
rendition by the actress (our original
Lady in Orange) was the high point of all there was to listen in the
play. The background sound was quite a disaster. The jeep and helicopter
sounds, should have had a proper fade-out effect, or better still, should
have been dispensed with. After two classical plays both of which had live
music, original lyrics and tasteful performance, I could suggest to the
director to welcome live music wherever possible in his forthcoming
productions. Live music has a certain charm, and they come in handy to hide
shortcomings in other areas. Unfortunately I have nothing
much to say about the histrionic performances of the characters. Prithviraj
as Dushyanta wasn't quite up to the task, especially when I know that he is
a much better actor. As many of us alleged, there was no chemistry between
the lead protagonists, an unforgivable sin in a romantic play (unlike a
rather recent performance of Rosencrantz and Guilderstern are dead,
where Prithviraj was at his best). Rashi, as the subdued Shakuntala, was
okay, but she was wooden at times during dialogue delivery. Shuktara is not
really an actress as she has very little expressive capability- she either
sports a Colgate smile, or keeps her mouth shut, leaving scope for little
else. Nandini as Anasuya was proper. Aniruddha is always overtly feminine
(and as such his best performance was as a homosexual Rosencrantz in the
aforementioned play), and his chin is always up. His voice is shredded
making him unsuitable for a variety of lead plays. In the various short
roles in the play he plays his usual self- that is, nothing commendable.
Sudeshna as her counterpart was serious, sedate and authoritative and
carried her roles commendably. The other players who played the odd jobs did
nothing to write about, but some of the actors, albeit with small roles,
were better than the bigger characters. Another thing I liked
best was the last scene, titled subtly as 'RECONCILIATION?', the question
mark holding all the mystery. The whole last scene is a dream sequence,
the real Dushyanta lying unconscious at one corner of the stage, while the
dream plays on behind. At the very end, a sad and thoughtful Shakuntala
looks forlornly towards the eternity, her future uncertain. We are left
wondering if there will ever be a reconciliation, like in Kalidasa's
version, now that the penance has been done.
And now comes David
Dhawan alias
Ananda Lal. In Poetics Aristotle had talked about
spectacle constituting one of the six aspects of drama. It seems our
director has taken the suggestion to heart, in the tradition of Bollywood,
and so handsomely epitomised in the lovable figure of David Dhawan. However,
Aristotle is forgotten when Bollywood repudiates all the unities, including
unity of action, what with tears, rib-tickling comedy, hip-wrenching dance,
soul rending songs included in a two hour package. Lal has tried to emulate
Dhawan, even including a song from his film Hero No.1. Unfortunately,
he miserably faltered. Lal virtually mocked himself when
before the start of the play he advocated that his play is a delicate
play. Alas, it was anything but delicate! What Kalidasa wrote was delicate;
the script that was developed by collating the translations of three people
was a caricature. Perhaps too many cooks spoiled the broth. Or perhaps it
was an inexcusably inept scripting that neither raised laughter, nor brought
tears, nor even raised your goose bumbs once. It was an emotionless
performance, and it raised no emotions in the audience. Yes, there were
peels of laughter on occasions, but they were raised by lack of
understanding, or a high-brow sense of being 'politically correct' by
laughing where intended without verifying the merit. Apart from
misappropriation of theme, perhaps the greatest fault of the production lay
in the script. I see Kalidasa pulling at his hair at the mauling of his
mahakavya. This play has overtly tried to be a comedy, and has been
comic at times, though not for the intended reasons. But this play
was supposed to be more sedate, it was supposed to be romantic with the
romance gone awry. What we were given was a 'satire' (a 'satire' originally
was a plate of varied fruits and other food items; by literary extension,
it originally meant a composition containing various genres and themes;
the present meaning was acquired through further connotation)- it had song
and dance, flirting and romance, arrogance and penance, disbelief and
reconciliation, tears and farce. The slapstick comedy by Madhavya (Bibek)
was a moderately credible attempt towards the ticklish, although at times
the lacklustre script sounded hollow. When I heard laughter at some of the
gags which were not funny, I recalled the sundry comedy shows on telly
which played back laughter at everything that was supposed to be a gag or
funny thing. So, first the play was not funny. And second, if you think it
was funny, I would argue that the director has got his priorities all
wrong, interpretation all skewed. And what can I say of
Lal's item numbers. Well, if he wanted to include the item numbers, he
should have got some PYTs (there are enough of them in the Department,
I assure you) instead of eyesores. He included two Hindi songs: Mehboob
mere and Hero no.1, from the movies Fiza and Hero
no.1, respectively. If you have seen the movies you will understand
that the context of the songs were improper. Before writing this review I
listened to the first song twice (and let me tell you, I know some
Hindi) on my Winamp (well, you can get
the MP3 version on the internet) and the lyrics would apply to the context
of the play by a gigantic extrapolation. The more contemporary Babuji
song would have done better. Let me be honest. When the lady came up with
her swaying hips and singing lips, attired in a risque dress, it
raised cheers; it was funny, but in a cheap way. The item numbers are
intended for the front benches. Unfortunately, at Max Mueller, the front
benchers did not wear lungis. That part of the show was stuff for, maybe,
Gandhi Bhavan (at JU), but not for the German temple of High Culture. It
is not my argument that a director has no right to include sex and sleaze,
that he cannot include item numbers. He can. But you cannot have 'high
brow' and item number at one place. As I look back to the Greek classic
played four years back which was pure romance, I lament the denigration of
a delightful but respectable tradition. Condom balloons, décolletage and
bared midriff's in Bollywood songs are very sexy things. Let us appreciate
them properly, the way they deserve. Let us not lace it with false
intellectualism before a roomful of stiff-upper-lips for whom it is a
happening night out, an occasion to show off the latest digicam and Lee
Cooper. Let us be more honest. Let us assume our priorities right. Let us
get our 'interpretation' right. Let us say.... LIGHTS,
CAMERA, ACTION!!!!!! Shakuntala
premiered at Max Mueller Bhavan on the 12th and 16th of December. It was
also played at Raj Bhavan (Governor's House), Kolkata.
Dated: 17th and 18th December, 2003.
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Shakuntala is one of the very important figures in
Hindu mythology. She is the daughter of Vishwamitra, the greatest
rishi (the title of brahma rishi is the highest among rishis,
and he was one, along with Vashistha) and Menaka, the apsara sent
by Indra, the king of the gods, to break the tapas of Vishwamitra.
Vishwamitra left the daughter with rishi Kanva whose ashrama
was nearby, and he went to the Himalayas to continue with his tapas.
Incidentally Ramayana starts with the story of Vishwamitra.
Shakuntala gave birth to Bharata after whom India is called
Bharatavarsha. Bharata started the Kuru vamsha, the
protagonists of Mahabharata, events which are described in the
first chapter of the epic, in Adiparva. Thus, Shakuntala is a figure who
joins the two most important texts in Hindu consciousness- Ramayana
and Mahabharata.
Kalidasa took the story of Shakuntala from
Mahabharata and composed his play based on it, around
2000 years back. Please note that Kalidasa's tale diverts from the
Mahabharata version to a significant extent, and that there are many
many versions, each differing from the other in small details.
For more, read
http://www.boloji.com/mahabharata/01.htm and
http://www.freeindia.org/biographies/
greatpoets/kalidas/page4.htm
Search
Google for 'Shakuntala'
Read a translated text of
the play online |
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