Mysteries come in all shapes,
sizes and kinds.
My first attempt to reach Topsham, yesterday, went well for the
first couple of hundred kilometres but was thwarted in the last five ... a
threatened suicide closed rail and road routes for long enough to lose me the evening. My second try, today, seemed to be following suit, as a fellow rail passenger
was taken ill in the same last stretch and had to be airlifted out; but the
evacuation was swift, and I arrived in time. Such an unlikely coincidence on the
same line, on two consecutive days, constituted my own small personal
contribution to the mysteries of the universe.
The mysteries for which I had come,
however, were well worth the effort. I was there to see Ray Girvan
(of JSB blog)
play bayan for Estuary Players' production of Tony
Harrison's
The Mysteries, and even though I wasn't able to stay to the end
of the evening, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
The production was staged in the
main body of St Margaret's parish church, and wonderful use was made of the
setting: stage in the altar area, music section
in the adjacent arch, audience in the pews. Eden's tree of the knowledge of good
and evil was embodied in a human figure holding the fatal
fruit. The shepherds and magi seeking the Christ child arrived (with sheep and
dromedaries respectively) up the main aisle. The humour of the original
mystery cycle was perfectly handled, with modern twists – the lamb taken by Mak the sheep stealer, for instance, being played by Shaun the Sheep, while the dromedaries were accompanied by Monty Python and
the holy grail style clipclop sound effects.
Not that the humour was over
dominant. The story of Abraham and Isaac
(from Genesis 22), from which every fibre of my being has always recoiled, here
became something to draw me in and break my heart. Mimed, to the solo
accompaniment of a haunting
song from the music section, it highlighted the human pain at its heart, moved me to tears and became
my high point of the night. Truly beautiful.
My only regret was that I
couldn't, for much of the time, isolate Ray's bayan (my original reason
for being there) from the amplified
electronic instruments around it. He came through identifiably at times, probably because I was
consciously tuned to listen for him, but was often lost as an individual voice –
but his playing was, of course, a
component in the overall success which is what really matters.
This is, I realise, a bit late
to be singing the praises of a production whose last night I have just left. But
if you are within reach of the
Estuary
Players’ next venture, I thoroughly recommend
marking it on your calendar.
