An Iliad
29th May – 9th June 2019
Herald Theatre, Aotea Centre, Auckland, New Zealand.
Review by Sarah Kidd. Photography by Reuben Raj.
Has man learned nothing? As the hands of time denote the passing of the minutes, the hours, the months and the years, we watch man’s rage beget naught but death. And we ask ourselves again; has man learned nothing at all?
This is ultimately the question that Michael Hurst, the poet, the protagonist of this reworking of Fortune Theatre’s 2018 production of An Iliad is posing to his audience. Shuffling in, full of bravado at first, he is ready to sing and speak of the stories of the gods and their warriors, allegories imbued by Athena herself who now lives in his bottle of liquor that he carries in his tattered suitcase. The tales, nay the chronicles of Agamemnon, Hector, Priam and of course the great Achilles perched at the edge of his lips.
The stage upon which he stands looks half finished, drop cloths and smudges of paint smeared across the floor, a ladder in the corner offsetting old frames leaned up against the wall. While at first the effect seems at odds with the material being presented, it speaks of creation, modification, and at times despair; the art of storytelling, of oral history, of the written word. How the very story of man himself evolves and yet doesn’t; man’s advancement in the field of science, technology and weaponization spewing forth through the centuries; yet his need for revenge, to exert his power and his will that is fuelled by wrath over another remains the same.
It also speaks to the fact that the formation of art requires a muse, the poets in this case being the commanding Shayne P Carter of Straitjacket Fits and Dimmer. Emerging on stage and making straight for the far-left hand corner, Carter moves fluidly between a guitar and a small table which houses a mini keyboard-mixer over which he diligently hovers. His initial sonic introduction is deliberate and flat, menacing in its foretelling of tragedy that all parties know litter this historical prose like winter leaves.
Homer’s The Iliad, a poem of truly epic proportions was first written over two and a half thousand years ago; Lisa Peterson and Denis O’Hares version separating itself by replacing ‘The’ with ‘An’ to denote that this is their version of the prose being presented through the character of the poet.
Under Jonathon Hendry, both the director and conceptual designer for this production, the poet presents us with both a historical recount of the final weeks of the Trojan War and the Greeks siege of the city of Troy while painting parts of it with a contemporary feel, relating many Greek villages and towns to those scattered around New Zealand and even Australia.
Michael Hurst as the poet is beyond profound, from his fervid outbursts in Greek, to his animated portrayal of conversations between two people, Hurst not only draws you in but holds you near for the entirety of the performance. Employing both empathy and at times humour throughout his impassioned delivery he consistently displays acting prowess that most could only ever hope to aspire to, his recital of a list of the wars whose blood has soaked the earth beneath our very feet for the last two millenniums a feat of pure mental agility. This is without a doubt, masterclass theatre.
When muse and poet collide some of the most powerful moments of the production are forged, Hendry pointing out in the programme that both Hurst and Carter have the freedom to mould and reshape portions of their performance around each audience, thereby ensuring that no two are the same. Carter as the muse often intently watches Hurst, his playing moving and shifting with the poet throughout whilst ensuring that it never overpowers him as he is speaking; yet when required Carter takes it to emotive crescendos that break and wash over the stage.
The simple yet at times majestic lighting by Rachel Marlow also lends itself to Hurst’s narrative, the illumination of the muse casting Carters shadow larger than life across the back wall, giving the illusion that the Gods themselves that Hurst speaks of are watching.
Culminating in the story of the burial of Hector, breaker of horses, who earns himself the last line of An Iliad, a despondent Hurst gazes up at the audience and asks
‘Do you See?’
It is a question that still requires to this very day to be asked of those who hold power in this world.
Were you there at the Herald Theatre for this magnificent music / theatre crossover? Or have you seen An Illiad performed live somewhere else? Tell us about it in the comments below!
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