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John Webster's revenge tragedy The White Devil, with its Machiavellian manoeuvres, self-interested authority figures and "black deeds", is ripe for the new century.
The 1612 play's political corruption, adultery, egotism and brutal courage make for a powerful potion one born of real-life affairs in Italy at the end of the 16th century and one which, whatever its jumble of sources, rings thrillingly true in these cynical, secular times.
Gale Edwards's brilliantly stylish production for the Sydney Theatre Company is more than another bodice-ripping, modern-cut version of a hard, irregular classic, those where an ill-fitting concept is imposed to decipher alien language and behaviour for an impatient audience well-versed in blood-letting and escapist fare.
Edwards is too astute a director for that. Her elegantly proportioned staging draws out the play's intertwined dark and stylish aspects and its humour and irony while smoothing textual disparities to make the dense work whole. It takes time to settle into, but engagement soon arrives when Hugo Weaving and Angie Milliken enter the glimmering, shadowy court, their bravado and wiles adding fire to the verse and prose.
Political and sexual corruption merge in the complex thriller, springing in no small way from the adulterous affair between Vittoria Corombona (Milliken) and the brash, demonstrative Duke of Brachiano (Weaving). The ensuing wrongs and distortions their union sets in train tears at the fabric of their poised and poisonous society. There are murders aplenty. In the final count no-one appears unscathed irrespective of how likeable or, in the case of the charmer/schemer Flamineo (Jeremy Sims), how sadly aware of their amoral nature and the manipulative powers beyond mere mortal control. His predicament speaks volumes to an audience.
In a welcome return to the stage, Weaving is in great form, intensely alert and peculiarly swarthy, brash and aloof while Milliken, a luminous force at the best of times, is radiant, independent and firm as Isabella like a jewel (albeit tarnished) set on a corroding base.
The setting, pace and excesses are as seductive and chilling as a Scorsese mafia movie, with splashes of Seneca's gore thrown in. Such deeds have long fascinated audiences and provided a rich vein for film-makers, dramatists and composers. Those approximating the Jacobean temper and its inescapable punishments are usually imbued with irony and don't stop short of letting even the falsely accused or meek sufferer off the hook.
Kander and Ebb's Chicago, inspired by 1922 murder trials, is pure Webster and Tourneur. ". . . This is a story of murder, greed, corruption, violence, exploitation, adultery and treachery all those thing we hold near and dear to our hearts". The musical cynically parades infamy and lust and killing for spectacle and pleasure. But not without moral purpose.
The White Devil is, of course, more complicated. It has many shades of grey. In Edwards's hands the "canvas" she creates is as luxuriant as it is hard-edged, and she ensures a tight grip on the sensuality and horror. The cast is first-rate. Sims's relishes playing Flamineo (Vittoria's brother and Brachiano's assistant) a life-and-death turn embodying the play's devil-may-care attitudes and pursuit of glory among men of greater status and means. Sims's expressive nuances are a source of immense pleasure and pathos. But there are many satisfying performances, including the outstanding Philip Quast as the shrewd self-flatterer Francisco and John Gaden's stoic, all-too-knowing Cardinal-cumPope. Julia Blake, Heather Mitchell, Paula Arundell and William Zappa conspire to turn up the devil's "heat".
Edwards deftly frames and propels the action, assisted by Brian Thomson's dark reflective surfaces and imposing set, the sensual and exotic costumes of Roger Kirk, Trudy Dalgleish's atmospheric lighting and well-integrated music by Max Lambert and Martin Armiger all of which gives the production an operatic grandeur and flow. Follow spots on the actors light up their faces like diamonds in the dark, a phrase coined by Vittoria at her trial as though to reflect on her condition and fate. It's a magnificent scene, as are those of caged madness and folly, and those conjuring pageants and salubrious rituals. The showdown is explosive, the voice of solemn reason and justice left to hang sweetly in the air. The White Devil is a stunner not only in terms of its fierce attack, but in the telling details Edwards weaves in.
© The Sydney Morning Herald
