6 ★ FINANCIAL TIMES Wednesday19 February 2020
ARTS
Enigmatic: Carla Gugino, left, and
Ava Briglia in ‘Anatomy of a Suicide’
Max McGuinness
Like the families in Tolstoy’sAnna
Karenina, the three women at the centre
of this play by Alice Birch are all
unhappy in their own way. Carla Gug-
ino’s Carol is a calmly yet intensely mel-
ancholic housewife; Celeste Arias’s
Anna is a manically self-destructive her-
oin addict; and Gabby Beans’s Bonnie
appears resigned to all-consuming
despair, which, as a doctor, she under-
stands but can do nothing to shake.
What unites this trio is the dismal
inheritance of depression itself, which
has, the play suggests, been passed
from mother to daughter over the
course of three generations (roughly
between the 1950s or ’60s and the
present day). And while the treatments
offered to them evolve from electro-
shock therapy to rehab and counselling,
the fact of their shared condition seems
stubbornly eternal.
Their stories unfold side-by-side for
much of Lileana Blain-Cruz’s 100-
minute staging as the action cuts back
and forth, often mid-sentence, across
the decades. That fragmented structure
becomes wearing at times and makes
Anatomy of a Suicidehard to follow. But
the play’s disjointed rhythms also
accentuate the sense of psychic turmoil.
And by constantly scrambling the focus
of our attention, Birch pushes us to
empathise with the three women as they
vainly struggle for stability while more
than a dozen other characters come
and go.
The play, which was originally staged
at London’s Royal Court in 2017, offers
only one glimpse of happiness when
Anna finds love with Julian Elijah Mar-
tinez’s Jamie, a gentle documentary
film-maker who becomes her husband.
But marriage and childbirth come to
represent the persistence of the depres-
sive strain, and their daughter Bonnie
ultimately resolves to put an end to that
legacy by undergoing sterilisation.
That grimly poignant scene typifies
the steely control of Birch’s writing,
which is particularly well served by
Beans, who can convey a force 12 emo-
tional hurricane just by staring straight
ahead. Gugino gives a similarly disci-
plined performance, while Arias pro-
vides a more emphatic counterpoint.
They all portray women who have been
condemned to suffer for no intelligible
reason. And this densely enigmatic play
avoids offering any reductive explana-
tions for their plight, let alone a solution.
ToMarch15,atlantictheater.org
Scrambling to make sense of depression
T H E AT R E
Anatomy of a Suicide
Linda Gross Theater, New York
aaaaeMike Hobart
Busy American drummer Kendrick
Scott’s perfectly timed skitters, thuds
and rhythmic shifts have been drum-
solo climaxes of headline jazz acts for
more than a decade. At this brooding
gig, they emerged as inviting introduc-
tions, mid-tune peaks and end-of-song
rallying cries. But, for the most part,
Scott expertly merged his pings and taps
into the interlocking textures of Taylor
Eigsti’s keyboards and Mike Moreno’s
guitar, or delivered the oomph for their
solos to thrive.
Scott’s Oracle formed in 2006 and
have had a stable line-up since 2013.
This two-set performance presented
songs from their second Blue Note
album,A Wall Becomes a Bridge, themed
jointly on current politics and the strug-
gle to overcome creative block. Here the
emphasis was on artistic process. Key
Scott influences were name-checked,
and the struggle between optimism and
doubt was a recurring theme.
The evening began with sampled
voice-overs and moody Eigsti elec-
tronica supported by an undercurrent
of Scott’s mallets. A switch to sticks cued
an upbeat pulse, and the unfolding
lyricism of “New Eyes” confirmed the
positive mood.
A dedication to Wayne Shorter came
next, with pedal-point bass and Scott’s
falsetto vocals fleshing out the guitar-
lead theme.Then the slow-burning arc
of “Archangel”, with the band’s wordless
vocals as support.
The Oracle band on the album fea-
tures John Ellis on woodwind and sax,
but here it was stripped down to the core
quartet and more emphasis was placed
on the remarkable fluency and warmth
of Moreno’s guitar. Eigsti’s stubby
rhythms and lines were also engaging.
With Joe Sanders delivering linchpin
bass and counterpoint lines, the album’s
shifting textures and subtle dynamics
were maintained.
The first set ended with “Synchrony”,
a first feature for the accomplished Scott
and a namecheck for the late drummer
Max Roach. Scott paraphrased a classic
Roach lick, developed the theme with
lines of his own and cued the band’s fast,
urgent swing with a long press-roll. The
piece ended with a broadside of drum
rolls and cymbal splashes bubbling
under the theme.
The second half opened with the
gritty waltz of “Don Blue” and a chance
for Moreno to shine, and continued with
the militaristic hip-hop of “The Cata-
lyst”. “Voices” delivered intriguing
strums from Sanders’s bass.
The backbeat-fuelled finale, “Cycling
Through Reality”, peaked with a blast of
drums that followed the form and
stopped on a pin. The encore hovered
above ballad tempo to end an absorbing
evening on a soothing note.
ronniescotts.co.uk
JA Z Z
Kendrick Scott Oracle
Ronnie Scott’s, London
aaaaePersuasive: Lauren Cuthbertson as Jacqueline du Pré and Marcelino Sambé as her cello in ‘The Cellist’ —Bill Cooper
performance as du Pré’s 1673 Stradivar-
ius is the saving of the piece. He is never
off stage, and his intense gaze follows
the heroine’s every move. His lithe, mer-
curial movement makes sense of the
tricky central conceit and Marston
makes full use of his gifts with vari-
speed pirouettes and chaînés that set
him spinning like a 3D treble clef or a
jazzman’s double bass. Sambé makes us
understand that du Pré is not his first —
or his last — cellist, but the sense of love
and loss infused into their duets is
extraordinarily moving.
A cannymarketing campaign— post-
ers, trailers, live-stream rehearsals —
has focused exclusively on girl meets
cello, girl loses cello. If only Marston had
done the same.
ToMarch4,liveinternationalcinemarelay
onFebruary25,roh.org.uk
Louise Levene
Never shy of tackling complex stories,
Cathy Marston has attempted to tell the
life and tragically short career of Jacque-
line du Pré inThe Cellist, which pre-
miered on Monday in a double bill with
Jerome Robbins’s deliciousDances at a
Gathering. The concept was fraught with
risks — the dancer cast as the cello
spends half the ballet between the hero-
ine’s knees — but Marston’s duets and
pas de trois for the cellist, her husband
Daniel Barenboim and her instrument
are utterly persuasive, and the gradual
disintegration of du Pré’s health is
sketched with subtlety and tenderness.
Unfortunately this is not enough to res-
cue this overlong, overpopulated and
deeply disappointing ballet.
When Marston madeThe Suitfor Bal-
let Black, the company’s limited
resources restricted her to seven danc-
ers and three hard chairs. The Royal
Ballet doesn’t work that way and the
need to create jobs for a large ensemble
has allowedTheCellistto swell to 65 min-
utes of business. The scenario (co-
devised with dramaturg Edward Kemp)
is filled with confusing and unnecessary
scenes which show us Jackie failing at
school and Jackie fleeing the nest plus
her big, fat Jewish wedding and a fast-
forward through her glittering career
(an old movie would have had a mon-
tage oftheatre posters at this point).
The use of the large cast veers
between plodding literalism and near
absurdity. The named dancers flesh out
the details of du Pré’s musical coming of
age (much hugging and fussing for
mother, father, sister and cello teacher)
while the remainder of the corps (“A
Chorus of Narrators”) busy themselves
as orchestra, admiring audience (much
waving of gramophone records) and as
the lamps, coffee tables and wheelchairs
chezdu Pré. Matthew Bourne does this
sort of thing far better.
Hildegard Bechtler’s set, inspired by
the curves of a cello, is spare and effec-
tive (if a mite fidgety) but is let down by
drab and uninspired clothes (“cos-
tumes” would be putting it far too
strongly) in a hospital china palette. Jon
Clark’s lighting does what it can to guide
the eye around the crowded stage.
Philip Feeney’s score is interleaved
with snatches of du Pré’s most loved
pieces with cellist Hetty Snell descant-
ing on the greatElgar Cello Concertoto
powerful effect.
Lauren Cuthbertson, goofy and glori-
ous, charts the musician’s decline with
enormous sensitivity and Matthew
Ball’s Barenboim is an ardent soulmate,
but Marcelino Sambé’s compelling
Tragic tale
of a woman
and a cello
DA N C E
The Cellist
Royal Opera House, London
aaaee
Shirley Apthorp
It is short, and it is not by
Beethoven. The Theater an
der Wiengot two things right
with the world premiere of
Christian Jost’sEgmonton
Monday.
Though it is part of the the-
atre’sBeethoven Year, the
tedium of which cannot be
overstated for the opera
world (the man only wrote
one, and it is riddled with
problems), Jost has been
wise enough not to recognis-
ably quote any Beethoven —
beyond small rhythmic
impulses borrowed from the
incidental music written by
Beethoven for Goethe’s stage
play of the same name.
Jost brings bittersweet
melodies, deft orchestral
writing, pictorial effects,
and, when all else fails, a host
of minimalist marimba pas-
sages to his new opera. Chris-
toph Klimke’s clunky libretto
leaves him with quite a sow’s
ear to set to music, so it is no
great wonder that the out-
come is not a silk purse, and
that we are left wondering
what it is all about.
Keith Warner’s production
is a slick costume drama with
anachronistic interjections.
Egmont and the Duke of Alba
are mirror images, two sides
of the same coin; Ferdinand,
Alba’s son, evolves from
rebel to proto-Alba; Marga-
rete von Parma, moderate
ruler in search of compro-
mise, is here given as whor-
ish wench, driven by her
libido, while Macchiavelli is a
slavering monster of a secre-
tary. Clara, dressed in pure
white, is the angel, presuma-
bly because all women are
either one or the other.
Acrobatic and dance troupe
Shadperformance provides
five acrobats who give aerial
silk performances to liven
things up a little.
The rest is pure luxury.
Michael Boder conducts the
excellent ORF Radio Sym-
phony Orchestra with refine-
ment and a keen sense of
architecture. Bo Skovhus is a
consummate villain as Alba,
Edgaras Montvidas all
wounded heroism in the title
role, Maria Bengtsson as
angelic a Clara as anyone
could wish, Angelika Kirch-
schlager vamps it up as
a predatory Margarete,
Theresa Kronthaler makes
the journey from sulky teen-
ager to idealist to perpetrator
convincingly as Ferdinand.
Perhaps this is a lament for
both lost love and lost ideal-
ism. Perhapsaudiences bring
their own interpretation to
the work. Perhaps that is the
weakest excuse in the book.
Perhaps this is a master-
piece, and only luddites and
philistines cannot tell.
ToFebruary26,theater-wien.at
O P E R A
Egmont
Theater an der Wien, Vienna
aaaeeTaps and textures: Kendrick Scott on
stage at Ronnie Scott’s
Maria Bengtsson and Edgaras Montvidas— Monika Rittershaus
THE
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