Dundee Rep
4 stars
The economics of war and its effect on the credit crunch, the black economy and the ongoing collapse of the family is more likely to feature in some special episode of Shameless than any contemporary state of the nation stage epic. Thank goodness, then, for this timely reminder from Bertolt Brecht’s 1941 play about how survival in capitalist extremes inevitably corrupts those at the bottom of the heap. Rarely mentioned, though, is the play’s initial fatalistic thrust after Mother Courage, her sons Eilif and Swiss Cheese and her mute daughter Katrin’s futures are sealed by the black cross of death scrawled on scraps of paper beside their cart.
Gerry Mulgrew’s new production might not dwell on such karmic portents as he wheels his charges on a symbolic stage revolve through assorted battlefields, but such ingrained superstitions only add to the play’s human heart. Not that Brecht’s bigger points are ignored. It’s just that, beyond the obligatory captions, here projected onto a cobalt steel backdrop, the politics translate as something real rather than some bludgeoned-home abstraction.
Leading the charge is a gimlet-eyed Ann Louise Ross as Mother Courage, who, onstage for almost three hours, gives a fiercely well-rounded and utterly unsentimental performance. Among a strikingly cast ensemble, Calum Cuthbertson’s laconic Chaplain stands out, as does too the promising professional debut of Gemma McElhinney, who invests the near silent Katrin with a plaintive but steely gaze.
John Harris’ live score, performed by a multi-tasking three-piece, reignites the play’s junkyard stylings as blaring modernist fanfares. The songs are sung with rough-shod gusto, suggesting that, beyond the last ceasefire, some kind of communal spirit prevails.
The Herald, September 12th 2008
ends
4 stars
The economics of war and its effect on the credit crunch, the black economy and the ongoing collapse of the family is more likely to feature in some special episode of Shameless than any contemporary state of the nation stage epic. Thank goodness, then, for this timely reminder from Bertolt Brecht’s 1941 play about how survival in capitalist extremes inevitably corrupts those at the bottom of the heap. Rarely mentioned, though, is the play’s initial fatalistic thrust after Mother Courage, her sons Eilif and Swiss Cheese and her mute daughter Katrin’s futures are sealed by the black cross of death scrawled on scraps of paper beside their cart.
Gerry Mulgrew’s new production might not dwell on such karmic portents as he wheels his charges on a symbolic stage revolve through assorted battlefields, but such ingrained superstitions only add to the play’s human heart. Not that Brecht’s bigger points are ignored. It’s just that, beyond the obligatory captions, here projected onto a cobalt steel backdrop, the politics translate as something real rather than some bludgeoned-home abstraction.
Leading the charge is a gimlet-eyed Ann Louise Ross as Mother Courage, who, onstage for almost three hours, gives a fiercely well-rounded and utterly unsentimental performance. Among a strikingly cast ensemble, Calum Cuthbertson’s laconic Chaplain stands out, as does too the promising professional debut of Gemma McElhinney, who invests the near silent Katrin with a plaintive but steely gaze.
John Harris’ live score, performed by a multi-tasking three-piece, reignites the play’s junkyard stylings as blaring modernist fanfares. The songs are sung with rough-shod gusto, suggesting that, beyond the last ceasefire, some kind of communal spirit prevails.
The Herald, September 12th 2008
ends
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