The Girl, the Witch and the Seven Ravens

It was one of those semi-mythical glorious Wellington days: late afternoon, the sky still clear and hot and the concrete slowly simmering in the heat.  We waited by the car park outside Toi Whakaari: the National Drama Centre, just on the edge of Newtown.  There was a small group of us - the performance we were about to see did not permit a large audience - everyone was dressed for summer (except me, of course, I'm always braced for inclement weather).

Presently the director - Tabitha Arthur - appeared and ushered us into the darkness of the Basement Theatre.  We stepped through a low metal door and then turned right through another door and into...

...A path through the space picked out by suspended strips of fabric.  All was dark but for small spotlights trailing cobwebby light through the gloom.  There was a strong sense of being drawn into another world, of being taken away from the warmth and general summer business going on outside.  We were seated on a couple of low benches set before a screen and more trailing strips of fabric.  The shadows of a forest were cast by projectors upon the screen and the whole chamber was filled with strange and atmospheric rustlings: like the sound of whispering trees.

After a moment or so a woman emerged from one side of the stage, beautiful and formidable in a dress and bodice that looked like to be sculpted from tree roots and moss.  She hushed us with one finger placed to her lips and began the tale of how seven brothers came to be transformed by a witch (Caligosa, whom the storyteller also played) into seven ravens and how it fell to Octavia, their sister, to go in search of them and to find a way to break the curse.  Her narrative was delivered half-spoken/half sung accompanied by an accordion (played live from somewhere offstage).  Carrie Green (who played the storyteller/Caligosa) is possessed of a rich deep timbre and used it to tremendous effect in this piece: occasionally taunting, cautioning and oddly seductive in the way that all truly wicked things should be.  She also made excellent use of vibrato lending the performance additional drama and the feel of a macabre operetta..  The booming and groaning accordion accompaniment gave the piece a wonderful twisted carnival vibe - curiously reminding me of Tom Waits' excellent but underrated performance of The Black Rider (another stage performance based upon a folk tale, incidentally).  While she narrated the scenes were played out, projected like shadow puppets onto the hanging trails of cloth.  It was an ingenious ploy and one that fitted superbly with the skewed, mythical sense of the piece.

Presently the play transitioned into the first fully enacted scene and Caligosa left the stage to be replaced by Octavia, the girl.  She looked small and delicate in her costume, faintly elfin - though she was dressed for battle, with a sword on her hip and an elaborate bow over her shoulder.  Her outfit had a wonderful half-realistic/half whimsical design that made it look as though it were plucked directly from the pages of a particularly lovely picture book.  The actress Jessica Aaltonen, has a fine sense of physicality and moves like a dancer - all of which worked wonderfully within her (mostly) mute performance.

Octavia crept silently across the stage until an unearthly sound rattled through the performance space.  There followed a confrontation with a bearlike beast that looked to be fashioned from black smoke and had something of a fondness for hurling branches.  Octavia, after some ducking and diving, plucked the bow from her shoulder and sent an animated arrow through the creature's skull, whereupon it broke apart and scattered, becoming nothing.  All of this was accomplished by matching physical action with projection and animation.  It must have been a bugger to orchestrate but it was very effective.  After the evanescence of the monster, Octavia crept to where an object had fallen in its place.  She stooped to pick it up and, with a startling shriek that genuinely sounded full of terror, plunged through a tree-root lined pit and into darkness.  It was a profoundly effective moment - the sheer volume and potency of her howl coupled with the way blackness suddenly swarmed to obliterate the projected image utterly.

We, the audience, were left with nothing but the words: to be continued.
This was all a sort of teaser, you see: the opening scene from an as-yet-unproduced full-length performance and Tabitha Arthur's final submission for her Master of Theatre Arts Degree.  The intention of this piece is to demonstrate an understanding of sound design (including live musical accompaniment), projection and costuming - which is to say those clever technical elements that can elevate a play into something genuinely transcendent.  It is an ambitious and accomplished vignette put together by some very talented people and I have to say, I'm damn keen to see a full-length version of this play.

Amusingly, one of the children in the audience chided Arthur for having Aaltonen scream too loud - for myself, I think her howl was exactly as blood-curdling as it should be.

It is of course, based upon the Brothers Grimm tale (which I am familiar with).  For twenty or so years I have been pretty much obsessed with fairy tales, particularly the raw and bloody origins of them: the ones with darkness and fear still at their black and beating hearts.  It is this dark, otherworldly vibe that Arthur and her co-conspirators have conjured and that is definitely something that I feel ought to be encouraged.

So keep your peepers peeled for the full version of 'The Girl, the Witch and the Seven Ravens' which will hopefully be developed after Arthur completes her degree.