A pillowman should be soft and comfortable, right? Well, get that thought out of your mind. The current production at ACT of Martin McDonagh's "The Pillowman" is one of the most shattering, disturbing yet intellectually stimulating plays I've seen in a long time. It's not for the "Sound of Music" crowd, and don't even think of bringing the children. But if you like theater to challenge your mind and arouse your emotions with stunning performances and rich language, this is a production you won't want to miss.
There's something about the rugged landscape and tortured history of Ireland that nourishes a playwright's talents. McDonagh is Ireland's latest gift to the theater, following in the steps of such superstars as George Bernard Shaw, Oscar Wilde, Sean O'Casey, John Millington Synge and Samuel Beckett.
Although McDonagh was born in London where his Irish working-class parents had sought a better life, he was surrounded by Irish expatriates, schooled by Irish priests and steeped in the lore and traditions of his homeland. At 16 he quit school and lived on unemployment and menial jobs. It allowed him to spend endless hours reading, watching TV and making up stories - grotesque folk tales.
Some of his work captured the attention of people in the film industry, and in 1994 he was awarded a fellowship to UCLA to study screenwriting. He wrote seven plays in nine months. All have been produced but one, and all received rave reviews. Among those seven was the first draft of "The Pillowman." It was mounted in London in 2003 and since then has been produced in theaters around the world. In New York it garnered six Tony nominations.
"The Pillowman"'s main character, Katurian, is McDonagh's alter ego. The play opens with this writer of horrifying tales caught in the clutches of two sadistic police detectives who want to implicate him in the gruesome murders and disappearance of three children. Each crime is hauntingly similar to one of Katurian's stories.
In a scene so absurd that it might well have been fashioned by Ionesco or Kafka, the police badger and torture Katurian and lead him to believe that they have taken his mentally deficient brother into custody and are torturing him as well. Katurian, for reasons that eventually become clear, has unbounded love for his brother and an inordinate need to protect him. But there's no protecting either of them. They live in a totalitarian state, where the concept of individual liberties is not operative. Sadism and torture are tolerated, and as Katurian says, "There are no happy endings in real life."
The language in this play shows McDonagh in top form. One minute you're reeling from the horror of it all; the next, you're exploding with laughter. It has all the lyrical flow that typifies the author, and Katurian's stories are mesmerizing. Because this play, unlike McDonagh's other works, is set in an unnamed country, the actors speak American English ... perfectly appropriate, but I missed the musical intonations typical of the Irish plays.
I want to make clear, however, that this cast is amazingly good. Matthew Floyd Miller, as Katurian, moves seamlessly from bewilderment to horrified realization as he slowly comprehends his predicament. His initial sweet innocence is totally believable, as is his later capacity for criminal behavior. It's an impressive performance.
R. Hamilton Wright as Ariel the "bad cop" and Denis Arndt as Tupolski the "good cop" are marvelous counterpoints. Their timing is impeccable as they pirouette between sadism and humor in their absurd dance. Shawn Telford as Michal, the retarded but remarkably manipulative brother, is both innocent and deadly. As he moves back and forth between the story world of his brother's making and the real world, he commands our sympathy and evokes our revulsion. The supporting cast is equally talented.
McDonagh has a lot to say in this little exercise in the macabre. He wants us to remember how vulnerable we all are. If our parents don't screw us up, society is bound to. One of his gentler stories concerns the Pillowman, who tries to convince small children to commit suicide in an effort to save them pain. Life can only bring them sadness and horror, so they might as well end it while they still have the innocence that allows happiness.
McDonagh also examines the role of the storyteller and his artistic responsibility. Words are powerful They can be forces for evil, particularly when they get in the wrong hands. Yet the writer has a responsibility to tell his story even if it puts him at risk for seeing the truth too clearly.
Artistic director Kurt Beattie took a chance when he chose to open ACT's current season with this provocative play. It's a testimony to his respect for Seattle audiences. McDonagh isn't for everyone, but when his work is transformed from paper to stage by someone like Beattie who really understands it and has the skill and resources to do it well, it's a theater event. If you are up to it, you won't easily forget this production.[[In-content Ad]]
