The House of Bernarda Alba

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Church of St Thomas the Martyr, Bristol (Tue 1-Sat 5 Nov)

THEATRE Few playwrights have captured the asphyxiating yoke of women’s predicament in twentieth-century patriarchal society as poignantly as Federico Garcia Lorca did in ‘The House of Bernarda Alba’: the story of the indomitable matriarch who victimises her five daughters by condemning them to a husbandless life fraught with all kinds of frustrations (and the sexual ones are those that feature the most prominently in the play).

Red Dog Productions' choice of the haunting Georgian church of St Thomas the Martyr as a location is truly inspired: the actresses’ voices echo and amplify to fill the vaulted space, coming back to you almost like desperate cries for help from someone just beyond your reach. The action takes place, for the most part, in a dome-shaped structure reminiscent of a birdcage, so aptly conceived to reflect the confining atmosphere permeating Bernarda Alba’s house.

As soon as the lights go down and the stage is lit, the audience is transported to 1930s rural Spain: the exquisite quality of the acting offers up a wonderful gamut of human emotion, from powerful to fragile, from wild joy to blind fury. Even the smallest scenes, such as the servant’s monologue on the death of Antonio Maria Benavides or Prudencia’s visit are masterfully delivered and replete with emotion.

Jude Emmet is a veritable force of nature as Bernarda, giving a nuanced performance that does not allow for a simple condemnation of her character’s actions, but rather always keeps in view the true complexities of her character. Amy Enticknap’s Adela is certainly an opposing force to be reckoned with, her deceptively fragile exterior hiding a violent torrent of rebellious passion that frequently spills into cruelty. And Kim Hicks, Saskia Portway, and Kate Abraham’s solid performances act as ballasts in the production's turbulent sea. Especially noteworthy are the directorial choices involving the entire cast in a chorus-like rendition of Bernarda’s slightly crazy mother, Maria Josefa, the latter’s cries of "Let me go out" and "I want to get married" melting into the voices of the five desperate daughters.

Corinne Hockley’s costume design strikes a remarkable balance between tradition and innovation: Bernarda Alba’s costume is clearly aligned with 1930s mourning attire (and indeed, she cuts a chilling figure when she first walks on stage, her head entirely covered by an opaque lace veil), and her varying layers of black endow her with the ominous aura of a storm brewing. The daughters’ costumes, on the other hand, are more abstract in their conception, more concerned with providing a visual complement of each daughter’s defining characteristic (Angustias’s dress is patterned with money, the cut of Adela’s dress is more fashionable and carefree than that of her sisters’).

A seminal play by one of Spain’s greatest talents, in a haunting production delivered with professionalism and style. (Regina Papachlimitzou)