Yerma

Federico García Lorca premiered his controversial play Yerma in 1934 when it mightily challenged the institution of Catholicism and the strict sexual mores of Spanish society.  He describes his work as ‘a tragic poem’ and playwright Holly Brindley certainly maintains a poetic lexicon in this adaptation for Foul Play as part of RUMPUS’ inaugural 2019 Adelaide season.

Foul Play are presenting this version of Yerma with an outstanding creative team: Lisa Harper Campbell (Producer), Nescha Jelk (Director), Holly Brindley (writer), plus Yasmin Gurreeboo and Nick Bennett (performers).  Also on board are the very talented duo of Sascha Budimski (sound design) and Meg Wilson (set, costume and lighting design).  The combination of these talents offers us an unsettling, challenging and riveting one hundred minutes of theatre in the bare, black box theatre space at RUMPUS.

A simple but arresting set by Meg Wilson greets the audience with Ms Gurreeboo seated on the floor, thoughtfully eating an apple.  A circle of penny round tiles is laid as a stage and make an obvious ‘clink’ as props are added and relocated throughout the action, or, at times, as the performers step carefully across the space, hinting at the fragility of their situation.  The audience seating circles the set, intimidatingly close in to and surrounding the world of the play, adding to the atmosphere of claustrophobia the female character experiences.

Sascha Budimski has created an excellent and disturbing electronic soundscape which exists often at the barest level of hearing; a fluctuating drone of tonal sound mirroring the tension within the narrative. Occasional silences magnifying the puzzlement and mood shifts of the characters.

Holly Brindley’s script has a stream-of-consciousness feeling with a poetic sparseness which leaves room for the audience to think, evaluate and imagine possibilities of where the story might navigate to next.  Alongside this, the everyday ordinariness of the conversational dialogue pops.  At times we are lulled into the familiar, shared domestic story before being plunged back into tense unease by the way the characters are failing at communication.  We perceive a process whereby love is replaced by the pressures of discord and disagreement.

Instead of Lorca’s original rural, Catholic woman, Brindley’s Yerma, as portrayed by Yasmin Gurreeboo, is a contemporary Muslim woman of English heritage.  She is not veiled except when it is time to pray on her exquisite prayer mat and she and Juan start with a mostly loving and comfortable relationship.  There are undercurrents of jealousy, mistrust and misunderstanding that slowly creep to the fore, culminating in the tragic ending. Gurreeboo balances the depths of the character in a nuanced and affecting performance, giving us glimpses of Yerma’s extremes of emotion without overplaying anything.

Nick Bennet is the elegant and mysterious Juan who, while doting on his wife, exhibits an edge of control and subtle gaslighting behaviour that becomes deeply concerning.  Again, a subtle and inspired performance gives the audience the tenor of the male character while maintaining a civilised yet increasingly tense atmosphere.  It is a credit to the director and both performers that this chilling tone keeps building without any exaggerated shouting or grating physical violence.

Yerma means ‘barren’ in Spanish and it is fitting that the play commences in a spare almost clinical setting when the female character is childless but seeking to bear a child.  Director Nescha Jelk’s use of props is intriguing, with symbolic power as each character tries to please or appease the other.  Apples traditionally represent knowledge, immortality, temptation, the fall of humans and sin - Juan dislikes apples and Yerma continues to turn the conversation to babies, tempting him to comply with her wish for a child.  Oranges are brought on stage, a symbol related to the Sun and in ancient times associated with fertility, beauty and eternity, another temptation for Juan. Yerma expresses the desire to grow plants, albeit indoors, as Juan is hesitant to let her wander freely, hence plants are brought in as symbols of fecundity.  Bottles, glasses and later buckets of a whitish fluid multiply throughout and although referred to as ‘water’ could be interpreted as mothers’ milk.  There is eventually an overcrowding on stage, both of props and emotion, until Yerma ‘de-clutters’ and makes room to think and ponder her choices. 

The central relationship is the focus in this work and Jelk intelligently allows the story to unfold through Brindley’s words.  However, there are some physical devices apparent which relocate the action from realism to a focussed, moment by moment landscape which surrounds the characters in a bubble of their own making.  A certain childlike ‘secret’ handshake that appears from time to time, vigorous hugs and tender embraces, sitting or lying and relaxing together on the floor and finally, the energy of distress that appears in Yerma’s vibrating arms and hands as the ending approaches.

Yerma, by virtue of its intimacy and stylized unfolding, is not for the faint-hearted and I believe it is a work for the informed, passionate and adventurous theatre-goer rather than someone seeking a night of light entertainment; although one can hope that in time, more audiences will seek such challenges with open minds and dare to approach new work rather than settle for comfortable or undemanding theatre experiences.

Lisa Lanzi

Photographer: Ian Routledge