Cyrano de Bergerac
What is the enduring appeal of this 1897 story so that it is told and retold? A brilliant man – a wit, brimming with confidence, a poet eloquent in voice and writing, a fighter, a swordsman, hated by the jealous, admired by his friends – but inside he feels himself to be too ridiculously ugly to declare his love to the woman he adores. And so, he makes love vicariously: on behalf of his rival, Christian. it hurts but he is too much in love with Roxanne and with words to stop. Is this a secret many men nurture in their hearts?
We can think of many Cyrano movies, television productions and, of course, it has been produced on stage many times – almost every year since its inception. Here, the Artefact Theatre Company uses the 2019 Martin Crimp adaptation, set in a sort of indeterminate present. The theatre milieu gets less emphasis, replaced by the women attending a writing – and cooking – school run by a spirited Annabelle Tudor.
This is a sprawling, big cast production – the sort of thing we don’t often see in independent theatre anymore. With eighteen actors, the stage teems with life and banter – witty and roughhouse – contrasting beautifully with the intense, private two-hander scenes between Cyrano and Christian and, later between Cyrano and Roxanne. The supporting roles are all focussed, pointed and delivered with energy and economy. When France goes to war and the Gascons are cut off, director Matthew Cox creates chaos and pain. Armed figures with headband lights dart about the space; there’s no order; we feel the panic of these previously roistering, overconfident boys.
Costume designer Dylan Lumsden puts the assertive women in jeans and T-shirts, and most of the men, including Cyrano (Mark Yeates) himself, in crumpled army fatigues. The snotty antagonist de Guiche (Louis Lucente) alone wears an officer’s tunic. – and a withering sneer. Ashley Reid’s set is a series of plain stepped rostra with Tim Bonser’s wonderful lighting supplying more than mere atmosphere.
So… no capes, no big hats, and not much on-stage duelling – just some knife fighting. I rather miss the 17th century appurtenances, and the cavalier look and tone – the modernisation rather diminishes things - but this iteration keeps the heart of the story that justifies its retelling. True, there is not a lot of panache to Mark Yeates’ Cyrano – he’s more of a nuggety streetfighter – but it’s an intense, unwavering and concentrated performance that engages the audience throughout.
The play relies on words, and the words are marvellous. Cyrano’s wit still sparkles – his put-downs of the stupid and pretentious are wickedly enjoyable – and the emotions are just as real, just as painful, and just as moving.
In the Rostand original, however, and in almost all productions and adaptations since, Cyrano is cripplingly self-conscious about the length of his nose – and so he makes devastating pre-emptive jokes about it. Here, Yeates as Cyrano dispenses with the nose (his is a perfectly normal nose) which is disconcerting as there are constant references to the nose, and it is the reason for Cyrano’s belief that he is ugly. Perhaps director Matthew Cox simply thought a prosthesis just wouldn’t work in an intimate space and so he's opted for a different kind of disconcerting.
Another ‘updating’ is with the character of Roxanne. Cazz Bainbridge plays her – appropriately – as in love with words as Cyrano himself - and no shrinking violet. She is volatile, opinionated, argumentative – making her love for the handsome but inarticulate Christian (Callum O'Malley) blinkered when he’s such a lummox in the flesh. But she has his beautiful letters – written by Cyrano… Her final scenes with Cyrano are not only edge-of-the-seat tense but whole-heartedly tragic – in keeping with the original.
If you’ve seen Cyrano de Bergerac on stage or screen, you may need to put your expectations aside. But as noted, the essential story is here, and you are bound to be swept up in this tragi-comic yarn that is itself as in love with words as its characters.
Michael Brindley
P.S. I would’ve liked to heap more praise on individual members of the cast, but the program opts for the new (and frustrating) convention of merely listing the cast without reference to the characters they play. I apologise for any misattributions.
Photographer: Matthew Chen
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