Thursday, July 15, 2010

Valhalla!, theatre review

Published in The Guardian


Valhalla!


Tron, Glasgow
4 out of 5

The coalition government has just brought in Niall Ferguson to jazz up the school history curriculum. Despite the Harvard academic's talk of war games and television in the classroom, however, it is by no means certain he would give the thumbs-up to the retelling of history in Paul Rudnick's Valhalla!

First seen in 2004, this boisterous American comedy filters the story of Ludwig II, the 19th-century king of Bavaria, through a gauze of such outrageous camp that – at least in Andy Arnold's exuberant production – it comes across more like a video by Adam and the Ants than a session with AJP Taylor.

If you haven't got the measure of Rudnick's approach by the time of the scene in which two Texas teenagers masturbate over a stolen library copy of A History of Greco-Roman Art, then you will once you witness the gay prince dressed as a nun fondling his mother's right breast.

With designer Kenny Miller in charge of the wardrobe, it is a total frock-fest, as Johnny McKnight's Ludwig switches outfits with the frequency and relish of a panto dame. Particularly fetching is the gold braid military jacket with half-length silk trousers over white tights, not forgetting the black pageboy wig and the gold chains on his naked chest. No wonder the "humpback" Duchess Sophie falls for him in a fairytale meeting where they discover a shared passion for Richard Wagner.

We can attribute the lewd comedy to Rudnick – as we can the parallel story of James Avery, a small-town 1940s reprobate in the mould of Vernon God Little – but the bigger joke is that Valhalla! is historically accurate. Ludwig really did have an escapist imagination, supported Wagner in his operatic excesses and blew his fortune on building Versailles-style castles. By retelling his life story with such flamboyance, Rudnick not only claims a piece of gay history but also makes narrative sense.

Sometimes the cast give sketch-show caricatures where the script calls for New York brashness, but more typically, they bring a very funny vaudevillian energy. Like Miller's set, which reveals the bare canvas frames behind the gold-fronted proscenium arch, they convey a sense that the whole narcissistic charade might collapse at any moment. Despite this, the play's touching conclusion, in which past and present collide, suggests that beauty is the greater truth.

© Mark Fisher 2010

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