Writer: Alice Birch after Lorca
Director: Rebecca Frecknall
Rebecca Frecknall leaves little to the imagination in her debut production at the National Theatre. Hindered somewhat by Alice Birch’s sweary text, Frecknall’s stark rendering of the Lorca classic is not subtle although it still manages to be a stylish representation of suppressed sexual desire.
However, it appears that Frecknall and Birch don’t trust Lorca’s story or, at least, the audience. Everything is spelt out in capital letters. There should be no men on stage in this tale of a mother who, along with her daughters, prepares to stay in her house for eight years to mourn her husband’s death. It won’t be an easy ritual to perform as all of Bernarda’s daughters are in love with local man, Pepe El Romano, who waits at the garden gates to speak to two of them.
Pepe should be a presence rather than a character; someone off-stage. But here in the Lyttleton, he’s presented in the flesh, dancing through the house of Bernarda Alba to Isobel Waller-Bridge’s contemporary music looking like Stanley Kowalski from Streetcar, which, of course, Frecknall directed for the Almeida. Having him dance, weaving through the women trapped in the house, represents how his influence seeps through the very walls of Merle Hensel’s stunning set. But now the desire is explicit when having it simmer amongst the women would be more effective, feeding into the claustrophobia of the situation.
The yearning for Pepe could be more understated but just as powerful; a flick of a fan or the sweep of a skirt could signal their longing for intimacy instead. But here, Frecknall has one daughter masturbate alone in her room while another is pleasured by Pepe through the railings of the gate. Nothing is suggested; it’s all there to see.
That this is not a house of secrets is also exhibited in Hensel’s design where all the walls are transparent and where the characters remain on stage throughout. As scenes play out in the domestic space on the ground floor, some daughters go to their upstairs rooms rather than leave the stage. We see them undress, get ready for bed and lean out of their windows in the hope of seeing Pepe. Bernarda’s servants never cease cleaning or cooking. All the house’s inhabitants lack a sense of privacy.
Harriet Walter’s Bernarda is a force to be reckoned with but there are cracks in her fist of iron. Her domineering rule is freckled with vulnerability; she knows that her daughters are moving beyond her which makes her ever crueller in her attempts to control them. Her swearing is at odds with her position in society, implying that she grew up in a lower class from which marriage has raised her. However, Bernarda is not the real villain of the piece. Instead, it’s the outside world of men.
Written under the dictatorship of Franco, Lorca’s play is often seen as an allegory of the paranoia of living under such a regime. Others see Lorca’s final play as a representation of his homosexuality where desire has to remain furtive. But here Frecknall and Birch highlight gender inequality. The daughters yearn for the freedom of men and yet all the men they talk about are bastards such as Bernarda’s dead husband who forced himself on his stepdaughter. And the way in which the maid folds the dead man’s clothes hints at other sexual infidelities that the whole house is aware of. In this production, patriarchy is the dictatorship.
While the story revolves mainly around the competing desires of Angustias (Rosalind Eleazar) and Adela (Isis Hainsworth), it is Lizzie Annis as Martirio who really stands out, giving her character a sense of tragedy that extends further than the play’s end. She is full of hope when there is none to be salvaged at all. Also imposing is Thusitha Jayasundera, who as housekeeper Poncia, is a match for Bernarda. Poncia misses nothing of what goes on in the dark or behind doors. Bryony Hannah’s maid floats around the house like a disappointed ghost.
Despite its explicitness, Frecknall’s The House of Bernarda Alba is still a compelling watch, especially the second act where artifice is stripped away to reveal the heart of the play. To see this heart beating would be enough, but Frecknall pushes our heads down in its bloody mess. However, not all audiences will appreciate this hand on the back of their necks.
Runs until 6 January 2023