Maidment Theatre until May 7, 2005

Shona McCullough's understated choreography imparts a quiet sense of dignity. Picture / John McDermott

NZ Herald 20.04.05
Reviewed by Paul Simei-Barton

Since taking the reins at the Auckland Theatre Company, Colin McColl has shown a knack for finding plays from the 1960s and 1970s that speak directly to the concerns of contemporary audiences. Equus would seem an unlikely candidate for revival. The show was spectacularly successful when it made its debut in 1973 but fell out of favour during the glitz of the 1980s.

Its continuing relevance is a testament to the complexity of Peter Shaffer's writing, which eludes any singular interpretation and allows audiences to discover shades of meaning.

In this production, questions about psychiatric practice and the nature of madness take second place to a disturbing evocation of the spiritual dimension. The play addresses brilliantly the anguish we feel in the absence of ritual - that subtle despondency that creeps into lives that have banished any sense of the sacred.

John Parker's intelligent set design creates a sterile institutional space that occasionally cracks open to offer a glimpse of the world of pagan worship. Through an effective combination of lighting, costume and sound, the horses are given a god-like quality - aloof and indifferent, they move like ancient deities to remind us that human existence was once made comprehensible by the presence of 1000 local deities.

Shona McCullagh's understated choreography imparts a sense of quiet dignity. Horsiness is established by the smallest of gestures and the actors deftly avoid the kind of excessive horse mimicry that can so easily appear ridiculous.

The play is structured like a detective story in which Peter Elliott, as a menopausal psychiatrist, unravels the meaning behind a senseless act of cruelty committed by an adolescent patient, played by Kip Chapman. The encounter between these two is riveting. Chapman swings between petulance and vulnerability while Elliott slowly sheds his professional demeanour to reveal an intense yearning for the exhilarating passions of his young charge.

The supporting performances are uniformly excellent. David Aston and Catherine Wilkin, as the parents of the disturbed boy, are particularly moving as they vigorously reject the pervasive notion that blame for aberrant behaviour can invariably be laid at the feet of the parents.

McColl's direction is masterful in its attention to detail. By dispensing with Shaffer's Brechtian stage directions he brings clarity to the conflict between characters and seamlessly blends the complex shifts between naturalism, spectacle and direct address to the audience.