Reykjavík Grapevine - 03.12.2004, Síða 28

Right now there are 30 different theater productions in rotation on 14 stages in 11 venues
throughout the greater Reykjavík area. At least 150 actors and probably three times that number of
production staff, including directors, dramaturgs, set designers, props builders, costumers, lighting techs,
sound techs and choreographers are presenting comedies, dramas, operas and musicals by foreign and
local playwrites and composers.
WIPING THE HAIR FROM YOUR
EYES:
Hit Shows vs. Quality Theatre
Tickets for the well over 2000 playhouse seats cost on
average 1,700 krónur, and the last pan-European survey
showed that over 250,000 guests bought tickets to the
theater in 1997, setting a European record of an average
of 1.5 visits per person per year.
For a country with less than 300,000 inhabitants these
are big numbers. What is it that makes the theater such a
popular destination for Icelanders? Is it the strong literary
tradition of this country, going back a thousand years to
the Sagas and Íslendingabók? In Iceland: a portrait of
its land and people, Hjálmar R Bárðarson writes, “For
centuries the national pastime in Iceland was recitation of
sagas in the living rooms of country farms...There was a
great wealth of reading material...planned with a view to
the books being read aloud for entertainment.” This form
of recreation could easily have developed into a taste for
the playhouse, and is probably a strong reason for the
theater’s popularity.
Reykjavik’s first theatrical troupe, Leikfélag
Reykjavíkur, (the Reykjavík Theatre Group), wasn’t
formed until 1897 and it was another 53 years before
the National Theater, Þjóðleikhúsið, opened it’s doors.
But when it did, the community showed it’s pride and
nationalistic support so strongly that theater-going
became a staple of the Reykjavík cultural diet. By the
Sixties young playwrights such as Jökull Jakobsson and
Guðmundur Steinsson had adopted the theater as a
venue for social commentary, increasing the playhouse’s
value as a part of the national consciousness. To be
able to stage world-class productions of plays by
world-renowned writers became, if not a goal, then an
inspiration for actors, directors and designers. Supported
by the government and encouraged by the community,
Icelandic theater had blown a bit out of proportion.
Drama critic Magnús Þór Þorbergsson notes that
“the constant and ever mounting pressure on theatres
and playhouses to survive on a strict budget based on
subsidies from the state and/or local government that
hardly suffice for daily operation costs, as is the case with
the Reykjavík Theatre Company, has not only resulted
in fewer premieres of Icelandic plays, but has also led to
a more commercial and conventional programs based on
box office ‘hits’.” (quote from www.nordic-literature.
org).
After a one thousand year history of literature and
recitation, and a flash hundred year development of
a proud and nationalistic playhouse culture, Icelandic
theater is a massive, many-legged production. Without
dismissing the quality of larger-scale shows on offer,
the recent success of smaller, independent theaters and
troupes such as Vesturport, Hafnarfjarðarleikhúsið and
Sokkabandið may hint at a turning away from ‘hit’ shows
to more intimate, quality theater. Regardless of the
direction Icelandic theater is taking, though, it seems to
be firmly entrenched in the national psyche as a valued
recreation.
“Who is the father of us daughters, this Our Father, not just as
in the Lord’s Prayer that we are all supposed to know by heart, but
father as parent and the biggest influence in our lives?”
Hlín Agnarsdóttir asks this question in her play Faðir Vor, or Our
Father, now showing at Iðnó, though there’s some doubt about
whether or not the question can be readily answered. The play,
written specifically for the Sokkabandið theater group and developed
in concert with them over the past year, exposes the well-hidden
insecurities of three sisters in search of their father’s blessing, but
does not offer any obvious solution to their quest. Through a series
of very modern vignettes and powerful flashbacks, the sisters glide
and grope their way through their common history as well as their
individual recollections of the man they each call father.
Divine Fathers and
Their Daughters
Sympathetic and arrogant
Director Agnar Jón Egilsson
has brought the play to life by
coaxing very aggressively stylized
performances out of his four actors.
Arndís Hrönn Egilsdóttir, Elma
Lísa Gunnarsdóttir and Þrúður
Vilhjálmsdóttir portray their
characters, Rakel, Rut and Rebekka,
with a controlled energy hidden
just behind their stylized and posed
gestures. The sisters seem bursting
with an urgency that belies their very
controlled public personas, and that
surges out when faced with their
father’s death. Hjálmar Hjálmarsson
as Tómas, the father, offers a
charismatic and for the most part
sympathetic portrayal of an arrogant
and powerful man seemingly
unaware of the emotional legacy he
is leaving his daughters. Each of
the four actors plays in addition a
second character, executing seamless
transitions between the personas
with minimal use of costumes and
props.
The play is staged on the main
floor of the hall at Iðnó, with the
audience seated in comfortable
padded chairs along two sides
of the room and upon the stage.
Props in the form of a leather easy
chair, three wheeled divans and
four wheeled carts are stationed
among the audience and moved
as needed around the open central
floor space. Actors not active in
scenes sit or stand near the audience
actively watching the play transpire.
This inspired set-up levels the
relationship between the audience
and the performance, inviting the
viewer to identify more intimately
with this particular version of a
modern Icelandic family. The theater
space is extrememly well employed,
although the use of the door that
opens into the Iðnó kitchen is mildly
disruptive. Jón Þorgeir Kristjánsson’s
lighting is subtle and elegant with
smooth transitions between scenes,
and flashbacks are announced with
an understated strobe sequence
accompanied by suggestive sound
cues, all very effective.
The darker aspects of family life
Special kudos go to Hallur
Ingólfsson for his music, a
beat-driven series of songs that
underscore the throbbing energy
barely contained within the
characters. Along with Jóhann
Freyr Björgvinsson’s choreography,
the music sequences help define
the characters’ relationships to each
other outside of the scripted text. In
fact, these sequences, so effective and
important during the first half of the
play, were sorely missed as a means
of closure toward the production’s
end.
Faðir Vor, or Our Father, is a
well-acted, directed and designed
play that exposes the darker aspects
of family life. The playwright invites
the audience to peer into the souls
of her characters, but there is little
resolution. The girls are opened
up, exposed as adult children of an
overwhelming and flawed father,
given very adult problems and are
left splayed and in shock at the play’s
end, each carrying very obvious
baggage as a legacy of their father’s
love. The sisters manage to tear
down the false idol that is their
father, but tear themselves apart in
the process, and, barely healed at
the end of the play, they exit stage,
leaving behind a question as to why.
by Maria Alva Roff
by Maria Alva Roff
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