BAAL: PRIMITIVE MAN

                                    Terence Chin

As poet, swindler, amoralist and debaucher Baal is anathema to the polite sophistication of the Malthouse. Alone on stage he cajoles a sombre ruse from his dilapidated Fender guitar. There is an immediate expectation that this amplification will dishevel the aural sensibility of those audience members hovering in the back row. But the creators of Baal intend for us to interpret the lyrics of this bearded thanatologist. It is not a specific understanding of Baal’s monomania that ensues. Rather, his ballad procures a mental picture of a melancholy muse situated somewhere beyond the dubious aspirations of polite theatre. (Perhaps, situated upon the bow of a ship travelling at night with Baal himself preparing to be catapulted upward and devoured by dark matter). Instead, a tirade of chattering socialites enter stage right. One, a publisher, would like to see Baal’s throttled verse in print. Another, vocation unknown but adept in the distribution of mindless praise, simply wants to fuck. An unfortunate third has made the horrendous mistake of becoming immersed by unrequited love. Her suffering is ensured, as Baal has thoughts for nobody other than his indulgent self. Obsessed by the maleficence of infinite possibility his pathological mania is a celebration of the involuntary body. Blood, sweat, semen and shit, Baal is simultaneously Dionysian rock star, vagrant child, and figure reminiscent of anecdotes of Artaud during that poet’s late paroxysms of schizophrenia. Then, without cause, a man wearing nothing other than a pair of joggers enters stage right. He carries a slab of cheap rye and coke. His name is Ekart and he is Baal’s confidante and lover. During a scene reminiscent of a homoerotic BBQ one of the boys has dropped by for a snag and a drink. 

Here, Baal begins to resemble a play about a conventional battle of the sexes. Ekart drags a denatured mattress on stage. There occurs much sexual frolicking and transgression of conventional sexual code. Baal is either splayed naked upon the mattress or politely has his legs crossed so that what is strategically revealed to the audience is his swollen scrotum. As each sexual taboo is broken, emotions are strained and alliances reconfigured. But it is when Baal ‘browneyes‘ a female character and makes a solemn declaration of truth, that this play becomes a genuine provocation. That is, for Baal to wade chest deep through a morass of bodily fluids is to also engage with the fundamental question of what it is to be human; the same idea that is often revealed during discussions of the life and work of the Marquis de Sade. If Nature itself is corrupt and human beings are unavoidably natural, then does this not allow for the legitimate proliferation of sexual deviation and criminal behaviour ? A fine idea if you happen to be the sadist. But as Masoch demonstrated in Venus in Furs (1869) there is also pleasure to be derived by submitting to the dominatrix. 

The emerging difficulty for the play Baal is that its female characters are either one dimensional submissive and/ or lecherous sexual predators, or often, directorial props. Baal needs his arse whipped. But the writing of the play does not allow for any female character to brandish the weapon. Consequently, his proclamation that the pursuit of pleasure is by definition a quest for human truth resonates as distinctly male-centric and destructive. Whether this is an historical peculiarity relating to Brecht and his archaic world view or a consequence of this contemporary (translation..?) adaptation of the play is unclear. Excluding the presence of eros in either its male or female incarnation limits the play and its intellectual scope. Furthermore, its cross-dressing aspect as personified by the remaining male character Johannes is simultaneously an affirmation of the above while also being condescending to women. However, the second half of Baal does explore the consequences of extreme hedonism. But once again, it its the trajectory of its male characters that dominate proceedings.   

During a clever conceptual representation of thwarted idealism the entire set collapses around the character of Baal and he is thrust into a disconsolate external world. Fire sprinklers spray two distinctive streams of water onto a black stage; one indicates the steady fall of heavy rain while the other spreads an atomised mist above the head of Baal, a man now paralysed by self-doubt. (The use of these two production elements is a startling reminder of the essential plasticity of the theatre; Brecht would have been proud). Baal raves on and it is difficult ascertaining the specific trajectory of the plot of the play. But the striking visual cues allow for an understanding of what has occurred. 
      The world has changed around an unsuspecting Baal. No longer a figure idolised or even tolerated by his peers Baal is subjected to the cruel elements and his descent into insanity has begun. Each of the other characters except Ekart wear yellow raincoats. Caution, protection and convention now prevails among those that once threw themselves at Baal’s feet. But even Ekart has relinquished his love for Baal and discovered it elsewhere with Sophie. Here, the once infatuated Ekart becomes Baal’s equal. While Johannes, Emile, Sophie and other characters have become conservatives, Ekart maintains his insatiable passion for life. Furthermore, he is prepared to engage the increasingly erratic Baal in what he believes to be an honest affirmation of his love for Sophie. Of course, Baal is impaled by loss and he himself becomes the ironic figure of unrequited love. Combined with his deteriorating mental state and an inability to protect himself against ‘outrageous fortune’ Baal murders Sophie. With blood on his hands he collapses on the now sodden mattress. He hears the voices of several performers positioned in strategic positions throughout the cavernous theatre. Alone and insane, Baal is the artist crucified by an inability to integrate personal idealism with the demands of conventional society. But portraying Baal’s demise as one analogous to the death of Christ trivialises his dilemna. Like Hamlet, this conceptual framework situates Baal’s death within a context of Christianity. As there has been very little if any religious rumination during the preceding scenes of the play Baal’s Christian sacrifice is anticlimactic. Its bathetic aura sits uncomfortably alongside the instinct for death that has driven Baal during his journey from celebrity to mentally ill Isolate. 

Baal is a brave, intellectually rigorous and imaginatively conceived production. Male-centrism and superfluous Christianity aside, it is also a production that allows for its audience to disregard its minor faults. Once theatremakers decide to imbue a text with the unqualified emotional intelligence a play such as Baal demands, an audience has no choice but to be satisfied. However, many people may be disconcerted and even enraged by this confrontational production. But beneath its hedonism and obscenity is a shrewd tale of the dilemna that confronts the serious artist. The circumstances of this same dilemna are nowhere more deeply felt than by the performance ensemble that has brought this production of Baal to the stage.

Baal

Performers: Brigid Gallacher, Geraldine Hakewill, Luke Hastings Edge, Shelly Lauman, Oscar Redding, Chris Ryan, Lotte St Clair, Katherine Tonkin & Thomas M. Wright, Writer: Bertolt Brecht, Translation: Simon Stone & Tom Wright, Director: Simon Stone, Set & Lighting Design: Nick Schlieper, Costume Design: Mel Page, Composition & Sound Design: Stefan Gregory, Associate Lighting Designer: Tom Willis, Malthouse, April 2 - 23, Melb.