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The Guardian
18 hours ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
The Potato Eaters review – a descent from visceral dread into full-blown terror
There are strong Death in Venice vibes to the setting of Romeo Castellucci's site specific production at the Venice Biennale Teatro. The show, by the Italian writer-director and his company, inhabits its own island – a long, lizard-like colony. The audience boards a shuttle and skims across the water to arrive at a building that was once a lazaretto – a hospital for leprosy patients. Associations with fatal infection and social isolation are chillingly resonance of the Covid pandemic. But as you wander into this disturbing promenade piece, things turn chilly in more ways than one. The building's interior is stripped of its skin so that its brick and rafters lie bare, and there is a low electronic rumble of sound along its corridors which is as disquieting as the near darkness. Windows are boarded up, as if deliberately concealing activity inside. Further along, there are bags lying in empty rooms that at first look empty but which twitch with still-living and breathing bodies inside them. The suggestion is that of a torture chamber whose violence has taken place or will do so imminently. There is deepening alarm as you venture into this unaccounted, warehouse-like space, where, you imagine, more people lie gasping in body bags. The full terror of the show manifests in a bizarre and baroque scene of ritualised but unexplained tyranny, enacted through choreographed movement by an eight-strong cast (Luca Nava, Sergio Scarlatella, Laura Pante, Vito Ancona, Jacopo Franceschet, Marco Gagliardi, Vittorio Tommasi, Michela Valerio). A total blackness descends in a central room which is filled with thundering sound that barrels towards us (brilliantly, terrifyingly, designed by Scott and Oliver Gibbons). There is, for this cowering critic, the discomfiting feeling that things could turn genuinely dangerous within this rumbling darkness. Creepy images emerge out of smoke, from a giant winged creature – a deity, an extraterrestrial or a symbol of totalitarian terror reminiscent of the Third Reich? – to a slow-moving group of miners carrying pickaxes and a body unzipped from a bag, naked, blood streaked, as pale as death, who performs a kind of dance of death. There are no words spoken, no explanation for who these people are and what their cult-like rituals represent. The story is all the more ominous for its opacity. The winged creature and the miners seem to be proxies for a more dreadful, unseen, force. It is a gnomic work but full of visceral dread. The building looks neutral and unremarkable once you are outside it again but the threat stays with you as you board the boat back to the mainland, to light and safety. Until 15 June as part of the Biennale Teatro 2025. Arifa Akbar's trip was provided by Venice Biennale
Boston Globe
04-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
Pierre Audi, eminent force in the performing arts, dies at 67
Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up All along, he continued working as a director at theaters around the world. Last year, when the Théâtre de la Monnaie in Brussels cut ties with Romeo Castellucci halfway through his new production of Wagner's four-opera 'Ring,' the company turned to Mr. Audi as one of the few artists with the knowledge, experience and cool head to take over such an epic undertaking at short notice. Advertisement 'He profoundly renewed the language of opera,' Dati wrote in her announcement, 'through his rigor, his freedom and his singular vision.' Pierre Raymond Audi was born Nov. 9, 1957, in Beirut to Andrée (Fattal) Audi and Raymond Audi. His father worked for the family bank, which was founded in the mid-19th century. Pierre Audi was raised in Paris and in Beirut, where he started a cinema club at school and invited directors like Pier Paolo Pasolini and Jacques Tati to speak. Advertisement In a 2016 interview with The New York Times, he spoke about the formative influence of Middle Eastern storytelling traditions on his work. 'Coming from the place I come from, a story is the start of everything,' he said. 'Through 20th-century music, I discovered the chaos, which is the other side. I think my life is about working a path through those contradictions.' He was educated at the University of Oxford, where he directed a production of Shakespeare's 'Timon of Athens' in 1977. A few years before, Mr. Audi had led a group that purchased an early-19th-century building in the Islington neighborhood of London that, over its varied history, had housed a display of Egyptian mummies and served as a music hall, a Salvation Army facility and a factory that made carnival novelties. By the time Mr. Audi discovered it, it had fallen into disrepair. But he saw its potential as a performance venue, and he led a fundraising effort to renovate it and reopen it as a theater with a few hundred seats. (He would later link his interest in repurposing unusual structures to growing up in Lebanon, a country that lacked theaters.) Through the 1980s, the Almeida developed a hip reputation, with homegrown and touring productions that offered early boosts to the careers of now-prominent artists like Robert Wilson, Robert Lepage, Phelim McDermott, Deborah Warner and Simon McBurney. The Almeida International Festival of Contemporary Music became renowned as a presenter of new and commissioned operas. Advertisement During his tenure at the Dutch National Opera, beginning in 1988, the house also became a hotbed of commissions and progressive stagings, including collaborations with visual artists like Anish Kapoor and Georg Baselitz. There, Mr. Audi directed the Netherlands' first full production of the 'Ring' and a cycle of Monteverdi's operas. 'The thing about Pierre was, it wasn't going to be traditional, old-fashioned opera,' said opera administrator Matthew Epstein, who advised Audi during that early period. 'It was the expanding of the repertoire both backward -- toward Handel and Monteverdi, which he directed and became famous for -- and forward, toward so much contemporary opera.' Mr. Audi is survived by his wife, Marieke Peters; his children, Alexander and Sophia; his brother, Paul Audi; and his sister, Sherine Audi. In Aix-en-Provence, Mr. Audi was able to present just one season before the pandemic hit. In 2020, when the festival's performances were canceled, he managed to hold rehearsals for 'Innocence,' a new work by Kaija Saariaho, with just a piano. And he was able to shift the premiere seamlessly to 2021. His true gift was as a presenter, guiding works to the stage like 'Innocence,' widely acclaimed as one of the finest operas of the 21st century. Mr. Audi's own stagings tended to look timeless and stylized. They could feel a tad bland, but they also had an appealing modesty, showcasing the music and performers while his own work receded into the background. When he made his Metropolitan Opera debut in 2010, with Verdi's 'Attila,' a collaboration with fashion designer Miuccia Prada and architectural firm Herzog & de Meuron, Anthony Tommasini wrote in The Times that the production was 'not entirely successful, and sometimes weird' but was 'intriguing and full of resonant imagery.' Advertisement Mr. Audi had a flair for the kind of event-driven presenting that reigns at festivals like Aix and raw spaces like the Armory, where he hosted longtime collaborators like William Kentridge and Peter Sellars; wrapped seating around the New York Philharmonic for a performance of Saariaho pieces; and brought spectacles like Claus Guth's 2023 staging of Schubert songs, which filled the Drill Hall with field-hospital beds. In 2019 in Amsterdam, he put on a three-day bonanza of chunks from Karlheinz Stockhausen's 29-hour, seven-opera cycle, 'Licht,' including Stockhausen's most notorious invention: a string quartet playing in helicopters. Last year, he brought to the Armory a smaller (and helicopter-free) selection, a surprisingly elegant, restrained show of lighting effects and immersive sound. In 2022, a half-century after he stumbled on the building that became the Almeida, Mr. Audi opened another new-old venue, for the Aix Festival: the Stadium de Vitrolles, a massive, graffiti-strewn black concrete box built in the 1990s that had been sitting abandoned on a Provencal hilltop for more than two decades. 'I saw the height of it,' he said, 'and I immediately looked at the real estate being very similar to the Armory.' Mr. Audi took a risk, planning the first production in the stadium without knowing whether its renovation would be ready in time, and without conducting an acoustic test in the space. But 'Resurrection,' Castellucci's staging of Mahler's Second Symphony as a 90-minute exhumation of a shallow mass grave, was both sober and thrilling, the kind of music theater you couldn't find anywhere else. Advertisement Mr. Audi didn't rest on his laurels after that. As always, he tried something different. In 2023, he presented a trio of films accompanying Stravinsky's epochal early ballets, played live with orchestra. 'The important thing,' he said soon after 'Resurrection' opened, 'is not to imitate what we did this year.' This article originally appeared in
