Review: The Rise and Fall of the Revolutionary Spirit in BLOODY POETRY

Everything seems to make more sense when content matches form, and UCSB's Bloody Poetry, Howard Brenton's tale of literary titans Mary Shelley, Percy Shelley, and Lord George Byron's summer of debauch, is appropriately set amidst the 1970's insurgence of English punk rock. Bloody Poetry, directed by Jeff Mills, is an exploration of how destructionist anti-establishmentarianism can exist harmoniously with (and even prompt) creativity; yet Brenton's play of idealism and free love faces the inevitable fact that while deconstruction is easy--the problems and elements are available to be interpreted--reconstruction, especially of an entire culture, is a difficult and onerous task that takes a patience and longevity of passion often unavailable in the short lifespan of a human being. There are a number of remarkable parallels between the youthful, destructive energy of the punk movement and the antiestablishment utopia the three literati wish to create. For the most part, the punk rock style, which features driving music in typically short, aggressive bursts, and an associated cultural philosophy of reckless, live-fast-die-young fatalism, seemed a fitting stylistic choice for this show. Mills' interpretation of Bloody Poetry embodies that energy well in the first act, but is more sluggish in the second act when, as with all interludes in Neverland, real life intrudes: the second act suffers from a confusion of narrative priorities, and takes too long to wrap itself up. The play loses momentum in some instances, and less resembles the punk ethos it's dressed like, and form and content meander apart.

The play is more an exercise in spending time with interesting characters and exploring the nature of counterculture than it is a direct narration of plot, and after the first half, there wasn't anywhere obvious to go with the story. For this play to work, the audience has to like the characters enough to stick with them: luckily the BFA actors were talented and believable in their roles. Dillon Francis is the tortured Percy Shelley, sick of body and spirit; Quinlan Fitzgerald, as Mary Shelley, presents a strong female character even when the dialog doesn't give specific opportunity to do so; Zach Macias is a welcome comic relief as Dr. Polidori, the only representation of accountability amongst the rowdy band of punks and artists--he's self-aware enough to realize that his own work isn't as inspired by genius as that of the others, but he recognizes that misguided (or directionless) genius is usually less commercially appreciated than a product that's widely accessible. And, above all else, there's Ian Elliott as counterculture beacon of disaster, Lord George Byron. Elliott managed raucous, cocky ambivalence with a depth of troubled self-actualization that rounded out the fatalistic nature of the character. Elliott shows us that true libertines and true punks don't die; they rot away into infamous paradigms of idealistic decadence when the culture around them grows up and sells out and trades rebellion and angst for a 401K and a Coldplay album.

The first act of Bloody Poetry was an enthusiastic exploration of the bliss that comes with an illusion of independence gained by living outside the bounds social acceptance. However, by intermission it was clear that narrative flow had no obvious culmination, and there was little to accomplish in the second act other than following the line of history to Percy Shelley's death. The consequences of his lifestyle haunt him (literally and figuratively) in the form of death, ghosts, disease, and general malcontent amongst his "menagerie" of wives, mistresses, and children. Even the unshakeable Lord Byron is disillusioned by the less glamorous aspects of their rock-star lifestyle. The revolutionaries grow callous and hardened when societal change is not as imminent as they had hoped. The character arcs are both relatable and inevitable, but the narrative direction presents excess and a confusion of priority. There were a number of subplots that could have been trimmed to avoid a spiraling perplexity of storylines. For instance, the most potent relationships are those between the two Shelleys and Lord Byron. Claire Clairemont (Chelsea Williams), Byron's erstwhile mistress and current mistress of Percy Shelley, is a utilitarian character necessary to narrative motivation--scenes that focus too heavily on her character add a distracting element of pettiness amongst the menagerie, and some scenes toiled in unnecessary housekeeping. These irrelevant personal problems downplayed the overall thematic issue of the consequences of living as an artist outside the mainstream despite the incurred suffering of societal exile. Clairemont, who functions best as a representation of collateral damage in the wake of the poets' destruction, might have been better treated like Harriet, Percy Shelley's first wife (Marley Frank), who appears as a specter and exists as a reminder rather than a catalyst. These problems, however, exist in the text--not in Mills' rendering of the play, nor in the performances.

Bloody Poetry presents an exciting concept in a rousing way, and there are many provocative moments that show the wretched-yet-striking consequences of a lifetime commitment to revolution and anarchy. The cast had a strong handle of their physicality: an important element in a show so rooted in an artistic style that's deeply connected to physical sensation. The second act lacked the driving force of the first, and might have been more potent if condensed by 30 minutes; in it's current form, the production is too dependent on the audience really enjoying time spent with these characters because the narrative flow loses direction toward the end. Luckily, the characters are enjoyable to "hang out" with, and the revolutionary spirit they embody is fresh and tangible. Bloody Poetry is, overall, a colorful and unapologetic interpretation of a show that looks past the charade of endless youth and displays the ubiquitous defeat that arrives on the heels of innocence and revolutionary spirit lost.

Bloody Poetry
by Howard Brenton
Directed by Jeff Mills

@ UCSB

Friday, May 15-Saturday, May 16 8:00pm
Saturday, May 16-Sunday, May 17 2:00pm

www.theaterdance.ucsb.edu

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