Walking up the relatively blank Burton Taylor stairs, a promising waft of incense floated down to greet me, even before I was ushered into the dim tent. No rows of plastic chairs or wooden floors here: silky material was draped around to wrap up its audience in a warm, cosy, exotic dome. It was as if the setting was not only saying, “picture this” with its glittering candles and wine-red carpet; but also “hear this” with the varied beat of a hand drum played in a corner; “smell this” with delicately scented smoke; even “taste this” (the shisha was banana-flavoured). Gingerly perching on a velvet cushion, I joined the chattering on-lookers lounging at the side of the den.
The king, who had all this while been sitting brooding on his throne, spoke up at the strike of a spotlight, and sprung into a regally wrathful speech against the infidelity of his wife. At this point, I started to get a little more comfortable with the idea that this was just a performance, admittedly with an unusually intimate setting. The initial framework story was outlined: the King wishes to sleep with and then kill one virgin every night, as he believes that no woman is chaste. Shaharazad, the brave heroine, comes in place of one of the virgins so that she armight persuade the king to stop his brutality towards his own people, but at the risk of losing her own life. To try to soften his heart and enlighten his mind, she tells him many different meaningful tales.
An exciting enough story in itself, they could have left the two of them sat on the bed telling each other stories all night. But this was no lazy adaptation. An ensemble of actors sprung out from amongst the audience to help not only narrate the tales, but also to show them, too. Whether they were wiggling their hands like fish in the sea, or parading around a protagonist on a human camel, they were full of lively diversity. One actor even managed to make himself into a stage, whilst others behind him shook puppets over the top of his back. Looking at the caste list retrospectively, it seems unfair to label any of them as one role; they were characters, narrators, audience, props and set.
I’ve spent so long warbling about the ingenuity of the performance, that I find myself with little space for the tales: in a nutshell, a great variety, and as versatile and diverse as the actual performance of them. At times exaggerated and farcical, at others highly strung with tension, passionate and even violent. The shift between different stories was so thick and fast, so it was always easy to suddenly find yourself balancing on the edge of a knife just after a cheerful laugh. Finally, after a clever twist at the end (which shall not be spoiled here), we were released back to ourselves – but not without the drum striking up again to see us off. That tent may be lying folded up in plastic bags somewhere now, but the impression it made continues to be inescapable.
FIVE STARS
