‘My mother knows a woman who had no kids.
Turned into a man. Hands went all hard. Tits dried up. Started speaking up for herself at district meetings.
Guess what?
Her bush dropped off in the field, didn’t it?’

Michael Weigh’s adaptation of Federico García Lorca’s Yerma is a touchingly fresh reworking, and its hesitant, conversational dialogue is a long way from the Spaniard’s original glut of poetry. A celebrated studio space constantly reimagined with each usage, the Gate Theatre was initially created to house international works, particularly adaptations and translations from far and wide. This production is no different, in this burning new version of Lorca’s Spanish tale of childless longing, directed by current (departing) co-Artistic Director, Natalie Abrahami.

Perhaps shamefully, I had not read the original before tonight, so went in with that joyous blank slate which allows the plot of a play to unfold as if never seen before. Yerma was a particularly ripe production for this, in its engrossing set and the proximity of the actors: the sand which lined the ground filled the air in dust clouds as we watched their bodies sweat in the dust and the tears. It was utterly absorbing, and I wasn’t the only one who lost myself in the story of poor, ‘dove-like’ Yerma. As the houselights went up, it was a shock to discover a group of people in scarves and coats in the audience, having been so present in the hot, dry wasteland which existed before.

The play opens with newlyweds Yerma and Juan dragged in, blindfolded, next to their unused marriage mattress, smelling of apples. Many ‘seasons’ pass, and as Yerma and Juan’s childlessness becomes increasingly socially unacceptable, it also grows achingly painful for Yerma, whose husband convinces her that she is to blame. Interjections from witch doctor Dolores or friend Maria only accentuate the nothingness which dominates her life, and the young wife is driven to a quasi-madness, culminating in a terrible act of passion and revenge.

The supposedly 15-year-old Yerma’s transition from innocent child to perpetrator of powerful violence was tragically believable. With a pitch perfect performance from Alison O’Donnell as the loving but unwittingly cruel Maria, we witness Yerma lose every emotional comfort, as her physical comforts increase when her husband’s work as a shepherd and farmer becomes more lucrative. O’Donnell introduced some well-appreciated comedy, in her brashness and light mockery of Yerma, which staunchly contrasted with the young girl’s unwavering innocence. Like Maria, we also began to distance ourselves from this supposed ‘wilderness’ of a woman, as she became more and more desperate and impassioned in her search for a child.

Ty Glaser’s evocation of Yerma, in her steeling of girl into woman, is truly stunning, from her initial outburst when attempting give her husband some milk, up until her final stand, forcing him to confess his culpability in their barrenness. Hats off to casting director Jim Arnold and director Abrahami in Glaser, for in the happy combination of a child-like body and milky skin, yet with that shock of red hair, increasingly controlled with hair-ties and ribbons as the play progresses, the leading lady effortlessly inhabited that difficult role of ‘child-woman’. Having done very little theatre before (her bio lists two credits), she was a real hit. Her perpetual naïve smile, even when at a loss for words, tugged at the heart strings- yet, even as her innocence was increasingly threatened, this naivety never seemed to leave. Thus even her final act of violence seemed to come from a place of goodness - the desire to free herself from desire.

The other performers had their strengths- Ross Anderson’s bulky Victor was physically a shocking contrast to the sly and sinewy Juan, played by Hasan Dixon, and their interactions with Yerma were effective in their varying degrees of warmth and coldness. Yet there was something lacking in their intensity when in scenes together- the intimacy which their words implied held no real power, and compared to the aching need we felt from Glaser, they appeared somewhat lacklustre. Sharon Duncan-Brewster as the witch doctor Dolores had a strangely upper class twang at moments, but in her final scene she was absolutely mesmerising, in her flowing gestures of magical power, and her heartless cackle on discovering Yerma’s husband was Juan, his homosexual leanings already known to her. Commendation must go to the young performer tonight, ten years old and making a professional debut, who huffed and puffed around the space carrying stools and mattresses as a sort of glorified stage manager, yet delivered his lines with the assured confidence of a professional.

It is a delight to see a play entirely driven by narrative, and this adaptation really manages Lorca’s poetry, allowing it to enhance and accelerate the narrative drive, without dominating it. Having now read the original, it turns out Weigh did a real job on Lorca - chopped and changed the order of scenes, creating early episodes in Yerma and Juan’s marriage where there were none before, and successfully reducing a cast of over 25 to six. Of course, often the number of actors allowed to the adaptor and director is determined by producers, so this is unlikely have been an autonomous decision. He also decided to draw out a handful of images to stretch across the entire play, such as the little bird in the hand, or the nursing lambs, as against Lorca’s veritable plethora of animals, utensils, flowers and the like in the songs which conclude each scene in the original. This reduced it into an intensive and intimate exploration of key experiences, rather than an entire landscape and society recreated. The language is modern in its hesitations; almost deconstructionalist in the characters’ constant searching for the right word to describe their thoughts.

In this, I would say Weigh has succeeded majestically where Nick Payne’s adaptation of Electra struggled slightly when I saw it at the Gate in April. Although that production was dramaturgically electrifying, particularly in set, lighting and sound design, it was a shame that the imagery in Payne’s script created that itchingly alien feeling, and was somewhat in tension with the narrative. The songs Payne introduced into his script felt detached and brought us entirely out of the play’s already sterile world. One could argue this was appropriate to the alienation of the character of Electra, who we must both engage with and distance ourselves from, however their insertion felt at odds with the play as a whole. This production suffered none such alienations, and cleverly closes in on the driving force behind Yerma’s behaviour, in a ‘Lorca, reduced’ reimagining.

Till 17 December 2011