The House Of Bernarda Alba | 3/5

SINGAPORE — In The House Of Bernarda Alba, someone laments: “To be born a woman is a curse!” And here, this curse is self-inflicted — the women who inhabit Spanish playwright Federico Garcia Lorca’s tragedy have reluctantly internalised a system of oppression fuelled by class, religion and social mores.

Adapted by Singaporean playwright Chay Yew and directed by Glen Goei, this W!ld Rice production — in all its sombre and black Hispanic-meets-Peranakan glory — is stylishly elegant, classy in a cold kind of way. Very much like the fierce, dogmatic titular matriarch who rules with an iron fist and is capable of “sitting on your heart and watching you die”.

In this all-female play, the absent men maintain a powerful grip on the characters’ lives. After the death of her husband, the pious Bernarda Alba decrees that her five daughters go into eight years of mourning. No one is permitted to leave the house and in this claustrophobic scenario, tensions arise — burning desires simmer and secrets threaten to spill over as a villager proposes to one of the daughters for her money but lusts for another’s body instead.

High production values and snippets of gripping drama may be enough of a draw as W!ld Rice puts on its sternest face in a while. But for all its explosive potential and an amazing who’s who cast (including the likes of Margaret Chan, Claire Wong, Noorlinah Mohamed, Karen Tan, Serene Chen and Jo Kukathas), the production somewhat falls short of admittedly high personal expectations.

Lorca’s poetic lines quiver with bombast, but translated into an uneven display of performance pyrotechnics, it leaves this reviewer rather undecided on whether there’s way too much melodrama on display or, in fact, way too little of it.

There’s also the issue of its peculiar casting decisions — the imposing Chan, who has herself owned the role of a certain overpowering matriarch named Emily, takes on that of Alba’s mad, rambling mother. Her presence looms over everyone — but in infrequent, somewhat random scenes that are more symbolic than an actual narrative necessity. And while the more-than-capable Wong valiantly gives her Alba an aged gravitas, she’s not the authoritarian that bullies into submission her daughters (mostly played by her contemporaries). In young actress Glory Ngim rests the burden of being the youngest daughter, the symbol of rebellion in this unfortunately backward-thinking family. And in in this clash of the titans set-up, she fails to reach the needed emotional heights. Most memorable of the performers are Kukathas as the fiery, potty-mouthed loyal servant who knows way too much and Noorlinah as a sexually repressed daughter who, well, also knows way too much.

The House Of Bernarda Alba’s critique of women’s place in society could likewise be read as a critique of authority that refuses to change — but it might take a while to enter that particular allegorical headspace when the literal House onstage takes some getting used to.

The House Of Bernarda Alba runs until March 29, 8pm, Drama Centre Theatre. With weekend matinees. Tickets from S$45 to S$75 at Sistic.