A Disappearing Number is an international show that visited Mumbai last week. Although it could easily have been the title for my own shows last weekend. Audiences “disappeared in numbers” to the southern tip of the island to watch Complicite’s mega spectacle di-rected by Simon McBurney.
It is always the highlight of the theatre season when an international troupe visits. Coupled with the emotional muscle as a “Prithvi Event”, and the drive of that force-of-nature Sanjna Kapoor, there was little doubt that it was going to dominate the city’s “theatre consciousness” for sometime.
Almost a month in advance the “buzz” began. But not always for the right reasons. The dominant conversations were about the ridiculous amount of money the tour was going to cost. “Is it worth it?” people asked with trepidation. Other’s mentioned that for that sum of money, “Anyone could put up a really fantabulous show”. As a direct result of the massive budget, came the “hoarding-isation” of the Prithvi Theatre itself. Although it wasn’t actually the venue for the event, there was branding and logos of the sponsors everywhere at the small little auditorium. Every square inch was covered with a flex announcing the show, including one on the ceiling. Prithvi had really pulled off all the stops to bring this show to India — financially, emotionally and perhaps, even morally.
Clearly it all seemed to work, because tickets began selling like hot cakes. The exorbitant prices didn’t deter anyone; and Prithvi did a marvellous job trying to ensure that theatre-wallahs who couldn’t afford full price were given an appropriate discount. And being a play about a mathematician, matinee school shows were also organised.
But what of the play itself? Would it live up to its billing? The show was more of a documentation of an event in history than an insight into Ramanujan’s process or life. It told the historical story from British mathematician G.H. Hardy’s point of view; his interaction and examination of the Indian genius as a piece of exotic culture. This history is explored by two characters in the present: A young American of Indian descent and his British mathematician wife. Her obsession with Ramanujan is the basis of their love story.
The plot, however, is not very special. There are no real moments of high drama. And the math goes over most people’s heads. Yet we are engaged in the narrative for almost two hours, transfixed. We are mesmerised by the way the story is told; not by the story itself. The unravelling of every little bit of information makes an otherwise not very remarkable story, intriguing.
The amazing thing about the play is not the wizardry of the set or the imaginative use of the projectors, but in the simple ideas that emerg-ed out of rehearsing and workshops. The movement of the actors and the transition of scenes are all incredibly “experimental”. If deco-nstructed, each section of the play can be traced back to a simple improvisation exercise. There are many devices used in our own “poor theatre”, usually to save on cost. Chairs and tables becoming trains and ships are all a visual grammar that we are familiar with. But what the overriding canvas does is that it takes a small simple action and infuses it with a sense of grandiosity. The simplest gesture takes an almost epic scale.
The other amazing thing was the precise-ness of the piece. Anything that uses so much technical support must clearly be quite stifling for the actors. They can’t extend a pause or create a “moment” since there is a soundscape and a videoscape that they are only a tiny part of. Therefore, the rules of the performance grammar belong more in the realm of musical theatre than straight theatre. Everything is on a beat. Nitin Sawhney’s sound score is replete with voice overs, underlays, echoes, etc. and the cast have to match each of those “cues”. However, while this makes for a fascinating visual experience and is quite immersive, it lacks on the “soul” quotient. We never feel for any of the characters. Not Ramanujan, not Hardy, not the husband, not the wife. We leave being unmoved by the story. Strangely, I felt the same way about Complicite’s other show that toured India, Measure for Measure. Maybe it’s the style of the group. There is great craft, but not too much heart.
All said and done, experiences like these do excite. A whole array of people got to watch something they ordinarily would never have seen before. The benefits, hopefully, are two fold — the play inspires more of our own practitioners to think out-of-the-box (or box set); and audiences begin to demand more precise work from our own theatre.
Will that happen? You do the math.