Who's Afraid of Titus? Sky Gilbert turns sex, violence and Shakespeare into harmful theatre
1 Sep 2022

by Drew Rowsome - Photos courtesy of The RED Sandcastle Theatre and Sky Gilbert

When our narrator Veronika Hurnik opened the show with the provocative question, "Have any of you ever been harmed by theatre?" some knave in the back shouted, "Physically or psychologically?" Both questions are very pertinent to Who's Afraid of Titus?, an adaptation of Shakespeare's Titus Adronicus by Sky Gilbert (Shakespeare's Criminal, I Cook, He Does the Dishes, Sad Old Faggot, It's All Tru (A Play about AIDS), The Terrible Parents, To Myself at 28, My Dinner with Casey Donovan, A Few Brittle Leaves, Dancing Queen, Hackerlove, The Situationists). I've never been harmed physically or psychologically by any of Gilbert's productions and I've seen many more than I've reviewed. But I've always had my buttons pushed in one way or another, been surprised (occasionally shocked or appalled), been made to think, and always made to laugh out loud. Who's Afraid of Titus? is no exception. Gilbert uses, as can be told by the opening line which was probably not penned by Shakespeare, to use Titus Adronicus as a springboard into what is on Gilbert's fertile mind.

Titus Adronicus is known as Shakespeare's goriest and least produced play. Which of course meant that contemporarily it has been produced repeatedly. Gore and rarity are good advertising hooks. As an adaptation of Titus Adronicus, Who's Afraid of Titus? is intriguing. Set in a contemporary world with gothic and grand guignol overtones, Gilbert condenses the text to a taut hour and a bit without losing complete track of the plot. Shakespearean purists might quibble but this is vicious little play revolving around revenge. And revenge is a theme that Gilbert, himself a victim of 'cancel culture' due to some poorly worded ejaculations on important ideas, can sink his teeth into. As one character cries, "Titus, Twitter is ablaze with anger!" Vengeance consumes all in a cornucopia of carnage, aided and abetted by the cell phones that the characters wield mercilessly. In this case, revenge is a dish served icy cold. One can only marvel at what this production achieves, and what it would have achieved with a budget beyond what is given to this labour of love and retribution.

Our narrator often interjects to remind us that theatre can, supposedly, be harmful. Ideas can be dangerous. Hurnik not only moves along the exposition, she also, after making sure that we suspend our disbelief, plays a handful of minor characters. But most importantly she acts as a guide. It is not just the cast who are in constant motion, the audience is herded to several different locations within the theatre, from the low-ceilinged cramped basement to the parking lot in the rear by the Value Village back entrance. It is the first migration that is crucial. After Lavinia (an angelic Augusta Monet) has been raped and partially dismembered, we are invited to come closer to witness the revel of Lavinia  the aftermath (George Alevizos incarnating the consequences of violence). Of course we crowd forward, curious and ghoulishly fascinated. How can theatre harm us when we are so eager to participate in horror? One of Gilbert's points is made eloquently and on foot. There is another clever twist when Hurnik, who we are complicit with and identify with, becomes a character in peril. Rarely has the table been turned so effectively, suddenly we are not just watching, we are participating and the question of harm takes on a new resonance. And we feel it in our core.

Who's Afraid of Titus? comes with a significant warning label about sex and violence while also stating that it is all fictionalized, simulated and stylized. My initial thought on reading, was that Gilbert was pulling a fast one and that we would be inundated with nudity, blood and possibly other bodily fluids, he's done it before. I was almost disappointed when Who's Afraid of Titus? was relatively tasteful. Deliberately so. Gilbert is interested in our perceptions and then twisting them. We can have a faithful Shakespeare but why are we afraid to indulge in the darker aspects? Or, worse, why do we hunger for the deepest depraved depths of the text? Are the bard's words enough to satiate our desire for lust and violence? It is a question that is not answered but which is explicitly explored. There is a sacrifice to the gods done whimsically that contrasts strikingly with a vagina and chain saw duet. Gilbert doesn't need to ladle on the gore and shocks, it's all right there in the words and the direction. And the question lingers, does it harm us or does what we manufacture in our minds, what we want to consume, do the harm?

For an intimate space, Gilbert has assembled a nine-person cast who are dedicated and enthused. Brian Smegal as Titus Adronicus handles the prose with aplomb and in true on Avon style. Ray Jacildo as Aaron the Moor punks up the prose and spits it physically into life. Hurnik, who has the most difficult role as our advisor, surrogate and a fistee, is constantly shifting and cajoling and no-one could make the pontifications about YouTube anything less than propagandistic. Max Ackerman and John Humeniuk, the "lustful sons of Tamora," do a dark Mutt and Jeff act on their way to a pastry fate, and Sandy Crawley is a remarkable foil to Smegal as the most important theme (to Titus Adronicus the Shakespearean play) is set in motion. But no-one in the cast, perhaps no-one alive, can hold a flame to the raging inferno that is Elly-Ray Hennessy (Gash!). This Tamora, "Queen of the Goths and later Empress," is a sexy Margaret Hamilton with William Shatner syntax, and when iambic pentameter fails as a vehicle for emotion, she becomes a feral creature. Utterly fearless and striding past camp into divahood, Hennessy also manages to be glamorous and self-possessed while appearing possessed. Her final entrance is runway worthy (as is the uncredited costuming) and, much to Hennessy's delight, earned a round of spontaneous applause. A potent combination of seductive and terrifying that is not just potentially harmful but, potentially lethal.

I'm happy to report that I was not harmed by this particular theatrical adventure, but I certainly was entertained and given much food for thought. Which is the danger, and the delight, of theatre.