Sunday, November 8, 2015

Equus

From the first chant to the final blackout, every beat of Equus pulses with a raw, prickling intensity. Expertly cast, and performed at a clip that leaves you wondering where the 3 hours went, this powerful take on pain, religion, and sanity demands attention. 

For those that don't know the story, Equus centers around a heartbreaking crime, the blinding of six horses, by the local stable hire. Brought to see Dr. Dysart  by the local authority in hopes that the good doctor can help him, the troubled teenager, Alan Strang, powerfully played by Kevin Fanshaw, sulks, stares, and sings his way through the initial meetings. Over time, as trust between patient and doctor grows, we learn more and more about Alan's past and his home life, marching us closer to the answer as to why a boy who so revered horses would attack them with such malice. 

In parallel to Alan's revelations, we learn of Dr. Dysart's increasing malaise towards his role. Burdened by the thought that in "curing" Alan he will essentially rob him of his purest joys, Dysart struggles to reconcile the job he's meant to do and the passion he begrudgingly envies in Alan. As the boy's story of lust and worship builds to a crescendo, Dysart's fascination with his beloved Greek antiquities begins to pale and crack in comparison. Dysart is played with astonishing skill by Charles Numrich, who deftly embodies a man empowered with both the ability to remove his patient's greatest source of pain and the knowledge that gifting Alan with "normalcy" will leave his life lacking. Frequently referring to the sacredness of Alan's pain, the sacredness of each person's pain, we begin to question whether the doctor's years of treating the most damaged of children has sparked in him a near worship of the damage. 

A bare stage is the perfect setting for exploring Alan's mother's near-lustful religiosity and his father's atheism, the foundation of Alan's trauma. Pale, tempered wood, not dissimilar from what you would find in a stable, houses every scene. Just as Alan's world is consumed by the horses, the audience experiences his fragility and passion in the context of a barn. Made famous for its nudity, this production reaches its climax when Alan and his almost-lover, Jill, strip in the stable, and Alan's reverence for his horse god causes a mental and emotional break that culminates in his crime. The choreography of that crime and the use of light to focus on that violence are expertly done, reinforcing at the play's near end that this is not a simple, impassioned moment of weakness, but a visceral, soul-tearing act of violence that shatters a boy and his already fragile family. 

This is a brilliantly done piece of work, and a thrilling introduction for me to the Theatre Coup d'Etat company. Make the time to experience this play and support this group of artists.  Playing November 6-23, Friday-Monday at 7:30. The small theater was packed for our viewing, so reserve your tickets early. 

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