Over the weekend, Motley will be showcasing its latest offering, Riding Madly Off in All Directions , at Prithvi Theatre. Based on writings by Canadian humorist Stephen Leacock (1869-1944), the play is directed by Naseeruddin Shah, and features him alongside wife Ratna, and children, Heeba, Imaad and Vivaan. In this column’s metaverse, the copy editor is likely to be pulling their hair out over how the piece is liberally populated with the actors’ given names. We’re not meant to be on first-name terms when the style-book emphatically says, “Last names only,” with the humble riposte goes, “But they are all Shahs.” The play itself makes fun of all things pedantic. And, true to their group’s title, and wading past the faint resemblances of countenance or demeanour, the Shahs do come across as an acting ensemble of disarming diversity: a true motley crew if ever there is one. That in itself ought to silence those who feel a family enterprise such as this smacks of a veritable old boy club, while conjuring up visions of the cast rehearsing in salubrious outposts, with siestas in the afternoon taken el flagrante , and more than their fair share of vada pao breaks.
As is announced, in his prime, perhaps ‘more people had heard of Leacock, than they had heard of Canada.’ The title is from the story, Gertrude the Governess — “(he) flung himself upon his horse and rode madly off in all directions.” Here, the phrase is applied to the play’s manic propensity to fly off at tangents, with each set-piece completely unrelated to what preceded it. Leacock never expressly wrote for the stage; this is an assemblage of excerpts from his assorted papers, and given how eminently stageworthy much of it seems, the curation must be given some credit.
Of course, there is a little nugget of apologia proffered, and then dispensed with as promptly. Heeba calls out Leacock’s misogyny, his racism, and his imperialism, while Ratna speaks of how he helped a female relative through college, so perhaps he was ‘a product of his times’ and should be cut some slack. It’s a half-hearted attempt at polemics that has nothing to do with the play, which is never really about Leacock, the man. It does, perhaps, assuage the conscience of certain cast-members so that they can join in guilt-free. And they do, with much flair and audacity.
In fact, the only piece that betrays a regressive streak is one that speaks of a futuristic world in which men and women have become virtually indistinguishable. It’s a bizarre world that Naseer faithfully reproduces with his trademark proficiency and locution, but he cannot quite tide over its innate tedium and monotony. Heeba comes across as much too serious at times, but there is no mistaking that here is an actor with an uncommon gravitas. She dabbles in some double-play in a scene at the bank, which could acquire some topical heft in this age of demonetisation. Ratna’s wonderful set-piece on the people who inhabit math problems — person A, person B et al. — garners a healthy share of the evening’s chuckles. Hers is a performance filled with the knowing irony that made Leacock such a genius. Imaad provides a soothing verbal soundscape, when he talks of bedtime tales that have been bowdlerised. You can listen, and then look away (the other actors have doubled up as tramps in this scene) and then return, and it is all seamless. Few actors can speak with that quality of being both heard and not heard, and hold an audience completely. It is a turn that isn’t attention-seeking but quietly effective.
This production benefits from elegant lighting by the ever-dependable Arghya Lahiri and the upcoming Rahul Rai. It is the only technical department in which the play truly shines. The set design is nondescript, even distractingly artless, and a white screen provides the backdrop for projections of dreary quotes and a deadpan punch-line or two, and some slapdash shadow play.
The surprise element
The surprise packet of the evening is Vivaan, who pitches in a revelatory performance. He works with unresolved material, its loose ends never tied up satisfyingly, but his mien is that of an imperfect entertainer. As he assumes the part of, say, a budding impresario trying to perfect a party trick, or a woefully inadequate conjuror, he displays a flourish that is as much physical as it is verbal. He appears to delivers his lines after a swig and a gargle, swirling and savouring each word before sputtering out a worthy anecdote, with its arms and legs perfectly intact. All these imperfections are conveyed with an expert hand. He is the only actor who appears to speak in his own voice, rather than a trained tongue.
Watching a play that’s entirely populated by actors of the same family feels a little like eavesdropping on a private soirée of sorts. The summery attire and dancehall music, seemingly of 1920s vintage, adds to this distinctly trepidatious quality. Almost at tenterhooks, onlookers anticipate furtive revelations or star-crossed dynamics to be catapulted into their midst. Instead we are treated to an evening with an air of all-purpose general amusement, where, rather than garrulous guffaws or any of that ‘rolling off the aisles’ business, polite tittering is the order of the day, all with a compulsive smile plastered on our faces throughout. This must not in any way detract from the moments of comedic gold sporadically served up by what is essentially a platter of zesty hors d’oeuvres (without the ham), than a full meal of theatrical engagement. In the blurb, a ‘smorgasbord’ is how the play describes itself, and quite rightly so.
The writer is a playwright and stage critic
Riding Madly Off in All Directionswill be staged on December 2 at 9 p.m; December 3 at 6 p.m. and 9 p.m.; December 4 at 5 p.m. and 8 p.m. at Prithvi Theatre. For more details see bookmyshow.com
