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As the child-whore, Sinead Matthews begins as a husky-voiced bundle of
sexiness, disturbingly so as she plays the little girl so convincingly. As the
extent of Lulu's life-long abuse is revealed, the evening grows more and more
uncomfortable, her patheticness increases and the grisly end (superbly executed)
starts to look like a merciful release.
Ledwich follows a naturalistic route, with only moments of expressionistic
frenzy. Place and time are indeterminate, a turn of the century feel mingling
with bubblewrap and ipod in covert anachronism. The convoluted plot is pared
down for a cast of six, with some doubling for the men.
Performances are strong from Sean Campion, Michael Colgan Paul Copley and
Jack Gordon as the string of husbands and lovers who lust after the girl, only
to top themselves in despair. But it's the women who come out on top, with
Matthews's vulnerable and enticing study of innocence corrupted quite
captivating.
Designer Helen Goddard provides a splendidly dilapidated studio that peels
away veils to finally uncover an ingenious inner stage on which the seedy denouement takes place. It's all got so intense by then that seeing Lulu's final
degradation and death at a physical remove is something of a relief.
There's little let-up in the grimness; most disturbing is Lulu's father's
implied abuse of her as a child and Schoning's admission that he's been pursuing
her from the age of seven. Whether you regard Wedekind's vision as an indictment
of male oppression ("You've made me what I am," Lulu frequently accuses) or a
misogynstic assault, this is a powerful and disturbing production.
Wisely, Ledwich does little to counter the ambiguity and enigma of the piece.
Don't go for comfort or escape.
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