Have you ever had a restless night’s sleep plagued by strange dreams? Then nodded with a pronounced ‘ahh, that explains it’ upon discovering it was a full moon? The howl of hungry wolves, and the bloody transformation of their fictional were-cousins, have long added to a nagging suspicion that madness is somehow reflected in its silvery glare.
This is what makes Riley Tapp’s set design for a new production of French-Algerian philosopher Albert Camus’s wild-hearted play Caligula sublime. The long, hard stare into the madness of Roman Emperor Gaius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, aka Caligula, plays out under a vast circular mirror hung above the stage floor, styled to look like pale marble. It seems like a vast full moon, and the unhinged actions of Caligula below are warped by the mirror’s imperfect surface.
It's a remarkably simple, yet devastatingly effective representation of the mayhem unfurling below in this production directed by Robert Johnson, which features a large cast of 12 actors – the crowd around a banquet table that dominates the stage and centres the action around the Roman senate.
Lilian Dalton is a commanding presence as Caligula, wearing a flock-patterned purple suit and a silver chain as a laurel wreath. Returning from a long absence following the death of his lover (and sister!) Drusilla, Caligula has set his sights on owning the moon. It's a totally normal and cool request that he commands of wise counsel Helicon – Karlis Zaid in a kind, and yet intriguingly mercurial performance.
This folly spirals into ever greater abominations as Caligula (uncle of Nero, that other go-to mad Roman emperor) attempts to reshape Rome, and indeed the world, to fit his increasingly unhinged purposes, sparking murder, mayhem and debauchery. Most of his senate are appalled by Caligula’s dangerous delusions, leading to much chatter about the need for assassination – that grand denouement of Roman tragedies.
But there are alternate ‘facts’ at play. If Dalton’s Caligula starts at nine and works towards 11 on the Richter scale of uh oh, then Michelle Robertson’s more subtle collapse as Caesonia, another lover in thrall to this would-be god, is all the more captivating. It’s electrifying to watch Robertson’s remarkable transformation as Caesonia, surrendering her sanity to support his mad quests and, in doing so, becoming monstrous herself.
Sadly, the intriguingly queer and feminist possibilities of gender-swapping Caligula aren’t fully teased out here. This idea is explored more successfully through Jake Matricardi’s nymph-like performance as the poetic Scipio. A fascinating character, Scipio’s close friendship with the emperor is shattered by Caligula ordering the murder of his father during increasingly bloodthirsty and bizarre policy proclamations.
And yet, Scipio can still be swayed by Caligula’s poetic way with words, a thrilling contradiction amplified by Matricardi’s diaphanous costume, also dreamt up by Tapp, that calls to mind the dark mesh outfits of queer clubbing – nipple jewellery and all. If only there were a bit more of this stuff.
Too much is played straightlaced in Johnson’s production. Sure, the porny Helen Mirren and Malcolm McDowell film version may be infamously A BIT MUCH, but when you bill your show as bearing blood and glitter while referencing both American Psycho and RuPaul’s Drag Race in the marketing, it’s fair to expect a little more pizzazz with your pontificating.
Still, Johnson does have a firm hand on the dramatic heft of Camus’ text. Dalton is fantastic, especially in an unnerving scene where she dons a fake pregnant belly to the horror of Caligula’s rapidly defecting followers. Her interplay with Robertson is also magnetic, and they call to mind the conspiring of another mad king and his lover corrupted by furious ambition – more Macbeth than Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.
This epic two-hour show cannot help but arouse a terrible dread that hooks you in. Despite what Instagram quotes would have you believe, sometimes it’s best not to reach for the moon.
