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Review: The Habsburg Tragedies

 The Habsburg Tragedies
 The Habsburg Tragedies  The Habsburg Tragedies

The premiere of The Habsburg Tragedies was an evening of two halves at the Lyric Theatre's Naughton Studio. Composer Conor Mitchell's clever combination of music and theatre - 'melodrama' as he has described it in the manner of Stravinsky and Walton - examined the fate of two significant sisters from the dynasty.

Historically, Catherine of Aragon and 'mad' Juana of Spain illustrate the role of women in the sixteenth century. First we saw Abigail McGibbon in a white trouser suit outlining her fate as Catherine the child bride of Arthur, later the young consort of rapacious Henry VIII. Some of her music was beautiful and the Belfast Ensemble delivered the film-like score with real skill. There was a haunting rising melody in triplets that seemed to suggest hope triumphing over Catherine's tough experience.

When Henry wanted to swap wives and install Anne Boleyn the incumbent used her Catholicism and cleverness to try to foil his intent. She claimed her first marriage was never consummated, her second the true union in the eyes of the Church. The piece is titled The Moot Virginity of Catherine of Aragon. It didn't end well but Ms McGibbon had some good material to work with. As she reminisced, writhed, declaimed and even answered a modern phone, the studio remained full of clouds of what smelt like joss sticks.

There were cushions for brave audience members and this blurred the boundaries between past and present, theatrical presentation and audience.

The subtext was all about the Reformation and a divided Europe, which sounds topical. Yet although at one point Catherine declared that "all Europe (is) all undone" I am not sure that emerged clearly. What worked well, though, was the technique of actors speaking in counterpoint to the music.  

In the second piece, the melodrama called The Final Confession of Juana 'The Mad', we got Catherine's sister and her daughter Catalina. Stella McCusker looked superb in red on her massive white cube of a throne, and she spoke and ranted very well. The character of her daughter seemed equally on the edge, as the woman destined to become queen of Portugal brought out a collection of pickled creatures, mainly insects, in bottles. Jo Donnelly found a nice persona here, neurotic yet convincing.

It's always tricky, post-Python, to make straight references to the Spanish Inquisition but the Queen's imagined confession was powerful. The best passages were the role playing between mother and daughter. Juana was sent to a nunnery for a couple of decades because of her madness. The tragedy emerged in the queen's movement between grandeur and despair. Conor Mitchell, who played one of two keyboards expertly and directed, has experimented with form and material here to interesting effect.