St Andrews Radio

Shakespeare did it first. Well, to be perfectly and totally historically accurate, British history did it first and foremost, but it was the bard of Stratford-upon-Avon who committed it to universal memory. Then Laurence Olivier did it, Blackadder did it and Pacino also did it. So why shouldn’t a troupe of brave St Andean souls do it as well?

Director Charlotte Branfield’s ambitious vision dares to tackle the Renaissance tragedy in a Baz Lurhmann-esque style: keeping the original verse pretty much unchanged, but setting the plot in the fictitious LDN High and reversing the characters’ genders. Bold? Yes. Well-acted? Definitely. Confusing? Pretty much. Any random member of the audience might have figured out that it’s all a vicious race for power, glory and the throne of… hmm… the position of head cheerleader, but a solid knowledge of Shakespearian drama or medieval history would be pre-requisites in order to make out who Bucks or Catesby are.

Set-wise, the courageous production did not disappoint one bit. Venue 1 quite appropriately metamorphosed into an American high-school (took me quite a while to figure out the subtlety of selling pop-corn during the interval, just as they do at football matches), complete with lockers and a green floor reminiscent of grass. And may one also add that the Siberian temperatures literally sent shivers up and down your spine, thus aiding the gloomy atmosphere which envelops the scene as Ricky’s sanity (what was left of it, anyway) is crumbling to pieces as she is haunted by the spectres of her debatably innocent victims. The Battle of Bosworth is re-enacted as a cheerleading face-off and the dominance of blood-red lighting only contributes to suggestions of gore, tyranny and cruel manipulation – the hatred-filled drive that governs Ricky’s dismal deeds.

Initially, I had my doubts that a crippled cheer-leader would even be accepted for try-outs, but the deep and emotionally gaping wounds the anti-hero bears are only reflected by a massive scar, emphasizing the underlying theme of skin-deep beauty which governs societal acceptance nowadays. Maia Krall-Fry does a wonderful job at portraying the amoral criminal, delivering Ricky’s intricate monologues whilst adopting a crouching stance, suggestive of the emblematic character’s original physical deformities. The hand-made cheerleading outfits (kudos to designers Millie Wilkinson and Kyle Mest) mirrored the infamous war of the Roses, and even though the illustrious line that echoes Richard’s despair was not featured (because, honestly, a cheerleading battle is no proper place for a horse), Ricky’s demise is as dramatic as Shakespeare himself might have envisaged it: succumbing to her own unquenched thirst for power.

All in all, Paper Plane Productions managed to pull off an uncommon adaptation – yet can one really reduce the onslaught for the English throne to a clique brawl in an American high-school? Impressive, majestic, forward and well-choreographed, this novel adaptation caricatures a tragedy in a venture not many would have embarked on. Risky as was ‘Ricky III’, the final effect made it worthwhile.