THEATRE: Matthew Krouse
IF, in some afterworld, the great muralist Diego Riviera were to see Helene Lombard playing his wife in Frida Kahlo’s Eyes, he’d probably fall in love all over again. Her dark, angular features are so similar to Kahlo’s, it makes you wonder whether playwright Harry Kalmer created the role especially for the actress.
Kahlo’s actual persona is perhaps of lesser importance, for the scenes of the play that deal directly with her as a character are played with the off-the-cuff coarseness we have come to expect from amigos with sombreros in chili-chip adverts. Kahlo is merely a two- dimensional relic anyway, a subject we’ve come to know only via over-consumerised reproductions of her paintings and photos of her in national dress.
Humour is the key that unlocks the door to the struggles of three different women, all played by Lombard in a crazy turnstile of time, fragmented yet skilfully interwoven for the purposes of the narrative.
A suicidal radio-talkshow host, a suburban housewife and a dead artist all have something in common: not simply their experiences as women negotiating the contemporary world, but as real people trying to arbitrate between their creative endeavours and career expectations in the wake of failing personal
These characters aren’t built to last, but to break. All three seem poised to suffer their own defeats, teetering tenuously on the brink of breakdowns, trying to hold their lives together for no particular purpose.
The radio host harbours a dark secret in her past, the housewife harbours her self- inflicted ignorance, and the dead artist harbours only memory in her oblivion. There is a bleakness which gives rise to a rich and dark humour, similar to that found in Kahlo’s paintings, projected continuously throughout the play.
The general effect is ultimately very South Effrican, assimilating Kahlo into our own canon of weaknesses. While we might spend hundreds of rands purchasing Kahlo kitsch, aptly described by a fictitious critic as “the Doc Martens of feminist art”, we seldom stop to reflect on the real experience of the handicapped woman who spent her life in enormous physical pain.
The fact that the play questions this aspect of our consumerist behaviour is one of its strengths. This is how we strip our beloved icons of their meaning — by investing too much in their surface appeal. Affluent suburbanites are particularly good at it, always on the lookout for quick-fix information, subjects proclaimed as trendy which are then devoured, uncritically.
Some insightful direction from Sandra Prinsloo, and a busy, witty text, anchor the performance of the actress who, at times, comes across as slightly too flighty in her portrayals of three difficult, intricate personalities. Trish Meyer, the housewife, comes off worst, as an overly nasal kugel who could be toned down a touch.
Otherwise it’s a well-balanced, effective production that is not too sparse and not too overladen for its small venue; certainly, one that entertains.
Frida Kahlo’s Eyes is at the Johannesburg Civic Theatre until February 24