Turning Japanese
Ido
(Lucy Bath) returns home from work one day to find his wife and
son have been taken hostage by violent prison escapee Ogoro (Tim
Walter). The press harass Ido about how he feels. The police inspector
promises a positive outcome, but obviously doesn’t believe
his own assurances. So Ido takes matters into his own hands. He
takes Ogoro’s wife and son hostage. What follows is a decent
into chaos which will change everyone forever.
The Bee is about metamorphosis, self-actualisation
and/or self-destruction, depending upon your viewpoint. A bee
is a placid insect until threatened. Then it stings its aggressor,
killing itself in the process.
Ido is a hard working salary man, devoted husband
and attentive father. His life is one of obligation and duty,
which he upholds without complaint. But the way he chooses to
deal with the threat to his family changes him. He says he becomes
his real self – a violent, mutilating, rapist with no thought
for how it will affect his family or Ogoro’s family. He
becomes obsessed with being this new man who spits in the face
of laws, morals and the despair and pain caused by his actions.
He becomes a criminal, a better criminal than Ogoro.
The Bee was written by Hideki Noda and Colin Teevan,
based on the original story Mushiriai (Plucking at Each Other)
by Yasutaka Tsutsui. It’s been played around the world,
apparently to great critical acclaim.
The play utilises kabuki style costuming and make
up styles. But Ido does not wear white face paint like all the
other characters. It’s an obvious difference which seems
to represent Ido’s life-changing journey. He’s changing
and his mask is gone. The Bee also turns Kabuki theatre on its
head by casting men to play women and vice versa. It’s a
nice metaphor considering how Ido’s world is turned upside
down and inside out in the play.
The set is one big room with high white display
cases on each wall. On the floor in the middle is a rattan rug
and low white table. The bookcase on the back wall features a
white screen onto which is projected footage of the Inspector.
It’s strikingly effective. In various scenes it helps create
dream sequences. There’s also a karaoke version of My Way
sung in Japanese, some Japanese accents and the clever use of
costumes, props, sound and mime.
When Ido and Ogoro negotiate by telephone, they
stare straight at each other across the stage. The gun is a black
glove. When Ido wears the glove it’s as if the gun is a
part of him. It makes his transformation seem even more inevitable.
Ido is also the narrator. When he talks about how he feels and
what he plans, he talks directly to the audience. No fourth wall
here folks. All these devices combine to create a seething tension
as we witness Ido’s desperate scramble for power, which
takes him straight into the mouth of madness.
Lucy Bath is excellent as Ido. A suit never looked
so good on a woman. She is totally convincing and utterly relentless
as the doomed Ido. Tim Walter plays both Ogoro and the Inspector.
He switches between comedy and drama effortlessly. He also gives
great Japanese accent.
The Bee is a moral tale about class conflict and
the pressure of social expectations in a society governed by ceremony
and duty. Ido will die trying to be free and buck a system where
individuality is often subordinated to the collective good, powerlessness
is a way of life and women are largely subservient to men. No
wonder western audiences can relate to well to the play’s
themes.
The Bee is one of the most disturbing plays I’ve
ever seen. The depravities Ido sinks to, the total disregard he
develops for not only Ogoro’s family, but his own wife and
child as well, is really chilling. How can a conservative man
who has observed all the necessary social niceties throughout
his life turn into such a monster? Is it society’s fault
or was the potential always there? Is this a reason to follow
the rules or is it the outcome of rules being imposed? The Bee
does not answer these questions, it merely asks them, in a way
that definitively captures your attention and affects your equilibrium.
Philippa Wherrett
