By Esther Costello
LONDON [Jan. 2005]: So you thought talk was king? Not according to Broadway, if the latest trend in live theatre is any indication. Welcome to the extraordinary world of Deaf Mute Theatre, aka DMT, where the actors are as silent as the audience members are expected to be.
Surprised? Well, you’d better get used to it. Just look at the crowds winding around the block in Times Square or London’s West End. Every seat and every session sells out almost immediately. And what is it about the faces in the queues that seem a little odd? Of course, non-English speaking tourists are flocking to the productions - Japanese, Italians, Arabs - who once would not have contemplated attending English language shows.
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The latest DMT production is The Golden Virgin, a steamy portrayal of 20th century lust which The Village Voice described as ‘a smoldering drawing room drama where the object seems to be the removal of one’s drawers’. The character of Laszlo can best be called a conniving cad, while the coquettish Hortense seems a bit too good to be true. Throw in a corpse, a dumb waiter, an orangutan butler, and other mysterious goings on, and you’re in for a night to remember. But no dialogue. |
The lead roles are played by husband and wife thespians, Frank and Emma Chaney, who are at the forefront of the new movement. “DMT takes us back to the true meaning of acting”, explains Frank, “gesture becomes all important, as you can’t rely on babbling dialogue to carry the narrative.” “Pantomime, sign language and facial expressions are the tools of our trade”, adds Emma, signing excitedly, “and you need to be super fit; it’s physically very demanding”.
But if you think that DMT is just a passing fad, then think again. ‘Traditional’ actors are learning to sign. Kevin Spacey and Ben Kingsley are reported to have become so proficient that they indulge in masterful word games, all in animated silence. Their pantomime fights are becoming the stuff of legend.
So what can audiences expect? Try this sample from The Golden Virgin to whet your appetite.
Scene: Hortense is seated in the drawing room, engrossed in her needle work. Laszlo enters, bearing gifts.
Laszlo (bows; removes his hat) …..
Hortense (blushes; a little smile) …..
Laszlo (he offers her gifts: nylon stockings; a portrait of Stalin) …..
Hortense (pleased, she admires the quality) …..
Laszlo (places a penis cover from an Irian Jayan tribesman in the palm of her hand, then twirls his moustache) ….. Hortense (looks puzzled as she handles the strange object) ….. Laszlo (takes liberties, with a lascivious leer) ….. Hortense (aghast, she slaps his face) ….. Laszlo (undeterred, he grabs his prey) ….. Hortense (cowers before him) ….. |
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The orangutan butler bursts into the room, runs around crazily, then rips open the door of the dumb waiter. A corpse flops out.
Laszlo (furious, grabs a blunderbuss from its wall mounting) …..
He chases the butler out of the room.
Hortense (alone, sobs into her needle work) …..
Curtain.
Heady stuff indeed. Look out Tony Awards, silence is about to be golden. And as for silent movies…..