(This review is of the older version of the play. There is a new version with the following cast: Palomi Ghosh, Jaimini Pathak, Suhaas Ahuja, Gagan Dev Riar, Ankur Ratan)
The opera ''Carmen'' is one of those universally-appealing theatrical works that has been adapted countless times with varying degrees of success, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous. CLUB DESIRE, which is said to be inspired by the opera, comes dangerously close to the latter end of this spectrum.
To begin with, one wishes the inspiration had dug a little deeper. For ''Carmen'' is a work about fundamental conflicts on several levels: between good and evil, law and lawlessness, society and the self, love and lust. In this, the soldier Don Jose's passion for the wild gypsy girl Carmen is contrasted by the chaste love he shares with his childhood sweetheart Micaela. His need to serve his flag and do his duty as a soldier clashes with Carmen's demands that he throw it all away and follow her (and her smuggler friends) in a life of unbridled freedom.
Carmen too faces a conflict of her own: whether to allow herself to be fettered by the bonds of love which Jose demands; or be free to follow her primal instincts in responding to the irresistible sexual charisma of the bullfighter Escamillo.
CLUB DESIRE dispenses with Micaela's character almost entirely, keeping her firmly offstage with only a couple of half-baked references in the dialogue. Thus she ceases to be an effective counterpoint to Carmen, who in this version is a nightclub singer, appropriately named Chahat (desire, in Hindi). Don Jose becomes Jayam, a somewhat nerdish, language-obsessed poet; and Escamillo, a flashy DJ named Abeer. The personal conflicts are merely twofold: that of Jayam's call of duty towards his dying mother vis-a-vis Chahat's demands; and her choosing between the two men, though even this is made a non-issue when she says it's quite all right to sleep with one man while loving another.
Another conflict of sorts is introduced in Sapan Saran's script by pitting the high art of poetry against the skill required to mix a DJ-set. Hardly earth-shaking; but Ms Saran makes a meal of it. She also holds forth at great length on language, on how ''precious'' words are, with interminable, jejune debates on their correct usage and expression. Considering all of this begins with an etymology of the expletive ''f**k'', it is difficult to take seriously. Ms Saran alternates these intellectual exercises with dialogue that is mercifully naturalistic; and though the latter may not be great writing for the theatre, at least it isn't boring.
The same dichotomy exists in Arundathi Subramaniam's lyrics, which attempt to be pithy and raw but so much ends-up sounding pretentious. A prize line is ''The heart is a verb; and it hurts'' (What does that mean??). And when she tries to be simple (as in Chahat's only ballad, near the end of the play) the results are embarrassingly cloying and cliched.
Sunil Shanbag is an immensely respected director; and one wonders why he chose such trite material to work with. One senses he is trying his best; but there are some longeurs during scenes and awkward transitions between them. Also, one senses his hands are tied by fear of the moral police in this city; the interplay between Chahat and her lovers has about as much sexual aggression as adolescent groping in the school backyard. Ditto for her violent encounters with Jayam.
The music is generally hard rock; much of it monotonous, derivative, tuneless and forgettable. The few exceptions are Chahat's ballad; and a couple of sensuous rhythmic ''loops''. There are even a couple of references to the music in ''Carmen'', with Chahat attempting to sing Carmen's signature Habanera to a pop rhythm.
Which brings one to the performances. Manasi Parekh Gohil is a refreshingly open, unmannered actress; and thus perfect casting for a character like Chahat who is free as a bird. She conveys a sexuality that is integrated into the characterisation rather than a too-obvious add-on. Unfortunately, her voice lacks a true centre, coming across as somewhat high-pitched in speech. In song, however, she employs her lower and middle registers more often...though there is a slight, audible rasp (probably brought-on by misuse) and some strain on the high notes. Her singing of the lyrics is mostly unintelligible in the rock numbers, or made so by the excessively loud band accompanying her.
Faisal Rashid as Jayam gives a finely-graphed characterisation, going from innocent poet to psychotic, spurned lover. One wishes, however, that his character had been made an English poet, as the frequent departures into flowery Hindi are irritating and distracting in what has been advertised as an English play.
Gagan Dev Riar offers comic relief as the vividly-etched nightclub-owner, though the comedy is too broad and stagey to make him truly convincing. On the other hand, Karan Pandit as the DJ has little meat on what is essentially a two-dimensional character; but he makes the best of it, though one misses a more libidinous swagger.
Ultimately, the most powerful image one remembers from CLUB DESIRE is the DJ's simian-like jumping, gesticulating and nodding to a mind-numbing, repetitive, electronically-generated rhythm. This is, sadly, a sign of the times, one of the themes driving the play. However, it is equally sad and apparent that CLUB DESIRE panders to the lowest common denominator in this city's cultural life.
*Jiten S Merchant was the English drama critic for the Times of India (Mumbai) from 1989 to 1997, after which he free-lanced for the paper and on the Internet. He has worked in amateur and professional theatre as actor and sound-designer, and has directed and performed in staged play-readings. Currently, he is an accredited reviewer for Seen and Heard International, one of the oldest and most widely-read online purveyors of music-criticism, for whom he covers concerts of Western Classical music and Opera in Mumbai. His recent pieces are available on his blog: merchant-at-large.blogspot.in
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