Brian Smegal in “Timon of Athens”, Photo by Parmida Vand, Howland Sessions Media
I discovered this play during the first pandemic lockdown—an ideal opportunity to familiarize myself with more of the canon, specifically lesser performed Shakespeare. Coriolanus and Timon of Athens, both distinctly surly works, really captured my imagination and I wish both got more love! William Shakespeare & Friends (with the support of Dandelion Theatre) have given me my first live experience of Timon of Athens, in a minimalist, moody production directed by Max Ackerman.
At the top, we’re thrust into a disorienting, invented prologue. Set to a haunting cover of Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are A-Changin’” and bathed fiercely in red by lighting designer Za Hughes, we’re confronted with a harrowing scene of some vague yet dire circumstances. Intensified by our complete lack of context, this urgent and distressing cacophony sets us fully on edge from the outset. By contrast, Timon’s opening dinner party is a respite, though we can’t trust it because we know whatever awful, bewildering flash-forward fragment of story we just experienced lies in wait.
Timon is a wealthy benefactor adored by most of Athens. Brian Smegal is endearingly suave in his first scene—a charming portrait of an aging, comfortable man too generous and complacent to allow destitute philosopher Apemantus’ (James Evans) cynicism to harsh his vibe. Amused and tolerant, he welcomes this misanthrope into the festivities, much to the chagrin of a quartet of sycophantic tradesfolk—a Merchant (Chi-Chi Onuah), a Jeweller (Alexandra Milne), a Poet (Mo Zeighami) and a Painter (Nicholas Eddie)—all vying for his patronage. Each of them is suitably smarmy, though Zeighami and Eddie’s hilarious dynamic really shines.
Ray Jacildo portrays Alcibiades, a military general banished from Athens, with a hostile charisma. He is all smiles until suddenly he’s shouting and pulling knives out. In his fervent rants, we recognize that the anger and aggression were always there, just channelled into an opportunistic, gritted-teeth civility.
The most poignant character to me is Flavius, Timon’s loyal servant. Zubin Vincent gives an understated, quietly heartfelt portrayal. Attempting to get his generous employer’s attention during the peak of his spending, the worry on his face allows us to see his true concern for Timon. And once the money is gone and Timon’s beneficiaries have nothing but excuses when called upon to return the many favours they’ve received, it is Flavius who sticks by him, the only one who truly loved him.
Evans excels at playing crass, opinionated shit disturbers. For his Apemantus, he seems to be channelling a little of the energy from his hipster conspiracy-theorist character in RETROGRADE: The Concert Experience from Fringe 2023. He and Smegal have a particularly great rapport in their final scene together, regarding each other at opposite ends of the sunken stage—the veneer of money and status no longer distinguishing them. It isn’t Timon’s loss of money, though, that really levels the playing field, it is his recent disillusionment with people.
One of the most intriguing aspects of this juxtaposition of Apemantus and Timon is this question of whether Timon’s misanthropy is pure. Apemantus calls him out for raging against humanity, not as an essential philosophy, but an “unmanly melancholy,” a mere reaction to his “change of fortune.” The story gets dark and wild as Timon happens upon a fortune hidden in his isolated cave. The people from his past, still greedy and smelling opportunity, seek him out again.
In his mad scenes as a cave hermit raging against the Athen’s populace (and, by extension, the world at large), Smegal really flourishes in a whimsically abject mode. At the opening performance, he did need to call for a line a handful of times, perhaps due to insufficient rehearsal time. His hold over the audience is secure enough to withstand these minor hiccups; oddly enough, it even seems to work thematically, echoing Timon’s own desperate grasping for purchase in a world where he’s lost his footing.
Ackerman has great trust in the text and its traction. There is no set to speak of and very sparing use of props. The carrots are spot on, an earthy symbol of humble sustenance (“roots”). The key scenic element is the random garbage strewn about the stage at Timon’s downfall; the squalid mess lays there and gets kicked about, a tangible manifestation of his sullied view of the world. Ashley Skye’s sound design supports the atmosphere, though the choice to have a song playing so loudly underneath Alcibiades’ final speech is a misstep—the lyrics undermine the text.
An immersive experience of the play is offered, the front row seats allow you to partake in some food and drink as Timon’s invited guests. For those with social anxiety: don’t stress, this element is entirely low-key.
Timon of Athens
running November 12 to November 17, 2024
The Theatre Centre, BMO Incubator (1115 Queen St. W.)
running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes (no intermission)
Brian Smegal, Alexandra Milne, James Evans in “Timon of Athens”, Photo by Parmida Vand, Howland Sessions Media