Mad Forest

Could it be, that almost twenty years later, Mad Forest remains one of the few accurate and provocative explorations of Romania’s so-called revolution in December 1989? As part of a Romanian generation forever in the shadow of these events (I was too young to remember anything other than my mother storming into the kitchen, clapping her hands, telling me the Ceauşescus had died), watching Mad Forest was a mix between reflecting on a past still muted by torn out pages of history books, and reading the foundations of a society still on its way to rediscovering an identity.

Originally commissioned by Central School of Speech and Drama in 1990, Mad Forest was the result of a collaboration between Caryl Churchill, director Mark Wing-Davey, ten Central students and Romanian Drama students from Bucharest. It was performed at the Embassy Theatre in London, The National Theatre in Bucharest and the Royal Court back in London.

Divided into three parts, Mad Forest maintains a dialogue between personal and collective turmoil, weaving aspects of Romanian society before and after the revolution with accounts and details of the 21-23rd December 1989. Part One is set several months before the revolution. Lucia is putting her family and friends in jeopardy by embarking on a relationship with an American man she wants to marry. Part two is formed entirely of accounts from the first three days of the revolution, told by various characters, from a flower seller to a member of the Securitate – all with Eastern European accents that separates this act from the rest of the play. Part three returns to Lucia’s family a few months after the revolution, in preparation for Florina’s (Lucia’s sister) wedding.

Mad Forest is elegant and intense under JMK Award Winner Caroline Steinbeis’ direction, playing with notions of ideological repression, the nature of the Romanian people and what December 1989 truly meant to a society.

The play takes its title from the vast forest that used to cover southern Romania, known for its deceptive paths and secret roads that only the locals knew. Each scene is introduced by a character attempting to learn Romanian, holding their guidebook, winding round the forest of the play. And indeed, the play travels blindfolded through the histories of each character in moments of genuine conflict, gradually passing unknown territories of the future.

Movement is almost a second language in this performance, and its precision and spirit bring the worlds of the characters alive, breaking through a complex web of themes. Many scenes are characterized by the domestic: cueing for meat, waiting for the tram, a family gathering, and the beautifully choreographed, almost explosive final scene that reveals the secrets of the people who still remain hungry for lost power. All the details of this production are strikingly accurate and unpretentious.

Intertwined with the short scenes are two important Romanian symbols, the angel and the vampire. Under Steinbeis’ direction the scenes that depict them are not grotesque and bold enough to carry the underlying significance they cry out for. Instead of reminding the audience of the forest we are passing through, its trees packed with similes of human experience, they remain vague and unobtrusive.

Mad Forest is an epic and daring play, and, in this production, the cast rises to the occasion with unbreakable energy and pinpoint focus; portraying characters whose melodrama is symbolic of Romania’s socio-political climate. Although not always clear with intention, Caroline Steinbeis’ direction brings forward the best attributes of the play, looking at the forest rather than getting lost in its trees.