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A Triumph of
Myth Page 60 Abdul-Rehman Malik finds Gaddafi: A Living Myth
high-octane political theatre that’s provocative, subversive and
inventive, a uniquely British musical tailor-made for an age of terror.
With scriptwriter Shan Khan’s brilliant and provocative libretto, at times dissonantly, delivered over the incendiary and inventive compositions of Steve Chandra Savale and Asian Dub Foundation, Gaddafi (directed by David Freeman) is high-energy, in-your-face music theatre. Performed against the backdrop of a hanging paper set, Gaddafi moves through Libya’s turbulent past at a swift pace, switching between time periods indicated (a bit clumsily) by surtitle and image. Animation and live video are projected on the white backdrop as it’s bled upon, torn up, broken through to expose another hanging paper sheet, symbolically revealing another aspect of the man and his country’s tumultuous history. We witness the brutal Italian occupation, the martyrdom of Libya’s warrior-saint Umar Mukhtar through the eyes of Bedouin boy who will grow up to lead a bloodless coup and place Libya at heart of the dead-end struggle for Arab unity, cold war geopolitics and international petroleum intrigue, that will make him the bogeyman of the Middle East. The Reagan-Gaddafi showdown – which leads to the 1986 American attacks that killed scores of Libyan civilians including Gaddafi’s adopted daughter – forms a central part of the narrative. Reagan is characterised as a blustery, single-minded, perma-tanned actor playing the role of global sheriff, mouthing off catchy insults whilst launching Tomahawks from the Bay of Benghazi. It may not exactly be history, but it’s entertaining and there is little doubt that the Reagan caricature is meant to remind us of the current gunslinger in the White House. The multicultural cast is oh-so-London, particularly the chorus line of Gaddafi’s women bodyguards – stiletto wearing, gun toting, bodyguard babes who have given themselves to the service of their country. They are a stereotype defying real-life creation of Gaddafi’s imagination and are brought to the stage with aplomb. But the show belongs to Ramon Tikaram who inhabits the lead role. Brooding, seething, plotting, playing – Tikaram captures Gaddafi’s emotional extremes and creative epiphanies. His staccato, pulsating delivery commandingly cuts through the clamour. It’s engaging, intense and at times unnerving. The rousing finale has the cast singing “Gaddafi Superstar!” It’s cabaret meets casbah. It’s not far from the truth: an Arab nationalist turned Pan-African champion – Gaddafi counts among his dearest friends Nelson Mandela and is indeed a superstar to some of world’s poorest people who have benefited from Libya’s generous development aid. How you dare pass judgement against me, Gaddafi says accusingly at the opera’s conclusion, when your torture chambers now outnumber mine. It’s a compelling argument in a morally confused age. Ramon as Gaddafi smirks: if I didn’t exist, you would have gotten an actor to play me. It’s hard not to agree. |