Almeida, London
In Emily Mann's new version, the action of Lorca's tremendous 1936 play has been shifted from Andalusia to rural Iran. This intensifies the atmosphere of oppression and yields one remarkable image, when the house of the play's title fills with over 20 burqa-clad mourning women. But Bijan Sheibani's production focuses on the script's emotional intensity and leaves us to work out the political implications.
Lorca's theme, as the critic Eric Bentley once pointed out, is "the attempt to preserve honour in the face of the sexual instinct": hence the autocratic Bernarda Alba's fatal decision to keep her daughters under lock and key, only allowing the eldest to be wooed by a prospective suitor. But Shohreh Aghdashloo, herself Iranian, wisely resists the temptation to make the ruling matriarch a melodramatic villain or fascist monster; instead she plays her as a still-attractive woman of iron conviction whose obsession with reputation, money and class destroys her family.
What I like about Sheibani's production is its clarity. Each scene begins with the click of a camera shutter and a flash of light, as if we are indeed watching the "photographic document" that Lorca intended. The sounds and silences are perfectly orchestrated: when, for instance, we hear the sudden kick of a stallion against the bleached walls of Bunny Christie's set, it is a solitary thud rather than, as sometimes happens, a virtual stampede. The power battle within the house is also well-caught, with Jane Bertish lending the chief servant a weathered wisdom and a courageous willingness to stand up to her mistress. And Hara Yannas, playing the mutinous daughter who defies her mother's tyranny, memorably suggests both aching physical desire and the death-wish of a woman who says of her lover: "When I look into his eyes, it's like I am slowly drinking his blood." It is a riveting evening that, in 100 uninterrupted minutes, conveys the essence of Lorca's tragedy.