First; a question: is A Wounded Knife a fantasy? Glancing at the characters they certainly seem fantastical who have fantastical names; there’s a prince, Biro, a queen, Sleev, a tailor, a killer, a maid, a surgeon and a minister of justice known exotically as Globe, Houth, Tooshay, Fashoda and Quittur. Then there’s the ambiguity of place. What provence is the prince prince of? Nobody says and it doesn’t seem important. The play feels more analogy or fairytale then the stuff of kitchen sink confessions, so shall we move on happy to say it is a fantasy? Look closer; if it is more tale than detail then what sort of magic does it contain?
The story: the King is dead, his nephew, Biro, wants to marry his Aunt, Sleev, and has already seen her naked. The murderer, Houth (a condemmed man), has killed Globe’s daughter, but Quittur, the minister of justice, does not execute Houth much to the victim and purpertrator’s disapointment. Sleev’s daughter the surgeon Fashoda has unfortunatly killed a poet and thinks of suicide and the optimal conditions for death.
Okay, so murder and royalty are the bread and butter of the fantastic but meditations on when one should die and when one should kill tastes of a very different flavour, one of a parable or a thought experiment rather then bedtime story. Then there’s the recurring allusion to chess, the great metaphor of political manveuring and psychological manipulation; of course there’s trickery in fairytales but calcultated plots of power and murder are not what they’re known for. Then lastly, and importantly, there is an absolute lack of mythical creatures, supernatural intravenings and heroic quests beyond using others for their own ends. Summed up like that it sounds more House of Cards then Puss-in-Boots.
If this is a fairytale, it’s unusual. If it is an allegory, it’s complicated. I would conclude by saying this: this is not a showing of a magical imagination of a far away story disconnected from the air of contemporary life, not even an impression of it but an compression. If this is kitchen sink drama then it has cut the plain window, catching the beauty of afternoon light, into a dark, colorful, bold gem. Using the same materials but using only what is nesseccery to see through it.
The power of this play is that it goes to the heart and refuses to move. Beautifully brutal it contains a force that does not need to be forceful, it is a power that is not merely powerful. This is about politics but more of the politics of people then that of parties. This is esstential realism and pure theatre.
"A monster breakfast with tea, please"
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