My Foul Lady: Notes on Fair is Foul

“All actors backstage!” a voice yells. I’m unable to contain my laughter, my gaze trained on a friend lying down, settling himself comfortably under a black sheet. He’s positioned on the side of the stage that’s right next to the other exit door, not the one the audience usually enters the Blackbox Theatre from. A cauldron adorned with a flower crown occupies centre stage. It’s the last Sunday of November. I’m waiting for Fair is Foul, a production staged by The Green Room, Ashoka University’s theatre club, to begin. Pitched as an anthology play featuring women through history who defied convention, the poster featured a triptych of heroines bathed in resplendent lighting. 

Deviyaansh Sharma (UG'28), dressed in a regal red cloak, steps forward from the sound console in order to make the opening announcement. “My lady, give me lights!” he commands Ryann Lahiri (UG'29), who designed and manned them alongside Noyonika Dutta (UG'27) for the production. In a booming voice, Sharma cautions us about ‘adult language’ and, of course, murder. 

“Eye of newt!” It’s a beautiful first impression of our three witches. Kiara Welde (UG'29) lets loose an unsettling cackle, and “Macbeth,” the first act directed by Rishika Sharma (UG'29) begins. Ishaan Varior (UG'28) snarls a remark that rivals the first: this time, it’s a whore as ugly as a neighbour’s newborn. I’m captivated by Mohammed Rayyaan Rahman’s (UG'29) accompanying twig, lisp, and drawn on black lips. All of the makeup is quite intricate, further solidifying the bond between the trio, a bond that has even more significance as the play progresses. 

I’m reminded of a pack of hyenas as the witches grovel and stalk their way through, gathering finally around the majestic cauldron. A hand reaches out from within, holding up a sheet of paper. But this illusion is shattered the minute the scene ends and a stagehand exits, holding the cauldron around him. There are peals of laughter, but I’m left thinking about how much more effective these transitions could have been if the play had employed complete blackouts instead of leaving the working lights on. 

A spotlight falls on a messenger as he delivers a decree from what appears to be a very long receipt. Sowjanya Ganeshram’s (UG'28) Lady Macbeth is incomplete without a flaming red light washing over everything. She’s a lush femme fatale in a flowing dress and braid crowns. Ganeshram’s body language, in particular, was elegant and subtle to a fault. Every smile and lift of the eyebrow is perfectly measured as she shifts seamlessly from joy to anger to fear to madness.

However, I found the dialogue being entirely in verse to be a limiting factor. While staying true to the language of the original text is a commendable effort, there were instances when I could feel actors stumble over archaic phrases, breaking the serene atmosphere. Shashank Indhu Manoj (UG'28), while initially promising in his portrayal of an anxious Macbeth, lapsed eventually into a delivery of lines that bordered on mechanical. “I was so transfixed by your beauty — that I have forgotten my line.” Manoj motions towards the sound console, where he is prompted by Trisha Gandhi (UG'29). I learn later that this was a deliberate, scripted moment. Who would’ve thought? 

Sharma’s entrance as King Duncan is understandably pompous, adorned as he is with a trailing red cape and a paper crown that rose from the ashes of a Burger King birthday party. I appreciated how he made the character both gentle and fierce at the same time, with his signature booming voice and earnest grin. It’s a shame that real candles are not allowed inside, I found myself thinking, as we inched closer to the episode’s climax. But perhaps the most meaningful set element was the carefully placed white screen on the side of the stage, with three lights shining down upon it. The effect created, of the audience being able to see only the shadows of the actors behind the screen, was uncannily haunting. Macbeth murders the king, but it’s the lady’s desperation, and later descent into mania, that we see as she attempts to scrub the remnants of blood from her husband’s shirt. 

Varior rubs his hands, and we are transported to greener pastures as the “Deer Woman” segment, directed by Aditi Vadhavkar (UG'29) begins. Sharma now steps into the role of a man losing his sanity as three women surrounding him scream endlessly. It’s a familiar trope in campus theatre— as I have termed it— but the throbbing lights make it a freshly disturbing spectacle. The titular Deer Woman, played by Bidisha Maharjan (UG'29), could just as easily be wearing Halloween makeup. Maharjan, a dancer who also choreographed the breathless sequence, seemed to move as if in a blank-faced trance, stopping only to kill her prey. A timid son, played by an excellent Vaanya Behl (UG'29), fears the creature’s approach. But she balances the scales, her mother insists, by hunting men who have always hunted women. She balances the scales, they repeat, the three of them looking at each other with soft intent. 

Manoj’s old man persona of Kurudavva was undoubtedly the star of Girish Karnad’s “Nagamandala,” the play’s finale directed by Parvathi Pandathil Nelluli (UG'29). The crowd was instantly amused by him singing bhajans underneath a crop of fabulous white hair. There are some benefits, it turns out, to being from Bangalore — the cast’s Kannada was magnificent. Kurudavva joined the witches in breaking the fourth wall as we begin the final act in the midst of Rani, played by Vadhavkar’s trial of honour.

We are introduced to the beginnings of a domestic horror story in the post-marital life of Rani and Appanna, played by Behl. Behl’s performance was noteworthy, although it was hard to reconcile the actor’s feminine appearance with the demands of her role as village patriarch. But Vadhavkar shines. She collapses onto the ‘bed’ (two benches with a sheet draped lazily over, with the legs still visible) swept in an ephemeral blue light. The absence of props works eerily well as she times her lonely actions of cooking and cleaning with the rhythmic beat. 

I particularly loved Rishika Sharma’s (UG'29) almost clone-like portrayal of Naga, the snake-seducer. The two’s romantic chemistry was ethereal. The characters jeering for a blackout just as they leaned in for a kiss far from broke the sanctity of the scene. Vadhavkar perfectly navigated the crucial shift from love to suspicion as it is revealed that she is pregnant, but there are always glimmers of previous emotions. Nothing is separated from what came before. 

Our heroine steps behind the screen, vowing to kill the snake for good. The tension is cut by a particularly comical moment as the PVC cobra’s head falls off and is put back into place. Rani confronts her husband with a renewed declaration: she will leave the house when she desires, but the next time she leaves, she will not return. 

I agree with the chorus of witches in that a good ending is like a slap on the face: quick and painful. There were plenty of forces conspiring against Fair is Foul — Blackbox unavailability, a shortage of actors, and ultimately, the impending doom of reading week. But the end product(ion) is a wonderfully curated tribute to womanhood and the power of writing one’s own myth into the world. 

Edited by Teista Dwivedi and Giya Sood.