Literature 210 (Literary Criticism)

Fantilagan, Arvee September 3, 2009

4jrn2 Professor Annette Soriano

An Apple Aristotle Would Like

(A Critique of Apples from the Desert)

I thought Apples from the Desert would end up a tragedy; not the literary type which

Aristotle said must make readers feel pity and terror, but the adjective that means disgust for

something.

Writer Savyon Liebrecht and director Tess Jamias opened things way too dragging,

showing the flirting of young Jewish lady Rivka and her boyfriend, and her middle-aged mother

cleaning up their house as her husband barked at her. They were meant to be emotionally

resonant without connecting with the audience. Easily, the worst scenes of the two-hour show.

And then the auntie kicked the three most important elements of dramas into play: the

introduction of the budding romance that dares to go against tradition (plot) and the description

of the plot’s players (characters), told in a hilarious dialogue she dominated (reasoning)—if

Apples from the Desert had failed tragically, at least it would have done so as a comedy.

This is in light of the happily-ever-after ending and of the predictable buoying up of the

story as it went, and not just of the auntie’s antics. Most of the play was heavy stuff, anyway,

with the focus on this particular Israelite family in Jerusalem which suffocating patriarchal

policy was challenged when the daughter fell in love and stirred the values of equality and

independence long doused among themselves. It was tumultuous and miserable right from the

curtains up, which was resolved gradually en route to a comedic—happy—conclusion.

Also, Apples from the Desert did not feature any noble hero or an extraordinary

protagonist, key elements of a tragedy. I wouldn’t call the central family as inferior, which was
what Aristotle used to describe characters in a comedy and which would invoke laughter.

Perhaps, the one who fit this best was the aunt, who was a hunched back, but not handicapped in

any other emotional way. Maybe the tendency of the mother and daughter to be submissive can

be literally taken as inferiority, as is the lack of ability of the man of the house to adapt to the

changing times. These shortcomings surely weren’t the major source of chuckles for the

audience but the actual script itself, which in my opinion is an even better gauge of a comedic

play than Aristotle’s own standard.

Meanwhile, these flaws left a soothing taste on my tongue because they all met with a

better day at the end. Aristotle’s reversal and recognition were at play in here: the cutlery

merchant went to the southern provinces to fetch his daughter but ended up staying when he

realized it was the best for everybody. Of course, the audience had already seen that coming even

as the mother read Rivka’s letter but I’m sure Aristotle would have applauded it.

And yes, all these happened because of Rivka and her capacity to break free of the

customary Jewish leash. It was unbelievable and questionable that a moralizing story was built

around what is arguably puppy love, but nonetheless, her hardheadedness to go through with the

relationship single-handedly initiated the recognitions and reversals throughout the thread. It was

a sole action that the story revolved, making things easier to digest.

For all her effectiveness in letting Rivka’s quirkiness and hard-headed dedication shine

through, however, I found Sherry Lara’s performance a tad over-the-top. I understand that

theater plays require an exaggeration of movements and mouthing from the actors, but Rivka on

stage wasn’t simply emoting but yelling, wasn’t just gesturing but prancing around.

Aristotle said that actors should not just represent the characters but include them in their

actions—I think Lara added herself to Rivka too much.

 Still, this hyperventilating Rivka was still a great heroine to root for: she was naturally

good, though stubborn; jumpy like most hormonal teenage girls tend to be; her imperfections,

physically and morally made her life-like; and all these were there till the end—four principles

Aristotle stated, Liebrecht obviously learned, and Lara over-interpreted.

I didn’t squirm as much with the other performers, and even hooted for the father and the

auntie when they bowed around as the curtains closed, and it wasn’t just because they knew just

the appropriate times to raise their voices in anger and in humor: the man who played the man of

the Jewish house exhibited the aura of a real hard patriarch and he was able to make me think of

the “father[s] who calls their daughter[s] a camel” who must exist in typical Israeli families.

The woman who played the humorous hunchback, on the other hand, wasn’t corny nor

trying-hard in her comic relief role. She was the type of a supporting cast that didn’t feel

unnecessary, in how she breathed a vulnerable soul into that ‘old maid’ character that people

often scorned. She sounded like local actress Tiya Pusit at times, and I mean that as a plus since

she was able to delight with the same quirkiness Lara failed in.

The mother was practically non-existent and unfelt, but I guess it wasn’t the actress’s

fault, because I think that’s just how she was supposed to be shown. This must be the same

reason why her defiance of her husband to go back to Jerusalem late in the play was probably its

strongest scene: it was a reversal that cemented the end of her husband’s tyrannical hold on the

household, and the actress nailed it.

The obviously US-bred actor who played the boyfriend was a cute casting. He had a

funny, misplaced accent and didn’t look like the independent and strong-shoulder-to-lean-on

type, but this actually made Rivka’s radical choice even more appealing. However, you’d expect

more from the person that inspired the key character and the key decisions in the story. Perhaps,
this is a case of Liebrecht denying him of something else to do aside from embodying the other

half of textbook lovebirds, or of Jamias misusing him as the fantasy husband.

At least he was able to deliver the speech that eventually convinced the father to join the

relocated family—just one of the many organized outbursts that pelted the audience, in

accordance with what Aristotle labeled as reasoning. Overall, they were fairly convincing and

moving. Lara may have been an exaggerated actress, but at least her Rivka was able to deliver

her lines the way she was supposed to—with quirkiness and the angst of a lady in love. The

boyfriend spoke too few times for me to admire him in the same way, but the father and the

auntie again stole the show in this aspect with how they convinced people that their lines were

really of their character’s. The elderly actor’s accent was extremely effective in building up that

image of the strict, traditional Jewish family man, while the Tiya Pusit intonation of the lady

performer delivered the excitement in her anecdotes about love, childhood, and sex and was

suitable with her hopeless but happily romantic personality. The one who played the mother did

good as well, since I was able to feel pity for her when she openly lamented her past decisions.

I never felt that same emotional tug from Rivka’s acting or her speeches because of her

puppy-like prancing, but I have to admit that this trait uncharacteristic of Israeli ladies was at the

heart of Apples from the Desert. Here is a girl who was told from childhood what to do and not

—like getting married with someone she loves. Apparently, this tradition was what Rivka

resisted against, as a frontrunner of the changing world—so literally in fact that everybody said

she was the thorn among the garden of prim and proper roses. She bloomed like an apple among

cactuses, an apple from a desert.

Given this, her family can be interpreted as the desert—the unchanging landscape that

just willingly goes through what life had laid for. Of course, it took a greenhouse to actually
foster fruits in that Southern Israel town; likewise, the positive change in the family wouldn’t

have gone through had Rivka’s boyfriend not supported her all throughout their journey.

Now, as I have said, I thought the young lovers were mishandled in how they appeared

on stage—the boy too restrained, the girl too left alone—but the overall direction of Apples from

the Desert was excellent. The director was able to maximize the skills of the three other

performers to create an absorbing act—this was seen in how the audience screeched when the

father came home just as Rivka was leaving, the overshadowed mother making her presence felt

whenever she spoke, and the aunt exploding a bomb everytime she wore that snicker.

Even the little things were used effectively. This was most apparent with the flash

projected jeepney trekking through the desert and the usage of the audience backdropped by

recorded toddler noises to stand for the orphanage. They were subtly used and it really worked

that the director did not opt to use them for anything more than comic relief.

The less prominent background material were used correctly as they did not upstage the

action in front. Special mention here would be the props and costumes—I was even taken aback

when baldheaded Rivka took the floor by the start of the second part and I realized I didn’t notice

her hair being conveniently hidden all through the first, and yet, they did speak fondly of her

unseen braids before then. The stage however was simple to bare, which mattered especially in

the house of the well-off cutlery vendor in Jerusalem; where were all the china stuff anyway?

The lighting was skillful enough that the audience missed these misses, but no

spotlighting or draped clothing would have salvaged one glaring error—the hunchbacked Aunt

indistinguishable as a hunchback. That’s why her joke “I have problems lying down, if you know

what I mean,” sounded more like a sexual disorder quip than an attempt at self-deprecating

chuckles.
 However, these minor mistakes were just to the wrapper of the total package that the

Cultural Center of the Philippines’ version of the Savyon Liebrecht masterpiece came out to be.

With the overall set design brilliantly brought to life by two outstanding performers and three

other fine fellows, Apples from the Desert is a comedy that Aristotle wouldn’t have laughed at,

not because it featured inferior characters, but because it was superior to his ideas of what a

comedy should have been.