Intense, brilliant 'Equus' is a sure winner

By Liz Oliner

LIZ OLINER/YH 'Equus' is an emotionally riveting performance (from left to right: Heidi Altman, SY '99, Matt O'Neill, DC '00, and Daniel Larlham, SM '00).

It seems like everyone has an obsession. And every Yalie knows it. However, if you thought you or your roommate was the most neurotic person in the world, meet Alan Strang, the 17-year-old protagonist of Peter Shaffer's Equus, played by Daniel Larlham, SM '00.

Alan's particular obsession is horses. From the first time he saw a horse on the beach as a child, he has thought about them constantly, with intense feelings of both love and hate. He has a bizarre belief that horses, specifically harnessed horses with chains in their mouths, are both slaves and gods. Thus, Equus--the horse deity--is a shackled slave and also a god to be worshipped. According to Alan, Equus is carrying everyone's sins, saving us from perdition.

As the play opens, Alan is in a mental hospital cell, committed after blinding six horses with a metal spike in one night. That's where Alan's psychiatrist, the brown-polyester-clad Dr. Martin Dysart (Mike Gottlieb, TC '00), comes in. Martin--and the audience--try to discern what could motivate such an action.

The intimate environment of the Silliman Dramatic Attic is a fabulous setting for the intense, non-linear, emotional action of the play. Sitting incredibly close to the center of the stage, the audience watches as the scenes smoothly move--temporally and spatially--from Alan's therapy to his childhood memories and then back to the psychiatrist sessions.

Equus's probing analysis takes the form of a Good Will Hunting style "my-turn-your-turn" game, as Martin explores Alan's psyche and Alan discovers bits and pieces of his psychiatrist's dissatisfaction with his own life. Remarkably, the audience remains--for the play's full two hours--genuinely interested in these choppy, emotionally trying conversations, as Gottlieb paces back and forth three feet away, blowing perfect smoke rings into the air.

The central causes for Alan's perturbation are, of course, his parents. His mother Dora (Lilly Tuttle, PC '00), is a religious fanatic, and his father Frank (Thomas Woodrow ES '00), is a pretentious and pedantic atheist. This unhappy couple visits the hospital from time to time, filling the audience and psychiatrist in with pieces of Alan's life, and explaining what Alan was like as a child.

The play starts at an intense emotional pitch as Alan, haunted in his nightmares by the image of a horse, breaks into feverish, convulsing fits. The incoherence of these scenes proves disturbing, and Larlham's performance is at its disturbed peak: he lies to the right of the audience, tossing and turning, convulsing and sweating, creating a sense of horrifying discomfort for the viewers. When Alan remembers a secret, late-night horseback ride, the play takes on an eerier quality, thanks to Matt O'Neill's, DC '00, creepily convincing peformance as the horse. From the shaking of his neck to his neighs, O'Neill, clumping around in wooden hooves, is amazingly and gracefully horse-like.

The emotional intensity continues in the second act's depiction of Alan's relationship with Jill (Heidi Altman, SY '99), a young girl who works with him at the stables. It's Alan's first romantic affair, and the pair has a tangible chemistry which grants their scenes together emotional and physical power.

Jill is a playful, assertive girl, and it doesn't come as much of a shock when she begins to play sexual quid pro quo games with Alan--"if you take [your shirt] off, I'll take mine off"--until you realize that the two will be completely naked for 20 minutes. Remarkably, their acting retains its emotional force, a force which turns to violence as Alan re-lives the terrifying night when he blinded the six horses. It's a shocking moment, one that brings the play's mystery and conflict into the open in a frank, brutal fashion. But Equus achieves a stark beauty through its brutality, and the range of emotions it provokes is a testament to both Shaffer's prowess as a playwright and the cast's ability to interpret it.

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