Review: Min fantastiska väninna
★★★★
My Amazing Friend vividly describes the friendship between women from childhood to old age.
Elena Ferrante’s interpretation based on the Naples series becomes more frequent towards the end.
At the outset , I have to confess that I have not become acquainted with Elena Ferrante’s Naples series other than by reading the novel My Brilliant Friend and articles about Ferrante’s work.
My own perspective is thus radically different from the experience of admirers of Ferrante’s novel or the viewers of a recently aired, highly praised TV series. I suspect that this is an advantage, because after a little familiarization, I can say that it is crystal clear that April de Angelis’ interpretation will inevitably narrow the story of the Naples series and the lush world around friendship between women will disappear.
Still, it must be said that the three-and-a-half-hour performance redeems the legitimacy of its interpretation, especially at the end of the performance. The performance, dramatised on the basis of Ferrante’s four novels, rolls forward as a theatre performance of its own.
The performance, which runs from Naples in the 1950s to the 2010s, depicts the friendship of two women from childhood to old age. From the very beginning, the friendship is characterized by writing and inventing, both girls struggle to move on from miserable conditions, they have security and inspiration in each other in the midst of macho, violent and working-class milieu, where rape and 16-year-old brides are commonplace.
De Angelis has a strong background especially in classics. Just as in Shakespeare’s plays, for example, it is not essential to describe every plot twist when telling what really happens in the work, the same applies to the dramatization of My Brilliant Friend . It is important that the meandering events follow each other, the narrative is not economical even in the dramatization, but what really happens is the boundless friendship between Lenú and Lila, where Lenú in particular does not feel complete without Lila.
Riikka Oksanen’s direction has both a love for the detailed cavalcade of characters in the Neapolitan Quarter and the ability to simplify and cut.
Pia Andersson’s interpretation of the limitless character is very interesting. He makes the character of Lenú, who constantly thinks about Lila and analyzes Lila even when they are together. In a way, Lila is a more strongly alive person. Cecilia Pauli’s role as Lila is more difficult and she remains a mystery, as it should be. The viewer doesn’t get hold of him in the same way, but when you understand that it’s meant to be, Paul’s interpretation begins to fascinate.
When he pushes away a little gray in his hair and his strong but already suffered body slightly bent, his mystery draws in more and more.
Lila comes from a slightly more miserable environment than Lenú and her schooling quickly stops, even though she is more talented and creative than the girls. Lenú goes to university and becomes – at least in some circles – a respected writer, and his writing is based on Lila’s writings. Lila ends up getting married at a young age and has to fight and survive.
The other actors nail the working-class quarters of Naples and later the finer cultural circles in an irresistibly sarcastic way, referring to violence but without indulging in it and using hurtful humour.
The actors make a community with a few gestures. It is not flattering, but it is full of lovelessness, emaciated mothers and the stranglehold of the mafia, but also humanity and hopes. In this cavalcade, not even the slightest supporting character is played in a breadful way.
Vilma Mattila’s set design does not aim for any kind of image, a few movable walls give the block a cramped atmosphere, and the same mental crampedness seems to be preserved in the finer and richer living rooms. The eras are also depicted with a few songs and demonstrations. The communist ideology appears different in the working-class quarters than in student activism, the milieu matters, but the most important thing happens under the surface. Sofia Palillo’s lights and Tinja Salmi’s projections tell about the inner world and the brilliance that friendship contains in spite of everything. Clothes create eras unobtrusively.
And even though the work is sometimes schematic and rigid, especially in the first act, there is a clear interpretation of friendship between women, the kind of limitlessness that may not be to the liking of all “be the hero of your own life” coaches.
On the stage of Lilla Teatern, people are charming, mean, stupid, and regardless of their class background, real assholes. At the same time, Lenú and Lila inspire each other all the time, even though they are also bad to each other. It may be a much more interesting starting point for describing a relationship than romance or a nice friendship.
When Lenú finally lets go of her friend and grows into herself and finds her own voice, she has lost something at the same time. A whole glorious world.