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IIn the great soap opera of 16th-century European politics, Mary Stuart played a dizzying role that made her both larger and smaller than life. Crowned Queen of Scots after her father’s death when she was six days old, she was smuggled to France at the age of five to prevent Henry VIII from marrying her to his son Edward to send the Scots reeling. She briefly became Queen of France and had three husbands, all of whom died on top of her (one, possibly with her complicity), before she was beheaded for treason by Elizabeth at the age of 44.
The paradox of a queen who was also a political pawn is captured with breathtaking cruelty by a 71-year-old Isabelle Huppert, which tells the story of Mary’s life on the eve of her death, with extracts from her letters. For the first quarter of an hour of the 90-minute tour de force, she is silhouetted at the back of the wide stage, spewing a swirling stream of words as she stands perfectly still, her arms folded over the bodice of a shimmering Black dress.
As she glides forward, the lighting swims blue, revealing an unblinking, chalk-white face that – in the style of Beckett’s “Not I” monologue – takes shape around a hyper-mobile, scarlet mouth. Directed by Darryl Pinckney Robert Wilson more like a libretto than a play, its tempos slow and speed up to tongue-twisting speed, counterpointed by a lush orchestral score by Ludovico Einaudi.
Wilson, who also designed the set and lighting, is the most controlling director who nevertheless manages to extract astonishing performances from top-notch performers. Mary is his marionette brought to life by Huper, her every gesture precisely choreographed. This is explicitly emphasized when she begins to move, zig-zagging back and forth across the stage, her arms slashing the air, in a tense puppet dance.
The production comes from the Théâtre de la Ville–Paris, and the information-rich text is performed in French with subtitles that are a frustrating distraction at first. But the circularity of Mary’s anecdotes, and the hypnotic power with which Huper delivers them, gradually make it seem less important to catch every word. She hauntingly mentions the four Maries/Marias who were her companions and guardians, and comically despises her enemies: her mother-in-law, Catherine de’ Medici (so terrified of losing her jewels that she wore them all), and the Protestant subversive John Knox. As death approaches, she becomes increasingly needy, extolling her own beauty and declaring herself innocent of all charges against her.
What do we eventually learn about her? That it is unknowable because the kingdom is a performance and a propaganda war. From time to time, such humanity breaks through the facade – like her love of animals or her grief over the separation from her son, the future King James. But their impact speaks as much to our longing for empathy as it does to her. This show won’t appeal to everyone, but for fans of Wilson and the magnificent Hupper, it’s a collector’s item.
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