John Cassavetes’ final artistic act was to write a play, though he was no longer able to stage it himself. But shortly before his death he wrote to his cameraman that he hoped the piece would be performed in the 21st century. The heirs and the rights agency did not want to allow just anyone to do the job. With the approval of Faces Distribution, the German publisher S. Fischer asked Jan Lauwers to carry out the author’s final wish. So Lauwers did not beg for it, but was requested to do it. There are a couple of points that worked to Jan Lauwers’ advantage. The fact that the Burgtheater put the play on its repertoire and that Jan Lauwers has never made a secret of the fact that he considers Cassavetes to be his mentor Begin the Beguine (****) thus turned into a coproduction by this Viennese company and Needcompany. The parts are neatly divided between them. The male parts are taken by two Burgtheater actors and the various female parts, which was clear to see, by two members of Lauwers’ company. Begin at the beginning Jan Lauwers calls himself a theatre-maker. Exceptionally a director, when he sets up a production of a play he has not written himself. He has done five Shakespeares, which he considers to have been a learning process and an act of humility. The master pays homage to the grand master. The same may be said of this production. Cassavetes tells a story based on his own underworld. This also applies to Lauwers’ productions, which he conceives, writes, directs and sometimes acts in. The story is the framework, but it is the message that is most important. It is not a warning on any social issue, but has to be sought at a deeper level. The start of a conflict, whether it be between neighbours, as in Marketplace 76, or a world conflict. Which was also the case for Cassavetes, up to and including his last play. It is no coincidence that the title is Begin the Beguine. It refers both to ‘begin at the beginning’ and to Cole Porter’s evergreen, whose origins he admitted several times lay in the rumba, a fast-paced dance that goes quicker and quicker, just like mating. Until, after the fulfilment, its death follows. Sex and bar-room philosophy Love and death, that’s what Begin the Beguine is all about. Two bored men in a flat on the coast. One, an extrovert bloke with little sensitivity, the other an introvert who is always looking for the rainbow between his blue sky and black clouds. They love their wives, because their middle-class mentality tells them to, but they want sex. Out of frustration. Because love is abstract while sex is real. Through a contact, a couple of women are invited. And, after the bed-games, a couple more. And then yet others. Different types each time. Fat, young, with and without style. What a laugh. Below the surface, the truth gradually finds its way towards reality. In both the one man and the other. After all these women, neither experiences mental fulfilment. It is most striking when, towards the end, during one of the interludes when they fill their time with some bar-room philosophy, one of the men says: ‘When I make love to her I see my wife.’ Sturdy architecture The director, Jan Lauwers, has subtly shaded the evolution in which the game of love moves from comic to tragic. This time, in a sturdy baroque architecture, he has shown Cassavetes’ journey to the boundaries of sexual desire. The man rediscovers his position in his marriage by means of dozens of stray encounters and accepts that there is no true love without secrets. Here lies the brilliance of the concept as created by Jan Lauwers. Although the men keep their clothes on, they are gradually worn more loosely – they become more naked – while the women, lively and lustily showing off their scanty apparel, are never actually naked. This is what is real. The abstract element is that he shows the nature of the characters by showing the shadow of light from inside the darkness, just as the author wrote it and thus wanted it. The director shows, austerely and drily, and in a realistic manner, the brilliant quality of this play. Hope has nothing to offer, and confirms everything. A declaration of love and a tribute Begin the Beguine, written with two friends in mind, Peter Falk and Ben Gazzara, because, by the way, Cassavetes created his characters with real people in mind. This play, not a play for them, but, through them, is a last, truly grand declaration of love to his own wife, Gena Rowlands. And from Lauwers to his wife. In the hope that it also applies to other men, in the audience. And that the female spectators see in it a tribute to them. For their past. Flowers and chocolates The two men, Gito Spaiano and Morris Wine, are played by Falk Rockstroh and Oliver Stokowski. Inge Van Bruystegem plays the women Bibi Feller, Charlemane and Jocanda, and Sung-Im Her plays Shelly Tonatsu, Benee and Kiko. The German acting style is clearly on display in the male actors. But Lauwers succeeded in making them act on two levels. Their conventional technique is combined with a transparent sensitivity of equal weight, which unmans their macho behaviour. The women act with a carefree air, which we are used to from the actor-dancers of Needcompany. Sung-Im Her was particularly striking, though her acting could do with a little more variety; variations on a theme. A box of chocolates for the costumes. Lot Lemm knows what refinement is. The men in black and white, the women very colourful, beyond the conventional, but within the bounds of the fashionable trend that has its roots in the hippie period with its oriental variants. Crown jewel There is still a lot more to say about this singular production and I (meaning Knack magazine) could spend a fortune on bouquets, but this is a review and must not turn into a ten-page ode. But one thing that still has to be said is that it is to be hoped that a Dutch translation and production will soon follow. Begin the Beguine is the best classic of this century and for Needcompany one of its crown jewels, which deserves a place in all the temples of the theatre world and its festivals, and not just in Vienna.