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maltatoday | SUNDAY • 24 APRIL 2022 7 THEATRE MARIA THEUMA TEATRU Malta's latest produc- tion, Drago, is inspired by the life and career of Tony Drago, a, now retired, Maltese profes- sional snooker and pool player. Penned by André Mangion and directed by Sean Buhagiar, Dra- go is Teatru Malta's latest effort at shining a new light on local key figures and broadening the national company's conversa- tion about Maltese representa- tion in theatre—a conversation that includes last year's produc- tions, Il-Qfil u l-Ħelsien Skont Manwel Dimech and O.. Created in consultation with Drago himself and collaboration with Valletta Cultural Agency, Teatru Malta's production de- lineates an exigent and agitated biography. In this one-act, one- man play, the protagonist expe- riences a series of reveries—from the thrills he feels in his youth as he masters the game to the tri- umphant outcomes that come about as he competes against local and international figures in the field to the final days of his career, when he quietly but res- olutely retires. The play begins with Drago's own flashbacks to his childhood days: we see him reminiscing about learning the ropes of the snooker game at his home village's każin while playing against and beating grown men—the suggestion being that he was a child prodigy in this respect, his rise to become one of Malta's foremost sportsmen destined and inevitable. There are various touching moments: scenes of Drago celebrating success, others in which we see him neck deep in financial trou- bles, instances of tenderness as he talks to his mother on the phone. We witness the most sentimental case of the latter when, at a later point in his life, living as a professional snook- er player in London and facing various difficulties, Drago finds himself on the verge of giving up and calls his mother to tell her he wants to return home to her. Loaded with biographical an- ecdotes and detail, Drago must not have been uncomplicated to steer, production-wise. The risk of over-engineering its di- rection to make up for the fact that it is a solo piece is real, but that is hardly the case for Buha- giar. Buhagiar makes intelligent choices; he opts for a stage set- ting that is aptly built around a snooker table and has the audi- ence sitting on opposite ends. The table is lit up according to mood and tone; various visual and sonic features accumulate to an arresting effect. On television screens, set up around the table, artist Charlie Cauchi's work is displayed throughout the entire- ty of the performance. Cauchi's contribution is a montage of ar- chival footage from local broad- casts showing interviews with the real-life Drago, juxtaposed with advertisements and other images from the popular culture of the 1980s and 90s, the period spanning Drago's rise to fame. In this component of the produc- tion design, personal memory, as recounted by Drago on stage, meets the historical document showing the real-life Drago; the porousness between the two realms is rendered exceptionally pronounced. It is safe to say that the incon- testable tour de force of the en- tire production is Peter Galea, in the role of the main protag- onist, whose performance is an incessant whirl of movement, imbued with the stamina and relentlessness of an endurance artist. An interesting fact to note is that the speed with which the real-life Drago played snook- er earned him the nickname of 'Tornado Tony' throughout his career. The theatrically stylised form of snooker that Galea plays is astonishing in its heftiness, rife with moves that subtly but stead- ily grow in intent. In fact, Galea acts and gesticulates exactly like Drago. Perhaps this depiction does not quite offer anything to challenge our understanding of the real Drago but the fact of the seemingly effortless precision of its execution is a testament to Galea's excellence as an actor. How Galea goes about nar- rating his journey, as Drago, towards becoming a self-made professional player, is tinged with a kind of world-weariness, especially in the moments he finds himself in the role of a wary onlooker to the dark underbelly of the world of sports. Mostly through monologues addressed to the audience, Galea oscillates between a pitiable and unpleasant Drago, pitting self- doubt and narcissism against each other to offer a portrait of a man for whom the troubles of a sporting career compellingly serve as a backdrop to a more rudimentary personal drama. Sometimes, he comes off as bit- ter, dwelling upon the trials and tribulations of sportsmanship in arduous tones; at others, he proves to be unnervingly dis- connected from the familial and economic ramifications of his own rash decisions. In the more introspective instances, he de- livers some of his lines sitting or lying supine on the table, and, here, we witness Galea bringing the nuances of self-examination to the part. He utters his words calmly and resolutely through- out, which makes the one scene in which he flies into a rage stand out even more. It is thus that, with his Drago, Galea pits the charm of the everyman against the pathos of a tragic hero; a rendition that is both phenome- nal and human. He assesses and executes each moment and fine- tunes the emotional pitch ac- cordingly with incredible poise. Unfortunately, Galea's great acting, at times, ends up get- ting sidelined by a script that is overly packed with information. This aspect can be accounted for by taking into consideration that Mangion, as the playwright, draws on interviews conducted with Drago himself and, for the most part of his writing, choos- es to resort to the application of techniques from verbatim theatre to provide a first-hand exposition of the sportsman's life. In this case, the haphazard elements of the script can be said to be simply indicative of its subject's personality, delib- erately echoing the volatile and erratic moods Drago is known for. However, while serving as important background fodder, the biographical minutiae can feel protracted and unneces- sary. The first thirty minutes or so of Drago, especially, are crammed with snooker-related statistics and name-dropping. As it progresses, the play gets more contemplative but the details remain excessive; the overall narrative somewhat un- focused. This is not to say that the text does not ever verge on insight— Mangion is very much aware that this tale has as much to say about Drago's life as it has about an individual's aspiration to greatness. But one cannot help but ponder the other possibil- ities that this script might have delved into, how it could have taken Drago's life as a spring- board for a meditation on the more universal characteristics of individual strife—loss, guilt, regret, disappointment. These deeper facets of the human con- dition, in Mangion's writing, ul- timately, remain unplumbed—a missed opportunity of sorts, es- pecially since, in Drago's ardu- ous personality and eventful life, there is certainly no dearth of material in this respect. At the play's denouement, the real-life Drago enters the scene to play a game of snook- er against Galea's Drago and a countdown timer appears on the screens around the table. This comes right after Drago (Galea) explains to his audience that, to answer a long-asked question, his most challenging opponent has been none other than him- self. When the time is up, the lights go out and the play ends but the game is left unfinished. What parts of it are yet to be charted? What remains withheld from us? Marked by the physical and psychic restlessness of the protagonist, the metaphor of the game that is at stake in this the- atrical piece seems to be a delib- erately confounded one that sets up more puzzles than it finds solutions for. Indeed, although an ending that brings in the real-life Dra- go to confront his performance double as his nemesis is not en- tirely unpredicated, given the protagonist's confession with re- gard to being his own worst en- emy, it executes an uncanniness that urges audiences to reflect on the question of theatricalised biography. Perceptible under the play's surface is the urge to tell a sto- ry that summons the problem of continuity between life and art. Are the divisions in theatre that mark the differences between reality and artifice to be trusted? And what does national identity represented in theatre look like? Drago addresses these age-old, big questions about the nature of performance but it also, at the end of the day, speaks about the very intimate spectacle of self- hood and the extent to which personal truths seep out and be- yond the contours of one's own individual history. Drago is Maltese theatre made relevant and direct and, for that, it is a promising and welcome ef- fort in the local cultural scene— not because it always or entirely works but because of the risks it takes and the prospects it ushers in. 'Galea oscillates bet ween a pitiable and unpleasant Drago'