The “Child-friendly Chapter” of Nandikar’s National Theatre Festival featured three productions from outside. Treating children on a par with grown-ups, Nandikar laudably decided to inaugurate the entire festival with Clowns, workshopped by the Swedish director, Per Sorberg, involving young participants mostly from the Howrah group, Natadha. If we had not known, we would not have believed that the workshop had lasted only three days. It was evident from the ease and uninhibitedness displayed that the performers had received a solid foundation that must have changed their thinking about the homework required in theatre. Fifteen clowns took turns at various roles to present improvised skits, not particularly new in content, but all spotlighting direct communication with the audience. So, consciously aware of the onlookers, they played to the gallery vivaciously, often in full frontal position and encouraging viewer response (picture). The facial mobility and bodily malleability learnt and expressed, on an empty stage, will stand these youngsters in good stead in future theatre projects.

National School of Drama’s theatre-in-education company, Sanskar Rang Toli, revived Tripurari Sharma’s older Hindi play, Hello to Myself, last year and brought it to the festival. It concerns a vertically-challenged brother wanting to grow tall and strong, and his dark-complexioned sister desiring the Fair-and-Lovely treatment. Sharma makes all the right noises against peer pressure and stereotypes of physical attractiveness, but the problem is just that — noise. She assumes that children’s theatre appeals to children only if it creates a sound and fury that most such troupes wrongly associate as the hallmark of all kids. So we see this corny sight of adult actors behaving absurdly hyperactive in the surety that we shall accept them as credibly juvenile: it becomes juvenile in a negative sense. One longs for theatre-in-education done quietly, sensitively. And, pushing two hours, Hello to Myself tests children’s attention spans too.

Nearer home, Padipishir Barmi Baksa by Samatat Sanskriti (Uttarpara) also suffers from this loud approach, possibly more plausible owing to the near-farcical nature of its source. Debsankar Halder’s dramatization of Lila Majumdar’s novel captures its energy and the pace of a non-stop “laugh riot” (in current Bombay lingo), but that does not justify an interpolation inspired by Jhalak dikhla ja. While he incorporates many classic anecdotes, like Padipishi’s proverbial glare that caused a cow to produce curd instead of milk, he overdoes excremental humour that one does not remember in the original — Panchumama’s bowel movements occupy too much space here. But the Uttarpara kids act their hearts out, especially Debashish Datta in widow drag, fitting our mental picture of the domineering Padipishi.