There is one main reason why I am apprehensive about writing something about Sport for Jove's new show 'Ear to the Edge of Time'. It is that I am a man, and much of this show deals with the victimhood experienced by women in science, particularly astrophysics. Therefore I write on this issue from an outsider's perspective, one that cannot (and does not attempt to) understand the complex process of internalisation that women undergo in many aspects of their lives as a result of the nature of some men. Weary of the notions of toxic masculinity and mansplaining, unlike for what I've seen before I felt a strong need to assert my position before I get into this review. I welcome the opinions of any woman or non-male figure that are different to mine - the show is just as much for them as it is for me.
With that being said, I believe the show works. 85 percent of the time.
10 percent of those issues come not from Alana Valentine's script or Nadia Tass' direction, but the performance of it by some of the cast. I'm certain the script will pick up even more acclaim than what it has already accumulated, having won the International STAGE Award for the best play about science or technology, and I am more than happy to add to that - it is a tight piece of work that turns its scientific foundation of radio astronomy (which isn't rocket science, but something more complex) into an accessible concept for a non-STEM educated audience (or in my specific case, an audience member not even finished with formal education yet). Its emphasis on duologues, occasionally interrupted by moments of mesmerising performance poetry (reminiscent of what was done in their earlier production of Moby Dick), keeps the plot progressing at an engaging pace. I was, however, finding myself craving for an interval at times - the play deals with so much, (usually) so adequately, and so quickly that it feels longer than it's letting on. I also would've liked an interval from Tim Walter's overly dramatic performance as Daniel Singer, the scruffy truth-bending poet assigned to take the research done at the play's observatory setting and give it literary justice. There was this unusual lack of realism to his delivery which fit his recital of the aforementioned performance poetry but felt out of place elsewhere.
Luckily, much of this is avoided by the rest of the cast. Belinda Giblin as the cheated (but nonetheless successful) female scientist Geraldine Kell-Cantrell is a joy to watch in her role, creating great chemistry with every cast member as she weaves a subtle web of influence over everything. Gabrielle Scawthorn as Martina Addeley, the fiery-haired but also cheated PhD student (side note: when you pick up a program with her face on it, fold it vertically in half immediately for a whole new person) can be a bit split-personality at some times but ultimately gives a performance that connects strongly with the audience. It would be unfair, however, to not give top credit to the immensely watchable Christopher Stollery. Primarily taking on the character of Steven Sarvas, observatory director and hijacker of Adderley's miraculous discovery (but also an unnamed Uber driver and book launch organiser), he manages to deliver the most nuanced and entertaining performance. Bar some very minor physicality issues early on in the play, it is incredibly satisfying to watch him steal scenes. Too bad his slightly thicker-haired doppelganger is having a bit more trouble stealing the Prime Ministership over in Canberra.
Now to the remaining 5 percent that doesn't work. Unlike previous Jove shows, there are far less props or set pieces. In fact, there are only two memorable set pieces from designer Shaun Gurton - a glass panel on wheels, which isn't around for very long, and (what I think is) half a satellite dish centrestage left, taking up a considerable amount of one's view of the stage. On its semicircular frame it hosts various images - staircases, planets, and fields, among other things. Even though it stays for the entire performance, there was never a discernible reason for it to be there in the first place. References to what it projects are limited. Its actual inclusion in any action even more restricted. It is very 'Old man yells at cloud'-esque I recognise, but I can't see its use. It was just unnecessary.
In any case, even as a man, even as a non-STEM person, and even as an individual who is ambivalent about performance poetry, there is much to praise in 'Ear to the Edge of Time'. Do yourself a favour - come for the show, stay for Kell-Cantrell's, Scawthorn's, and (most notably) Stollery's performances, and keep your eyes off that nasty half-satellite dish.
Showing posts with label Sport for Jove. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sport for Jove. Show all posts
Sunday, 14 October 2018
Sunday, 12 August 2018
Sport for Jove's Moby Dick @ Seymour Centre, lost in translation before me
Sport for Jove's most recent incarnation is a show you really want to like. Even for a man whose knowledge of Moby Dick is limited to the Simpsons parody and that one reference from Scorsese's The Wolf of Wall Street, I could see that. The set, costumes, lighting and sound try to make the performance go the extra mile in typical Adam Cook fashion, bringing the whirlwind of voices, energy and bustle of an 1850s whaling ship to the Reginald stage. I never shy away from my adoration of Nigel Poulton's movement direction, particularly notable in last season's Prize Fighter at Belvoir, adding to this aforementioned energy and bustle. Yet, even for its visual strengths, the crux of the show is strangely missing; lost somewhere in the misguided acting of its cast and a strained chemistry between them that makes few performances bar Danny Adcock's Ahab and Tom Royce-Hampton's Ishmael believable.
It should be noted, first and foremost, that this is not a production of the original Moby Dick. Nor is it a product of the incomplete Orson Welles adaptation. Instead it is its own beast, attempting to distinguish itself by trying to represent the Pequod as a 'ship of state' - where the novel's 30 crewmembers (reduced to a cast of 10 in this show) represent the 30 states of America at the time. This, to me, adds a significant (and unnecessary) complication to the original story. Cook has but 90 minutes to not only tell a tale of blindness and loss, but also one of diversity and coming together. In his own words, he wanted to 'strike a balance between poetry, philosophy and narrative excitement'.
Instead, he creates a whale that big is simply too big to be killed by one harpoon.
There's no real way to do Mark Thompson's set design justice. Within a stage backed by four floor-to-lighting-rig wooden boards (hiding an impressive drum set), two ladders placed on each respective side of the performance space function beyond their literal means to become whales, barriers and planks. More often than not actors don't leave the stage but simply duck into peripheral view below lighting catwalks, resting on couches or simply sitting. You get a real sense of being on a ship and the kind of community that would typically come with it, complemented by immense Pirates of the Carribean-esque costuming (also on a side note if anyone's seen the most recent POTC film tell me if it's any good, I still haven't seen it) and some sophisticated azure/strobe lighting (bet that's the first time anyone's called strobe lighting 'sophisticated').
However, if I can't applaud the set enough, I certainly do have a limit with respect to the acting. The performance begins with a cacophonous collection of different cries from the same people, which creates just as much confusion from the audience as my explanation of it does. We see the same actors put on American, British, Australian and Irish accents constantly, making any kind of separation between them difficult. Not only does this force them to lose the clarity of their dialogue, making us wish they could just stick to one bloody persona, but also makes their performances sacrifice realism for making sure we understand that this play is not Australian. What also results from this big cast with little performance time is a lack of connection between them, making chorus scenes hard to watch as each actor understands their own objectives but not the objectives of others. Thus, songs of the sea delivered by the ensemble drag on; the stories they tell the audience lose the impact they could have had; and we are simply overloaded. No more is this lack of connection emphasised than whenever Adcock as Ahab talks to literally anyone, his delayed reactions and internalisation boosting his performance but creating awkwardness whenever he shares a duologue with black shipmate Pip (Rachel Alexander) or the under-utilised shipmate Starbuck (Francesca Savige).
What I also couldn't stand is the unequal character development. Royce-Hampton's Ishmael by far carries the cast - he sticks to one accent, holds the most belief in his lines, and creates a genuine chemistry between other characters and the audience (in times of fourth-wall breaking narration, which whilst intriguing in their experimental nature are too quick for the audience to fully appreciate). However, his role ends after the first half hour, becoming more and more insular as the play progresses. Hell, he even plays the drums or bangs on metal sheets in moments of intense action, creating incredible soundscapes as an actor but not even allowed to participate in such action as a character. Why? Why leave out the only character that the audience first connects with? Why delve into Pip's backstory in a 15-minute monologue (where again voice work and issues with belief plague her performance), only to have the audience never hear from her again after this? Why even include 3 characters the audience never really meets, shitting on your desire to represent diversity? It just doesn't make sense.
The play, and indeed the audience, finds itself understanding of the book's original theme of blindness. Except it's not blindness to reality, as I envision Herman Melville intending. It's a blindness to what the play is designed to tell its audience. There's simply too much going on for us to focus on one thing, let alone it all, and when we are forced to focus on something it is either irrelevant, ends just as quickly as it came, or overwhelmed by other stylistic factors. By all means come for the visual delights, but if you're looking for theatre that sets sail for one destination and sticks to it, perhaps wait at the dock a little longer.
It should be noted, first and foremost, that this is not a production of the original Moby Dick. Nor is it a product of the incomplete Orson Welles adaptation. Instead it is its own beast, attempting to distinguish itself by trying to represent the Pequod as a 'ship of state' - where the novel's 30 crewmembers (reduced to a cast of 10 in this show) represent the 30 states of America at the time. This, to me, adds a significant (and unnecessary) complication to the original story. Cook has but 90 minutes to not only tell a tale of blindness and loss, but also one of diversity and coming together. In his own words, he wanted to 'strike a balance between poetry, philosophy and narrative excitement'.
Instead, he creates a whale that big is simply too big to be killed by one harpoon.
There's no real way to do Mark Thompson's set design justice. Within a stage backed by four floor-to-lighting-rig wooden boards (hiding an impressive drum set), two ladders placed on each respective side of the performance space function beyond their literal means to become whales, barriers and planks. More often than not actors don't leave the stage but simply duck into peripheral view below lighting catwalks, resting on couches or simply sitting. You get a real sense of being on a ship and the kind of community that would typically come with it, complemented by immense Pirates of the Carribean-esque costuming (also on a side note if anyone's seen the most recent POTC film tell me if it's any good, I still haven't seen it) and some sophisticated azure/strobe lighting (bet that's the first time anyone's called strobe lighting 'sophisticated').
However, if I can't applaud the set enough, I certainly do have a limit with respect to the acting. The performance begins with a cacophonous collection of different cries from the same people, which creates just as much confusion from the audience as my explanation of it does. We see the same actors put on American, British, Australian and Irish accents constantly, making any kind of separation between them difficult. Not only does this force them to lose the clarity of their dialogue, making us wish they could just stick to one bloody persona, but also makes their performances sacrifice realism for making sure we understand that this play is not Australian. What also results from this big cast with little performance time is a lack of connection between them, making chorus scenes hard to watch as each actor understands their own objectives but not the objectives of others. Thus, songs of the sea delivered by the ensemble drag on; the stories they tell the audience lose the impact they could have had; and we are simply overloaded. No more is this lack of connection emphasised than whenever Adcock as Ahab talks to literally anyone, his delayed reactions and internalisation boosting his performance but creating awkwardness whenever he shares a duologue with black shipmate Pip (Rachel Alexander) or the under-utilised shipmate Starbuck (Francesca Savige).
What I also couldn't stand is the unequal character development. Royce-Hampton's Ishmael by far carries the cast - he sticks to one accent, holds the most belief in his lines, and creates a genuine chemistry between other characters and the audience (in times of fourth-wall breaking narration, which whilst intriguing in their experimental nature are too quick for the audience to fully appreciate). However, his role ends after the first half hour, becoming more and more insular as the play progresses. Hell, he even plays the drums or bangs on metal sheets in moments of intense action, creating incredible soundscapes as an actor but not even allowed to participate in such action as a character. Why? Why leave out the only character that the audience first connects with? Why delve into Pip's backstory in a 15-minute monologue (where again voice work and issues with belief plague her performance), only to have the audience never hear from her again after this? Why even include 3 characters the audience never really meets, shitting on your desire to represent diversity? It just doesn't make sense.
The play, and indeed the audience, finds itself understanding of the book's original theme of blindness. Except it's not blindness to reality, as I envision Herman Melville intending. It's a blindness to what the play is designed to tell its audience. There's simply too much going on for us to focus on one thing, let alone it all, and when we are forced to focus on something it is either irrelevant, ends just as quickly as it came, or overwhelmed by other stylistic factors. By all means come for the visual delights, but if you're looking for theatre that sets sail for one destination and sticks to it, perhaps wait at the dock a little longer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)