LA BOITE & GRIFFIN’S ‘A HOAX’ directed by Lee Lewis and dissected by me

This play has something engaging about it, especially in its narrative. Rick Viede has written quite a clever play and it’s probably a worthy winner of the 2011 Griffin Award. It tells the story of the fake autobiography and the public’s insatiable need for the ‘misery memoir’ and the more graphically disturbing and shocking, the more we love it. It’s an examination of exploitation, ambition, transformation and power.

The script is good- well worth a read if you don’t see the show. It’s got a couple of jumps in narrative so at times things are suddenly revealed or change and we don’t feel like the shift was adequately signposted but I’m not sure whether the minor flaws are in the writing or in Lewis’ style of directing.

I’ve seen a few of Lee Lewis’ shows and her style seems to focus on sucking the emotion out of the first half (an attempt at Epic style?) by playing things almost presentational over representational. This means there seems to be a connection lost between audience and characters early on, dialogue can be hammered out at a million miles an hour and delivered (with her design choices) in monotonous, discordant force or like a clinical transaction. Lewis saves the pathos for the end, contrasting the choices of the first half. I guess (in a Mother Courage and Her Children kind of way), Brecht would have suggested it was to focus on the ideas and not the catharsis of the characters’ journeys. But I think the ideas are caught up in the journey of those characters and by distancing myself from the stakes for those involved, it actually takes away some of the power of the narrative and its ideas.

But I do see the satire of Viede’s work and the absurdity of the situation itself and Lewis has played on the heightened sense of ambition and drive of the characters with some success. It just feels like it’s not always in control because sometimes, too much is just too much. And this is certainly evident in some of the acting. If you don’t let vulnerability creep in till the end, that is a hard ask for any role or actor and there is certainly varied success in this show.

It takes a while to warm to Miri/Currah (Shari Sebbens) at the start. We then see her transform into the role created for her (as Currah) but the reality is we don’t sense any tension from her situation until she really is abused. Sebbens has energy and intensity but is played as unlikeable, even as she dances around the hotel room in childlike excitement. So as she is played as ambitious and hard from the first moment, her transformation is lessened.  I think this is more a reflection of the directorial vision that Sebbens’ skill as a performer.

Glenn Hazeldine as Ant does try to bring a gentleness to his role that is contrasted later by the dark and distressed obsession he has trying to regain control of his work. Hazeldine is the strongest of the cast and his years of experience are evident.

The two roles that feel out of place in regards to interpretation are Ronnie (Sally McKenzie) and Tyrelle (Charles Allen). Tyrelle’s bouncy flamboyancy at the start, the gay queen archetype, suddenly shifts to a much more sinister, unhinged role and then to the man in control of all of the other players on stage. It was a difficult transition to reconcile (writing or directorial?) I don’t know if I believe his behaviour and hatred of Currah can be so tied to his actions because he felt betrayed by her lack of authenticity. However, it did provide us with what I would consider to be the most powerful moment in the play as he pulls out the shotgun and proceeds to abuse and terrify those on stage and kudos to Sebbens and Allen for thoroughly committing to that difficult scene.

It is in that moment, after laughing about the contrived abuse, we are forced to engage in the heightened brutality of ‘real’ abuse. I think Allen did a solid job trying to reconcile the polarising attributes of this character and perhaps because the role felt more functional than real, this is exactly what was asked of him.

But it is the role of Ronnie, played by Sally McKenzie, that missed the mark. McKenzie’s hysterical portrayal of Ronnie- in crisis, in control, in negotiations, was played with little clarity. The archetype was pushed even further into the realm of ridiculousness and therefore we weren’t given the opportunity to relish in her role or function in the play. All you saw was the uncontrolled or disconnected hysteria. So it is not until the end when she starts to manipulate Ant do we see the potential was there to play any other stake than butch mercenary or victim of a hysterical breakdown. It felt like missed opportunities for Lewis and McKenzie to realise the dimensions that could have been accessed in this role.

All in all, I did enjoy this show. It’s not perfect and maybe I’ve been a bit hard on Lewis and the text is harder to realise than I could know.  But there is a lot here to enjoy and the controversial and current issue is food for thought, with the intimacy of the Stables a good venue for ‘A Hoax’.

O’PUNKSKY’S THEATRE’S ‘THE SEAFARER’ at Darlinghurst Theatre

I don’t think it’s a secret that I am partial to Irish plays but I only discovered Conor McPherson’s work a few years back after watching ‘Shining City’ at Griffin. Since then I’ve devoured many of his plays and was really looking forward to seeing this show, one of his more ‘upbeat’ plays, if you can believe Irish theatre has such a thing.

McPherson, like many of his Irish contemporary counterparts love a twist and a turn and a tilt and just when you think you’ve figured it out, another tilt for good measure.  ‘The Seafarer’ tells the story of two brothers, irascible Richard (recently blind after falling into a skip…) and Sharky (his reluctant carer whose own life is in tatters). The brothers are ‘celebrating’ Christmas Eve with a poker game with old drinking buddies Ivan and Nicky and a stranger from Sharky’s past, Mr Lockhart who’s back to collect his own debts. If you can imagine a boys own adventure, combined with elements of farce, folk tales, a bit of mythology and the supernatural, all set in the mess of the cold sitting room long neglected, you’re on the way to picturing ‘The Seafarer’.

O’Punksky’s Theatre Company are an independent theatre group well-known for their staging of Irish plays that showcase their skill and passion and celebrates the camaraderie of this very talented bunch of actors. If ever there was a reason to support Independent Theatre, O’Punksky’s give you a wealth of reasons. And ‘The Seafarer’ is one of those reasons.

I’m going straight to the cast because it is the ensemble nature of the performance that most strikes you about this production. These guys are having fun, relishing running into lamps, blindly hitting the staircase, savouring the shifts in power, the language, the drinking and even the crusty bits of toast clinging onto their jumpers. As an audience member, when you see a cast inside the play and the characters, having fun with each moment, you can’t help but enjoy it too.

Director Maeliosa Stafford, who also stars as Richard, talks in the program about the difficulty of “directing from the inside”. And it would have been a challenge- I’ve yet to see anyone really master it. I think that it’s almost impossible to have your eyes completely on the play when you’re in it and if I had one criticism of the show it would be that the rhythm sometimes lagged and it needed a kick in pace in moments (and this is backed up by a program that promises a 2 hours and 10 minute show with a 20 minute interval and ends up taking 2 hours and 45 minutes). I think a full-time director in this regard would have probably tightened the show.

However, Stafford’s Richard was marvellous. He’s the sort of character you want to embrace and slap at the same time. There is something wise or insightful about Richard in the glimpses of lucidity he enjoys between his barking commands and alcohol induced intentions. Stafford captures this beautifully, in language, physicality and personality. The ability to play ‘blind’ is incredibly hard, to keep focus and energy in this role but Stafford never faltered. His comic skills were some of the best I’ve seen and I would think that this will probably be one of Stafford’s favourite roles to play in his extensive career.

Patrick Dickson as Sharky is stuck in the straight role for most of the play and this can present its own challenges- always the martyr and never the master. But Dickson played the conflict and hopes of Sharky with belief and gave freely to the ensemble for them to use his character as a springboard for their own characters to jump off and swim in the pool of comedy.

And then my favourite character, Ivan, hopeless but dependable, played with such humour by Patrick Connolly, was such a treat in this show. It’s hard to believe Connolly only graduated from acting school 5 years ago because he tackled this like a seasoned professional. The rest of the cast could have been dancing naked around that stage when Connolly’s Ivan was buttering that toast with such intensity that I couldn’t have focused on anything but his actions. And he had plenty of them. Gorgeous work and perfectly cast.

John O’Hare bounced on stage as Nicky and brought a slickness to that role that I hadn’t imagined when reading it. In the play he is described as ‘a skinny, nervy appearance…wearing a tatty-looking anorak and threadbare grey slacks that are slightly too short for him, revealing white towelling sport socks..’ but costume designer, Alison Bradshaw’s choice to make him a little more kept and an edge of sleazy in his leather jacket and jeans I think worked really well and served as a contrast to Sharky, especially as both men care for the same woman. O’Hare finds the dimensions of naivety and ambition of Nicky, making him a cross between a player who hasn’t mastered the game (of life and poker) but always thinks he will. O’Hare is infinitely watchable and the energy he brings to Nicky and the scene changes the whole feel of the stage. He is a generous performer.

And that brings me to William Zappa. Anyone familiar with Zappa’s work will know he is a fabulous actor. I will never forget his outstanding work in Albee’s ‘The Goat or Who is Sylvia?’ Zappa gets to have real fun in this play and he clearly enjoys each moment. He gets the joy of being the catalyst of change for many of the others on stage and shuffles those stakes with the professionalism we have come to expect from him as a performer.

I don’t often spend reviews giving intricate details of each cast member (but it is easier with a cast of just five). But I do it for ‘The Seafarer’ here because what was obvious was the generosity of its ensemble to let every actor take their moment, to serve the play and not the actor and the respect these guys have for each other is obvious. And that’s the beauty of Independent Theatre at its best- you get to enjoy the collaboration of a team you can put together yourself, who all want the same things and all feel they have ownership in the final product.

So a few technical thumbs up to finish: what a great set, designed by Amamda McNamara and painstakingly constructed by members of the cast and any friends they could convince to come and help them; Nate Edmondson’s sound design of the blaring storm happening outside (and inside) the house, complemented by Tony Youlden’s lighting design.

Honestly, this show won’t disappoint. It’s probably a little longer than it needs to be but the integrity of what’s happening on stage will keep you engaged.

Go and support some great indie theatre and do yourself a favour.

STC’S ‘THE HISTRIONIC’ directed by Daniel Schlusser and dissected by me

Two names: Bille Brown and Barry Otto. You would think that would be enough to go to the theatre and see a great show. You would think that the skill of both of these fine actors would knock this one past the boundary, over the fence and into the faces of the excited crowd.

Well, if you were thinking that, you would be wrong. Once again, Sydney Theatre Company have found a way to kill off their ageing demographic by sending them into a boredom-induced coma. That might also explain why it was one of the smallest audiences I’ve seen in Wharf 1 for a while.

And look- it’s not the actors, designers or director who’ve sent them to an early grave, in my opinion.  It’s Thomas Bernhard’s script as translated by Tom Wright that feels like the guilty party.

STC- what is going on? You are not having a good year. Everything that looked good in theory seems to be only two-dimensional in performance. ‘Histrionic’ took me back to last year’s ‘Edward Gant’- all the pieces feel like they should fit but they just don’t.

So let’s look at why it didn’t quite work.

I think it’s chiefly the script. Bernhard’s play is in response to his experiences on stage in Austria and it is written as a personal criticism of its petty government authorities as well as a self-deprecating examination of his own idiosyncrasies. Bernhardt has clearly placed himself in the centre of his writing in the role of Bruscon (played by Bille Brown) as he rallies against all the things that annoy him (which happens to be everything). I learn more about Bernhard that I do about anything else in this play.

Bille Brown does a terrific job in trying to bring life to Bruscon. The problem is the play doesn’t allow much of a journey for the character so his ranting and raving, so beautifully physicalised by Brown, lacks tension or complexity. He hates the town, he hates the stage, he is annoyed by his wife, his son, his daughter, people, lights, curtain, food… We don’t get to see him truly vulnerable, outside of a heightened tantrum or in any real conflict because he’s always in conflict. There is a lack of variety in the way the character has been crafted (by Bernhard or Tom Wright?) so that all Brown can do is give us his best performance skills and hope it is enough to mask that Bruscon is just a bit of a whinger.

Add to that, although the play has seven characters, it is essentially written as a monologue so the other characters are given idle busy work in feeding Bruscon reasons to complain or tasks in which to try to keep him happy. It’s a play pretending to be an ensemble piece but in no way is. It should be a one-man show- in fact, it would have been far more interesting if it was. It would give an actor the chance to create for us these other characters on stage, transforming and using his skills far more artfully perhaps that trying to sustain this thin play for one hour and forty minutes.

It’s such a pity to have assembled a lovely cast in a play that gives them such a little amount to do. They certainly did the best they could, wandering around the stage moving props on designer Marg Horwell’s set. And she gave them plenty of great things to play with- headless horses, huge hands, big ticket items. The set was all you could want to have some fun and to create a place of disrepair, a place long past its prime like an abandoned playground. This, of course, added to the metaphor of Bruscon himself.

I don’t think the cast could have done anymore with the script than they did. So I can only presume director Schlusser has pushed them all to embrace as much energy and comedic potential as the script allows. The only time tension potentially drew me in was in the quasi-sinister moments between Bruscon (Brown) and his daughter Sarah (Edwina Wren) as the very nature of their relationship suggested some sort of unnatural and abusive alliance was in place. But this was never really pursued so we felt nothing fulfilled its promise.

And that’s where the big problem in the script seemed to lie- when it seemed to want to take you into dark, uncomfortable places, it wimped out on itself and went for the potential laugh. I know a script can tread both of these waters but this one didn’t quite fulfil either. It was an anti-climatic punchline to the joke it hadn’t quite set up properly.

So all I can say is this: Bille Brown is a very good performer.  The cast kept themselves busy and gave an expressive performance in Brown’s background. The design was very interactive. The costumes were colourful.

It’s a shame they couldn’t have been given something better to work with.

BELVOIR’S ‘Death of a Salesman’ directed by Simon Stone & dissected by me.

I’m trying to come up with a word or phrase to describe Simon Stone’s directorial style. So far all I have is ‘Ditexter’ for his ability to take the text and rework it to fit his brand. But the phrase that’s winning at the moment is ‘capsule director’- I think Stone likes to close his characters in to deliver their inner monologues and heighten the microcosm of the dilemma using any kind of capsule- a shower, box or in ‘Salesman’, the car. The metaphor becomes literal. Welcome to the world of Simon Stone and welcome to his latest offering, Arthur Miller’s ‘Death of a Salesman’.

Simon Stone probably has the reputation as Australia’s most sought after and employed director. I’ve had plenty of time to ask myself why. His fingerprints are all over each show he directs. There’s no disputing that ego is a driving force in his work- sometimes wonderful, sometimes disastrous. He favours stark, gritty theatricality over naturalism. He wants to be an auteur of works more than be contained in the role of playwright’s director. And just as he loads his vision onto each play, off he hops to his next project, empirical style, trusting his cast and team to realise his concept.  And then I got it. What is Simon Stone’s smartest move as director? It’s to choose an outstanding cast to realise whatever vision he creates and to make it work.

‘Death of a Salesman’ is an interesting choice for Stone as he doesn’t normally choose a work he can’t ‘retextualise’ and Arthur Miller’s estate are pretty clear about changing the text. You can’t. Not a word. But by gee, how you stage those words, they are up for grabs and enter the capsule director, Stone.

Obligatory plot paragraph: ‘Death of a Salesman’ is the story of Willy Loman and his two sons, Biff and Happy and the conflict between the domestic and national values of a post WWII world. Whilst the success of an individual hinges on material gain, what happens when your sons can’t live up to your expectations and neither can you? That’s a simple overview but cuts to the heart of it.

If you are familiar with the play but not the production let me tell you that the only set device used in Stone’s interpretation is an old Ford Falcon on stage. Scenes are played inside, outside, on top of, around, in front, behind the car, etc. It’s done with natural and sometimes broad Australian accents and it’s set in modern times. Those not familiar with the play, Miller has it set at the time it was written, post WWII, mainly in the Loman household in suburban Brooklyn, USA.

I will tell you what I missed in this production- I missed the house. It wasn’t detrimental but I realised how much the play depends for me on that house. The American Dream seems tied up in that house. But I didn’t mind the car. Sometimes the entrances and exits from the car felt laughable- like characters conceived in the car emerging to fulfil role and function but when Colin Friels as Willy Loman is in that car, Stone’s capsule comes to life. I will admit to doing several of my own inner monologues in my car or rehearsing great conversations (with no-one in particular) in the sanctity and privacy of a moving vehicle. The car still worked for me. Didn’t love it but it worked.

I missed the appropriate accents, particularly as words can’t be changed it meant that cultural and time specific anachronisms were present throughout. We refer to particular years like 1928 and then we pull out an iPad. It’s strange and sometimes alienating until you settle into the groove of the show.

And this leads me to ask the question: is setting it in contemporary Australia giving it a new life and perspective or is it imposing a vision that doesn’t quite gel with this classically American play? As I’ve often said before, plays contain cultural codes that sometimes are very specific to the country. For example, would ‘Summer of the Seventeenth Doll’ work if you set it in mid-America in 2012? Although the thematic concerns of ‘Death of a Salesman’ are transferable, I don’t know that the cultural context is in the same way. Giving it an Australian flavour does not necessarily make it an Australian play.

Here’s what I didn’t mind in Stone’s interpretation- the exclusion of the end scene. I always felt that after the demise of Willy, that last requiem scene felt redundant (hope I haven’t spoilt the plot…I’m hoping the title was already a giveaway). That last scene can feel didactic and Stone’s choice to omit it probably gave more importance to the man than the death. Of course, the death is meant to teach us that we can so easily be a victim of the times and it may get a little lost without the last scene but I think the rest of the play delivers that message clearly, especially with Colin Friels behind the wheel (literally).

So let’s talk about the incredible performances put in by Stone’s cast. Let’s start with Friels. The intensity and passion of his portrayal of Willy Loman was one of the most outstanding turns I’ve seen in Sydney this year. Loman is one of the most challenging acting roles- full of contradictions as he shifts from present to flashbacks, as hero to broken man, from his prime to long past it, from joy to anger and back again. Friels gave it everything. He was a powerhouse of emotion and pain. I’ve never seen anyone do this role with such integrity. Bravo.

Patrick Brammall and Hamish Michael as sons Biff and Happy were beautifully cast and gave those characters real depth. Brammall’s torment at the crossroads of feeding his father’s expectations and hopes as opposed to vomiting out the truth and abandoning the whole charade was exceptional. His ability to go from young Biff to disillusioned man meant that Brammall gave Friels the strength of interplay that you require in such a role. Michael’s Happy served to contrast this with humour and gentleness.

The rest of the ensemble gave wonderful cameos- special mentions to Luke Mullins in his variety of roles, each of them distinct and skilful; Pip Miller’s Charley, gave us another layer to Arthur Miller’s concept of fathers, sons and the Dream as did Steve Le Marquand. Blazey Best also filled the stage with energy in what were such crucial small roles. Genevieve Lemon also had plenty of wonderful moments as Willy’s wife, Linda. I just felt the constant teeth-clenching acting needed moderation. I know that sounds harsh because really, she was present in intensity and integrity throughout, but the fact that she spoke through her teeth constantly drove me a little insane.

So, in essence, I did enjoy it. I didn’t love it but the quality of acting made me glad I saw it.

The lighting and sound were so ingrained into the show, I honestly couldn’t tell you any specifics about it and there’s something quite wonderful about that- there’s a whole soundscape and atmosphere being created that is so subtle and complementary, it’s integrated completely. Now that’s good technical work.

I’ll contemplate this production a little more and decide whether Stone is just lucky or a very clever man (in a monologue to myself on the car trip home).

IRELAND’S ABBEY THEATRE DOUBLE HEADER: 'Jerusalem' & 'The House'

Just for a moment, I’ve gone global.

On the way to the International Research Drama Conference in Limerick, I popped into the Abbey to see what was happening there. The Abbey Theatre, Ireland’s national theatre in Dublin set up by W.B.Yeats and Lady Gregory in 1904, has a clear rationale- to actively engage with and reflect Irish society, to place the writer and the theatre artist at the centre of all works.

I love that concept. I know the debate here in Australia in regards to a national theatre has gone on for decades. Apparently we don’t need it and more importantly, where would we house it? When I see what the Abbey has achieved, it makes me think the debate needs to rage again… Has it really come down to the meagre offerings of an annual David Williamson play at the Ensemble theatre or for Simon Stone to now be the chief writer and director of appropriated works? We have so much Australian talent amongst our writers that struggle for a platform for development and expression. It’s time to rethink what we do in a country that is four times the population of Ireland.

The Abbey Theatre is also one of the friendliest environments you’ll ever visit in regards to a theatre experience. How’s this for an experience. I arrived just before the show opened (I got held up by a schools carnival parade of the national hurling competition- I kid you not) to buy a ticket with my friend at a premiere of a show. They couldn’t seat us together so they gave me a free ticket to make up for it. I found myself sitting next to the Head of Public Affairs and Development, Myra. We start chatting about the play we are about to watch. I’ve read it, she has not. We discuss the act of interpretation. At interval I sit at a table next to other audience members, strangers to me, who kindly offer me chocolate (I never say no) and we chat about the show. Just before the second half starts, Myra and I chat again about the show and then at the end, she invites me to the premiere party, introduces me to the General Manager, the Education Officer, and the Head of Communications and quickly they are offering me two free tickets to see the Tom Murphy play the following night (Ireland’s Tom Murphy, not to be confused with Australia’s Tommy Murphy).

And here’s the thing, I’m just a random theatregoer who seems to know a thing or two about theatre and they genuinely care about what their audience think. This is not an environment where your thoughts are belittled or your status be considered more important than your conversation. I mean...imagine it…they talk to audience members like they matter. Well Sydney could teach them a thing or two. We’ve been so full of our self-importance for so long we’re in danger of disappearing up our own proverbial. Shake off your snobbery Sydney and start to get dirty by mixing with the people. Sydney, I love you but you just have to stop believing your own PR.

The first show I saw was Jez Butterworth’s ‘Jerusalem’. Those familiar with the play know that is English and not Irish, full of English mythology intertwined with the violence of wasted chances and youth, lost aspirations, memories of grandeur and the banished and forgotten social classes.

‘Jerusalem’ is set on St George’s Day, the morning of the local fair. Johnny Rooster, the play’s antihero (like Mac the Knife from Brecht’s ‘Threepenny’ if you will) has been served an eviction notice to clear out from his illegally parked caravan in the woods and the drug dealing guardian of the youth of the town as well as absent father now must deal with the imminent arrival of tractors to destroy his home, the men of the town who wish to do him harm, his patchy memory induced by big bender nights, his thieving crew and a son who wants to go to the fair.

‘Jerusalem’ was performed in their small theatre, The Peacock, by the Silken Thomas Players, an amateur group who won the national amateur theatre festival and part of their prize is the chance to perform on the Abbey stage. Can you believe it? It reminds me in a small part of the days when Belvoir downstairs did not have to be tied to the Belvoir Company but independent work could showcase there. Here’s my challenge to someone out there in theatre world- why not have a competition that allowed amateur independent work to perform and the winner gets a spot in Wharf 2 at STC for a 3 night run? I’d be interested to see it. Wouldn’t you?

One of the many things you’ll fall in love with in Ireland (please note, it is not the weather) is the culture of expression through the Arts. This is further enhanced in the National Youth Theatre program. Performing is not specifically aspirational- it is for the love of it and a binding ritual of community and neighbour. It’s truly a wonderful thing.

I did see this on its opening night and the nerves where clearly effecting the cast, particularly the lead Liam Quinlivan as Johnny Rooster. But by the second half, he and the rest of the cast were settled and hitting the notes of the show.  A special mention to Colin Malone as Ginger, who from the very start shone in talent and energy. Director Sean Judge is to be commended for creating an honest and skilled interpretation of text, performance and utilising Jonathan Judge and Brenda O’Toole’s set in creating the world of the play.

The following night we saw Tom Murphy’s ‘The House’. Originally staged in 2000 it was having another run on the Abbey’s mainstage. Tom Murphy is a national icon and yet I don’t think his work is performed much outside of Ireland. However, his writing has heavily influenced many of Ireland’s contemporary writers that we are familiar with, such as McDonagh, McPherson, O’Rowe, Walsh. He’s a writer of the slow denouement, taking his time to unpack characters, narrative before building to the hopes and dreams and pushing them over the embankment. He’s not fancy but he is poetic. Structurally the writing feels deliberate in its inclusion of the Irish folk songs, the settings, the differences in class and gender. His plays feel like historical examinations of those that stay in Ireland and those that are the diaspora. This means that at times his plays feel like they are taking a long time to go somewhere and an edit or two wouldn’t go astray but with the outstanding acting of ‘The House’ on display, you’re happy to persevere and be rewarded.

What I find most interesting about Murphy’s work is this notion of the emigrant or diaspora, especially as Ireland’s population probably shows the least amount of growth (like Greece) over the last century- in fact it’s fallen, even with a high birth rate. Many of the population do emigrate (I blame the weather). So it begs the question, when you return to visit, is the country and its customs alien to you now or is it like coming home? How do you fit in? How do you leave again? How are you treated upon your return, especially if there’s ill feeling towards your departure in the first place? What's it like to enjoy familar voices but feel like the words they say are strange to you? All of this was found in the layers of ‘The House’.

Cast were impressive. Eleanor Methven’s mother was superb, Karl Shiel’s Goldfish, Declan Conlon’s Christy- a great ensemble cast and completely invested in their performances.

One of my favourite moments of the play was when Declan Conlon’s character Christy (remember him from ‘Terminus’ last year?) started singing a traditional Irish love song (in the pub of course) to Marie (Cathy Belton) and the audience started singing along. I honestly felt like I was sitting in the audience of 'The Sound of Music' in that end scene when the Von Trapp family are singing Edel Weiss and the audience sing with them. Don’t get much of that back home I can tell you.

The production was lovely- slow but lovely. But the pace is imbued in the writing and director Annabelle Comyn has kept the integrity of the writing in her staging of the show. Beautiful acting abound and a superb versatile set, designed by Paul O’Mohony that created a myriad of locations that placed us all in the 1950’s- a decade desperately clinging on to the past with a faction fighting for change and progress and all at odds with each other.

‘The House’ reminded me, like ‘Jerusalem’ how our mythology, customs, speech, language and culture are embodied in our arts, especially our writing and how we need to engage with these narratives in our own country. I know I bang on about this like an old, tired drum but if there is a limited investment in our writing community, the legacy of our theatre will feel very thin over time. I know we have embraced this post-dramatic form and it has many wonderful things to recommend it when done thoughtfully but don’t throw the writer out with the glass box.

One of the things that watching the theatre of Ireland made me conscious of is that the work starts there with the writing. The author is king and from there they appoint a creative team appropriate to bring those words to life. They don’t have to impose vision or techniques to reinvent the words or text. It has its own importance and has been drafted and worked till it is ready for staging.

Here in Sydney we are all too aware that the director is king. The words are a platform for the director to stamp/impose their vision all over it and that necessitates often the re-writing of the work, the abandoning of anything old world and often the set is thrown out in the mix too. I know my critics will brand me as a traditionalist here but I will say this: I’m ok with whatever you want to do but when the director is so present in the work, it can be like deja vu every time I see his or her work. I’ve seen 5 shows presented by Belvoir theatre this year and 3 of them have been directed by Simon Stone and he is evident in every moment of them. You’d never think of staging 3 plays by the same author in a season (overkill) but if you are going to make the director king, it’s the same thing.

So let me finish by beating that drum one more time. Australia- invest in your writers and maybe even a National Theatre Company to do this. Productions are transient, beautiful images of life, here for a season and then only recalled in a deadened one-dimensional video recording or in our memories. Writing lives on to be reimagined again and again (or re-written by the next wave of directors) and unconsciously fuses politics, culture, language, customs and beliefs of our national agenda. And that is something far more interesting to pass onto each theatrical generation than an explosion of blood and flour on stage- don’t you think?

A YEAR DISSECTED BY ME

This weekend marks my one year anniversary of writing this blog and what a year.

So I felt it was worthwhile recapping my writing, my outing, this blog and its consequences.

As most of you know I started this blog out of initial frustration. The mainstream voices I heard that were critiquing theatre seemed to be catering to the companies and not to the audience, rewarding the potential and not criticising the product, even when it never lived up to its potential. I was not alone in this frustration, as evidenced by the viral transmission of the blog when it first hit the net in the June long weekend 2011. I was tweeted, posted and plastered over social network sites and bang, that baby was born.

But anger wasn’t the only motivating factor. I am a teacher, as is well documented by now (more of that later) and I wanted to ensure that I teach students the ability to articulate elements of theatre when deconstructing and reviewing its success or failure. So surely I had to teach by example and apply my own knowledge and experience to what I see and what I take students to see in order to open a discussion on the very art itself. I've never claimed you have to agree with me but please, have an opinion and justify it.

Australia, more than anywhere, has a reputation in theatre if not the Arts in general, of not really giving honest feedback. Our industry is insular. Partly I think it’s because our industry is so small that it is better for insiders, friends and practitioners to just say a vague ‘well done’ or ‘I liked it’ and then let the audience decide whether it succeeds or not through the box office. Amongst your friends in quiet corners, you can all agree that it was a complete stinker but whatever you do, don't say it in public. If the emperor knew he was naked, all hell would break loose.

Europe and the States would not hesitate to slap you across the face with your own mistakes and gee, it’s hard to hear, but if you take it on board it can make you a much better performer or practitioner. How many times have you desperately wanted real feedback but people are too afraid to say it because they are frightened when it is their turn to create or perform, you’ll stick the knife in?

See- in that way I was liberated. I am not beholden to the industry for my bread and butter. I don’t mix with a huge circle of luvvies. I am in a job where I am expected, generally in the kindest way I can to the most sensitive souls possible, help them improve. Sometimes it is with gentle sidecoaching, sometimes with clear concise constructive criticism and sometimes it’s with a sledgehammer. Many of my ex-students work in the industry in one form or another. They can tell you. I’m not there to wound but I will give them honesty, in whatever fashion I can depending on their age, ability, sensitivity, investment and respect for whatever advice I can offer. I dearly love my students and they are some of the most intelligent, resilient and fearless people I know. But most of all, they love to feel that you care enough to help them improve and be honest with them. Why should theatre be any different?

Apart from teaching, I do practice my own craft- improvisation. I have been performing both nationally and internationally for over 15 years. I even did a stint of stand up over a decade ago with some success (now that scene is tough). I trained with Keith Johnstone and I’ve been teaching impro workshops here and overseas too. So I do understand about baring your soul on stage and trust me when I say, improvisation can create for you the best and worst of times in performance. You have to learn from your mistakes constantly.

Finally, the blog was also aimed at mainstream theatre companies (and their reviewers) to hear the voice of the audience to tell them that we expect more from them. You can’t always churn out the dross or experiment on the audience and expect to keep them. And it seemed that they were forgetting that.

I guess there was some initial naivety in writing the blog. I knew the title was controversial but didn’t really understand how much of an impact it would have across the Arts sector who seemed to believe the sole purpose was to attack and destroy and not see the layers of meaning in the title- and the first two posts on ‘Baal’ and ‘The Seagull’ would have suggested, I suppose, that it was true. So the posting of my next review on ‘Terminus’ was a surprise to some that I could also praise when a production deserved it.

In the very early days I also had my name on it until friends advised me to take my name off it because a) they felt my workplace would be put in an awkward position and b) the theatre luvvies will rip my little throat out. 'Give it a chance to be heard before people stick the knives in' was the general thought and so it became an anonymous blog. Just enough insider info to suggest I might be a player but enough distance to indicate that I really didn’t have too much personally at stake in the industry voicing such criticisms.

Thus 'Shit On Your Play' was live. Constantly evolving, like theatre itself. I mean if directors are allowed to subvert their form, why can’t I subvert theatre criticism?

So I lived in my obscurity, quite happily, until Stephen Crittenden from a yet unlaunched and unknown website, The Global Mail, contacted me and asked for an interview about how my blog perhaps represented a new voice in theatre criticism that seemed to mirror dissatisfaction from audiences with the current offerings in the Arts.

And in a little café with notepad in hand, off we went. 

Now I never suspected that when The Global Mail went live a few months later that I would be in the first ‘issue’ and most of all, that it would attract the attention it did and so many haters who also happened to be other theatre review bloggers. Perhaps they were outraged because my voice is different from theirs, maybe it was because often many of them were just more detailed versions of mainstream reviewers because many bloggers seem to want to be ‘part of the industry’ and so wouldn’t ever really criticise work or maybe it was because they weren’t asked and their noses were out of joint.

Certainly the fact that I was a teacher (just a teacher- I mean who IS she?) was an issue. It was the anti-teacher sentiments from the Arts that probably most surprised me. You often think of the Arts as a left-wing-social-justice banner for freedom- relying on liberal arts education and diversity of expressions. So for it to present itself as one of the most archaic and conservative creative bodies was an eye-opener. I’ve always known that teachers are treated as second class career opportunists but to hear that from the Arts sector was unexpected, especially given that I am in the seat of introducing and fostering the next generation to go to the theatre, to appreciate and articulate the form. Obviously I missed the memo that said that I wasn’t worthy enough to criticise it. To condemn is to show your ignorance. To praise is the only agenda. Whoops.

It got nasty there for a while. Key voices of opposition like Alison Croggon called in all her cronies and made sure that every site possible called me a (middle-class middle-aged- don’t even get me started on the gender implications here) troll and interestingly enough, if discussion on her own site started to praise my blog and criticise her viewpoints, discussions were shut down. And if you didn’t want to upset the apple cart, distancing yourself from me was the soup de jour. Best way to do that…shit on shit on your play.

Most criticisms were aimed at my style of writing- 'she can't write', 'she doesn't understand grammar', 'so simple', 'just griping "This play was crap and so I didn't like it"'. Discredit the voice by making the author sound like a bitter, barren old teacher who can't string a sentence together. They completely missed the point. My style is not to dazzle you with language- in fact- quite the opposite. I want to make theatre criticism as clear and evocative as possible, not because the audience don't understand 'big' words but because the scene painted is not obscured by trying to be clever. It's my voice, not my thesis. This is how I speak. The blog is conversational and it is its chief appeal.

Well you don’t write something like I do and expect just love and admiration so I let the vitriol run its course and gave the haters plenty of room to express it. Isn’t that the beauty of it all? That different voices are allowed to emerge in this public forum? So then I was criticised for not entering the fray. Well slap me down with a fish. This middle-class, middle-aged troll just couldn’t pull a trick.

It was lovely to be told by Raymond Gill in The Age that I sounded like the next Dorothy Parker or to hear that Colin Friels loves my blog. And the generous support of other respected bloggers like Kevin Jackson, who defended my right to write on more than one occasion, was heart-warming.

It was a whirlwind. Belvoir, perhaps a little stung by how Ralph Myers was presented in Crittenden’s article, decided to run a special Sunday Forum on theatre criticism, with me as its showcase (dates revolved around my availability). Originally titled ‘The Dark Art of Criticism’ (hello- I wonder what your agenda is here) it eventually became print vs blogosphere with Darryn King, Croggon (flown up and accommodated by Belvoir for the event), Elissa Blake and Chris Hook. It was rather disappointing that it only went for an hour- it was just getting interesting when it had to be shut down. And what was most interesting? Croggon shaking her head every time I spoke but not launching in on an attack in her polite (middle-class, middle-aged?) soft vocals after so vehemently roasting me online? Or perhaps it was the question of credentials in order to see yourself as a legitimate reviewer? Apparently performing, teaching, studying of Drama as a double major in my degree, being an audience member for over 20 years was less valid than a degree in journalism unrelated to the Arts and given the portfolio of theatre reviewing as part of your job when it lands on your desk. It’s a strange world.

I should say, as a side note, that since the forum I have asked Belvoir if they would give me free tickets to their shows but they have made it clear they won’t. I do understand in a way. You don’t want to legitimise my blog by acknowledging it. I get it. Perhaps your choice is right. I have continued to buy my own tickets and frankly, ‘Every Breath’ paid for itself if you know what I mean. Belvoir can get it so right or so wrong. Buying my own tickets means I don’t have to feel compromised by voicing my opinions. Maybe next year I’ll just publish the dates I’m going to the theatre, start my own ‘Meet me in the foyer’ club and we can all sit around with a cup of ‘middle-brewed, middle-aged’ tea and deconstruct the experience.

It was lovely to have complete strangers approach me post-forum and thank me for the blog. And why did they do that? Because how many audience members feel represented in what they read? They feel like most reviews are there to sell the show and have been duped enough to feel like they’ve been sold a lemon. My blog paints the picture of the experience of going to the theatre. From the moment you sit down until you leave, I will tell you how it feels, what you’ll get out of it, why you might have not responded to it, what was missing. I’m not going to generally underscore every pause, every full stop, every note and unpack it for you. The text is often a springboard for the show. Tell me about the show. Is it worth seeing? How often do you turn up to a show and know nothing about it? Doesn't matter. What matters is, will the show engage me and will I get my money's worth.

Interestingly enough, I have noticed a few trends in reviewing styles now, especially in the mainstream, trying to be a bit more critical in analysis. Well hoorah. Hope I’m not becoming a recognised iconoclast after all of this. I’ll have to mainstream myself.

So a year later, here I am, 54,000+ hits (why didn’t I sign up for google ads and make some money from this?). There’s still much to do on the site as I am a luddite when it comes to technology. I even joke that a whole ‘shit on’ series must be worth considering…who knows.

Don’t be concerned that I’ll be a little quiet for the months of June & July. I’m heading overseas. But I will be back and bigger than ever.

In the meantime, keep your voices alive, keep the companies on their toes and strive to ask for and deliver the best art you can.

Your audience is worth it.

'Deeming' directed by Steven Hopley at King St Theatre and dissected by me

For the record, I don’t want to stick the knife into independent theatre. In fact, for the most part if asked to review it and happy to do it if I can, if it’s the other side of fabulous I will try to give some constructive feedback on what was missing and the effect it had. I also acknowledge that there are varying degrees of indy theatre from co-op top notch to Country Town Players present Wood-de-doo, a sci fi musical in 15 acts.

So when I was invited to review at the newly refurbished King St Theatre the Hopley/EMU production of ‘Deeming’ by Frank Gauntlett, I really didn’t know what end of the spectrum I’d encounter. Two minutes into the show I had my answer.

Now if I’m going to have to slaughter the underfed and brink-of-death cow, I’ve got to think, ‘do I really want to review this show- wouldn’t it be better if it just disappeared?’ so I contacted producer/director Steven Hopley and told him my review could do you no good, I’m going to skip this one. But he was insistent that a bad review is better than no review at all. So here we go…

This play is bad. The script is all over the shop. It doesn’t seem to know what it’s saying- it’s a disconnected garble of colonial characters living in a theatrical world exploring the recent news story of Deeming, a serial killer whose story they want to stage. But alas, the only time this play works is when they (Emily Stewart and Patrick Trumper) are actually trying to do the staged melodramatic elements. The rest of the time the melodrama is incidental and cringe worthy. It’s a series of entrances and exits & the only segueway is when Mrs Dampier (Stewart) comes on with more information from the newspaper updating the story of Deeming. Trumper & Stewart appear to have skills but this is not the showcase for them. I don’t see this play appearing on their list of credits in their bios anytime soon.

Poor cast. Well poor Emily….she’s lumbered playing the wife of a man (Anthony Hunt as Alfred Dampier) old enough to be her father (plus a decade) and the relationship is as believable as Kim Kardashian marrying for love. Add to that, Hunt is clearly repulsed by the idea of touching her and that’s only made worse by the fact that he’s still trying to remember his lines or off napping in the corner in scenes.

The script gave very little for the actors to work with and so I can’t even deconstruct the directorial choices because it’s hard to tell what could have made this play better. I was like a child with ADHD sitting in the audience. Every fibre of my being was fighting against itself in an effort to stay in that space. I thought about faking kidney stones to get out mid show. And at interval when the only clapping comes from the lighting guy at the back because the rest of the audience will not dignify the end of the acting with applause, well take that as a big neon flashing sign that you’ve got a stinker on your hands.

I wish I could offer some sage advice or manipulate bits here and there to suggest that there was potential in the play untapped. I just can't.

Well Mr Hopley, there’s your review. I’m sorry. So so sorry. And I imagine you are too.