STC & BARKING GECKO THEATRE COMPANY’S ‘STORM BOY’ dissected by me

I’m back in fourth class, watching the movie ‘Storm Boy’ and sobbing uncontrollably. At that moment, the decision was made at the tender age of nine to avoid movies where animals die, which has served me well, thank you very much. I just forgot to include theatre in that list because really, you can’t have animals on stage, unless it’s some tacky circus extravaganza, so it can’t affect me in the same way, can it?

Simple answer. Yes it can. In fact, I sat in the audience with 40 students and I was the only one crying like a child. Under this hardened exterior beats a sensitive soul and ‘Storm Boy’ took me there.

Based on Colin Thiele’s book and adapted for the stage by Tom Holloway, director John Sheedy, designer Michael Scott-Mitchell and a cast of gruff men and superbly made puppets, created by Annie Forbes and Tim Denton, took their audience on a journey that is much more than a narrative about loss, love, loyalty and loneliness. It firmly plants itself as Australian as it pays homage to the spirit of the land, our transience on it and the traditional, sacred and generational respect and ownership slipping away under the brutality of the new world.

Scott-Mitchell’s set, a combination of an enormous wave, a ruined ship and the skeleton of a whale’s jaw was a beautiful metaphor for the natural wilderness of the Coorong National Park and the futile attempt to tame nature. The opening moments of lightning (Damien Cooper) and thunder (sound designer Kingsley Reeve) rock the stage and set the children into screams of delighted terror and again, in the storm scene as they run through the audience with some incredible accompanying lighting and sound effects. One of the great elements to any good children’s theatre is to scare children without traumatising them. Cleverly done, especially when actors and puppeteers Shaka Cook and Michael Smith suddenly appear in traditional Indigenous paint and costume, reinforcing the heritage and history of our setting and their constant presence in our environment. The set’s muted colours, its sense of abandonment, like the men and animals who temporarily inhabit it, create a natural stage picture, perfect for the action to take place.

It was also nice to see a darker and more real attempt at a children’s theatre piece, kept light in play through Fingerbone Bill’s (Trevor Jamieson) jokes and most enjoyably, our pelican puppets playing fetch and snapping Hideaway Tom (Peter O’Brien) on the bum. Lucky pelicans I say (watch out Ewen Leslie- if it came down to a choice between you or O’Brien for man-bearded handsomeness, I don’t know which way I’d go and no doubt, one day, I’m sure I’ll be forced to choose). But ‘Storm Boy’ is not afraid of showing death on stage and I’m glad they went there, even if through my tears my normal tactic of counting lights didn’t stop them flowing. It was done through the beauty and skill of the puppets and I was most impressed how real they felt and how Cook and Smith manipulated them so effortlessly. I completely entered the spirit of the action. And to make the choice to have two Indigenous actors being the ‘hands of nature’ was another smart allusion by Sheedy to the connections of sacred totems and symbols, culture and man.

I was also fortunate to catch Rory Potter in the main role as Storm Boy. He’s an exceptional young actor and if he’s performing like this at the age of 12, I can only imagine how outstanding he’s going to be as he matures. If you ever doubt the ability of young performers to create complex, moving and subtle characters, go and see Potter in any play. He’s remarkable.

So it appears I now have to ban myself from watching plays where animal puppets die, just to keep my emotions in check and maintain my hard-edge mantel as the bitch reviewer of the scene. How pathetic.

Now someone pass the tissues.

ROCK SURFERS THEATRE COMPANY’S ‘EMPIRE: TERROR ON THE HIGH SEAS’ dissected by me

Camus’ ‘Caligula’ explores the absurd notion of the human condition and the idea of what right we have to oppose tyranny, what limits can we place on them or, in fact, ourselves. When Caligula states, “Ah, my dears, at last I’ve come to see the uses of supremacy. It gives impossibilities a run...What's the use of this amazing power of mine if I can't have the sun set in the east? ” he may well be describing Toby Schmitz and his new play/spectacle ‘Empire: Terror on the High Seas’. I say this, not calling Schmitz’s play a great example of Theatre of the Absurd (although I think ultimately that's what it's trying to be, mixed with a stir of Dadaism) but because Schmitz, Emperor of the Sydney scene, has just pulled a Caligula. He has murdered theatre in front of us, firmly stuck his fingers up at his audience and told us to suck it.

I think we’re all in shock with how mind-boggling bad this spectacle (as Schmitz calls it in the program) was. My first thought was ‘You can’t be serious’ and I don’t think he is being serious. I genuinely think Schmitz is having a go, via an attempt at Theatre of the Absurd, but at what and at whose expense? At theatre? At his own reputation? At the worst he's ever been forced to watch or partake in? At the genre in some sort of Agatha Christie parody? In his playwright’s notes he refers to the British Empire Exhibition and war poetry but skims completely over the play, leading me to think, this is not a serious attempt at writing a piece of theatre. He’s just testing the waters to see if he can get away with it. If so, it's a pretty expensive joke on its cast, crew and audience to make a rather dated point about the human condition. 

So let’s get stuck into some details about the play (spoiler alert…in fact, the whole play might fall into this category). When did I truly dismiss this spectacle as a pie in the face? It might have been when we got to the 68^th murder on board the Empress of Australia circa 1925. Perhaps it was when our murderer, revealed at the end of Act One, plays with his deformed (self-harmed) penis as he strangles yet another victim. Could it have been when Mr Richard Civil-Lowe Cavendish had his intestines tied to a rope, with a knife at the other end, so he had to gut himself in order to free himself or kill our serial killer. Maybe it was the international cast of characters with bad accents; the twee allusions to homosexuality; the sinking of the ship so the murderer can get away as the perfectly timed bomb goes off; the chemical-weapons-infected-steward, John Rowling, jumping overboard; the characters who almost never spoke and when they did, we still don’t know why they did; the detective grabbing the conveniently placed broom, only seconds before moved into position, to unlock his handcuffs that he put himself in; the ghost of the singer Poppy Mitchell rising up to sing and be killed all over again or the voice overs from the lighting box at the end? Each and all of the above.

But really, it was probably in its opening minutes I knew the play had hit an iceberg as Mr Frey read us a bit of dadaist poetry and the cast of thousands walked out from the audience to stand in front of us in the spotlight with a pleading look of mercy in their eyes. ‘Empire’ was a hot mess and its audience were left in stunned silence over the atrocity in front of them (not the murder, the actual play). Even at the end of it, we still are left unsure as to the reason that our killer was doing it all in the first place. If you ever wanted an example of how intention and effect can be completely unrelated, look no further. I kept waiting, ala ‘The Producers’ and ‘Hitler in Springtime’, for someone to yell out “It’s a comedy”. No-one did.

I cannot express to you enough just how surprisingly bad this play was and I don’t know that director Leland Kean or his cast could fix it. It’s straight out melodrama with a nod to the Absurd with a few witty lines but lacks control of the form and has misread its target audience. It felt like one of those dodgy amateur high school shows with an element of the risqué.  I don’t even feel like there’s much point criticising the acting or direction because I think they know that ship sunk before it even sailed. This is the Rocksurfers’ Titanic.

And I love a bit of Schmitz. I'm gutted at what I just sat through. I don’t think I’ve ever given him a bad review but Emperor ‘Caligula’ Schmitz has stuck the knife in, ripped out the baby and has left us all gaping at the carnage. 

Heaven have mercy.

BELVOIR’S ‘PERSONA’ dissected by me

Not sure that I completely understood this play but I didn’t hate it so that has to count for something. I do love a piece of theatre that polarises, and when I say love, sometimes I mean hate. But not ‘Persona’, which was a pleasant surprise, from all accounts.

Many friends had trashed it, which made it a very attractive option to buy a ticket, as sadistic as that sounds. I thought, ‘I could do with a bit of SOYP action’. And yet, there I sat, bewildered but intrigued by Belvoir’s bizarre offering directed by Adena Jacobs.

Would it have made more sense if I had seen the Ingmar Bergman film? Probably. But had I seen the film it was based on, I would think seeing it as a piece of theatre would have been redundant and as I say many a time, if it can’t stand on its own, it ain’t worth the money you paid.

So I gathered from the play that the nature of reality is distorted- who are the people we invent for and of ourselves and what drives us there? Our world is a reveal of its different parts for different times and we can easily sabotage our own dreams and desires- we don’t need anyone else to do it for us. And I found myself sitting in the audience asking who is real and who is a manifestation of our imagination- who is Elizabeth and who is Nurse Alma and who on earth is looking after who, as the curtains open and close on this glasshouse (a box, yes, a glass box) and the dialogue (virtually a monologue with other voices either as voiceovers or mechanically/staccato delivered questions) juxtaposed with images of mundane acts of stagnant life. Even as I describe it, I think, ‘how on earth did you not hate it?’ and I can’t explain it, except to say this: the two female leads were outstanding. Meredith Penman and Karen Sibbing sold me on the play’s dilemma from the start with the integrity of two terrific actresses who have committed to this nightmare-of-loneliness experience.

I didn’t need the boy at the start, I probably didn’t need the nudity (but a girl doesn’t knock back a chance for a bit of flesh on stage, just for the challenge in focus) but I’m glad I caught this play. It’s one worthy of a conversation at the drink cooler, even just to work out a consensus about the play’s intent and ideas.

I can understand why this play had people walk out and why friends are seeking out a good therapist post-viewing experience and it’s not a play I would freely recommend you see. But if you do (or did, as I write this past its season), it’ll get your synapses working. 

ENSEMBLE’S ‘SEMINAR’ dissected by me

I saw ‘Seminar’ about two weeks ago, on its opening night and, as life would have it, I have not had a moment since to write this review (I am constantly thankful that I have no deadline or that I don’t work for the Daily Telegraph…I mean, how would I fit in anti-Labor vitriol and bias into every review?)

Anyway, as I have a moment of breath right now, I’ll keep this short and sweet. ‘Seminar’ is good. Very good in fact. Written by Therese Rebeck and directed by Anna Crawford, it’s made me want to search out work from both of these practitioners in the future. If you’re looking for a really solid piece of realist theatre that’s also current, witty, well-acted and engaging, I think this is your play.

If I get technical first, Alisa Paterson’s  set design is fabulous. The slick, expensive, neutral New York apartment contrasted to the grungy chaos of Leonard’s (William Zappa) loft as revealed at the end of the play takes us straight into the personalities and their elitist and aspiration worlds and completely typifies the rise and fall of our characters. The doors to the reveal were clunky so it felt like an old train leaving the station but what a minor criticism of a great moment.

Ross Graham also provides us with some lovely subtle lighting states and how I loved some of those costumes coordinated by Margaret Gill, especially those of our party girl social climber, Izzy (Michelle Lim Davidson).

But mostly I’d like to commend some superb acting (and by implication directing) from a top cast. Zappa is perfectly cast as editor Leonard. He terrifies me like walking over hot coals and yet, the temptation and desire to be affirmed from a man who will cut out your heart for breakfast, ram it down your throat and that you will beg him to do it, is too great, as each of our characters finds out. Even Zappa told me in the foyer that I look like a teacher and I can only presume that wasn't a compliment. But I still thanked him. Yep...he terrifies me... Whilst Felix Gentle and Matt Zeremes put in fine performances, it was the girls who struck me with their skill, belief and energy. Matilda Ridgway as Kate put in one of the best lead performances in a realist piece I’ve seen for some time and Davidson found the perfect balance in creating Izzy’s charm, ambition and ruthlessness. Crawford has tightly directed this comedy drama and what a pleasure it was to watch. I felt it probably needed ten minutes shaved off the end as the pace starts to slow and all the pieces of the play are neatly wrapped up but I’m not complaining. I’m just old and cynical. 

Which leads me to my last point…enough Ensemble bashing people (yes- I’ve been guilty of it too). This year’s return to the Ensemble after a long hiatus has uncovered what a diverse theatrical experience the Ensemble offers and it is time to take them more seriously as a theatrical force than perhaps we have. They won’t always create magic but so far they’ve offered strong and varied theatre in the Sydney scene. The fact that Lee Jones as Frankenstein's Creature didn’t even crack a mention in the recent Helpmann Awards reminded me that we are a small pool that only selects and acknowledges its talent from an even smaller pool. It’s time to reassess quality based on more than who gets government funding.

May I suggest if you want a good night out at the theatre, ‘Seminar’ would be an excellent way to go. 

STC’S ‘ROSENCRANTZ & GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD’ dissected by me

Stoppard. Beautifully wordy, clever, manipulator of language, artful existentialist. Stoppard. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. All of the above.

I saw the first preview at STC’s Sydney Theatre on Tuesday night and I was very glad I did. Normally first previews, that first desperate taste of an audience, are rocky affairs. But if Tuesday’s show, with few very minor, almost unnoticeable hiccups, is a sign of things to come, STC has a genuine hit on its hands with Simon Phillips' direction of Stoppard’s play.

Any director will tell you that if you’re working with good material, 70% of your success on stage will come down to casting and STC has got this one in the bag. Phillips' must be doing a happy dance at not only his leads but also with the strong supporting ensemble.

As part of Sydney’s 2013 Festival of Schmitz, Toby Schmitz gets to dabble in both perspectives of this story, as the lead in Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’, produced by Belvoir later this year, and as Guildenstern in this play. I can’t help think it’s like sweeping the pool at the Oscars. Yet whilst some may bemoan the glut of Schmitz, you can’t deny how good he is in this role. Whilst Tim Minchin is also lovely to watch and the interplay between them emanates a joy and energy, Schmitz is completely convincing as Guildenstern, having poured himself into this role. Minchen just plays himself, very well.

But the real surprise for me was Ewen Leslie as The Player. Leslie’s broad acting range was fully realised in this production and I relished every moment he was on stage delivering his witty, downtrodden, hopeful, heroic yet dastardly gamut of emotions and skills. He made The Player sympathetic and sexy. Oh dear…I’ve got a Ewen Leslie crush and I’m not afraid to admit it.

The tight ensemble of players and court characters were the right blend of spectacle and Shakespeare. Phillips really has done a great job at finding a thousand little moments and turning them into a domino drop of deliciousness. The only question that was left hanging for me was that of the direction of Gertrude, as a brainless Elizabethan bird but I accept that the play lends itself to it completely and the issue is more mine in reconciling the treatment of female characters on stage.

Gabriela Tylesova’s design was one of the first times I have felt that the stage of the Sydney Theatre has been effectively utilised by a local production. The (incredibly expensive) hydraulic stage, the mechanical (almost Eisenstein-inspired) archways indicate all the paths and possibilities, entrances and exits that all lead back to the paralysing knowledge of life’s own existentialist dilemma, the mechanisations of life itself. Tylesova’s costumes probably cost more than the stage itself. There was enough leather on stage to start an S&M club and there’s some fancy finery there too. But it all suits perfectly and I can’t imagine a more appropriate expression of the characters and the weathering of their journey.

Sound designer Steve Francis has finally solved the acoustic hole of the Sydney Theatre by subtly amplifying the actors to hit those back walls and if you didn’t see the occasional strapped cord on the actor, you would never have known. Nick Schlieper’s lighting design also adds to the feeling of this world, ebbing away as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern struggle to find their ways out of the shadows or at times, try to hide in them.

This is a show I’d be happy to see again and I strongly suggest you avail yourself of seeing it.

Give in to the Schmitz Blitz.

GRIFFIN’S ‘BEACHED’ dissected by me

Griffin Theatre’s latest local premier is of Melissa Bubnic’s play, ‘Beached’, directed by Shannon Murphy. ‘Beached’ explores a grossly overweight teenage boy, Arty (Blake Davis), his feeder mum JoJo (Gia Carides), his Pathway’s mentor Louise (Kate Mulvany) and the reality unmasking of Arty's world as captured in the show ‘Shocking Fat Stories’ by the producer (Arka Das). The show counts down the days until Arty’s gastric bypass surgery and unravels Arty's relationships, identity, hopes and fears and those of the other characters in this story.

I found this play very engaging and appreciated the attempt to use a medium now so prominent in the entertainment industry- complete with its manipulation of ‘reality’ itself through a quick edit, a staged scene and capturing or manufacturing the truly private moments we encounter. Bubnic’s play is a great vehicle to explore this taboo topic and polarising for society at large (excuse the pun).

The production still fell some way from being perfect but I did enjoy it and most of its audience seemed to as well. However, I found myself wishing the production played less with the superficiality of the characters as I think the writing offered more dimensions than the production suggested. Of course, I know it’s ‘reality’ television so I understand the point that’s being made- but in those moments when the camera is ‘off’, the real reality of the illusion of theatre can exist! I think if Murphy had pushed the ‘truth’ or belief of each of the character’s predicament, it would have punched way above its weight (excuse the pun).

Gia Carides was a strong casting choice in this play and I think she tried to find the light and shade of JoJo’s intentions but the directorial choice in heightening the absurdity of situation, especially  in regards to the public demonization of the obese, meant that Carides couldn’t push too far without looking out of place. Bubnic evocatively writes about this in her notes and it feels like Murphy didn’t quite get there in this production.

But Murphy did make some fine comic choices as Kate Mulvany captured in her physical and vocal expressiveness of Louise throughout the show. ‘Beached’ does have some wonderfully funny moments and the play certainly allows for that. Unfortunately Davis, who has a genuine niceness exude from his every pore, was never really believable as understanding what it must be like to be morbidly obese. It’s a hard ask to imagine being trapped inside your own body and to have no control over the response of people’s public disgust towards it. So I understand what an obstacle this presents for a director in plunging for depth and conviction so it is easier to play for laughs and allow us to empathise based on the sweetness of Davis’ interpretation of Arty.

Clever design of the stage by James Browne made for hidden places to be captured by manipulating the use of camera and meant that every part of the stage (and off stage) were potential spaces of action. I thought the use of the fat suit rolling bean bag was incredibly inventive and although distracted by the moving of the scaffolding at times, it meant that even a slight shift opened up a new angle and way of seeing things. There was also the dilemma of whether to watch the actor through the lens or on stage. What an interesting choice to be given. Consequently it seemed as if we prefer the comfort of the close up instead of relying on the bigger picture unfolding in front of us.

‘Beached’ is worth watching and the younger demographic will especially enjoy the medium and satire of the reality genre and its familiar form used in this clever way. And the play did inspire me to roll along to the gym the next day so there’s something to be said for that (excuse the pun).

IMPULSE THEATRE’S ‘ROMEO & JULIET’ dissected by me

Grotowski-oriented group, Impulse Theatre, had their debut of Shakespeare’s ‘Romeo & Juliet’ at the King St Theatre this week. It’s a mixed bag and continues a trend of community-based theatre at this venue that doesn’t quite succeed in producing fully developed work. Yet, there are some solid moments in this show that carry it to the end.

Director/Producer Stephen Wallace has chosen the 2005 Cronulla race riots as the backdrop or pretext to Shakespeare’s well-known play. Although this idea sets the scene for the two famous families and establishes time and place, it’s probably under-utilised in the overall vision of the play. It did allow for a few opportunities to play with cultural differences, such as the dancing in the party scene but it rarely pushed far enough in showing differences in characterisation or action. Perhaps there’s a fear of stereotyping. Whilst the ‘Lebanese’ Capulets were more obvious and developed, the Aussie Montagues didn’t have the same complexity and seemed to be only Aussie in costume. More exploration of choices here could have been interesting.

In regards to the performances, the stand out performer by a mile was Alan Faulkner, who took small roles such as the Prince or Peter and delivered the biggest performances of the evening. His mastery of the language was also evident and impressive.

Apart from Faulkner, it was the women of the cast who made a fist of keeping the show alive. Special mention goes to Rainee Lyleson’s Juliet. Dan Webber’s Romeo was hot and cold in characterisation but when he had the strength of Lyleson to bounce off, he was better for it. At least the chemistry and connection between them was believable.

The language was a hurdle too hard to ‘o’erleap’ for most and there was also some very dodgy and unfortunately amusing fight choreography executed on stage. Belief was mixed and there were a number of eye-rolling moments. Thankfully any sighing was muffled by the noise made by the obsessive crisps eater in the second row. And then sometimes they had moments that lifted the play in intensity and engagement and made the questionable performances or choices more forgivable.  

Allan Walpole’s set allowed for a variety of ways to use the stage, although sometimes, as evidenced by the use of the balcony, the set was used far too literally and a little more experimentation wouldn’t have gone astray.

But in all of that, the cast were committed and there’s lots of energy and love for the play within it. It doesn’t always transfer out but no doubt its audience will find a few moments of redemption in the viewing of the play and its passionate delivery.