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.

Q THEATRE COMPANY'S ‘TRUCK STOP’ dissected by me

Every now and again a local original work comes along that defines a prominent issue and gives it a powerful theatrical voice. Lachlan Philpott’s new play ‘Truck Stop’, commissioned by Q Theatre Company and directed by Katrina Douglas is that play.

It was a privilege to see something so sophisticated in its writing and production that I encourage everyone to see it and if you have teenagers, take them with you and use it to springboard a discussion with them into current teenage trends and behaviour in this global accessible graphic world we now live in.

‘Truck Stop’ is based on a true story where two 14 year old girls were prostituting themselves in their lunch break at the truck stop down the road from their high school. But it is much more than this. It explores a highly sexualised immature culture where a real knowledge, understanding and comprehension of the consequences of sexualised activity and images are missing from the behaviour itself. It is action without emotion, a numbed idea of the reality of what you do and what it means, when the impact and footprint of the now can’t be felt, where the idea that ‘everyone is doing it’ is enough permission you need.

I can tell you how much truth there is in this. It is not a small scale problem. Incredibly young teens are sending each other nude text pictures, sexting, engage in sexual activity, easily accessing pornography and there is a feeling that this is what is expected or the norm. Sex has become a commodity and the idea that love and sex are disconnected permeates through.

Philpott captures this issue using a cast of 4 as his vehicle. His eclectic style, a combination of direct audience narration, real time action, transformational acting, linear time shifts, audio visual overlays, popular culture songs, internal verbalised monologues- they all offer an insight into the actions and motivations and relationships of these characters. Apart from that, it leaves the audience with some really big questions to consider. As psychologist  Michelle says to Sam “Where do you live? Not the house or street or suburb but in here. If you can’t see the difference between what’s going on in there and what’s happening around you, what’ll happen to you?” How can we teach teenagers who are immersed in an uncensored adult world how to process and respond to it? And whose responsibility is it to teach them?

‘Truck Stop’ is given great respect and life by director Katrina Douglas and her outstanding cast. Douglas utilises Philpott’s words in the frame of designer Michael Hankin’s set, like a rough, barren school square, surrounded by metal benches and neglected scrub. It’s a clinical, functional area, left without nurture or care and it is made clear in this play that the characters have been relegated to this area as they didn’t get in quick enough to grab anything else worthwhile. It’s a powerful metaphor of their own existence and age- trapped in a wasted area and left to survive as best as they can. Nothing beautiful can grow here.

Actors Eryn Jean Norvill (Sam), Jessica Tovey (Kelly), Kirsty Best (Aisha) and Elena Carapetis (playing an ensemble of roles) were superb. They created roles of such conviction, flavour, integrity and tension so audience couldn’t help but engage in these journeys. It was the perfect recipe of cast to complement Philpott’s intent.

This is a play I cannot recommend highly enough. Writing about it doesn’t really do it justice. This is a play you just need to see. Now.

BELVOIR’S ‘STRANGE INTERLUDE’ written & directed by Simon Stone & dissected by me

Once you spend the pre-requisite first 15 minutes of any Simon Stone written & directed show adjusting to his style- bleak, stark sets, graphic language and unbridled detail of sexual encounters from men- there is a lot to enjoy about his work (most of the time…I’m never letting him off the hook completely after 'Baal').

But there is a maturity surfacing in his most recent works which make some of his hallmark tricks (he really could have his own bingo card) feel like appropriate and sophisticated choices. You know this time I actually enjoyed the glass box. Go figure.

‘Strange Interlude’, adapted by Stone from Eugene O’Neill, takes the skeleton of O’Neill’s story and gives it quite a delectable fleshing out. In many ways, Stone’s is the better version, particularly for his contemporary audience. It explores the life of protagonist Nina Leeds (Emily Barclay) over her 25 year journey from her tumultuous youthful ideas of love into what can only be described as a middle-aged resolution of love as burdensome or tedious. Oh those middle-aged people…poor things…it comes as liberating when your lover leaves and your husband dies, doesn’t it?

Stone’s material is interesting and engaging and direction thoughtfully crafted but his smartest move was in the casting of a superb ensemble of actors.

In the first moments when Mitchell Butel as Charles Marsden delivers his monologue reminiscing about his own inadequate sexual encounters, I wonder why it is Butel has never really registered on my radar before. Butel is superb and this is again highlighted in his drunken stupor later in the play. Butel’s comic timing is genius. If you ever wondered about the adage of “no small parts, only small actors”, Butel will show you how to take a small role and knock it for six. Even actors who pop on to the stage for what feels like far too short a time have their moment to shine, Anthony Phelan, Kris McQuade, Eloise Mignon and Amos Armont. A special mention also to Nicholas Bakopoulos-Cooke who played young Gordon Evans on the night I saw it reminded me of those young boys that child protection legislation was invented for, so the impulse to hit him has to be overridden. He was one of those child actors who’s able to get right inside that character and relish the part. It felt truthful instead of rehearsed.

Barclay is also a surprisingly good casting as Nina. She felt a bit young to convey the time span required of the play but I think she managed it well and her petulant tantrums and desires were captured beautifully. The double header of Toby’s- Truslove as Sam Evans and Schmitz as Ned Darrell were such a highlight of this show. Truslove is a gifted improviser and I sensed there were wonderful moments of play when he was allowed freedom by Stone to take a moment to go there and this contrasted nicely with those moments of his transformation throughout the play, his personality moving from clay to brick. Toby Schmitz has also firmly established himself as an actor of clear, appropriate choices, a true ensemble actor who will give each moment the energy and power or subtlety it needs and asks of his fellow cast mates to step up to the plate to join him there. Schmitz could sell ice to Eskimos.

And this brings me back to Stone. He has written good material for his cast to sink their teeth into and as a director he has successfully brought it to life. Glass box and all.

Robert Cousins’ design of the play is a blank canvas- like a TV studio's neutral backdrop ready to project and build images of the scene and perhaps Nina’s life. Small set items are bumped in and out as needed to represent moments or memories, sometimes surreal and dreamlike. Damien Cooper’s lighting is used to either add warmth when required or spotlight the emptiness to intensify the scene. It allows us to see the scene and not the dressing and it works for this play.

This is a good play and you know, I always dip my toes into Stone’s work with some trepidation, but I was very happy to swim in this piece. Stone seems to understand the journey of love, lust, broken relationships, lost moments, moments that never were, choices you wish you hadn’t made and how to live with the choices you have made. Stone has crafted a complex vehicle and I think he’s firmly in the driving seat with a great set of companions, travelling towards a desired destination.

Just don’t take your hands off the wheel Simon…

DARLINGHURST THEATRE’S ‘REASONS TO BE PRETTY’ dissected by me

Confession: I know my LaBute. So this review may potentially a) make me sound smarter than I actually am and b) go into more textual depth than I normally do.

Playwright Neil LaBute is a man after my own heart. He is fascinated with the psychology of people, the dysfunctional nature of relationships and how much damage can be done with language. Amongst it all his caustic humour pervades the page as he examines his subjects under the microscope to get a closer look. He is, in essence, a writer of the contemporary ‘morality tale’.

LaBute is a favourite of Darlinghurst Theatre- he’s probably been staged there more than anywhere else in Sydney that I’ve seen. But LaBute is deceptively complex. He, like Mamet and Shephard, is responding to the American society in which he has been raised. Naturally there are universalities in themes and ideas that transcend specifics but there is something ingrained about American culture, class and attitudes that struggle to be fully realised anywhere else outside of the States. You know what I mean? I can be sitting there watching an Australian play that has fairly universal themes but I recognise these characters, I work with them, I am related to them, I probably am one of them. There is a slight disconnect in American realist characters on our stage that even though I recognise the archetype and so many characteristics are just human and not cultural, there are tiny  things I don’t fathom that distance me slightly from who these people are. It takes a very skilled performance and direction to realise the complete layers of cultural complexity, if it can be done at all. This doesn’t mean the play can’t stand on its own, it just means that nailing the characters and their relationships is essential or the disconnection widens and the play feels superficially entertaining.

‘Reasons to be Pretty’ deals with America’s (and the world’s) obsession with beauty with an added coming-of-age story. A boy (Greg) grows up and becomes a man.

To me Darlinghurst Theatre, under the direction of James Beach, got the humour and language of LaBute’s blue-collar play ‘Reasons to be Pretty’ (not all of it- the production cut each characters’ major monologue to the audience). The audience were certainly entertained, especially by the male characters of Greg (Andrew Henry) and Kent (Stephen James King) but Beach missed the morality tale of LaBute’s work.  Beach’s decision to play Kent as a caricature means that we are not surprised by his betrayals, tantrums, misogyny or double-standards. It makes him funny but we don’t associate him as ‘real’. This is a missed opportunity to explore LaBute’s point that these are real people. This behaviour is engaged in by real men. How much more powerful would it be to have this dialogue and action from someone who the audience perceive as a three-dimensional real character?

Having said that, Beach and Darlinghurst theatre certainly understand their demographic.  You only have to hear the clinking of beer bottles dropping between the seats as they clearly express their pleasure or friends of the cast supportively yelling “you’re hot” during the show. They are there to have fun (I’m not making a judgement) and aren’t really invested in the idea of introspectively examining their own beliefs and values on a Friday night. So I can confidently say that most of the audience walked out thoroughly satisfied with this interpretation of the play.

Onto more specifics: it’s hard to kick off a play mid-fight. The intensity required of the actors to convince the audience that we are in the middle of what is the ‘end’ of a relationship we haven’t even been introduced to yet is a hard ask. There is no room for error. Julia Grace (Steph) and Henry’s Greg did a pretty good job of this- although climbing on the table felt a little contrived and yelling in that space is hard. Acoustically, Darlo Theatre needs a lot of work (please take note potential sponsors) so vocals get lost amongst the echo and it makes accent work truly difficult.

Andrea Espinoza’s design could have been played with more too. LaBute’s plays exist in a geographic (and often moral) vacuum, in familiar but non-specific or hermetic settings. Instead of trying to create a realistic setting or wheeling out a restaurant wall, maybe a more expressionistic representation could have been employed. And there’s a slight (but maybe petty) disconnect between references to blue uniforms but wearing a black one. I know it’s minor but audience do pick up on those things. None of these things are deal breakers, just food for thought. The set and costumes were certainly functional, just sometimes clumsy.

The decision to accompany scene transitions with a mixed tape of power ballads sprung out of key moments of the previous scene were a sentimental touch that didn’t  help in delivering LaBute’s work. A rousing rendition of Tina Turner’s ‘We Don’t Need Another Hero’ post fight with Greg & Kent or James Blunt’s ‘You’re Beautiful’ post Steph’s outburst on being referred to by her boyfriend as having a “regular face” just misses the point. LaBute is not sentimental. He’s brutal. Go with it.

I still for the most part enjoyed this play. I thought every actor did what was asked of them and the comic timing of Andrew Henry and Stephen James King was particularly good. And when James Beach says in his program notes “My main hope is simply that tonight entertains you and reminds you of moments when love went wrong”, this is what you get.

I just wish he gave me more.

STC’S LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES directed by Sam Strong & dissected by me

It’s an unconventional start to a review but before I even start deconstructing the production, I must add to a previous post on theatre etiquette. This note is for the man in Row B, sitting in front of me. Please use a deodorant. Regularly. Maybe even change your shirt before you go out at night. Your body odour, the worst I’ve encountered for a while and I have been trapped in a room with sweaty teenage boys that come up roses next to your olfactory assault, made me gag on my own scarf. Were you a plant from bitter enemies to halt my postings? Well played stinky man, but no cigar (and had I lit it in your presence the les dangereuses gases permeating from your undergarments would have sent us all up in flames).

So kudos to 'Les Liaisons Dangereuses' for still managing to engage me when such sensory adverse conditions were in play. This production has a number of things about it I really like. Firstly, Hampton’s script is a deft adaptation of Choderlos de Laclos’ novel. I love that it’s a generally well written vehicle for strong middle-aged characters and actors. I love that there are more roles for women than men. I love that it explores the social politics and inequalities of women in a clever, interesting way and contextualises a world where the appearance of restraint is paramount but that this world is a façade for deceit and delves into the tactics of how to get exactly what you want without arousing suspicion. And I use the word ‘tactics’ especially here as this dissection is going to focus on that technique and concept.

It is an entertaining play brought to life with skill and sophistication. It’s not perfect but I was never not engaged. I’m not going to give you paragraphs of plot (you know my thoughts here- google the story if you need to). A three hour play does not need an episodic breakdown. Trust me when I say it’s interesting and you’ll enjoy it.

So let’s accept the following criticism in the spirit of understanding that it did not affect my enjoyment but it’s why the play may have been engaging but not powerful.

Let’s start with the biggie- the lack of chemistry between Hugo Weaving’s Le Vicomte de Valmont and Justine Clarke’s La Presidente de Tourvel. The play hinges on convincing us of Valmont’s pressing desire to conquer and seduce the chaste Tourvel, to get her to succumb against her will and in the process, as much as he tries to deny and conquer his own feelings, he deeply falls for her. If we don’t believe the connection and turmoil between them, it is a skilled but superficial sell, especially when it unfolds. It is this event that changes everything in the play- the Vicomte’s relationship with Pamela Rabe’s La Marquise de Merteul, his actions and motivations towards others and ultimately his own fate that then unravels the fates of others. Although Weaving and Clarke are undisputedly fine actors there just wasn’t anything between them that convinced me of his passion or her capitulation and therefore the ending didn’t pack the punch it needed. Perhaps they were affected by the odour attack wave from Row B?

I’m a fan of Weaving. He does know how to command a stage and his name on the show list will always sell tickets. But I felt his tactics for much of the play lacked subtlety. He’s got swagger but this character needs to be able to charm and disarm and if you come in to the room with your intentions as broad as daylight, even the murky haze effect used on stage won’t hide your objectives from the other characters. It does come as a surprise that they could have all been so profoundly stupid or naïve to fall for his tricks. One of the flaws of the play is that the younger characters are often just fodder or targets for the older characters so if there isn’t more manipulation and subtlety in tactics, it makes the younger characters feel whiney and one-dimensional or purely under-written. I thought the actors gave it a brave shot but had director Sam Strong encouraged more tactics in manipulating others to reach their intentions, there may have been more for the younger cast to bite in to.

Now let’s talk about Rabe and that wig. Was it a deliberate choice to dress her as Robyn Nevin? If you are playing a conniving, intelligent, complex villainess, was the director making a statement here? Rabe was completely transformed but I couldn’t help but think there was another motive floating around here… I’ll leave that with you.

Rabe gave a solid, strong, intimidating performance. There may be a few questions, like Weaving, where I wonder if a more nuanced list of tactics could have been employed. It is hard to imagine why she never aroused suspicion from those around her- she was a formidable mercenary. And if this is what we predominantly see, the declaration of ‘war’ is not a tilt, it’s a natural progression. If it is a society resting on the façade of restraint and integrity, where was the façade? I think she put all her cards on the table, like the metaphor of the opening scene, from the start.

There were great moments of tension amongst it all, although sometimes played out in slow motion, like the duel between Valmont and James Mackay’s Le Chavailier Danceny. The ending also felt like a variation of Hamlet, with bodies strewn across the stage. None of this was detrimental but felt slightly contrived. Perhaps we would have been moved more had that chemistry and tactical variety been employed.

I think director Sam Strong has crafted a play that its audience will feel they got value for money but my only question of his work was whether he was intimidated by the calibre of his cast so he didn’t rein in choices or whether he is still yet to master the art of subtlety. After seeing ‘The Boys’ and this show, he certainly knows how to bring a story to life and engage an audience and interpret material with integrity and skill but I question whether he has fully developed a range of tactics and beats to explore and express character choices. Sometimes less is more.

Finally let’s look at design. I can’t help looking at this beautifully constructed French provincial set by Dale Ferguson and wonder if he’s available for home renovations. It’s well-utilised, practical and allows characters to twist and hide amongst the choices of entrances and exits. It captures the world, even in the chamber for live piano refrains from composer Alan John.

There was also flair in Mel Page’s costume designs- an elegance of class, character and personality with a contemporary flavour. It did sometimes feel like the worlds were anachronistic but I think this is an inherent note of Hampton’s writing more than directorial choices. It works for the most part without too much confusion.

If you can get a ticket to 'Les Liaisons Dangereuses', I’d recommend a viewing. But bring your own smelling salts or a scented hanky in case the man in Row B is back for an encore.