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Reviews |
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July-August 2001
We welcome comments on our reviews: please go to Stagediary's Forum. Ali Baba Blasted Boss of the Pool The Boyfriend Buried Child Cloudstreet The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged) Double Vision Hotel Paradiso Miraculous A Paper House Rigoletto Shaken Not Stirred Seems LIke Yesterday Shout The Soldier's Tale Talking Heads Tivoli Trainspotting Earlier reviews |
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Miraculous Brisbane Powerhouse Quite appropriately, the opening of Miraculous is a series of heavenly songs performed by the “Peace ‘n Choir” singers, led by Ann Bermingham. These songs preface a multi-layered production of music, movement, and drama collages that explore notions of the miraculous. In particular, Miraculous explores sightings by three young children who heard voices and had visions in 1916 and 1917. This performance was a project of Access Arts, a group created to support the artistic and cultural aspirations of people experiencing disability and disadvantage. And despite being the result of only 34 hours workshop contact hours, this production is marked by strong performances and high production values; and showcases an exploratory approach to theatre. The preface of choral music and the “background music” provided by the choir effectively enhance the play’s disturbing and strangely beautiful ideas. A series of scenes tells the story of the children’s visions and the “trials” they underwent in the form of community reaction; and the play effectively explores human reaction to phenomena we don’t understand. Director Marcus Hughes’ striking stage imagery and stillness is enhanced by Geoff Squires’ sophisticated lighting states; and the performances are full of vigour and sincerity. Sometimes this intensity leads to a “rushed feeling” (particularly in the interrogation scene) but the high emotional pitch of the acting does suit the heightened drama of storyline. As an observer of a “workshop” performance — which is as much about the performer’s experience as the audience’s — I can tell only half the story ... but from my side of the footlights this was a moving and thought-provoking experience. — Joanne Loth (Performance seen: 24th August 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Buried Child Queensland Theatre Company Before America’s tidal wave of cultural imperialism had reached full swell, it could be said, and was by some, that the only cultural unity we shared with the good old US of A, was a language. Even that lacked certainty. Think of boots and trunks and hoods and bonnets. Sam Shepard’s Buried Child is called a twentieth century classic. It won a Pulitzer Prize and all. But despite that literary trophy’s origins in a bequest by a Hungarian immigrant who made an interesting entry into, and finally made good in the land of the brave and the home of the free, Pulitzer winning plays are strictly by Americans and primarily for Americans. By the play’s end I was left bemused, confused and wondering , “Was there some essential universal element I missed, or was this simply a piece about a highly dysfunctional American farming family disintegrating under the weight of a small skeletal secret hidden not in the cupboard, but buried in the corn/carrot field out back?” Or then again, “Had the comprehensively compendious program notes on every possible symbolic “flower” in Sam Shepard’s imaginary garden so prematurely influenced my interpretation, that it became difficult, if not impossible to engage with the production?” Or then again, again, “Did I ultimately identify with Shelly (Lauren Clair), the visitor to the family farming abode, and find myself unable to relate to, or care for or about its occupants, before or after they’d dumped their little family secret on her?” There was no confusion about Shepard’s skill as a wordsmith. The lyric quality of the dialogue even at the play’s darkest moments justifies comparisons drawn with Tennessee Williams. But where Williams’ lyricism is coupled with clarity of theme, strength and certainty of dramatic tension and accessibility of symbolism, Buried Child is like a carefully crafted jigsaw puzzle with major pieces missing. Is it about the “deconstruction of the American Dream” as those program notes suggest? Is it “American Theater of the Absurd at its best” as reviewer Pater Carrozzo of Queens, New York reported on May 22, 1999? Is it “Real and Unreal — a story of coming home and coming to terms with the past” as reviewer Susan R. Murray of Pittsburg suggested on January 30, 2000? Is it, as reviewer Huang, Hsinkai of Taipei, Taiwan suggested on October 12, 2000, “an elusive play — for there are a lot of actions they (the audience) don’t quite understand ... The backyard in this play, for one, is conveying (a) two-fold level. On the one hand it is physically a backyard as many people have in real life. It is, on the other, a mysterious place inasmuch as there is no detailed description of the place, yet a few significant events all so happen to take place at the backyard." Discovery of these diverse views both American and international offered some comfort to the confusion about the true nature and intent of the play, but regrettably other confusions and uncertainties rained and reigned in the design and production. The triangulated configuration of the otherwise conventional “box” set may have been meant to reflect the relationships and tensions between the protagonists, but triangles are, geometrically speaking, the only immutable shape. It’s because they do not distort under pressure from any direction that they feature so prominently in bridge construction and as symbols of strength in advertising. Much of the movement took the players “to the walls” leaving the restricted primary acting space resulting from the triangle strangely vacant much of the time, and lack of balance in the performances stole from Martin Vaughan’s wonderfully understated Dodge, the catharsis of the play’s moment of revelation. Lauren Clair and Joss McWilliam as the emotionally damaged Tilden complemented Vaughan and presented characters consistently believable and only John Dommett’s indomitable professionalism gave any sense of purpose to the appearance of Father Dewis. Two-legged Hayden Spencer’s creation of the illusion of a man with only one, was admirable but he and Carol Burns (uncharacteristically) pushed the performance envelope just a little too hard, while Trenton Shipley pushed it all the way too far. In summary, an interesting but unsatisfying night at the QTC. — Ron Finney (Performance seen: 24th August 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Seems Like Yesterday Kooemba Jdarra Seems Like Yesterday takes you into the Vietnam War, and doesn’t let you out until after the heartbreakingly touching finale. In between, through George Bostock’s mesmerising evocation of a war that Australians would rather forget, you get a glimmer of insight into what it must have been like to be a young serviceman conscripted into a world where the only relief from stark terror was mind numbing boredom, where all the people you loved were out of reach, and you found yourself growing to love the soldiers you fought with and depended on. The fact that Bostock is an indigenous writer of the Bundjalung people, and that the central character reflects some of his experiences during that war, adds a further dimension to a play that has much to say and only rarely labours its points. When his soldiers grapple with issues such as discrimination, prejudice and the Stolen Generation, it’s one to one, up close and personal. The small group trapped together in this isolated sector of the military zone are a disparate lot, culturally, ethnically, racially, and temperamentally. And director Nadine McDonald of the Kooemba Jdarra Indigenous Performing Arts has assembled a cast that does them justice. The most senior, and paternal, of the soldiers is a South Sea Islander played with wonderful presence by Ariu Sio, as a caring but authoritative leader. Bradley Byquar is the ruggedly assertive but warm hearted newcomer to the group, Stewie Jackson, and the quality of his performance marks him out as one of the Indigenous stars of the future, whom Kooemba Jdarra is committed to nurturing. He is well-matched by his on-stage sparring partner Paul Denny, as the racist Tasmanian, John Bowden. The development of their relationship runs along conventional lines, but becomes something fine through the quality of the acting and a script that doesn’t mince words. Other standouts are Marc Richards, who makes the character of Peter Davis an extremely likeable conciliator and larrikin, and Roxanne McDonald, who opens and closes the play as Stewie’s feisty Nanna, and in between is the grieving spirit accompanying Stewie to the war. Also playing able servicemen of divers backgrounds are Sean Dennehy, Nigel Poulton and Yalin Ozuculik. Designer Alison Ross brings the stage to the audience in a way that draws them most effectively into the tension of the battlefield — and the only note that jarred was the use of a dummy as a dead Viet Cong. This short and bitter-sweet play works on a number of levels. It serves as a contribution to the growth in understanding of Aboriginal history from personal testaments coming through indigenous literature and the theatre. At the same time, it is a long overdue memorial to a cohort of marginalised young men who were never given their due for what they were required to do for Australia. And it is an engrossing theatrical experience. For all of these reasons, if you see only one play this year, this should be the one. And if you do, then allow yourself some time to take in the foyer of the Merivale Street Studio, which displays not only a moving collection of Bostock’s own photographs of that war, but also a copy of a 1992 feature of The Australian that draws together the obituaries and photographs of 500 young soldiers who never came back. These, too, will break your heart. — Anne Ring (Performance seen: 17th August 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine A Paper House La Boite Theatre It's an interesting theatrical concept to concentrate on the problem, and problems, of refugees who have ended up in Australia over the last century, and in particular to base all the material on reality rather than imagination. The reality input to Sean Mee's play has been the text of extensive interviews with refugees by researchers from QUT's Academy of the Arts. Mee has distilled from the many stories and thousands of words a sample of edited first-person accounts by refugees of their experiences. It is this approach which has resulted in Mee defining his role, not as author, but as devisor of the project, in addition to being director. The stories cover some 21 countries, from Afghanistan to Yugoslavia, and from the regions of Europe, the Middle East, Asia and South America. The title comes from the obsession of police and bureaucrats with travellers' papers. In an early scene the characters imploringly hold up their identity papers and passports as evidence of their existence and claims on life. Sadly, of course, escape to Australia doesn't mean an end to the paper chase. La Boite abandons its in-the-round signature to present the play at one end of the performance space. By removing seats and setting up a large screen, it becomes more like a conventional theatre. (There is even seating on the normal stage area.) The action, however, is far from limited to the floor-level stage, and spreads above the screen to permit effective multi-dimensional settings. The actors give robust performances, and are accompanied by evocative violin music. It is a worthy project, particularly at a time when Australians are pondering their origins and feeling misgivings about their treatment of contemporary asylum seekers. Yet it doesn't quite work as theatre. All the words of the actors are drawn from interviews with refugees. This I expected to give the play a searing reality. It is indeed striking that the stories of appalling suffering and courageous resistance are real. Tales that stick in the memory include the recounting of border crossings, with children hiding for hours under the luggage in a car while guards interrogate their parents, or stories of people being thrown out of one country but facing certain execution if returning to their homeland. On the other hand, not a few of the comments are rather trite: not particularly insightful or unusual. After all, lots of women have relationship and communication difficulties with their fathers which they may try to understand and remedy in their later years. All sorts of people have misunderstandings over language and vocabulary. (These produce some of the play's few funny moments, such as confusion between paw-paw and the German Popo, meaning rear end.) But I couldn't help thinking that film or radio would be a better medium for transmitting these stories — presenting the actual interviews rather than having actors memorise and re-present the words. The technique worked well in La Boite's last show, Way Out West, but there the stories were interspersed with song and dance to make an entertaining whole. Here there is little such leavening. In the end there are rather too may voices, too many different and disconnected experiences. The characters don't even have names, and it isn't always clear whether we're witnessing the continuation of one character's story or are being introduced to a new role. It's difficult to identify with the people and to fully understand them and feel for them, other than as outsiders. A better and more conventional approach may have been to take two or three individuals' stories and work through them in detail. The commitment to 100% actuality would have been sacrificed in terms of the actual words spoken, but such an approach may have been more true to the basic reality of the refugees' common experiences. Towards the end of the play a refugee talks about going to a Carols by Candlelight evening — more to observe the people in the audience than to take part in the ceremony: "I observe it, I think about it, I feel for it, but I'm not there for it," she says. I felt a bit the same way with A Paper House. — John Henningham (Performance seen: 14th August 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Shout Lyric Theatre The first thing that I’ve got to do here is to declare my interest: I’ve figured out that Johnny O’Keefe was only eight years older than me, just old enough for his music to be a seminal part of my adolescence. So it’s no wonder that I was totally wrapt in the nostalgia of everything that went on in Shout! But nostalgia on its own would not have been enough to produce the standing ovation and all the fun of an actual rock concert that wound up the show. The fact that David Campbell made such a great fist of punching out his songs went a long way to bringing the life and times of Johnny O’Keefe back to the future. Campbell not only sang with the same vitality as The Wild One, but — from where I was sitting — he also captured his physical characteristics and his restless, and ultimately drug-fuelled, energy. And he was not alone. There is a great supporting cast, representing some of the key players, movers, shakers, rockers and rollers of that era, and also looking eerily like the originals. Maybe some of that is due to the fact that the show is produced by the Jacobsen family, one of whom is better known as Col Joye, who may well have a sense of déjà vu when he sees himself on stage with the talented performing clones of O’Keefe’s band and back-up singers, the Dee Jays and the Delltones. But perhaps the most remarkable casting is that of Trisha Noble, as The Mother. Once again, I remember when — this time, when Trisha Noble was teenage Bandstand singer Patsy Ann Noble. There was a lot of publicity when she not only left all that behind her, but decided to reinvent herself as actress Trisha Noble. While her performance in Shout! shows that she is still in great voice, with hindsight that was a good move. In sharp contrast to her stage son, she took control of her life, and got satisfaction that endured well beyond 15 minutes of musical fame and a place in local rock’n’roll history. There is, then, a sweet irony in her role as the mother of Australia’s first home-grown rock star, who flashed so brightly before crashing to earth. This version of his life captures both his rise, in the full-on first half of the show, and his fall, in the slower-moving second half. For me, the production worked best in the musical sequences, which are many (and, it must be said, extremely loud). The stage setting is geared up for them - in a barn-like space that can comfortably accommodate all of the cast assembled for the exuberant choreography of the big numbers. In the more intimate spoken interludes that capture key moments in O’Keefe’s personal life, the players look a bit lost, and — perhaps consequently — their dialogue sounds a bit stagy and underdone. With the exception of Aaron Blabey, who plays a deliciously hammy Lee Gordon, as a campily degenerate musical Machiavelli. Tamsin Carroll, as The (migrant) Girl and later The (first) Wife in O’Keefe’s life, and Doug Scroope as The (typically reserved) Father, ably round out the close-knit family that was — ultimately — not enough to save J. O’K from himself. Director Richard Wherrett is to be congratulated for a powerful and energetic production that had a lot of the audience tapping their feet in time to the music. Whether it works equally effectively across generations may be a bit of a moot point, however, as it is a fact that it left my much younger companion relatively unmoved. — Anne Ring (Performance seen: 16th August 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Trainspotting New Farm Nash Theatre “Basically we live a short and pointless life.” This athem of Irvin Welsh’s novel Trainspotting, and its story of drug addiction and disillusionment, is familiar to most through the film (starring Ewen MacGregor). However, a powerful production by New Farm’s Nash Theatre proves that is a story that deserves to be told within the theatre. Instead of presenting the seedy underworld of Edinburgh for our voyeuristic pleasure, director Cam MacDiarmid shows that this is “not a play about heroin but about outcasts” . By capitalising on the play’s storytelling style, the actors are able to develop a sense of intimacy with the audience in order to share their characters’ experience of the world. MacDiarmid also aims to emphasize the currency of the play’s issues by pointing out that: “as you watch the performance tonight, a “Drug Arm” van will bring a meagre meal to a shabby scrum of homeless kids, prostitutes, alcoholics and junkies within meters of this theatre” (Director’s Notes). Adapted for the stage before its film premiere, this is a confronting story, by turns humorous and horrific in its portrayal of a young heroin addict Mark and his friends and family. Using the style of direct address, the play uses multiple narrators to present a range of different characters’ experiences and opinions. MacDiarmid’s direction places the focus on each character’s story through deceptively simple staging, and the use of split focus and freeze frames. The use of split focus (in which the story is narrated in one part of the stage and acted out in another) works to illuminate a character’s point of view. For example, while “Sick Boy” and “Lizzie” are shooting up stage right, Mark relates his experience from the other side of stage. Thus this scene becomes an insight into the experience of taking heroin, rather than a demonstration of drug taking. In the same way, the use of freeze-frames mid-scene allow the audience to focus on one character’s experience of an event. This device is powerfully utilized while “Tommy” is observing a woman being beaten by her boyfriend and is deciding what course of action to take. Michael McMahon’s cluttered, angled set provides plethora of small spaces and levels for different scenes. It is a barebone set, realistic in dilapidated appearance yet abstract in its multiple uses. An upstage door becomes front door, bathroom entry and bathroom; and varying levels of rostra serve as a bed, a lounge room floor, and a pool table. This simple setting is brought to life by BJ Eddleston’s lighting design based on the creation of small spotlit areas. These work to draw attention to various aspects of the set, effectively creating realistic scene changes. In addition, the repeated use of different coloured lighting on different areas creates a dreamlike sense to the play, as if we are viewing the character’s memory of an event. These aspects of the direction and design place the actors’ work at the heart of this performance. And the actors’ deliver! Convincing, unaffected and well-paced, all the performances are marked by sincerity and commitment. Scottish-born Stuart Waters carries the show as Mark. In a performance that reaches out to the audience, he skilfully shares the humour and horror of Mark’s tale of sex, drugs and excrement. In particular, his portrayal of the experience of going "cold turkey" made the audience squirm with discomfort. Waters’ Scottish tongue is also a great asset to the show, and despite slight the lapses, the rest of cast convincingly carry off the poetry of the Scottish accent. There are also standout performances by Michael Churven (as Tommy and Sick Boy) and Helen Christinson (as Alison, June and Lizzie) who realistically present character changes without unnecessary "character markers". Rob Currie handles character definition in multiple roles, but needed more dynamics, and variation to bring interest to his longer monologues. Bella Sipthorp and Glen Player provide strong support in smaller roles and understudies. Unfortunately, the show flags in the second half. After the skilfully paced and polished first act, the second act felt awkward, and had a suddenly, uncomfortable ending which made it seem under-rehearsed. (Perhaps this Act would benefit from cutting, a change in pacing, or a change in the order of scenes.) The play justifies a “R” rating for its portrayal of drug use and sex, but the fact that these "acts" are mostly acted out by one character makes them less offensive. It also helps that they are presented with humour and honesty. Overall it was the clarity and honesty of Trainspotting that affected me most. This is a potent piece of storytelling that merits a large audience. — Joanne Loth (Performance seen: 10th August 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Boss of the Pool Centenary Theatre Group The intellectually handicapped are one of those minorities who receive little attention in the creative arts. Issues such as the nature of institutional care and the need to recognise the basic humanity of the disabled are left alone, a neglect that echoes and perhaps reinforces community apathy and latent hostility. Hence Mary Morris has made a fine contribution in writing Boss of the Pool (based on Robin Klein's 1986 novel) and the Centenary Theatre Group are to be congratulated for tackling it. Congratulations should not be limited to the attempt, however: this production treats an emotive and difficult subject with compassion, sensitivity and a good deal of skill. Boss of the Pool is centred on restless and peer group focused mid-teen girl Shelley, coaxed by her long-suffering mother Anne to spend some time at a hostel for the intellectually handicapped where Anne works. Shelley has to find a way to respond to the residents, and in particular Ben, whom she teaches to swim. The story unfolds through a series of mainly short scenes in the hostel, Shelley's home and elsewhere. The need to transform sets rapidly and use lighting imaginatively to highlight parts of the stage could easily have come unstuck: in this production, however, it all comes together smoothly. Lisa Hefford acts convincingly in portraying the enthusiasms and disappointments of Shelley and in showing her character development as she responds to the needs of the disabled Ben. She has a gift for teenage body language and facial expressions, such as her reactions to the adult cluckings of her mother and next-door neighbour. (My only suggestion is that she Australianise her Kiwi vowels if she's going to play Aussie characters in future.) Anthony West does an outstanding job at capturing the loud, boisterous and affectionate brain-damaged young man Ben. Ben suffers from an intense fear of water (which, as we discover, is not at all irrational), but loves sport and craves attention. His parents have effectively abandoned him. West portrays the complexities of Ben's character, making us believe in his inner turmoil, his fears, his bravery and his deep need for human contact. Some of the most extraordinary moments in the play involve no dialogue at all, as Ben grunts and moans while trying to master the pool. Other roles are generally well-cast and played, and several actors do well in carrying differing and contrasting roles. Shelley's gaggle of shopping- and boy-obsessed friends are entertaining in their self-obsession and cattiness. While the actors do well, it is evident that director Rod Felsch has used a deft hand in making it all happen. Transitions are smooth and scenes are well set. Particularly striking is the upstage tableau of disabled "inmates" pressed motionless against the screen doors when we first meet them. (I thought it was a backdrop at first.) The pool-centred scenes also come off very well, as do the opening swimming championships depiction and the wheelchair disco. Shelley's initial confrontational language concerning the disabled ("Retard Farm" etc) is rather disturbing, as it is no doubt meant to be. But I couldn't accept that her character, even in its earlier mixed up and angry state, would have used such language directly to the disabled people she encountered. Better, I think, to have treated these lines as "interior monologue". Without laying it on with a trowel the play gets us thinking about various issues relating to the intellectually handicapped and about institutional life in general, such as community resistance to hostels in local neighbourhoods, and organisation of structures and activities to suit the staff rather than the residents. The production also succeeds in depicting adult misunderstanding of teenagers, Shelley's deepening understanding of the triviality of her teenage friends' concerns, and an evolving mother-daughter relationship. It does all this in the context of gentle humour and also some quite funny moments. Centenary have, again, done a splendid job. — John Henningham (Performance seen: 5th August 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Ali Baba Brisbane Arts Theatre Director Richard Rigg takes a slightly more adult approach to the pantomime genre than past Children’s Theatre productions, introducing the rather more sinister tale of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves to the Brisbane Arts Theatre stage. As this opening night performance was quick to prove, Rigg's departure from the typical kiddy fare, increased complexity of story line and use of both explicit and implicit violence suggest that Ali Baba is a play intended and best suited for older children. The plot comes first in this production, with little deviation from the traditional story. Poverty-stricken woodcutter Ali Baba (Darren Mearns) and his wife Selima (Davina Fowlie) find themselves constantly at odds with Ali’s wealthy brother Cassim (Peter Dakin) and wife Nella (Katherine Kiorgaard) until Ali comes across the secret treasure room of a band of thieves and steals some gold. Troubles naturally ensue, but with the help of Cassim’s slave girl Morgiana (Rebecca Todd), Ali and his family find happiness in the end. Although some of the kids expressed dismay at the number of scene changeovers (“Oh no! Not again!”), the continuity of the story line was maintained throughout the show, the first half literally flew and apart from a short technical hiccup involving a delayed music cue, the action didn’t drag at all, and was over before the audience knew it. Shane Daly’s musical score is first rate, perfectly suited to the Arabian theme of the play and one of the most outstanding features of the show. Good music combined with some amusing lyrics and competent dance routines, creating some particularly memorable ensemble song and dance numbers in both halves of the show. Colourful costuming and set design maintains the Arabian feel, as do the three belly dancing sequences included at intervals throughout the show. As an ensemble the cast came across as well rehearsed and comfortable on stage, handling group song-and-dance numbers with confidence, led by dance captain Taneysha Toft, who demonstrated her own impressive talent during a belly-dancing sequence in the second half. Also impressive in the ensemble was Blake Young, playing two short-lived but highly effective scenes as the Apothecary and the Cobbler, and Peter Dakin, who handled the multiple roles of Cassim and the Bookkeeper with quiet competence. Darren Mearns as Ali Baba, despite rushing through some of the jokes early on, proved himself to be well qualified for the lead role, demonstrating more than adequate acting ability and a pleasant singing voice. Davina Fowlie seemed uncomfortable in her role as Ali’s hen-pecking wife Selima, as a result seeming to drop in and out of character throughout the first three-quarters of the play, although whether this was a casting issue or merely a confidence issue is uncertain. The standout performance of the play came from Rebecca Todd, who gained an instant rapport with the young audience in her turn as Morgiana, the slave girl. Apart from displaying a remarkable singing voice and talent for dance, Todd demonstrated with ease her ability to handle both comic and romantic roles in the play. Despite the presence of a pantomime donkey, Ali Baba is not exactly a typical Children’s Theatre show. The death of two characters, the rather morbid notion of sewing one of them back together again, and an almost complete lack of audience participation means Ali Babamay not really be suitable for younger children. Still, for the older ones, parents should find the kids won’t be easily bored with this show. And Ali Baba certainly doesn’t contain the usual innocence and joie de vivre of other Children’s Theatre plays, as far as keeping the audience entertained is concerned, it still seems to work. — Jasmine Green (Performance seen: 21st July 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Boyfriend Sunnybank Theatre Group Sunnybank Theatre Group’s production of Sandy Wilson’s musical The Boyfriend is in general a sparkling production, from the Christmas lights that surround the proscenium arch to the atmospheric stage lighting and outstanding costumes. Rarely have I seen an amateur musical production that is so well dressed. The singing too is of a very high standard, with strong voices from male and female with excellent and sustained harmonies. Musical director Joan Ellis is to be congratulated on the disciplined performance of the actors. The Sunnybank stage is not large and it was always going to be a problem getting the huge cast of the play on stage. But with some tight choreography from Hal Marsden and the omission of a singing and dancing chorus, the problem has been overcome, even with a finale and 17 people on stage. However the production does come across more as a review than a musical play. Where the singing is done with panache, the pace drops significantly when the “talking” begins. The storyline of the play is a flimsy excuse for a lot of song and dance routines, with a minimum of characterisation in the acting roles. Five girls and five boys find each other, Polly Brown the pretty, poor little rich girl heroine has no-one, so she dates delivery boy Tony (Steve Norris) who turns out to be from the British aristocracy, so all’s well that ends well. The boys and girls (Jacquie McKell, Sara Reynolds, Sarah McQuade, Allison Robertson, Nikki Bryn-Holland, Ashley Worsman, Stewart Sephton, Brad Kendrick, Matthew Dunning and Matthew Broadhurst) give spirited performances and while not the most graceful of dancers, are diction- and note-perfect in the delivery of the songs. The girls attend Madame Dubonnet’s academy in France, which gives rise to the comedy, with Madam very nicely played by Marion Scrivens, complete with excellent and sustained French accent and a lot of energy. Her love interest is Percival Brown (Wayne Mulley) the pompous millionaire father of Polly, a man from her past. One of the funniest portrayals of the night is Ken Verrall as the aging romeo Lord Broadhurst, and the strongest acting performance come from Deirdre Robinson as his wife. She is the most believable character on stage. So too is Trish Willing as the maid Hortense. Polly Brown was played by Greer Oliver and looked the part, until she had to do a tap dance number, which she scowled through. Creating a stage musical is never an easy task and Anne Ross, in her first foray as director, has done an excellent job. — Eric Scott (Performance seen: 3rd August 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Shaken Not Stirred Six of the Best/Metro Arts From the moment MC Kevin Lowe stands on a make-shift stage to deliver a mini-lecture on the history of Roger Moore, the audience understands their role in "Shaken not Stirred": we are supporting our friends as they make fools of themselves. From the beginning we're on the actors' side. Yes they are a sorry, shambled group — but we like them! That's the key to this piece of light-hearted fun — you end up liking everyone on stage because it's all so unpretentious and done in such good humour. "Shaken not Stirred" presents an improvised take on the James Bond series. Directed by Colin Smith, the play is presented by "Six of the Best" an improvisation troupe set up in 1997 to present play-length, character-driven improvisations (as opposed to the four minute skits of Theatresports games). The troupe has made a happy choice in sending up the Bond series, and take full advantage of the films' repertoire of gags, stock characters and storylines. The troupe is also assisted by a rotating cast of "special guest agents", and some inspired use of an overhead projector by Louise Callinan. As the audience enter they write down suggestions that are placed in envelopes to be opened by the actors during the play. The actors lope along, interjecting audience suggestions within a structured sequence (at least that's how it appeared to me). Usually the rehearsed bits work the best, and I was disappointed to see that some of the audience suggestions were not developed through the work. (It would have been interesting to see how 007 saved the fate of Morris dancing from the evil clutches of Dr Jarlsborg.) Often the audience's suggestions add humour through their sheer incongruity with what is happening onstage. The show is being performed every Saturday night for six weeks, and each week focuses on a particular actor who played the famous spy. This week, Russel Lowe's performance as Roger Moore succeeded in conveying 007's superior, patronising nature (of course he "majored in everything at Oxford") but needed more energy to carry off the physical stunts and gags. My compliments go to the audience member who suggested the name "Juicy Muffin" for the Bond girl played by Sue Mawer. Mawer gave an effective send up of the "Eastern Bloc" spy. She seemed a little self-conscious in improvisations, but built to a powerful comic climax in the second act. Brad Daniels also gave a strong performance as a stupid henchman. As a whole, however, the performances felt a bit apathetic — the stakes were not very high, and were not helped by frequent ill-planned lapses into black outs. (Especially when the actors tried to cover up by asking "What happened to the lights?") But I did laugh. It was a fun night, and the performance captured the very bad sexual innuendoes of the Roger Moore Bond films. Bond's line: "I love to see Muffin diving" wrapped up the show with a suitably dodgy coda! — Joanne Loth (Performance seen: 28th July 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Cloudstreet Company B Belvoir The only other five hour dramatic production I have seen was kabuki theatre in Japan, which was pretty heavy going. Cloudstreet is not at all heavy going. It is an absorbing and stimulating night of theatre. Whether it really needs five hours (including intervals) to tell its story is another question, but it would be unfortunate if anyone were put off this touching and vibrant play because of its length. Cloudstreet is the extended story of two families who share a house in suburban Perth, Western Australia. The title comes from the name of the street, but nothing in the play is as simple as it may appear, and there are references in plenty to the skies and their representation of a non-material world. Indeed the play is strong on the mystical and the spiritual, which add to its mystery and enchantment. We meet the families, the Lambs and the Pickles, as they struggle to make a living and to make sense of their worlds in the 1940s, and follow their turbulent journeys for some two decades. There are many stories within these families, and we trace the development of particular individuals as they face unexpected challenges and sorrows. Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of the play is to observe and to some extent share in the growth of the characters on stage. Robert Cousins' set (with assistance from Georgina Yabsley) is remarkably plain: vast walls of hessian bordered by unapologetic theatre lights, with a few sticks of furniture on the edges and a screen upstage in front of which a honkytonk piano occasionally appears, and upon which some of the drama is enacted out in shadow plays. The vast uncluttered stage becomes the scene of outback car sagas, kangaroo shoots, fishing trips and a mystical upriver boat journey, in addition to the home at Number 1 Cloud Street. The characters are well outfitted by Tess Schofield with clothing appropriate to their changing circumstances, while Mark Howett's and Gavin Tempany's lighting and sound enhance the effects of time changes and mystical dimensions. An exciting musical score by Iain Grandage brought to life by musician Matthew Hoy involves in particular clever cello work which provides varied and unexpected sound effects. There are no weaknesses of any kind in the cast. All provide us with a committed and energetic performance, and many of them switch between diverse and contrasting roles. I particularly liked the characterisation of the two fathers, John Gaden as the devout and generous Lester Lamb and Roy Billing as the likeable rogue Sam Pickles. Kris McQuade's lusty, alcy Dolly Pickles is beautifully captured, as is Claire Jones as her near-anorexic and exploited daughter Rose who grows magnificently as she finds love in unexpected quarters. Gillian Jones as Oriel Lamb gives a fine understated performance of a mother who cannot express her deeply intense feelings. Anna Brockway, Andrew Crabbe, John Leary, Eliza Logan, Rebecca Massey and Travis McMahon each give effective characterisation to their parts as Pickles or Lamb children or as other characters in their family drama, as does Kevin Smith as narrator. Christopher Pitman as Quick Lamb movingly portrays a troubled young man racked by guilt over a childhood incident and who goes bush to face the ghosts of the past. Most moving of all is Dan Wyllie as the disabled Fish Lamb. The relationship between the two brothers and the deep reservoirs of love between them is magnificently realised. Bountiful credit must go to director Neil Armfield, whose myriad imaginative touches and surprises keep the audience enthralled. No doubt his assistant director Anatoly Frusin deserves a share of the credit, and Kate Champion adds to the effective team work with her choreography. It really is a splendid show, full of resonances (such as the creepy sense of the Cloud Street house's ghostly secrets, and spectres which only the retarded Fish can see) which captivate and have you thinking about the play long after you have seen it. — John Henningham (Performance seen: 24th July 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Soldier's Tale QBFM/QPAC The Soldier’s Tale is a remarkable integration of music, drama and dance. To ensure that all three work in complete harmony is a demanding task, but all demands were met in this seamless production, brilliantly staged by director Jennifer Flower against a superb setting designed by Bill Haycock and artfully manipulated by Matt Scott’s lighting. While this Tale takes slightly less than an hour to tell, the intensity with which it was performed must have been draining for its cluster of stars. But the effort they put into it was met by the recognition it deserved, from an audience that was clearly moved by the power and vigour with which Narrator/Devil Eugene Gilfedder and Dancer Justin Rutzou each performed in and outside their squares. The Dancer and the Actor crisscrossed between their roles as both were called upon to express themselves through voice and body. And the orchestra — of musicians from Making Waves, under musical director Peter Luff — came as close to narration as instruments can. Igor Stravinsky’s music for the Tale is moody rather than melodic, and the mood is dark and elegiac. In a scene set with surreal echoes of wartime devastation, a Russian folk story with Faustian undertones is played out in a series of scenarios where the dance, the drama and the music rotated in the limelight. The importance of the text of the Tale makes it somewhat surprising that Stravinsky’s collaborator in this work, the French-Swiss poet/novelist Charles Ferdinand Ramuz, gets minimal acknowledgment for his contribution, which is buried in the program’s background notes. In its original form, this work was intended to be performed by three actors, a dancer and seven instruments. In this production, Eugene Gilfedder (who is never shy of hard work) took on all three acting roles, compressed into a Narrator and the Devil. While Gilfedder gave a fine performance, with a mix of gravitas and intensity tempered by lighter moments (such as the particularly convincing tone he assumed when narrating the segment about the sweetly manipulative Princess), the division between the two roles was sometimes blurred, making the story line a bit difficult to follow. Any minor confusion can be avoided, however, by reading the synopsis of the Tale, provided in the program. What Justin Rutzou can do to make his body talk is mesmerising. He becomes the violin that is played. His slow march is a perfectly controlled sequence of microcosmic movements. The pain of his realised losses is palpable. And both he and Gilfedder are perfectly in tune with the orchestra. The orchestra, in its turn, shifted smoothly from a supporting role that complemented without competing, to centre stage (metaphorically speaking). The original instrumentation for which the music was composed was played by violinist Michele Walsh, David Montgomery (percussion), Paul Rawson (cornet), Greg Aitken (trombone), Leesa Dean (bassoon), Marion Heckenberg (double bass) and Floyd Williams (clarinet). Together, they gave a vigorous interpretation of what has been described as Stravinsky in jazz mode. From the time the audience enters and is confronted by the brooding presence of motionless players on the darkened stage, to the wrenching finale, The Soldier’s Tale provides an engrossing and unique theatrical experience. — Anne Ring (Performance seen: 25th July 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Rigoletto OzOpera Long before "Les Miz" became one of the great Broadway musicals, the same author, Victor Hugo, had scripted the basis of a rather greater musical drama, Rigoletto. First performed as an opera 150 years ago in Venice, Verdi's masterpiece reappears in Brisbane in a fascinating new production by the Australian Opera's touring arm, OzOpera. Well not quite new. This production was launched just over a year ago (July 2000) at Moonee Ponds, of all places, and has since been cavalcading around the southern states. And its greatest challenges lie ahead, with performances in Mt Isa and then the length and breadth of the Northern Territory and Western Australia between now and September. It's great to see opera being taken to the people on this scale, and this is a good production to capture the imagination of people outback who have so few opportunities to see professional performing arts at this level. To make the whole travelling circus feasible, it's small in terms of the number of people involved: only a dozen singers and a dozen instrumentalists. It's being called a "chamber opera" (a rather inexact term, with various interpretations). The drama centres on the unpleasant court jester and hunchback Rigoletto (Victor Hugo must have had a thing about hunchbacks: at about the same time he wrote this story, he published his tale about Quasimodo of Notre Dame). Rigoletto has an innocent and beautiful daughter, Gilda, lusted after by the womanising and also thoroughly unpleasant Duke of Mantua. It's set in around the 1960s, the period costume of the first scene being revealed as fancy dress. This produces some anomalies (e.g. I thought court jesters had been replaced by stand-up comedians by then), but generally works well, the Duke and his courtiers transformed into Mafia-like gangsters. The sets are to some extent designed to confine the action, giving a "busy" impression despite the small number of performers. Techniques like the use of mirror walls and screens help this effect. The sets also project a menacing, claustrophobic aura which underline the kind of world we have entered. Roger Hodgman's direction is quite superb. The intensity of the drama demands full attention from the first moments, with the groping duke at work on his latest conquest, the nasty courtiers working on means of humiliating Rigoletto, and the dramatic entry of Monterone with his prophetic curse. In subsequent scenes, the interaction between Rigoletto and Gilda are consistently touching in their setting, as is the rivetting "vile damned race" scene where Rigoletto is victimised by the macho henchmen of the duke when trying to find and protect his daughter. I have never seen better for this scene with choruses many times larger. Similarly, the lighting effects are excellent, providing brooding contrasts of shades of darkness and, with good sound work, a top quality electric storm at the climax of the second act. The acting rises to the occasion: group interactions work better than is often the case with larger choruses, while the principals are convincing. Roger Howell's Rigoletto and Rebecca Collins' Gilda successfully portrayed their mutual affection in the midst of their differing fears of unknown threats. For an opera to be taken to the people, there could be no choice but the vernacular. Opera in English can, paradoxically, inhibit understanding. I prefer my Verdi in Italian, especially with the aid of surtitles (and my Italian friends tell me they depend on the titles too)! My fears on this score seemed realised early in this production, when much of the dialogue was lost. But it improved rapidly and was certainly never a problem in individual work. In this the singers were helped with a lively contemporary translation by James Fenton (a British journalist!). (At one stage the Duke castigates the "bastards" who have interrupted him.) The diminished chorus holds up well, with each singer obviously having plenty of output, helped by the Conservatorium Theatre's relative intimacy and excellent acoustic. Verdi's multi-part chorus lines even seem enhanced when single voices carry the lines: the harmonies are precise and clear. The orchestra (drawn from the Queensland Orchestra) is tiny without being tinny (though a couple more strings would have been nice), and has obviously been well drilled by conductor Julia de Plater. Of the principals on Monday night, Adrian McEniery's Duke did not seem as confident as I would have hoped. Rebecca Collins' Gilda was consistently delightful in ensemble and solo work, rising well to the vocal challenges of "Dearest name". Roger Howell's rich baritone gave a commanding Rigoletto. (Principal roles are being shared in this production: for cast details see show details.) Eddie Muliaumaseali'i's bass voice gives us an excellent Sparafucile (and also courtier Ceprano). Muliaumaseali'i is well cast as the murderer, a thoroughly intimidating figure who brings to mind Jonah Lomu on the field. (And indeed it turns out that he plays rugby when not singing Verdi). The costumes were generally appropriate, although Gilda could have been more fetching in her Act I appearance, to help underline her appeal to the Duke. Her duffle coat in Act II brought back unhappy memories of the fashion sense of 1960s youth. One thing we did have over modern youth is that we knew how to enjoy our opera. Monday night's youthful crowd were boringly polite and restrained, and it was not the fault of the performance. We used to yell ourselves hoarse and clap our hands red to show our enthusiasm, to the delight of the performers. We did have the likes of Donald Smith to pay court to, and OzOpera isn't quite in that league. But it deserves being seen and enjoyed by the new century's youth. — John Henningham (Performance seen: 23rd July 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Hotel Paradiso Brisbane Arts Theatre "What a hotel!" "What a night!" The closing line is the glorious cherry on top of this titillating night at the theatre. I entered this production not knowing anything about the play, and indeed a little apprehensive about "French theatre". To me, "French theatre" had always been absurd and, I'm afraid to admit, such hard work to watch (although in most cases extremely rewarding). What a joy it was to discover that Hotel Paradiso was neither absurd nor taxing, but instead a Wilde-style French farce of tremendously comic proportions. Act I sets the groundwork for two intimate rendezvous along with another two main characters (one with four daughters) seeking alternative accommodation for the night. This brings us to the Hotel Paradiso in Act II, where in true farcical fashion hopes are built up, plans are foiled, and the law comes crashing in! Act III is a hazy and exhausting post-mortem where everyone wins. Pat Wallace's treatment of Hotel Paradiso, with the assistance of Drew Mason, is impeccable, thorough, and stylistically light and frothy. The play bubbles along with ever-increasing heat and engaging momentum, with moments of shade allowed for the perfectly timed "asides". Never have I seen the "aside" used so liberally and aptly in a production. The absence of the fourth wall allows the audience to be included in the thoughts and conversations of the characters. This playwriting tool is a clever and often tricky device that requires exceptional sensitivity and confidence from the actors to make it work. The opening scene is set in the home of Monsieur Boniface who greets the audience directly. Alex Lanham's exceptional characterisation is arrogant, sarcastic, and flippant, but overall, quite sexy and appealing! (I'm sure he could charm the pants off many a girl!) How could anyone forget that that moment of tenderness when he asks his love to call him "... Benedict!" Adrienne Morgan's Madame Boniface is aptly sour-faced and hard. Regrettably, many of her funny lines (all "asides") are simply thrown away with her inability to break the stony demeanour. In Act III we would have welcomed some funny comebacks from the severe Madame Boniface. Complementing the Bonifaces are their friends and neighbours the Cots. Madame Cot (played by Samantha Rice) is perfectly cast as the beautiful and sexually undernourished wife. Monsieur Cot (played by Ian Bielenberg) is the bearded "nincompoop" who married merely to escape the pressure to sow his wild oats. Bielenberg's portrayal of Cot is a little unsure and forced, and only truly shines in Act III, when we finally see this "nincompoop" stumble humorlessly between domestic confusion and self-preservation. The performances of the supporting cast are ample proof that little roles can make a great impact. Paulene Campton's portrayal of Victoire the cheeky maid is delightfully brash and always hilarious. The object of Victoire's affection is the studious philosophy buff Maxime, played by Paul Ballenger. Ballenger creates an almost annoyingly innocent character, who fends off Victoire's advances with lines such as, "I cannot study passion with a woman next to me". The spectrum of accents used throughout Hotel Paradiso convinced me that I was actually watching the "Hotel Euro". Obviously some of the accent choices were a deliberate decision of the director making do with the talent available and working the anticipated knowledge base of the audience. Would you be able to tell a metropolitan French accent from a country French accent? The range of accents in Act II left me a little dizzy. There was the Irish porter, the (young) Turkish Professor, the Italian (although sometimes a little French) hotel manager, the very British sounding country lawyer, and finally the oh-so-French Antoinette. As usual, the Arts Theatre comes up a winner with the set, costumes and lighting. Una Hollingworth is to be commended for a set that is spacious and elegant, with subtle touches of Art Nouveau design in the panelling. The hotel set was cosy, seedy and bohemian, and the late 19th century costuming was colourful and most appropriate. The appearance of Mademoiselle Antoinette on the courtyard stairs prior to the show was like looking at a Toulouse Lautrec painting. On a technical note, the live offstage sound effects used for the "bad weather" on the arrival of Monsieur Martin were absolutely annoying and completely unbelievable. May whoever loaned the crew their biscuit tins get them promptly returned after the show! I am shocked that such close attention was paid to all other elements of production, but this obvious flaw overseen! A sound effects CD would make a worthwhile investment. The live piano music integrated well with the show. The minor key rendition of "Frére Jacques" which accompanied Monsieur Boniface climbing up the fire escape, through the window and home again at dawn was the absolute epitome of defeat. Mademoiselle Antoinette's (Carole Ruddy) singing before the show and at the beginning of Act II was delightful, but something of a distraction in its length. A single song in each instance would have more aptly complemented the production. Likewise, the children's performance of the witches' song was far too long, in a scene where one verse would have been sufficient to compose the required atmosphere. But overall this is a highly enjoyable evening at the theatre: a tightly constructed production with flawless timing and lots of big laughs. If you're a fan of Wilde, Shaw, even Coward or Ayckbourn, you will appreciate the frantic farcical style of Hotel Paradiso. — June Tretheway (Performance seen: 21st July 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged) Spirit Entertainment/Tim Woods I came to praise this production, not to bury it, but someone's got to deal with the corpses left by the cast, who did their best to murder all 37 of Shakespeare's plays in a performance that had to be endured for slightly longer than the 97 minutes promised by the program. After a prologue that was genuinely funny and augured well, the evening degenerated into some of the most puerile attempts at humour I've seen in a long time. And it just went on and on. Germs of several good ideas were laboured to painful, lingering deaths every time they emerged in a show that I had expected to be highly amusing, but turned out to be just plain silly. Various tacks were taken with Shakespeare's plays: some of the biggies (Romeo and Juliet, Titus Andronicus, Othello and Hamlet, for example) were given spots on their own, while others were compressed into group sets and dismissed with a quick gambol or summary note. The allusions were fast and furious, and not always able to be heard. To see or not to see? Anyone looking for a surfeit of fart jokes, vomit jokes and pratfalls, a lot of audience interaction, topical allusions and sexually active glove puppets, will find much to entertain them. And it has to be said that many in the first night audience did seem to be enjoying themselves, laughing in all the right places, and apparently enthusiastic in their uptake of each of the repeated offers of encores from the cast. But for anyone who is looking for a witty and well-performed approach to all of the opportunities that are there for extracting humour from a low-brow interpretation of the works of the single writer who has had the greatest influence over the English language? Well, they'll have to look elsewhere for that. This production has all the verve, enthusiasm and manic madness of a high school revue put on by overgrown schoolboys. And they might as well have been holding up laugh signs for all the subtlety with which they signalled the arrival of each bit they thought excruciatingly funny. Director John Saunders had a hunch (like Richard III, get it?) that we'd enjoy ourselves. Well, it certainly didn't work for me, and I'm still trying to figure out how much of that was due to the scrappy script, and how much to the very uneven performances by Steve Kearney, Tim Schwerdt and Justin Melvey. All of these are experienced professional actors, so maybe they intended to come across as amateur night. In which case they definitely succeeded, and were supported by a backdrop that added nothing to the production, and costumes that certainly did not blow out the budget. I see in the program (which, incidentally, was marginally funnier than the production itself) that this show is of British origin, was first performed in 1987 and has had some success since then. As for its legs, however, I'd say that they already show extreme signs of wear, and have no chance of going anything like the distance travelled by the plays being lampooned. — Anne Ring (Performance seen: 20th July 2001) Response to this review www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Blasted Genre/La Boite The only play I have ever walked out of after a long association with the theatre was Barry Kosky's King Lear. That play I knew. In an ABC interview Mr Kosky treated the listening audience to his epigrammatic philosophy of the theatre art: "Anything goes, but not everything works," he said. That's about as artistically hedonistic as it's possible to get and (if you'll be patient) we will shortly turn for another perspective to one of the greatest self-confessed hedonists, playwrights and masters of the art of the epigram of all time, Oscar Wilde. The late Sarah Kane's Blasted appears to adopt the Kosky mantra. The only reason for suffering out Genre's opening night of the play at La Boite, after a genuinely tense opening, was to see if it would develop into anything which might be fundamentally associated with the art and craft of playwriting, drama, theatre, exposition, empathy and identification, conflict, resolution, tension, catharsis, revelation, etc. etc. etc. It did not. After ignition Blasted shook and rattled and hissed and steamed and huffed and puffed and screwed and slewed about on its launch pad for 90 minutes without blasting off, despite the best efforts of its crew and ground control, save in one respect. Kane had a superb talent for dialogue but regrettably in this piece that's where her dramatic craft begins and ends. Her slant on the art of the playwright is quoted in the program: "My only responsibility as a writer is to the truth, however unpleasant the truth might be." That's about as artistically presumptuous as it's possible to get. I'm sure many a master playwright whose talent now lies interred with their bones would ask, "Which fucking 'truth' relative to what, Ms Kane?" And if Ms Kane has happened to meet Mr Wilde on the other side, he may well at this very moment be reminding her, "If one tells the truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out." (Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young"). Or of this perhaps: "No great artist sees things as they really are. If he did he would cease to be an artist." Or then perhaps, "Literature always anticipates life. It does not copy it, but moulds it to its our purpose." (The Decay of Lying) What we find about the "truth" of Blasted is that it offers nothing new in form or content. Antonin Autaud gave us the "Theatre of Cruelty" as early as the 1930s. In the 1960s the dramatic-documentary "War Games" demonstrated how quickly the veneer of civilisation might be stripped away after a limited nuclear strike on Britain and just what people will do to each other when survival's at stake. In the 1970s "The Skyhooks" rocked us through "Horror Moo-vie Right There on my TV" and we've been treated to the footage of the action and atrocities of limited conflicts and ethnic cleansing on a regular basis since. It is a pity that so many have invested so much into so little. The production (Linda Hassall) is tight and tense and wonderfully orchestrated. The design (Alison Ross) and lighting (Geoff Squires) are simple, flexible and totally effective as is the use of the overlayed sound (Leila Maraun). From his first entrance Steve Grives (Ian) demands our attention and commands it throughout, not only with impeccable timing and layered emotional levels, but his appreciation of playing in the confines of the La Boite space. Melinda Butel (Cate) provides Grives with an admirable and mostly sympathetic foil. Marcel Dorney as the soldier is the weakest link, lacking the depths of depravity that the extra-ordinary circumstances of war can bring to ordinary souls and Grives' appreciation of movement and gesture commensurate with film or TV in an acting space in which volume is a poor substitute for intensity. One moment from the play will remain with me and I suspect it came from either the director or the actor: "If I decide to end it all with a pistol in the mouth, I'll try to be sure I know where it's been beforehand." — Ron Finney (Performance seen: 12th July 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Talking Heads Mixed Company As a theatrical production, the monologue is — perhaps — the most challenging interaction that an actor can have with their audience. There is no one else in between to deflect the concentration of, and on, the solo performer. Virtuosity is demanded and, barring a few opening night glitches, was delivered by all three actors in Mixed Company's production of three monologues from the highly popular Talking Heads series. These were originally written for television by Alan Bennett for specific British actors, most of whom are well known and much loved. Fans of the series would, for example, have seen Maggie Smith as the vicar's wife in Bed Among the Lentils and Patricia Routledge as the Lady of Letters, while Alan Bennett himself played Graham in A Chip in the Sugar. Tough competition, but comparisons were definitely not odious in the case of seasoned actors Dale Murison, Bronwen Doherty and Brad Ashwood in these roles. More than that, putting these monologues on stage provides a more rounded perspective, metaphorically as well as literally. As a stage production, moreover, the visual elements assume an additional importance in differentiating three short plays, and this was done with remarkably effective economy through Simone de Haas's costumes and sets, and Derek Griffin's lighting design. While each of the plays tells a very different story, they share a similar structure: the gradual unveiling, and at times unravelling, of a vulnerable person through conversations that they report having with people who are central to their lives, in some way or other, in a critical segment of time. I am reluctant to go into any of the plot details: those in the audience who are familiar with them will enjoy the stylish performances directed by de Haas. And for those who are seeing them for the first time, part of the experience should be the element of surprise in the directions that Bennett takes his characters. He does so with that fiendish combination of pathos and humour that is a hallmark of some of the best and most wrenching of British comedy, peopled by characters who have no intention of being funny, but whose situations and turns of phrase have you laughing and wincing at the same time. That Talking Heads is a particularly successful example of this genre is attested by its enduring popularity since it first appeared on television in 1988, and by the fact that it has morphed successfully into a number of other formats, not only into theatrical productions, but also as audio plays and academic teaching vehicles. (For anyone interested in finding out more about this, I can recommend a Google search using "Talking Heads by Alan Bennett". This produced more than 5000 items, and some very useful background information for this review.) However, as Talking Heads is on for only eight performances, those who want to see this very nice night's entertainment need to put their skates on. — Anne Ring (Performance seen: 12th July 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Double Vision Maryanne Lynch The words "performance art" normally scare me more than the prospect of listening to that Celine Dion Titanic song on repeat. I get visions of wacky make-up and special effects, and the image of my father first confused, then annoyed, then asleep. (He's not a big theatre man, my Dad). To be fair, there is a bit of that in Double Vision, but the excellent performances and imaginative direction make this Merivale Street Studios production one to catch. It's a hard play to describe — I could use thousands of words that still wouldn't capture the imagery and power of the show. It's probably simpler to know that it's not like anything you might imagine it to be. Double Vision tells the true tales of two mothers, both Australian, both surnamed Murphy (a great coincidence!) and both accused of being "bad" mothers after misfortune befalls their children. It deals specifically with the links between mothers and daughters. The first story is of Mary Murphy, whose three children were assaulted and murdered in 1898 in Gatton. The murderer was never found, and Mary was whispered about by locals for not showing "appropriate" grief. The second mother is Bilynda Murphy, whose son Jaidyn Leskie was kidnapped and found dead in a Victorian dam in 1998. The interaction of her daughter Breehanna forms the second half of the piece. Brush up on your symbolism skills. The nerve centre of the stage is a cage construction filled with every conceivable instrument for making music. The "musician" wanders around the stage holding speakers that play audio clips, bouncing balls, rubbing balloons, tossing bits of metal about, banging drums, and drumming against walls. Vanessa Tomlinson as the musician is superb, and one can only admire her ability to turn anything and everything into coherent sound. Downstage right is Christine Johnson, who carries the bulk of what would be termed the "script" (remember this is performance art), standing in a two metre tall crinoline skirt, with the same red striped pattern as the cage. Johnson has a marvellous voice, and as her part requires her to sing, is well suited to the style. An experimental vocalist, she incorporated many different styles into the music, and with her imposing stature, really bewitched the audience. At one stage birdcalls could be heard, and I figured she was miming to pre-recorded audio — but the program confirms it is Johnson herself. Now that's vocal talent. The other actor was Lisa O'Neill, who as the dancer portrayed the roles of the daughters. Her control over her body is astounding, and the particular dance steps she uses accurately portrayed the feelings of isolation and separation from the imposing "mother" figure of Johnson. Criticisms. Hmmm. Again, hard to name directly, for fear of arty people targeting me saying "But that was the point!". On the technical side, there was rather too much overlapping of live dialogue with pre-recorded music and dialogue. Some of the taped stories were really interesting and deserved a better treatment. Also, despite a running time of only one hour some sections drag and the repetitiveness of some dialogue becomes, well, repetitive. More straight narrative would have been helpful in the overall understanding of the piece. As it is, Double Vision has a visual power one is not likely to see often. Striking images matched with creative music and styles are a credit to writer-director-producer Maryanne Lynch. It seems to come to the perhaps not surprising conclusion that all daughters turn out like their mothers, at least in some way, whether they like it or not. However, if you're into a play with a straight beginning, middle and end, Double Vision may not be for you. — Natalie Bochenski (Performance seen: 11th July 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Tivoli Australian Ballet/Sydney Dance Company In this year of looking back at Federation and the century since, Tivoli is a wonderful evocation of the spirit of classy popular entertainment which dominated much of the pre-television era. The various Tivoli theatres around Australia played host to the travelling circus of professional vaudeville entertainers who captivated audiences with their mixture of song, dance and humour. Sydney Dance Company artistic director Graeme Murphy has superbly captured the magic of that era not through replication so much as representation by medium of dance of the elements of the Tivoli formula. Murphy has fused the talents of the Australian Ballet and Sydney Dance Company to produce a show which is original and never dull, full of laughs as well as feats which command admiration. The various types of Tivoli entertainment are presented against a backstage storyline involving romance and tragedy. The dancers amuse us with their off-hand off-stage persona, projecting the spirit of "the show must go on", while we experience time shifts and dreams through ingenious use of lighting, mist and gauze. We scan the nation's history from "Empire Glory" through depression and wars (reminding us of the original Tivoli role in cheering up Australians at times of gloom), ending with the Victory Rag via George Wallace's magnificent and moving "Brown Slouch Hat", belted out by Linda Nagle. (The oddest inclusion, notwithstanding its effective staging, is the Japanese reaction to the atom bomb which brought World War II to its conclusion.) The never-ending variety and constant surprises make it difficult to single out special moments. But I loved the amazing gymnastics of the diminutive Tracey Carrodus when thrown about by the three chevaliers Josef Brown, Xue Jun Wang and Simon Turner; veteran Harry Haythorne's roller skating tap dancing act; and the Tango del Fuego leading into the amazing cross-dressing feat of the "Transformation Tango". The floral-centred fashion parade representing each of the states is a colourful send-up of this type of pageant, while a sequence full of contrasts and energy is the glittery tap dancing which succeeds the gloomy scene of Sallies collecting coins to help the down-and-outs (literal sadsacks). And there is great fun in the contortion representation by Rachael Read and Andrea Briody, as well as rival muscle men Josef Brown and Bradley Chatfield as "The Colossal Spartacus Brothers", balancing each other seemingly effortlessly (until the audience wakes up to the hidden wire). Memorable too is Tim Tyler's amazing performance with a mouthful of pingpong balls which he has popping up and down in an endless stream with only a few miscreants. There's even some classical ballet — well, sort-of — with some revamped scenes from Swan Lake featuring the little-clad ballerinas who dominate publicity shots for the show. It works well, with admirable dancing and comedy, culminating in the swans' can-can. In all it's a nice piece of dance musical theatre, giving a none-too-serious yet still thought-provoking, sometimes moving and very entertaining representation of an Australia which thrived for a good half-century, and the entertainers who helped it on its way. — John Henningham (Performance seen: 3rd July 2001) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine |
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