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Reviews: January-March 2003 |
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www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Verdi's Requiem Opera Queensland The combined forces of Opera Queensland, the Queensland Orchestra and the Queensland Choir mounted a stunning performance of Verdi's passionate Requiem in the City Hall at the weekend. Soloists, choir and orchestra shared equally in a memorable and emotional performance under the baton of charismatic conductor Peter McCoppin. With the performance framed by the Iraq war and the street-sitting protestors who had brought traffic to a crawl in outside Ann Street, McCoppin in a few well-chosen opening words offered the work "for freedom, for peace inclusively for all people throughout the world". The work provides a rich choral sound, giving the strong OQ chorus the rare chance to sing out without the burden of funny costumes and often funnier directorial fantasies. Augmented by members of the Queensland Choir (the former loved but awfully named "State and Municipal"), they gave a wonderful account of themselves — no small accomplishment when going head to head with a 70-piece orchestra that was in no mood to be a muted background. Indeed the magnificent and thrice repeated "Dies irae" ("day of wrath") generated a tidal wave of sound that swept through the cavernous City Hall submerging everyone in a flood of powerfully brilliant music. The four soloists, copping the full blast of the wave, withstood it stoically, but the flood seemingly washed three trumpeters upward into the gallery, where they echoed their on-stage colleagues in the subsequent "Tubum mirum". Soloists Rosamund Illing (soprano), Sue Braatvedt (mezzo), Ding Yi (tenor) and Jonathan Truscott (bass) handled their difficult passages with sensitivity and power, again, showing their true grit (unmiked of course) in opposition to the barely restrained orchestra. (My wife and I had strolled to City Hall along Ann Street, passing a mega-amplified vocalist and rock band torturing the eardrums of their alfresco audience. What a pity those kids missed the chance to hear some real singers at work.) In addition to his rich choral music, Verdi offers deft pairings of the singers — for example, duets from the two women, or from the tenor and mezzo — as well as trios and quartets. So un-church like, and so different from the ecclesiastical music of Bach and Mozart, it resonates with operatic themes and approaches, reminding us that Verdi also introduced church music to his opera, as in the magnificent "Miserere" in Il trovatore. As the Requiem's soloists sang the solemn text, they evoked the ghosts of Leonara and Manrico, as well as Azucena and the Duke. In all, it was a magnificent production. McCoppin conducted it peerlessly — and scorelessly — communicating his affection for the work and the performers. And a bonus — after years of oratorio attendance, I expected to be squinting at the program in the gloom to work out what was going on — but those nice Opera Queensland people had arranged surtitles with an English translation of the difficult Latin. — John Henningham (Performance seen: 28th March 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Brigadoon Savoyards Being five-eighths Scottish (as my father often reminds me) it would border on blasphemy if I didn't like Brigadoon. Thankfully Savoyards present their latest musical with true highland spirit. Lerner and Lowe's Brigadoon is a wistful tale about two Americans who stumble upon a Scottish village during a hunting holiday. But we soon learn that things aren't as they seem, for Brigadoon and its people are under an ancient spell making them appear for only one day every century. Our protagonist Tommy (Dustin White) newly and unwillingly engaged, soon falls in love with Brigadoon beauty Fiona (Sarah Punch). His companion Jeff (Gary Rose) also finds a Highland fling of a different kind in the form of the infatuated Meg (Sonja Bancroft). Meanwhile Fiona's sister Jean (Natalie Lennox) and her beau Charlie (Jason Lawson) are due to be married, but high spirits in the village are soon dampened when Tommy and Jeff discover Brigadoon's secret and Tommy is torn between Fiona and his American life. The friendly, hospitable folk of Brigadoon like to sing and especially dance — and boy do they dance ... and dance ... and dance! Thus the choreography is placed in the capable hands of Highland dancer Lynette Wockner who captures the true spirit of Scotland (with a sword dance thrown in for good measure!). Director Ruth Gabriel has worked well with the large cast, ably weaving the mystical fairytale with the action on stage complemented by frequent song. However, lapses in and out of the difficult Scottish accents by most of the cast cause an occasional distraction and some full cast scenes appear static. But these problems were hidden by the opening night energy of the cast. The accompanying orchestra led by musical director Jan Ashworth never misses a cue and captures the whimsical spirit of the show. On occasion the brass section appears insecure but I'm sure this will disappear as the season progresses. The singing is generally well-handled by all despite the occasional flat note. Soloists also have to watch that they are facing forward so that words aren't lost, given the lack of individual microphones. White plays the male lead well despite encountering some difficulties in the upper register, probably due to nerves. Punch as the principal female sings with a confidence and grace that cements her as the definite musical talent of the show; her Scottish accent is also excellent. Rose is a comedic delight and stands out as the laconic and slightly drunk Jeff. He is matched by Bancroft who plays the not-so-virtuous Meg with an enthusiasm equalled only by her singing. Lawson and Lennox play the young lovers confidently. The real star of the show though is the chorus who consistently and confidently fill the auditorium with soaring warm textured harmonies — the tight choral work is definitely something of which Savoyards should be proud. The technical aspect of the show is well handled, with colourful sets put to good use and lighting and stage effects to suit. Costuming is well done, with the bonnie lads and lasses donning more tartan than you can poke a thistle at. Frankly I wouldn't have envisioned a Scottish-based musical actually working until I saw what Savoyards had to offer. The bagpipes wail, the jigs are numerous and the kilts are abundant — even the other three-eighths of me couldn't help but take a liking to this jovial romp in the Scottish highlands. — Grant Pegg (Performance seen: 28th March 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine A Conversation Queensland Theatre Company In A Conversation David Williamson unleashes a cocktail of powerful emotions — pain, shame, hate, grief and anger — and he also makes us laugh occasionally. The publicity blurb and program give little away about the plot and I intend to do likewise. It’s enough to say that the play is built around community conferencing. Jack (Peter Feeney) is a facilitator who brings together the parents of a murder and rape victim; the mother, uncle, sister and brother of her killer; and the psychiatrist most familiar with the case — eight people for the eight pink chairs that greet us on a stark and alienating stage. br> The drama occurs against the backdrop that is every parent’s worst nightmare — the violent, senseless death of a child. It happens in real time and for an hour and 35 minutes you are immersed and totally absorbed in the play. Be prepared to shed a tear or two because red eyes and sniffles are part and parcel of a very moving and enthralling experience. This is theatre at its most relevant, tackling tough issues in a robust and creative way. A Conversation is harrowing, but surprisingly not depressing. It touches a wellspring of emotion, through a cast of amazingly real people. They are our aunts, cousins and workmates. They are vulnerable, volatile and confused — as we would be in their place. The cast is quite superb. Sally McKenzie, playing Barbara Milsom, the mother of the murdered girl, is brilliant in the role and absolutely convincing. Carol Burns as Coral Williams, the mother of our killer is brilliant in her role and absolutely convincing. Kevin Hides, playing Derek Milsom, the father of the murdered girl, is brilliant — and so it goes through the entire cast (the others are Carita Farrer, Marc Richards, Rebecca Murphy, Michael Forde and Peter Feeney). Director Jean-Marc Russ has given us a minimalist set, as befits a conferencing room. An interesting feature is an opaque window that blurs the passing traffic. It helps create a strong contrast between the tensions and starkly lit personal dramas within the room and an outside, out-of-focus world that little concerns itself with our players’ grief, further extenuating their isolation. The set changes subtly as the play unfolds, increasing the sense of intimacy. The lighting too is masterful. Managed by a deft hand, you hardly notice its mood swings. Good as our cast is, the real star of this production is off-stage though not far from the limelight. It is David Williamson. This is his play. He is pictured on the front cover of the program. The play is promoted under has name. David Williamson is a bankable commodity, author as celebrity. For more than three decades Williamson has been a standard bearer for Australian theatre, a living treasure who delights in revealing Australians to Australians. In A Conversation he has tackled a difficult subject. He lays bare the plight of those people most intimately touched by tragedy, and gives fresh insights to the "nature or nurture" debate about the development of criminals. Is our killer "born bad"? Is it "in the blood"? or is it more complex than that? Coral Williams instinctively understands. "There was another side to my boy," she says. Williamson uses humour to inject some relief and toning into a heavy, serious subject. It eases the tension. We laugh on cue, perhaps a little too loudly, because we need to laugh, we yearn to laugh. David Williamson gives the players meaty roles and fine words. At the end of the day though, it’s the troops in the footlights who have to deliver the lines, interact with each other and create a rapport with the audience. There are eight seats but nine people in this community conference. Though you don’t have a line to speak or a cue to make, you’re as integral to the play as any member of the cast. This is reality. It is obvious that I’m quite taken with the production, so much so, that if you have the chance for only one theatrical experience this year, see A Conversation. You won’t be disappointed. — John Algate (Performance seen: 27th March 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe Harvest Rain Theatre Company C.S. Lewis's classic children's tale gets a fresh airing at Harvest Rain's Sydney Street theatre in a production that is in turns entrancing, funny, scary and touching. Young director Tim O'Connor and designer Josh McIntosh have come up with an imaginative array of ideas to dramatise the familiar story. O'Connor does not disguise the allegorical dimensions of Lewis's work. Some may think they are too obvious, with Leigh Walker as Aslan far less a lion in appearance than a picture-book Christ. "Daughters of Eve" Lucy and Susan seem to morph into the two Marys in their moving farewells and mourning over their dead saviour. There is magic and delight in the various animal characters — Jason Chatfield's tea-drinking fawn, Grant Couchman and Emily Gilhome's beaver couple. Particularly clever are the tree spirits and metallic figures who swirl and clunk in and out of the scenes, doubling as narrators and stagehands, adding an ethereal otherworldly presence to the frontline characters. The various good and bad Narnians perform well. Sarah McCoy as the white witch is regal and threatening, if at times too shrill. The children are played by young, or youngish, adults. I'd have preferred to see actors closer to the characters' ages in these parts, and Nick Backstrom as Edmund looks at first a little comical as a schoolboy in shorts, but all four (the others are Joanna Butler, Steve Koch and Penny Leutton) give a good representation of pampered English children packed off to the country for safekeeping during the War years. All four keep up their vowels pretty well, if not often the intonations of English English. (Why not just cast them as Aussie kids: it would do no great damage to the story. After all, most of the Narnia inhabitants are Australian-sounding.) Bill Cooney's music adds a mystical dimension, but attention needs to be given to the quality of the sound, which distorts at the needlessly high volumes. On the other hand, Noel Payne's lighting design and its operation are of top quality. Sets are a mixture of tatty school of arts Christmas pantomime and excellent touches, especially the surrounding trees and the wheel-on stagelets. There are various effectively hideous creatures, including a most convincing wolf. And Jason King has done his usual top job with the fight scenes. It's a good outing for families and all who love Lewis, fantasy and good quality Christian allegory. Some of the scenes may give the littlest kids nightmares. Others may give older ones hope. — John Henningham (Performance seen: 22nd March 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Solid Gold Cadillac Brisbane Arts Theatre At first glance The Solid Gold Cadillac's themes of corporate greed, corruption and mismanagement have a genuinely contemporary ring to them. Yet I suspect the play, billed as a “charming 1950s comedy” has lost some of its pungency since it was first performed at the New Parsons Theatre in Hartford, Connecticut in 1953. Fifty years on — post-Enron, HIH and Ansett collapses — the play's “four Ugly Corporation Directors” seem almost benign in comparison to the real life corporate villains of the 80s, 90s and now the 21st century. Don’t get me wrong. This is a clever script with lots of wit, charming moments and insightful one liners. Its just the villainy may not be as sharply defined as it once was. The play opens with the four smug directors of General Products Incorporation of America hosting an annual stockholders meeting. They are jolted out of their complacency by some astute questioning from small shareholder Mrs Laura Partridge (Helen Royle). Our directors decide to shut her up by buying her off with a nothing job in the company. Then the fun really begins. This is pure farce. Our characters are all caricatures with a cartoon quality to their performances. The play is set in Dick Tracey’s New York and our cast (accents aside) slot comfortably into the period. Company treasurer Clifford Snell (Garry Ikin) becomes Mrs Partridge’s implacable opponent. He masters his role with a consistent performance that features subtle shifts (and shiftiness) of character as the plot unravels. But the eye catching performance comes from Jeff Caruss who plays Edward L. McKeever — the tough “I don’t get ulcers. I give them” former company chairman who has given up business for a career in Washington. His first meeting with Mrs Partridge is a remarkable scene; his full-on, high energy character contrasted with Mrs Partridge’s calm and soothing manner. They spark off each other. The Solid Gold Cadillac is made up of lots of interesting parts. It is at its best when it’s right at the edge — like the first meeting between Mrs Partridge and McKeever or the wonderfully contrived press conference given by Mrs Partridge a little later. Director Sandra Harman has remained faithful to the author’s original concept. The farce is played out as a period piece with some nice little touches. Mrs Partridge’s bland office gradually takes on a more homely feel as she grows into the job. Photos appear on the wall and notice board, while a bakelite radio on top of her filing cabinet is tuned into the fifties. Then there are the accents. It’s hard to know what a director should do with accents. The characters are of a particular time and type, and authentic accents can help define them. Unfortunately there are times in the play when the cast seem to be working so hard on maintaining their accents that poignant moments are lost and comic opportunities allowed to slip by for want of rightful emphasis. The performance of Helen Royle in the central role of Mrs Partridge deserves special mention. While she sometimes sounds more Irish than American she has a wonderful presence, excellent timing, is charming, endearing and tuned into the subtleties of her role. Can’t wait to see her again. — John Algate (Performance seen: 13th March 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Half & Half La Boite Before my editor’s invitation to review Half & Half I must with some shame confess I had never heard of Daniel Keene. After attending the second night performance I doubt I will ever forget the playwright, the production or the performances. This is not because the play has unforgettable plot or storyline. At that surface level, two brothers of the same mother but different fathers, born 20 years apart, meet again after a separation of 10 years, with the return of the elder to family home now occupied solely by the younger. Both are patently damaged personalities. At surface level, the elder is a passionately extroverted — loquacious, rumbustious, philosophical aggressive alcoholic. The younger is an anally retentive insecure introvert . By the end of the evening, each, through bizarre episodes of discovery motivated principally by the actions and reactions of each to or by the other, has “healed” … “ become whole” as two halves might when they fuse organically. To reveal how just how bizarre the episodes of discovery are would I suspect either persuade the reader we are inviting them to a night in a two-person asylum, or it’s the work of another one of those self-indulgent playwrights with one hand hard at work on the word processor and the other on selected parts of the anatomy. To engage and be engaged by this piece, leave all preconceptions, prejudices and conditioned expectations in the foyer. Enter the theatre as an empty and non-judgmental vessel and allow the production in all its aspects, and the balance and power of the performances reach the recesses of the subconscious and liberate our modern penchance to ignore, suppress or deny the power of the parable, the magic of the metaphor, the revelation of rituals and the symmetry of symbolism. Half & Half is not a play as such. It’s a dramatic allegory alive with accessible symbols, a performed parable weaving mystical metaphors. It drew from the audience bursts of spontaneous laughter, not from measured “gags”, but perception of the absurdities of existence we all experience from time to time. Moments later it took us to that almost sacred silence sensed in the live theatre, when actors and audience share in the “space” recognition of our creative, emotional and spiritual needs. Sean Mee’s production meets the demands of the piece in all respects. As and when required it travels at hyper-speed , turns us through 360 degrees without discomfort, stops with the efficiency of a Ferrari, or hovers in compelling silence. Bill Haycock’s set (complemented by David Waters' lighting design) will be a talking point in thespian circles for some time to come I suspect. Half & Half is meant to be experienced, and can be without necessarily being understood at an intellectual level. The characters might symbolise the left and right sides of the brain. But however you may read them, Hayden Spencer as Luke the elder, and Jason Klarwein as Ned the younger, balance each other physically, vocally and emotionally and realise the text superbly. A few days before attending the play I was given Michael Leunig’s “the Prayer Tree”. In it the following poem/prayer appears. It now seems to me that more than chance was involved: God help us To rise up from our struggle. Like a tree rises up from the soil. Our roots reaching down to our trouble, our rich, dark dirt of existence. Finding nourishment deeply And holding us firmly. Always connected. Growing upwards and into the sun. Amen. I invite you to see the play, and revisit the poem. You may be surprised. — Ron Finney (Performance seen: 14th March 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Tartuffe Nash Theatre Moliere ran into trouble when he first tried to publicly present his comedy Tartuffe. King Louis XIV banned it, and the church vowed to excommunicate all who read, acted or saw it. It was believed that the play professed abominations on Catholicism and highlighted the potential gullibility of blindly following religious visionaries. But it was after all a comedy, so sense prevailed and a few more opened-minded centuries and translations later, Tartuffe is Nash's latest production. The play examines how destructive blind faith can be. Orgon's house is turned upside-down when he invites Tartuffe, a hypocrite and ethereal conman (think Peter Foster meets Gandhi) into his home. Orgon wholeheartedly believes that Tartuffe is an agent of God and promises to do all in his power to keep him happy — including giving his daughter's hand in marriage, and deeds to his properties. Orgon's faith is much to the chagrin of the rest of the household who, sceptical of Tartuffe, find themselves concocting half-cocked schemes to expose him for the fraud that he is. This, combined with subplots of religion, romance and piety makes up the bulk of the story. A nice twist ties up all loose ends. Tartuffe lends most of its style to Commedia del'Arte, which is explored partially by directors Drew Mason and Anke Williams. A good use of this technique is in the lovers' scene in the first act where the idiosyncrasies of the characters are brought to light. However this type of physical melodrama only came in bursts throughout the show and should have been more sustained. Tartuffe's script is in rhyming iambic pentameter, which not only makes it harder for the actors but also for the audience to follow. This difficult dialogue is mostly well-handled by the actors, apart from a few irritating sing-song moments which aren't necessary, even though the script is rhyming. The role of the infatuated Orgon (Mark Tsang) is capably played despite some sporadic melodramatic bursts. Gillian Denny as his wife, Elmire is convincing and engages in a hilarious scene where she is trying to catch Tartuffe off guard. Cleante (Troy Kippen), Elmire's brother is suitably emphatic and the terrier-like tenacity of Damis (Brad Turnbull), Orgon's son is often funny. (Unfortunately I missed a lot of lines from both Kippen and Turnbull due to their often hurried speech.) The show does provide for some shining performances though, coming from the maids Flipote (Annie Gylling) and Dorine (Janet Palmer). Palmer has remarkable clarity of speech and portrays her meddling maid character with a cheekiness and sarcasm which the audience enjoyed. She also was integral in the upkeep of momentum in the first act. Gylling, while not having much opportunity on stage obviously relishes her role and engages in some extremely funny movement sequences — the epitome of the del'Arte form. The ensemble is completed with Orgon's daughter, Mariane (Helen Moore), Mariane's lover, Valere (Andrew Moore) and Orgon's mother Mme Pernelle (Diana Richardson). James Anderson as the title role acts a convincing religious nobody. However, I would have liked to have seen more of the fake conman-like underbelly of his character shine through, particularly when Orgon was not around, so that the audience could be convinced of his duplicity. The cast seem to work well together on stage. However some sequences appear hurried, resulting in difficulty understanding the words. A more focus-based approach needs to be applied to these ensemble scenes so that the dialogue is clarified while eliminating much of the distracting stage noise created from all the running around. The simple living room unit set is suitable for the present day with clever use of hanging pictures. Lighting and costume design is also appropriate. Despite the few niggles, Tartuffe is generally an enjoyable night out. If you're feeling particularly sharp-minded and if comedy is up your alley, you'd better get into Tartuffe before it's banned.... again. — Grant Pegg (Performance seen: 13th March 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Christian Brothers Sydney Theatre Company, for Queensland Theatre Company It should really be called the Christian Brother. It's about one man, a senior secondary school teacher and member of the Irish teaching order which has dominated working class Catholic boys' education in Australia. The one-hander, set in a bleak 1950s classroom, takes the form of the teacher's reminiscences and interactions with his unseen pupils. A personal note. As a university student a few years before this play was written, I answered an ad at the uni labour exchange for a half-time teacher at a Christian Brothers school. The fact that the school was prepared to let an untrained 20-year-old loose on the Sixth Grade says much for the standards and possibly desperation then prevailing in Catholic education, particularly in the poorer schools. But in my brief time at the chalk-face and in observing overworked and often stressed colleagues I certainly saw much that was recognisable in playwright Ron Blair's portrayal of a Brother. It resonated with many who had been through the system at the play's first airing in the 1970s, depicting a culture that had little changed throughout the century. The past few decades have, however, seen a quantum leap of change. I saw the current production with my son who was educated at a Christian Brothers school in the 1990s. He was quite baffled at the domineering, eccentric behavior and religiosity of the character, who occupies a world that has almost entirely passed away. Blair's script is outstanding, establishing and developing character as well as building momentum. Sympathetic in many ways to the brothers and their lives, it captures the poignancy of their regrets as well as the security and rewards they derived from within their world. It also probed the nature of vocation to the religious life. Many plays concern an horrific past experience which has traumatised the character. In this play the character is traumatised by a beautiful experience, which provides a sense of underlying mystery. Peter Carroll as the brother does a brilliant job. It is a characterisation of depth and richness. He captures the brother's eccentric personality, his dedication to his work, his love of poetry and literature, his devotion to the faith, contrasted with his pent-up frustrations, his anger and an uncontrollable temper with unpredictable and dangerous fits of rage. Carroll gives us an ageing brother seeking validation of his life's work, craving respect and appreciation from his students past and present, and fearful of their and possibly his loss of faith. His skill in mesmering the audience is uncanny. The theatre is absolutely hushed as the brother recounts events of high emotional intensity — the torture of Christ, his adoration of the Virgin Mary, his memories of old boys who fell in the War. The tension is contrasted with many moments of humor, where we laugh both with and at the brother. It is a tribute to Carroll that he is so successfully able to reprise this role at the age of 60. The character as written must surely be a man in his 30s or 40s — typical of the era. But Carroll vigorously enacts the brother's physical outbursts and vigorous actions like bashing the blackboard and kicking a football and, in particular, the punishing and potentially homicidal treatment of a hapless pupil. It's a moving and thought-inducing theatrical experience — a tribute to director John Bell as well as Carroll and Blair. Quibbles. This has in the past been performed as part of a double bill. While one wouldn't reasonably expect an extra minute of Carroll's energy, the hour and 10 minutes running time is rather on the brief side for a show commanding $45 a ticket. On the other hand, it was a relief to extricate myself from the gallery seating which seemed too much like a school desk circa 1950. — John Henningham (Performance seen: 20th February 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Juice Brisbane Arts Theatre It would be easy to conclude that Brisbane based playwright Stephen Davis is obsessed with teen issues. Fortunately, Davis handles taboo topics in a hard-hitting and honest style, achieving recent success on stage and screen. (His recent play Blurred was produced on film last year.) Juice was a clever product of workshops with Brisbane year 10 students, so it is no surprise that drama teacher/director Lyndelle Green thought it an apt choice to kick start Brisbane Arts Theatre "Early Week" program. The plot centres on a rite of passage among a group of students completing year 10. The pulp of the story concerns a suicide within the group, forcing the characters individually to examine their relationships, their future, and ultimately themselves. As an adjunct to this, Juice concentrates on real teen issues: alcohol, fitting-in, relationship conflict and coping with death. Juice's style is that of a play interspersed with interview-like soliloquy. The audience find themselves grappling between past and present events, to view the bigger picture. Green never lets anybody leave the stage, instead choosing to use freeze frames and moments of recitative to piece together the intricate elements, a method which generally works well. Her use of Brechtian technique adds to the play's insightful context. The casting of teenagers as teenagers (as opposed to the overdone casting of adults in such roles) is refreshing, resulting in believability while giving young talent the opportunity to act out a quality script. Peter Norton is very convincing as the lead (Rodney), a teenager sorting out the relationship between his father, while trying to fit into the group. Candi Gow (Rodney's girlfriend, Mel) stands out as the epitome of a teenage girl, picking up on the insecurities felt at that age. Melinda Buttle is comfortable on stage and was my favourite as the citric and sardonic Shandi. The rest of the group admirably capture the innate awkwardness of their characters: The blokey bloke, Tony (Gordon Douglas), the larrikin, Bert (Samuel Hussey) and everyone's friend, Kirsty (Tae Grainger). Rodney's parents (Olivia Meiklejohn and Jez Veal) display the difficulties in raising an adolescent, but also the care they have for their son. A special mention must be made of Elise King (as Donna/Lynette Chapman) and Joanna Dowdle (Emma) who amazed me with their clarity of speech and stagecraft. (I'm sure the rest of the cast will quickly learn that there needs to be pauses when the audience is laughing so no lines are lost.) The play is shorter than expected, but the pace is suitable. Music is used at appropriate places, but in the party scene it might be an idea to use music without lyrics, to allow the audience to focus more on the dialogue and not the song. Much of the potential upstage area is taken up by the Blithe Spirit set, covered in black cloth (part of the logistics of running two productions concurrently), but with everyone on stage all the time, the space appears crowded. Green could've done with the few extra metres. Lighting effects are simple but innovative, and costumes reflect modern teenage trends. The simple Juice sub-set facilitates the stage action quite well. Juice is confronting, funny, sad and a truthful representation of modern teen issues. It was rather discouraging that there were quite a few seats spare on opening night. Quality youth theatre like this deserves the community's support. — Grant Pegg (Performance seen: 18th February 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Blithe Spirit Brisbane Arts Theatre Noel Coward penned Blithe Spirit in 1941 in an effort to keep theatre-going Brits' minds off World War II. Six decades later, in a world again rife with uncertainty, Blithe spirits itself onto the Brisbane Arts Theatre stage. Whether the director intended this production to emulate the original reasons for the play or not, it certainly lives up to its comedic intentions. Blithe Spirit was written in five days when Coward had a kind of psychic epiphany. Six weeks later it took to the stage and ran for a remarkable four and a half years. This gives you an idea of the calibre of the script, dubbed a "comedic masterpiece" by some. Even the original program, in the spirit of the piece stated: "If an air raid warning be received during this performance, the audience will be informed from the stage .... Those desiring to leave the theatre may do so, but the performance will continue." The story haunts around the goings on of a bizarre night in the Condomine home. Charles Condomine (John Grey) and his wife Ruth (Janet Devlin) host a dinner party. One of the guests is Madame Arcati (Beverley Wood), resident madwoman and self-professed medium who, unknowingly is the subject of research for Charles' latest mystery novel of the occult. Before long, the party progresses (as parties do) from dinner and wine to raising the dead. But the spirit dragged from the grave isn't any ordinary ghost, it's Elvira (Kym Ford), Charles' first wife, and she's up to mischief. The problem is, Charles is the only one who can see and hear her. This is where most of the laughs come from as Ruth thinks Charles is talking to her when he's really talking to Elvira. Ruth and Charles' marriage suddenly is not as perfect as first thought and their marital fabric is torn at the seams. For those who've never seen it, I won't give too much more away, except to say that there are some rather clever twists in the second act. Director Gary O'Neil appears to achieve his purpose, maintaining the comedy while giving the audience glimpses of the slightly darker, dare I say misogynistic undercurrent. The dual simultaneous dialogue between the living and the dead is well upheld, and the actors generally do a good job of "not noticing" the ghosts. Despite a few line-stumbles Grey plays the protagonist adequately, with the smugness the character requires. He is capably supported by Devlin who, as precise as she is domineering, shines as Charles' highly-strung wife, and maintains a very convincing accent. Beverley Wood owns the stage and is the source of much comedy as the raving lunatic, with manic gesticulations to suit her rather humorous lines. Kym Ford is visibly having fun as she flows around the stage, blissfully flaunting her ghostly powers. Completing the cast is the housemaid Edith (Davina Barlow) and dinner guests Dr and Mrs Bradman (David Fitzgerald and Karen Houghton). The English living room set (complete with fireplace) is interestingly framed by war paraphernalia, no doubt to remind us of contemporary war environment. Lighting is suitable, apart from one distracting glitch at an integral moment. Scene changes are rather long but music is used as a distraction. Costuming is generally well-done from the colourful eccentricity of Madame Arcati to the ghostly monochromatic Elvira. Perhaps first-night nerves accounted for the rushed nature of the opening scene. Trying to get used to the accents, I found that things ran too quickly, resulting in quite a few lost lines. This was remedied, however, and a suitable pace was maintained for the rest of the show. The almost full house seemed genuinely happy with the action on stage, especially with Wood who received applause every time she exited. As the show eases into its season, I'm certain the minor technical problems will disappear. In short, if you're after something to rattle your chains, Blithe Spirit might just be the ticket you're dying to get. — Grant Pegg (Performance seen: 7th February 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Sleuth Stagedoor Dinner Theatre The late Anthony Shaffer’s Sleuth was his first major play which ran eight years (2,359 performances) in the West End. It then crossed the Atlantic, and ran for a further 2000 on Broadway reaping a Tony as Best Play. So successful was the play it was once said to Shaffer that Sleuth “was being performed somewhere in the world every day since he wrote it”. (Jason Buchanan). In 1972 a film version starring Laurence Olivier and Michael Caine proved equally successful, hardly surprising given the screenplay by Shaffer himself and the prodigious talents of its performers. This film casting gives insight into Shaffer’s original purpose for the play and how, and how successfully, Alex Lanham’s production with Hugh Brophy and Colin Smith is addressed and whether its sub-text is sustained after 30-plus years. I have stressed my reluctance to padding reviews with detailed revelation of plot in earlier reviews for Stagediary. For those who by happenchance may never have seen either the film or an earlier stage production I will maintain my stance. Suffice to say that rags to riches ethnic business-person Milo Tindale (Brophy/Smith) arrives at the Wiltshire country mansion of the highly educated-and-successful upper-crust whodunit novelist Andrew Wyke (Brophy/Smith). As the play opens Milo interrupts Andrew’s melodramatically self-satisfying reading of the closing of his latest masterpiece to announce his intention to marry Wyke’s wife. To his surprise Wyke (who subsequently admits to having a current mistress anyway) is, subject to certain “conditions”, quite amenable to the proposition. That’s where the game-playing begins, and if you don’t know where it ends, go see the play. As a film, Sleuth was called a “thinking person’s thriller”. To Shaffer it was much more. It spoke to and against the shallow, two dimensional and all too clever whodunit characters of the 20th century and of the class differentials of Britain in the early 1970s (now ethnic differentials in the last decade of the 20th and first of the 21st centuries). Ironically it has by its own popularity become something of a victim of its own intent. In Act 1, Wyke holds the upper hand in the game playing. It’s he who is writing the plot by which the transfer of the wife will occur to their mutual benefit. In the text it’s an upper hand of an incisively witty wordsmith who enjoys his own jokes and complements his laughter with his penchance for special effects gadgetry, once piece of which provides some of the best moments of the evening. What Wyke in his upper-crust arrogance fails to appreciate is that the rags to riches Milo is quite a game-player himself, one whose wits have been honed to razor-sharp street wise precision. In Act 2 Wyke learns the errors of his arrogance. Sleuth is not a comic thriller. Even less is it a farce with thriller elements. Its combatants are equally matched according to their backgrounds with rapiers, not broadswords. This is a clash of sharp tongues and sharper minds. And each character at every moment must believe and be seen to believe that each moment is real. Milo’s fear must be palpable. Wyke’s pomposity genuinely cryptic and cruel. Neither the production nor the performances meet these critical demands. The concept of “straight” plays in a theatre restaurant context is novel, exciting and alive with potential. In order to work successfully however the production of the tucker must match the disciplines of the production of the play. I suspect that, like the writer, many of the patrons who arrived at the nominated hour for the chef and service staff to play their roles had their attitude to the play coloured by the delays. — Ron Finney (Performance seen: 16th January 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine An Evening with the Lad Himself Stagewise (Centenary Theatre) I had never heard of 1960s English TV comedian Tony Hancock before a friend of mine said before Christmas, “Hey, Nat! Len Granato’s doing a Hancock show at Centenary. Get some reviewer tickets and I’ll come with you.” Being the terrific friend that I am, I immediately forgot all about it until the morning of January 10, when my esteemed editor called to see if I was still available to do it. Luckily, my friend was still free, so we trotted off to see the Stagewise production of An Evening with the Lad Himself at Chelmer Community Centre. Of course we got lost on the way there — the theatre being a bit hard to find for the uninitiated, located between a train line and a bowls club. But get there we did, and a good thing it was too. “Evening” comprises two one-act pieces, one simple and comic, the other dark, intense and thoughtful. And David Bell as the central character deserves acclaim for his performance, switching effortlessly from the ridiculous to the sublime. But first things first. Tony Hancock, according to the program and backed up by my friend, was a giant of British comedy. His program “Hancock’s Half Hour” was an international hit, and can still be seen on PayTV apparently (I don’t have PayTV. If I did, I wouldn’t be writing this now. I’d be blanked out in front of the History Channel). The first act of the evening is “The Blood Donor”, one of these “half-hours”. It stars Hancock as his exaggerated onscreen self, a pompously entertaining man, a self-professed expert on everything, but in reality an ignorant buffoon. It’s the fun part of the evening. The plot is simple — Hancock goes to give blood, and spends most of the time telling anyone who’ll listen (and even those who won’t) how generous he is for doing so. David Bell has the buffoonery down for this act. His mannerisms and voice all reflect a man who most of us would sum up with the word “git”. He gives a strong central performance, which is vital to the success of the extended sketch, especially here, when his timing and characterisation are not really matched by the rest of the cast. The roles are really one-dimensional and silly to begin with — it is Hancock’s half hour after all, and no doubt the writers (Ray Galton and Alan Simpson) planned the supporting characters to be no more than perfunctory. So although the cast here are fine in those supporting roles, they don’t add any extra sparkle. They are great as foils, but if it wasn’t for Bell’s energy, the half hour would seem more like two hours. I’m not one of those people who believe drama has more integrity than comedy, but certainly Hancock’s Last Half Hour, the second half of the show, is the one really worth seeing. Hancock, as I mentioned before, was a great clown. And like many other great clowns, he was also in real life a very sad man, plagued by alcohol abuse, nerves and depression (think Peter Sellers or even Spike Milligan). Hancock finally had enough in 1968 — and killed himself while in Sydney to film some TV shows. Heathcote Williams wrote a fictional account of the last moments of his life, which Bell performs with such gusto and commitment that I felt had I been American, I would have given it a standing ovation. (It’s just personal choice that I never stand — it’s got nothing at all to do with my laziness). It’s a very surreal piece, full of ideas and action, all set in a hotel room. Hancock, in a sleep-deprived, vodka-induced bout of craziness, veers from quiet reflection to absurd dancing, from vengeful anger to a sense of hopelessness. And it’s very convincing — Bell conveys all the emotions truthfully, with no sense of artifice, or worse still “method acting”. Shudder. Bell was able to slip into the skin of Hancock, but shed it to be quite jovial and relaxed after the performance. That’s what Alec Guinness used to do, and no one could doubt his skill. You’ve also got to give credit to Bell for going great guns in what could fairly be called the hottest theatre in Brisbane. I guess the only drawback was the topical '60s references, many of which slipped me by, mainly my parents’ fault for not having me 30 years earlier. Len Granato as director has done a fine job — Bell’s performance is great and the set design is simple and effective for both halves — but I do feel he could have spent more time on the supporting cast of “The Blood Donor”. I also wonder whether the theatre might be able to arrange an agreement with the bowls club next door to keep their music down until after shows finish. The strains of pop music took some of the focus off Hancock’s last moments. Wow. This is a far cry from my normal bogan reviews. I’ve actually used the word “artifice”. Next I’ll be saying “juxtaposition”. When I do, someone slap me. In layman’s terms, “Evening” is worth the ticket price for anyone who enjoys a fine performance, or likes reliving the “good old days” of British comedy. It’s well targeted for Stagewise’s/Centenary's audience, and finally, the beer and wine at the bar are pretty reasonable. Now if that ain’t a reason to go, I don’t know what is! —Natalie Bochenski (Performance seen: 11th January 2003) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine |
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