| Reviews: October-December 2005
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www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Sing-along Sound of Music Lyric Theatre Among the contestants were a girl in Johnny Depp costume ("He's one of my favourite things"), a sexy guy in lederhosen ("I'm here to solve Maria's problem"), a group of eight people in hats ranging up the scale from a pair of reindeer ears to a cup of tea, and an old girl in a white dress with a blue satin sash, along with lots of nuns with and without moustaches. And the winner was ... an elderly man sporting a sandwich board which said succinctly, "I am seventy going on eighty, who'll take care of me?" And if you don't get any of those references, then you obviously have never heard of the Sing-along Sound of Music phenomenon, which has been sweeping the world for at least five years. The Sound of Music is one of the most popular musicals ever made, and as it's been around 40 years, there can't be many people who haven't seen it. It's an eminently mockable film, and last weekend's showing was the famous karaoke version, with the words to the songs printed on the screen, so that the audience can, well, sing-along. But it's not just sing-along. They are also encouraged, nay, expected to intervene at any point of the film that inspires them, and to make appropriate (or wildly inappropriate) comments. So when the Nazis came searching for the von Trapps hiding in the convent graveyard, somebody yelled out "They're behind the tombstones!", and whenever Maria appeared in the distance, the entire audience bellowed "She's coming!". One wit cried out, when a tear appeared in Maria's eye as she decided to leave the von Trapp household and return to the convent, "It's a Tia, Maria!", and there were other jokes of more or less subtlety. But even the weakest joke was a hit with the audience, because people were there to enjoy themselves, and so they did. Flash cards were given out, including a question mark to be waved whenever the word "how" (as in "how do you solve a problem like Maria?") was sung, and ditto a card with a picture of Julie Andrews. Party poppers were set off at the moment of the first long-awaited kiss between Maria and Captain von Trapp, and everyone got a piece of curtain material to wave at Maria when she was thinking endlessly about how to make play-clothes for the children. Some members of the audience even tried to sing along to the Gregorian chant in the convent, but that was the one part where the performance fell apart, as people displayed their ignorance of the enclosed religious word by not knowing either the chants or the Latin words. In America, this sing-along version has become a gay icon, and there certainly were a few hairy guys dressed up as nuns at the Brisbane event. But more than anything else it was a family occasion, and the baby-boomers, their children and even their parents were out in force, loving every minute of it — as were my friend and I, who wore tasteful reindeer head-dresses from the Santa dress-up basket rather than tying ourselves up in brown paper and string, like one of my friends did. And the less said about that the better. Everyone loves a sing-along, especially when it's an old chestnut like this, because you can be as uninhibited as you like, and don't even have to pretend to be able to sing in tune, as you do with the sing-along Messiah . You get friendly with the people sitting beside you — except with the teenager who kept texting her boy-friend for the whole four hours — and you go out feeling a much happier person. And let's face it, under all that hysteria and iconic status The Sound of Music is still one of the world's great musicals, and in spite of the innuendoes and wicked interaction in the sing-along version, and the saccharine sweetness of the original, there's an important story here about love, sacrifice and standing up for your principles, especially in time of war and repression. Cabaret it's not, but there's meaning beneath the fun, which gives the send-up version an added depth. I was surprised at how the Lyric Theatre fell silent during the von Trapps' attempted escape, and the tension when Rolf the Nazi telegram boy ("groof-groof") threatens to shoot the captain. Schmaltz or serious ethical tale, this sing-along version is a winner, and as I now see that you can get your own DVD copy — just type in Sing-along Sound of Music on your search engine and see what comes up — your Christmas party could become a talking point for many years to come as all your friends get their wimples off solving Maria's problem. Played Friday 16 and Saturday 17 December 2005 Duration: 4 hours, with one 20 minute —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 17th December 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The People's Messiah Albert Street Uniting Church, Brisbane It's against all the rules of reviewing for a critic to write a notice on a performance in which he himself participated. But this is different. The Albert Street Uniting Church's annual pre-Christmas Messiah sing-along is an event in which participants double as audience. (The few strays spotted in the upstairs gallery are either street people who've crept in for a nap, very devoted kith and kin of the singers, or masochists.) It works like this: you pay $5, they give you a score, they show you into the grand old church where the vast nave is divided into four quadrants labelled soprano, alto, tenor and bass, you sit wherever you feel comfortable, and then you sing. It's that easy. This was the tenth year of this wonderful baroque sing-along, and there is no more sign of abatement in the enthusiasm of the participants (there were more than 200 of us) than there is of improvement in the musical quality of the chorus. But we're there for the fun of participation, not for a technically perfect, fully rehearsed production. Indeed, the evening does involve a rehearsal of sorts. At 5pm, maestro Jason Barry-Smith takes the rostrum to lead his charges through their paces in preparation for the 7pm performance. If anything is an aesthetic challenge to a professional choir leader and Opera Queensland principal, this must be it. But Barry-Smith, whose pleasant nature and affability are legendary, shows not a wince nor a frown. No stern looks, no barely veiled disgust, no eyes rolled heavenwards, no grimaces or disappointed wan smiles. For his motley crew of once-a-year Messiahists give him every reason to do all of the above, if not to storm out of the famous church in a state of apoplexy and "never-again" rage. Instead there is enthusiasm, affirmation and jocularity. He is truly a saint, if modern-day saints are recognised in the Uniting Church. The performance concentrates on the Christmas half of Messiah plus the ending bits, involving nine choruses — "And the glory of the Lord", "O thou that tellest good tidings", "For unto us a child is born", "Glory to God", "All we like sheep", "Lift up your heads", "Hallelujah" (of course), "Worthy is the Lamb" and "Amen". The choristers include very experienced Messiahists as well as tyros, with quite varying levels of ability in following the line or the beat. This for the most part doesn't matter, for as Sir Thomas Beecham once famously said, the only important thing is that everyone starts together and finishes together ("the public doesn't give a damn what goes on in between") which Barry-Smith was well able to ensure through his firm control at the rostrum. There were occasions where enthusiastic individuals jumped the gun, lustily singing out a beat or so ahead of Handel's and Barry-Smith's intentions. This caused embarrassment if you were standing next to such a person or even worse if you were such a person, but no names were taken nor singers shown the door, and Handel's music is very good at "moving right along". But overall the choral sound wasn't at all bad, with lots of great belting and a totality of sound which, though admittedly ragged, was certainly joyous and sung with conviction. As a spiritual experience, it is certainly the best way possible of experiencing Messiah. No public performance can be without its bit of drama behind the scenes, and here's what happened in this case: there was a popular revolt over "All we like sheep". Although listed on the printed program, it was to be dropped, Barry-Smith dolefully announced at the rehearsal (stage-whispering that it wasn't his decision). The chorus behaved most unlike sheep who had gone astray, expressing their unhappiness at this omission with a mixture of murmurs and rumbling noises (although no noticeable baa-ing). All right all right, conceded Barry-Smith, we'll rehearse it, but only after you've done all the other pieces. So rehearse it we did, just before the tea break, and with such gusto that the organisers could do nothing other than re-insert Chorus no. 26 into the program, just before the tenor recitative, "Thy rebuke". The bonus of these occasions for the chorus/audience is that there's a line-up of professional soloists to sing some of the great airs which are so integral to Handel's Messiah. This time the performers were soprano Mirusia Louwerse, counter-tenor David Muller, tenor John Peek, bass Michael Strasser, together with trumpeter Lindon Weise for the thrilling "Trumpet shall sound" bass air, and church organist Gregory Hartay-Szabo. They did a great job — not quite as consistently as in some previous years, but taken as a group they performed well. (Some of the singers were coralled fairly late into the performance.) In an interesting approach the contralto part was given to a counter-tenor: David Muller sang well in this role, although I do prefer the richness of the traditional contralto voice for the Messiah airs. Hit singer of the night was 20-year-old soprano Mirusia Louwerse, who charmed us all with her recitatives and airs such as "Come unto Him" and "I know that my Redeemer liveth", with excellent intonation and purity of sound. Long-serving Albert Street organist John Stehbens, who died four months ago, inaugurated the People's Messiah in 1996 and played for most performances. His widow Anita, a talented soprano, bravely joined this year's performance. John would be proud that the wonderful tradition he founded lives on, and let's hope that the People's Messiah will remain part of Brisbane's Christmas music scene for many more decades to come. —
John Henningham (Performance experienced: 11th December 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine With Attitude Queensland Ballet The Queensland Ballet's production of … With Attitude has finished the year for the company with a splash of innovation and beauty, and for those seeking more challenging fare than The Nutcracker these four contemporary pieces offered much to think about and admire. Globe-trotting Queensland choreographer Natalie Weir introduced a powerful new work The Unwritten, inspired directly by the haunting music of Rachmaninoff's Isle of the Dead and Arnold Bocklin's 1886 painting which itself inspired the composer. Principal dancer Rachael Walsh exquisitely captured the spirituality of the piece, while Weir's choreography set out in novel ways the journey of a man, out of step with humanity, unable to move on in his life, or towards his death, as he is haunted by the memory of his love of a woman. Earlier in the evening, the classical purity of the music of J.S. Bach was celebrated in a work called Back to Bach, choreographed by the Queensland Ballet's artistic director Francois Klaus. The dark world of Berlin Cabaret in the 1930s came through the work Hat Over Heels choreographed by Timothy Brown, the music of Jacques Brel's "Ne Me Quitte Pas" and Kurt Weill's "Alabama Song" giving the piece a sharp edge, while the stark black costumes designed by Timothy Brown and Louise Jerard suited the work perfectly. It is great to see the Queensland Ballet commissioning original Australian works of international standard. While the classical works of the ballet repertoire will be forever popular, the willingness of this company to commission new original works is vital to its artistic integrity and to the role it plays in our community. Opera Queensland could take a leaf from their book. Played 1 – 9 December 2005 Duration: 2 hours, including interval —
Matt Foley (Performance seen: 9th December 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Lottie, The Musical Villanova Players Book and lyrics by Katy Forde, music by Aleathea Monsour Villanova Players at The Theatre, Morningside Campus of TAFE, Clearview Terrace, Morningside Amateur production “Ninety-eight percent of the entertainment Australians see comes from America. But not tonight.” So says one of the cast in the final summary-scene of Lottie, the Musical . If that were the only thing that this new all-Australian musical had going for it, it would be a strong enough recommendation in itself, but this sparkling piece of musical theatre offers much more than just patriotism and cultural pride. From its passionate re-telling of the story of little-known early actor and director Lottie Lyell to its enchanting musical score, Lottie, the musical deserves to take its place immediately in the pantheon of great Australian musicals. Not only does it add substantially to our knowledge of Australian theatrical history and the development of the film industry in the early 20th century, it contributes another chapter to the untold story of those women trail-blazers who, as Kate Grenville points outs succinctly in her novel Joan’s Story, made it possible for the men in their lives to achieve renown, through their contributions of talent, support and practical help. Like so many women of her time Lottie, who was the brains behind the dynamic Photo Play studios of Raymond Longford, was his creative partner as well as the love of his life, but like most Edwardian women she stayed in the background and let her man take the credit. Where would our modern-day Gillian Wears and Jane Campions be without the ground-breaking work of people like this sharp-witted woman? Lottie is one of our feminist foremothers, and this musical is her fitting and long-overdue tribute. She fought against the strictures of pre-World War I society, where respectable women were supposed to keep out of the limelight; she persuaded her socially-conservative mother to accept her life in the film industry; and she lived, although not openly, with a married man, while still retaining her dignity and integrity. Ground-breaking stuff indeed. Lottie, the Musical has a straightforward linear narrative, from Lottie’s “discovery” at the age of 18 by Raymond Longford, a trusted friend of her father, to her simple and very moving death just days before Langford’s divorce from his long-estranged wife came through. The action moves from family drawing room to film shooting in the outback, to the wharves of Sydney to cinema foyers and a sanatorium for consumptives: and the multi-skilled cast play roles as disparate as wharfies, Sydney low-life, second-rate actors and entrepreneurs. As in all good musicals, they break into song wherever it seems appropriate (or sometimes not), and Aleathea Monsour’s score, with tunes eminently hummable, has just enough of a post-modern discordant touch to make it thoroughly contemporary rather than derivative. There’s enough wit in the book and lyrics, too, to echo the kind of woman Lottie Lyell was – or at least, how she is seen through Katy Forde’s eyes. Quiet and superficially polite, as befits the times, the script contains little barbed comments subtle enough to be missed by the other characters in the play, but modern enough to be picked up by an observant audience, and the gentle subversion of the script is in itself another form of tribute to Lottie. Because this is a low-budget production, like all amateur theatre, sets have to be versatile, so Ann Monsour has developed a series of tall triangular bricks with different backdrops, which when turned they act like those three-dimensional children’s puzzles. It’s an effective way of dealing with the many scene changes – I counted at least 11 – as it doesn’t slow the action down, although I still think that the play needs cutting, as three hours is far too long. The production does smack a bit of self-indulgence, almost as if Michael Forde, Katy’s father, who directs it, didn’t quite have the heart to be as ruthless as he should have been. The production is quite a family affair – there are Fordes (Katy’s mother Margery makes a welcome return to the stage as Lottie’s mother), the Monsours (Aleathea not only wrote the script, but plays Lottie herself, while other members of the family feature as actors, designers, set engineers, equipment designers or musicians in the live band), while the surname Liddy appears more than once. The close-knit cast and creative team have worked on this production over many months, and have developed a strong sense of community, which displays, in director Michael Forde’s words, “no egos, just talent and dedication”. For a new play, therefore, this is a formidable effort with a commensurate effect, and with some polishing and cutting of the script, and a full professional production, it could well become one of Australia’s top theatrical musicals. It’s small enough in scope to be cherished as a tiny piece of history (unlike the ill-fated Australia, the Musical of two decades ago, which failed because it tried to do too much), but in its sub-text of pride in what we can do as Australians, as a small nation battling against the encroachments of overseas interest, it has enormous resonance for today. Katy Forde and Aleathea Monsour want to write a play a year until they’re dead. Let’s hope, for all our sakes, that they survive longer than their hapless heroine, who died of tuberculosis at the age of only 35. Directed by Michael Forde Playing Thursday – Saturdays at 8pm until Saturday 17 December 2005 (matinees Saturday 11 and 17 at 2pm) Duration: 3 hours including a 20 minute interval —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 9th December 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Nutcracker Queensland Ballet (Playhouse, QPAC) The Nutcracker is sheer magic, even for people who don’t like ballet. I didn’t see one dutiful father dozing off, not even during the feathery Swan Lake-type sequences, nor were any kids whining and nagging to be taken to the lavatory. The audience was full of enthusiasm, and all in all there can’t be a better pre-Christmas treat in the whole of Brisbane. Most people know the story of The Nutcracker, how young Clara, the cherished youngest child of a wealthy German family in the 1890s, is given a special gift from godfather Drosselmeyer at the annual family Christmas party. It’s a nut-cracker, which Clara’s brother Fritz covets, and finally breaks, although godfather Drosselmeyer mends it with a handkerchief he miraculously draws from the air. After they’ve all gone to bed, Clara creeps down to the ballroom to retrieve her Nutcracker, and falls asleep and, while she is sleeping, she dreams that all the toys have come to life and are battling against the Mouse King. When Clara defeats the Mouse King, who had almost vanquished the heroic Nutcracker, she is delighted to find that he has turned into a handsome prince, who whisks her off into the Land of Snow and the Land of Sweets. Never mind kissing frogs – it seems as if a simple blow to a mouse will do just as well. Why a young girl should be so passionately devoted to a stiff wooden toy dressed as a soldier is anyone’s guess – and I promise I won’t tell you mine if you don’t tell me yours! But the Freudians among us will instantly see this as a story of sibling rivalry and a girl’s coming-of-age, and one of the tricks for the ballerina dancing Clara is to make a credible transition from child to adolescent while still staying in character. I couldn’t tell whether it was Rachael Walsh or Amelia Waller, who alternate the role, who was dancing last Thursday night, but whoever it was made a charming little girl, and managed the shift to sexual awakening very skilfully. In large part the credit for all this must go to artistic director of the Queensland Ballet, Francois Klaus, whose choreography has deconstructed the original bland 19th century versions and put them back together with a modern twist. The clowns, for example, are as stiff as pokers even when they are doing the splits, and their acrobatic talents do seem to come straight from the circus rather than from a balletic training. I’m no expert on dance, but I was very impressed by the overall standard even from the younger dancers from the Professional Year and Junior Extension programs. If these girls and boys are indicative of the quality of the next generation of dancers, then Queensland looks set to equal Sydney as the ballet capital of Australia. The only weak link in the chain of dancers was the male corps de ballet, who were often ragged and out of synch, especially in their early number as the cadets, where they failed to demonstrate the virility that this ballet surely calls for. Part of the pleasure of seeing The Nutcracker is the thrill of recognition – in context, those familiar tunes are much more beautiful than their transmogrification into advertising jingles would have us believe. And then there are the set pieces – the Arabian Dance, the Spanish Dance (although the costuming was a little underwhelming here), the Russian Dance and the Dance of the Flower Fairies, until the Grand Pas de Deux finishes it all off with everyone’s favourite, the Sugar Plum Fairy, so much more elegant than her name implies. Graham McKenzie’s sets go from authentic period ballroom to winter wonderland with an astonishing use of flats, especially the Christmas tree, which triples in size in less than a minute. David Walters’ subtle lighting illuminates where it has to without drawing attention to itself, and Noeline Hill’s costumes bring colour and movement to an already exuberant production – I never thought a 19th century bustle could work as a dance costume. Modern dance is wonderful and exciting, classical tales of thwarted love with a corps-de-ballet in tutus or feathery gowns can be beautiful, and jazz ballet brings a rush of blood to the soul. But in this totally enchanting and brilliantly-staged production of The Nutcracker there’s never a longueur or a false move, and whether you’re a tiny ballet wannabe, a doting aunt, a kindly grandfather or just a lover of controlled skill and beauty, there’s something for you in this Christmas treat, as well as the happy ending we all long for at heart. Choreographed by Francois Klaus for the Queensland Ballet Playing until 13 December – Sunday 11 at 3pm, Tuesday 13 at 6.30pm Duration 2 hours, with a 20 minute interval —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 8th December 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine He Died with a Falafel in his Hand Roundhouse Theatre From the novel by John Birmingham – adapted for the stage by Simon Bedack, Steve le Marquand and Michael Neaylon Profit share production As its author(s) would be the first to tell you, plot-wise He Died With A Felafel In His Hand sucks. If you are looking for a well-made play full of tension and dramatic climaxes, this is not the show for you. There are, indeed, a number of climaxes in Felafel (memorably in the perving scene), but not of the theatrical type. Instead, the writers have put together a series of wildly comic scenes featuring some of the extraordinary collection of sexual deviants, druggies and misfits with whom, apparently, John Birmingham shared houses in his misspent youth. Birmingham’s 1994 novel has now been adapted for stage, film and graphic novel, achieving cult status in record time. The stage adaptation, directed here by Lewis Jones for a group named ‘someone’, calls for a versatile cast of three men and three women to portray the innumerable and varied inhabitants of Birmingham’s world. Lucas Stibbard’s character remains relatively stable (if that is an appropriate word in this zany context) as Birmingham himself. Stefan Cooper-Fox and Leon Cain, on the other hand, are required to morph from pumped-up hunk to crazed junkie, from S&M addict to suburban dad and all variations in between. The women too, (Judy Hainsworth, Louise Brehmer, and Bridget Boyle) transform themselves into a dazzling display of innocents, prostitutes, dominatrixes, lesbians, horn bags and nutcases. (Have I missed out any other types of women? Oh yes, mothers.) Predictably, the language is crude, the scenes (imagine a spitting competition with the audience as target, a fridge mistaken for a lavatory … need I go on?) designed to appal – but the effect is often hilariously funny. The young audience responded enthusiastically to all the jokes – though some lines were thrown away to such an extent that only the closest or most tuned-in members of the audience caught them all. However, apart from the bad taste jokes and scatological humour there is also plenty of wit in Birmingham’s writing, as readers of his novels will know. One of the cleverest and funniest scenes is one in which two of the men engage in a conversation about their love lives. This is made up entirely of clichés and second-hand phrases which they exchange while solemnly battling out a video game. Very Pinter-esque. But what carries this show, which is rather too long given its essentially repetitive structure, is the energy of the performances. All members of this ensemble share a talent for comedy but, while their timing and delivery of lines was generally good, what really impressed me was their controlled physicality. Whether leaping around in manic party mode, doing push-ups (double-entendre intended), performing a joyless bump-and-grind number, wielding a whip, gyrating sexily or mincing and pouting, the cast found just the right presence and movement for each of their many characters. For example, Leon Cain and Louise Brehmer’s brief but effective portrayal of the (fictional) Birmingham parents reminds us that, on top of all the youthful exuberance, this is a group of serious actors with plenty of technical skills and an attention to detail. Yes, this is a show written for and directed at a young audience, but there is a lot here too for all but the most up-tight oldie to enjoy. Some of the memorable moments for me, for example, were the simple but dramatically choreographed set-pieces; including the clever milk-crate dance, the aerial martial arts battle, the quite irrelevant but very amusing torchlight number, and the wonderful dance with a blow-up doll, which Leon Cain manages to make both extremely funny and oddly moving. But, like the rest of the audience, I was most often convulsed by the sheer vulgar fun of the show. It is salutary to be reminded from time to time that all drama evolved from the obscene comedy of ancient Greek choruses, from which this show is in a direct line of descent. Go and see He Died With a Felafel In His Hand if you want a good way to relax and unwind at the end of the year, but leave your hang-ups behind. (That sounds vaguely obscene in the context of this show, but you know what I mean.) Directed by Lewis Jones Playing until 17 December: Tue-Sat 8pm, Sat 10 &17: 6pm and 9pm. Running time 2 hrs 10 mins , including interval —
Maureen Strugnell (Performance seen: 7th December 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Baggage — The Kransky Sisters Playhouse, QPAC Written and performed by Annie Lee, Christine Johnston, Michele Watt Professional production There’s Mourne, the bossy eldest with the clipped accent; there’s Eve, the insecure one who echo-whispers her sister’s words; and finally there’s Arva, the put-upon one who never says anything. They’re the Kransky Sisters, and they are touring Australia in their old Morris — well, to be honest, they didn’t quite make it to Perth, because they were told it was only two days as the crow flies, so they followed a crow and ended up out of petrol and water in the middle of the Nullarbor, and sent Arva back to Esk to get top-ups. After a week, she returned with a bottle of soft drink and a lolly on a stick, and just enough petrol to get them home, where they decided to give the west coast a miss for a while. Drab, sad, slightly mad, but never had (although I have my doubts about Arva), these sisters are a country town nightmare come true. The foyer display of their household items, including faded cut-moquette sofas, rusting sugar tins, dog-eared piano music, and plastic doilies, tells it like it is, and once inside the audience is treated to a slide show of their most recent trip, a regional tour of Queensland, to places where some of this might be too true to be funny. The girls, who are probably well into their thirties, have been brought up totally ignorant of the modern world, and all the accounts of their adventures are seen through the lens of innocence. Mourne, who does most of the talking, describes the dope party that Arva had dragged them to with a naivete worthy of Mrs Edna Everedge in her early days discovering a jar of Vaseline in her son’s bathroom cabinet, and wondering why it has hairs in it. It’s in this skewed view of the world that most of the humour lies, for in our double-takes the joke is almost always on us, and while we shake our heads in disbelief we have to admire the skill that underlies both conception and performance, for none of them ever misses a beat, even when the audience is convulsed with laughter, nor slips out of character for a second. But it’s more than just a saga of the Innocents Abroad. As their painful conversations take place, home truths are revealed, like the fact that Arva is the daughter of the other two’s brother and the others totally disapprove of her; that Eve is secretly in love with a man in the third row; that Mourne has a vicious streak and has been known to make mincemeat of the neighbour’s guinea pig while mowing the lawn, or, most dreadful of all, has encouraged, nay! brought about, fish cannibalism. This story sums up the character of the whole show. Mourne is telling of her visit to a pet shop, where she sees a groper in a fish tank about to be devoured by a live lobster, she fears. Here Eve, her limpid brown eyes brimming with tears, whispers softly, "I do miss my little goldfish’s eyes when he came up every morning to the side of the bowl to say hullo to me." What’s the connexion, we wonder, until Mourne has the grace to look just a little abashed and explain that she only put the groper in the home fish tank to save it from the lobster. And then they break into song, for these women are all accomplished vocalists — except, of course, for Arva, the one who studied the tuba at Toowoomba TAFE, and aren’t the other two bitter about that! They sing their own zany takes on pop songs of the last 50 years, accompanying themselves on the carpentry saw, a battered electric keyboard, a guitar and some tambourines, while Arva boom-booms away on the tuba, upstaging them whenever she can, and obviously desperate to sing a song of her own. Mourne, of course, won’t let her, but when the audience insists, makes Arva sit inside the car (which has broken down on-stage at the beginning of the show, and forms a perfect back-drop to the girls on their straight-backed chairs). She then shuts the door, and she and Eve sits tight-lipped while Arva sings a tender song of her own and receives, of course, wild applause from the audience. And so the show goes on, and afterwards the audience buys autographed Kransky Sisters tea-towels at $15 a pop, and much delight is had by all, and everyone goes home happy, especially the Kransky Sisters. A hundred tea towels at $15 each — wouldn’t you be delighted? The Kransky Sisters are, of course, Annie Lee, Christine Johnston and Michele Watt, playing Mourne, Eve and Arva respectively, and if you hadn’t guessed that by now, either you’ve never seen a performance of Women in Voice, or you know nothing about the wealth of female vocal talent in this state. Who else in Queensland but Lee and Johnston could have dreamed up a show as eccentric and enchanting as this? Executive producer Deborah Murphy, directorial consultant Jean-Marc Russ Playing 15–19 November 2005 at 7.30pm Duration: 1 hour 45 minutes, no interval —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 16th November 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Merchants of Bollywood Lyric Theatre Written and directed by Toby Gough Professional production Hoorah for Bollywood! If it’s colour and movement you crave, without the need for a decent narrative or any deep thought, this show is for you. It’s wild, boisterous and enormously appealing, and it had the audience in raptures as they were treated to every form of Indian dance, reflecting that unique film sub-genre of Bollywood romance that employs thousands of people and entertains millions more. This show is really an excuse to show off the talents of the choreographer, designer and dancers, because the story behind the extravaganza takes second place to the glitter and the glamour that fill the stage. If you do care, though, the story is narrated through the voice of Ayesha Merchant (played here with moving restraint by Ishitta Arun), grand-daughter of the legendary guru of Indian dance, Shantilal Merchant, who was known as the King of the Dance. He left Rajasthan and earned even greater glory when he choreographed dance numbers during the heyday of Bollywood films, but returned in disgust to his home region as the films became increasingly commercialised. In this show, his grand-daughter Ayesha has moved to Bollywood, leaving before she has completed her own dance training and passed her final graduation, which should have been the Tandav, the legendary Dance of Shiva. Her interest is more in disco than in the classical Kathak dance, but she too makes a triumphant career as a choreographer, although of a different kind from her grandfather. He believes that films should change people’s lives, while she is adamant that they should entertain people and help them escape reality, so they remain separated . But eventually Uday, a servant of the Merchant clan, who is a better dancer than Ayesha, and is (of course) her One True Love, comes to bring her back to see her dying grandfather. It’s a complicated story, but you don’t need to follow it closely, because The Merchants of Bollywood is basically a dance spectacular, with the story there only as a backbone on which to hang the dances. And what a spectacle it is, from the classic Dance of Shiva which opens the show, through old Indian dance to modern Bollywood hip-hop, and every number is a treat. The costuming in particular is beautiful beyond belief, and proves what the women’s magazines of my generation used to say — that hiding the body under gorgeous clothes is much more appealing than revealing all. "A man needs to have something for his imagination to work on," was the advice they gave, and most of the men I spoke to agreed that they found the full flowing embroidered skirts, which revealed only tight trousers under them, much more sexually titillating than the let-it-all-hang-out fashions of today. But maybe that’s their age speaking. But whatever turns you on, if you love spectacle you’ll love The Merchants of Bollywood, for it’s the most gorgeous frock show you’re likely to see for a long time. Lights, camera, action! Let 'er go, fellas! Choreography by Vaibhavi Merchant Playing until Sunday 20 November. Evenings at 7.30pm, Saturday matinee 1.30pm, Sunday matinee 3pm, no evening performance Duration: 2 hours 15 minutes, one interval —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 16th November 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Dimboola Centenary Theatre Group By Jack Hibberd Amateur production Roast chook, baked potatoes, peas 'n gravy, pumpkin soup and good old-fashioned service are part of the ticket for the "wedding of the year", otherwise known as Dimboola, currently being celebrated in Chelmer in Brisbane’s western suburbs. And dessert isn’t bad either. Rod Felsch’s 2005 version of Jack Hibberd’s well-known 1960s Australian play is a nice treat, in most respects. Apart from the food, the atmosphere is warm and beckons of nostalgia and this is why there are smiles on the guests’ faces at the wedding/play. The Saturday night audience were kind enough to dress for the part and joined Maureen (or “Reeeeen”), Morrie, April and Darkie as well as Florence, Knocka and Horrie in the wedding celebrations. The names say it all. Dimboola is an interactive, strictly Aussie play which is written with the intention of having the audience participate as the invited guests. The audience stands, sits, and applauds during the toasts to the bride, but best of all, gets to eat a three-course dinner! The real town of Dimboola is set on the Wimmera River in Victoria and the name means “land of figs”. The play is set in the late 1960s with the audience supposedly having some acquaintance with both families. It is a celebration of the wedding of Morrie McAdam, a Protestant, to Reen Delaney, a Roman Catholic. The family members try, unsuccessfully, to preserve a level of social decorum throughout the reception but after a few drinks, well, in vino veritas as they say. As time progresses, it turns into one of "those" weddings, the ones with too many pregnant pauses and embarrassing speeches. The bride’s parents despise the groom’s parents, you’re forced to sit with people with whom you have little in common and feel compelled to make conversation and eat at the same time, and everyone gets, well, there’s no other way to put it, smashed. Fortunately, there’s a four-piece band who are quite sober and thankfully fill the void left by the pregnant pauses and welcome audience participation. The audience are given song sheets and invited to sing along to Danny Boy, Red River Valley and South of the Border. Fortunately, Mutton (Wayne Symes) also leads with a few contemporary tunes and the audience can get down with a little rock’n’roll. The set is effective with a restaurant-style design instead of rows of chairs for the audience. The picture of the Queen and the old-fashioned streamers and silver disco ball certainly speak of a vanished past, as does the awkwardly made placard “Congratulations Reen and Morrie!”. It might be the mikes, or the whirring of the overhead fans, but occasionally the dialogue at the wedding table was difficult to hear or perhaps it was muted by the distance from the audience, as the wedding table is close to the rear of the stage. This is particularly the case with mother of the bride April (Samantha Tierney) and Florrie (Honey Butz), whose biting sarcasm becomes a bit lost. They might have had to scream their lines to be heard above the dinner-time clutter which of course they wouldn’t have experienced during rehearsals. The trick for the performers is to stay in character while the audience are paying more attention to their plates of food and filling their glasses than watching the bridal party. The bride Reen, Nadine Phillips and ‘Mutton’ (Wayne Symes), should be given the prize for this, as some others definitely took the opportunity to have a little time out. Out of a large cast of 16, the best performances were from Mutton and Bayonet (Rod Felsch, doubling as director), who play uninvited local wits and whose characters are marked by a complete absence of sobriety. Their interruptions to the wedding ceremony are well-timed and Wayne Symes was able to extend his witty character to include minor roles as singer, entertainer and stand-up comic. The program says Horrie (David Bell) “is a quintessential Bazza Mackenzie” and I would have to agree, although at times he struggles to maintain the unyielding momentum of his role. Astrid (Amy Coutts) really held her own with her tap performance and strongly maintained her character to the very end. This is allegedly Australia’s most-performed play, seen by more Australians than any other musical, comedy or play, and under direction from Rod Felsch the Centenary Theatre Group performance was good fun, with the obvious unique format being much appreciated as demonstrated by the empty plates and plentiful applause. It was really pleasant to travel back in time for an evening and enjoy a play which was definitely a “no worries” evening full of fun and laughter. Directed by Rod Felsch Playing until 3 December (7.30 for 8pm, Friday & Saturday and 5.30 for 6pm Sundays) Duration: 120 minutes, no interval —
Daphne Haneman (Performance seen: 12th November 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine I Love You You're Perfect Now Change Roundhouse, La Boite Theatre Book and lyrics by Joe diPietro, music by Jimmy Roberts Profit-share production When I was a small child, my grandmother was addicted to a radio serial called When a Girl Marries, which was dedicated to "all those who are in love, and all those who can remember", where the announcer always stretched out the last word to infinity. I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change is thankfully not in the same sentimental genre, but its target audience is similar, which means just about everybody. But instead of schmaltz, this delicious little musical offers a sharp contemporary take on the mating game, and we laugh (and cry) with recognition at the full gamut of courtship rituals, from the first blind date to the late-blossoming second romance, and we know that this is life as we know it rather than some deeply-significant psychological treatise. There have been many variations on this theme in theatrical history, but even a decade on, DiPietro and Roberts’ musical continues to draw audiences in. Why so? Because it’s a people show, which shows us ourselves — or at least that part of the population that considers itself mainstream. The heterosexual couple may have moved backstage in many artistic genres recently but, to paraphrase what has been said by other sexual-preference groups, these characters are here, they’re straight, so get used to it! Nobody here is going to set the world on fire, but the humour is that of recognition, and not to be dismissed because of that. It mirrors to us the world of Neighbours and Home and Away rather than that of Straight Eye for the Queer Guy , but in the 30 or so combinations and permutations of two men and two women, it gives us the full thrust (and I use the word advisedly) of heterosexual experience. And it’s funny. From the opening scene where a man and woman meet on a blind date and decide that to save time they’ll skip the first date, the first kiss and the first bonk, go through quarrels and divorce and splitting up, all within the space of five minutes, we know we’re in for a quizzical look at modern relationships. Although there’s no linear narrative, and the four actors play many different roles, there is a kind of chronological progression, so after young love, courtship, marriage and children, teenagers, divorce, death and the final coupling of a widow and widower, the circle is complete and we are shown the human condition (or at least the white, middle-class, straight, First World part of it) in all its fullness. Mixed Company have presented this musical before, but now that they’ve moved from the cramped confines of the Cement Box Theatre at the University of Queensland to the friendlier space of the Roundhouse, director Simone de Hass has been able to give free rein to her own creativity and the talents of her four sparkling actor-singers. The set, for which no program credit is listed, is like a giant wedding cake sitting on a huge floral doily, and on top of and in front of this the games people play are played out. They’re a lovely cast, different enough from each other to give the production a real zing, and they are all supremely versatile. Arlie McCormack has played in this show twice before, so she has all her roles down pat, and her cute blondeness lets her swing seamlessly from cheeky teenager to romantic young lover to realistic widow. Vicky Devon is the tall slim dark one with the divine singing voice, and the talented Chris Herden is a perfect foil for both women. It seems unfair to pick a winner from this quartet, but for sheer acting ability, if not necessarily for his singing voice (we don’t want him getting a swelled head!), Brian Edmond just pips the others at the post. He can be a cocky bastard and a bovver boy in one scene, and a totally convincing young lover in another. His Jewish pater familias is a gem, and I was moved almost to tears by his shy pick-up routine at the funeral parlour, where he meets a widow whose outlook on life almost matches up with his. Heart-warming is a dreadfully schmaltzy term, but this show really is, because under all the slick modern dialogue and the overt sexual references and behaviour, there’s plenty of genuine compassion and understanding. And don’t we all need a bit of that in our angst-ridden world? It’s a really good little show, and let’s hope that Mixed Company, having made the move to the Roundhouse, are able to build new audiences so that they can continue to perform there. They already have a strong following, but a bit of word-of-mouth to all your suburban friends would give them the profile in the wider community that they need and fully deserve. One of the most heartening aspects of opening night was the strong contingent of theatre professionals who were there to show their solidarity with this brave talented company, and nobody went away disappointed. It would make the perfect outing for your office party, or even just a group of friends, so give yourself a break this Christmas and make it one of your festive treats. BR> Directed by Simone de Haas Musical direction and violin Harmony Lentz, piano Dale Lingwood, lighting and sound Derek Griffin. Playing Thursday- Saturday 17-19, Tuesday – Saturday 22-26 November, evenings at 7.30pm, matinee 26 November 2pm. Duration: approximately 2 hours, with a 20 minute interval. —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 11th November 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine A Christmas Carol Queensland Theatre Company (Cremorne Theatre, QPAC) By Charles Dickens, adapted by Neil Bartlett Professional production “Wot, no Tiny Tim?’’ I thought as I read the cast list. All the other characters from Dickens’ immortal Christmas story were there, and some of my favourite actors — Kerith Atkinson, Helen Cassidy, Sandro Collarelli, Adam Couper (who also wrote the score), Peter Knapman, Joss McWilliam, Bryan Probets and Niki-J Witt — all playing multiple roles, but nobody listed to play Bob Cratchit’s little crippled son. You know, the one who is destined for an early grave, and sent Victorian audiences into paroxysms of tears when he made his feeble cry, “God bless us, every one”. Never fear! Nobody could leave out Tiny Tim, and he appears later on Bob Cratchit’s shoulder as a ventriloquist’s dummy, his father’s complete look-alike right down to the black-rimmed spectacles. I don’t know who should get the highest praise for this brilliant adaptation of what is often presented as a sombre Christmas morality tale. Should it be Jonathon Oxlade, for his out-of-this-world costumes where Salvador Dali meets Tenniel’s original illustrations to Alice in Wonderland, with hooped skirts, marionette make-up and helmet-like wigs? Perhaps to Adam Couper for an edgy, reconstructed post-modern rendition of the Christmas songs we are usually all thoroughly bored by? To Matt Scott for a lighting design that can switch from a cold blustery winter evening in London to a jolly home-fires-burning Christmas celebration to the gloom of a graveyard with the flick of a switch or two? Or to Bryan Probets, who gives the performance of his life as Scrooge, alternately Grumpy Old Man and frightened neglected child, comic caricature and yet deeply existential Everyman? Why not to Scott Witt, whose career has rocketed from talented fight organiser to sharp-eyed director in the last three years, so that he is now one of the most visionary directors in the country? Or to the glittering cast, whose constant switches from one character to another make individual identification almost impossible, and thus give us the best kind of ensemble acting? I could find no fault with this production, not just because of the delight it brought to the eye, the ear and the mind, but because it remained true to the author’s original conception while making it accessible to modern audiences. I can’t imagine the current generation sitting politely through the tight-lipped moralistic productions I saw as a child, but here everyone can be enchanted by a fairy-tale concept that has echoes of the morality tales of other writers like Hans Christian Anderson and the Brothers Grimm, but lifts it into the enchanted realm of The Nutcracker ballet. I could go on about Victorian morality and Dickens’ obsession with the duties of the rich to the poor; with the universal message that love is probably all you need; with the idea of mortality, never far from the thoughts of 19th century gentry, eventually bringing about a change of heart: but why should I, when the play speaks for itself, and needs no interpretation from me? As a story, it has everything to enchant and nothing to distract; as a production, it has wit, style and beauty; and as a Christmas message, it is, as it ought to be, about peace, love and generosity. Please go and see it, and take your children, your granny and the grumpy old man next door. If they’re not swept away by this, I’d just say “Bah, humbug!”, and leave them to the miserable fate they deserve. Directed by Scott Witt Designer Jonathon Oxlade Playing until 10 December 2005, Tuesday 6.30pm, Wednesday – Saturday 7.30pm, Wednesday matinee 1pm, Saturday matinee 2pm Duration: 1 hour 40 minutes, with a 20 minute interval —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 10th November 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Trocks Lyric Theatre, QPAC Professional production You gotta love boys in frocks, especially when they’re as multi-talented as The Trocks, who have been delighting Brisbane audiences all this week, just as they’ve delighted people all over the world in 400 cities in the last 30 years. Yes, they send classical ballet up rotten — the Dying Swan who sheds her feathers all over the stage makes you wish that Folkine and Pavlova had been as funny as this — but the important point is that they are not just lumpish male dancers who would be equally at home wearing footy boots. They are professionally trained ballet dancers with exquisite control and sophisticated techniques, and like all great parodists, they can mock the genre only because they are complete masters of it. Many of us have seen this show before, but it’s even better the second time, because you know what to expect and so can concentrate on the dancing itself rather than the surprises. You’ve got cross-dressing and comedy, but you’ve also got balletic skills of the highest order, and sitting in Row P at the Lyric Theatre, I was hard-pressed at times to think of them as male, except for the occasional hairy chest visible in the décolletage, and the cod-pieces (surely padded, some of them) that flashed into view beneath the short tutus. The physical comedy is what attracts people to The Trocks, especially when it echoes what must surely go on in most ballet dancers’ minds — egos are very fragile in this profession, and there must be many members in every corps de ballet who have wanted to shove their rivals off stage, hurry up that interminable curtain call, trip up that dancer who up-stages everyone else, and pull up the rapidly descending bodice. Here they get to do it, to the audience’s delight, and most of the laughs came from the opportunity to see behind the perfected dancing and realise that dancers are as human as everyone else. Dancers twist their ankles, and their floral headpieces fall over their eyes. They have to wear big black eyeglasses so they can see where they’re going, and frequently they display their utter boredom at having to maintain those poses for minutes while the prima ballerina extends her solo to an interminable length. The laughs can be more subtle than this, though. The dancers parody some of the great ballet traditions, like those of the great Balanchine, and people far more au fait with the genre than I am have commented on the truth behind much of the satire. The show is a lovely mix of parody, high camp, missed cues and pure professional brilliance, and one of the highlights for me — and for most of the audience, I suspect — was the encore, where the complete company were on stage jivin’ and jumpin’ and rockin’ the joint, showing that most dancers just like to have fun. And those purists who tut-tut about irreverence and mockery, and dragging the ballet down to the lowest level, would be wise to acknowledge that, because they take their work so seriously, The Trocks prove that imitation is indeed the sincerest form of flattery. Artistic director: Toby Dobrin Playing until Sunday 13 November 2005 (2.30pm performance only) Duration: 2 hours, with two intervals —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 9th November 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Biloxi Blues Brisbane Arts Theatre By Neil Simon Amateur production The word “Biloxi” is unique and perhaps puzzling to native English speakers. It derives from a tribe of American Indians who were the first inhabitants of the coastal area where the town of Biloxi in Mississippi now stands. They were known as "biloxis". Last month, the thriving American coastal town of Biloxi was almost completely destroyed by hurricane Katrina. Prior to its destruction, Biloxi was a holiday resort boasting nine casinos, a lifestyle to match, and a certain notoriety because it hosted the first Mardi Gras. Today, however, there is practically nothing left. But director Len Crook’s interpretation of famed playwright Neil Simon’s play confers life on the city again. This is a delightful and outstanding adaptation of the well-known play and movie and a nice tribute, intentional or not, for Biloxi Blues is a mix of comedy and calamity where hearts of gold are latticed across dollops of healthy hating and raw army dialogue. The characters in Len Crook’s adaptation are so well resolved that the audience laughed heartily throughout the evening. A hit on Broadway, Neil Simon’s play was awarded best play of 1985. After writing nearly one play a year for 24 years, Neil Simon has become famous for his ability to engage an audience using simple language. Words like “vicissitude” are not acceptable! Director Len Crook obviously agrees, and has kept it simple and straightforward in terms of set design and costumes. Bunk beds, army standard lockers and a couple of chairs are the only objects on stage — and nothing more is needed. And the greens worn by the six army trainees are cleverly and cleanly dressed and undressed, flagging scene and time changes which mitigate any drastic fine-tuning of the set. The cherubic face of Richard Kerr (Eugene Morris Gerome) throws shafts of sunlight onto the stage and enchants the audience with a performance that is mesmerising and endearing. Richard, in his early twenties, shows great talent in his dual roles as narrator and performer. He was able to step away from the action, address the audience and then step lightly back to seamlessly dissolve into his other role while delivering the warmth expected of this character. Richard plays a naive east coast American guy who along with five others is conscripted into the American army during World War II. Boot-camp is in the town of Biloxi. It’s hot, steamy and infested with mozzies, spiders and other pests, including strong-armed sergeant Mervin J. Toomey (Tim Jackman) whose jackboot training tactics are more intimidating than the creepy-crawlies. Richard wants to be a writer and records his daily boot-camp memoirs in a notebook. The challenge, as outlined by a fellow boot-camper, is that he risks becoming a passive observer rather than being deeply involved with life. This is just one of the major themes, but it is delivered gently and with a dexterity and kindness which is rare in theatre today. Tim Jackman as the abusive drill-sergeant is perfect for the role. He should give up his day job and stick to treading the boards! This is a difficult character to play with accents to master as well as lines and Tim brings an authenticity to the stage which means the audience has to pinch themselves to believe he is not the real thing. Leon Moore is well cast as Private Joseph Wykowski. His height and stature are perfect for his role as the slightly racist and brutish yet team-spirited army recruit. After seeing him earlier in the year in Death of a Salesman, I believe that Leon’s on-stage confidence and ability to grow into his character, rather than force it, is evolving well. Stuart Waters as Private Epstein begins as a dark, rather self-absorbed and tetchy character who surprisingly changes as the play progresses, his dark humour and dejected nature altering to swaggering mirth. This is a little incongruous and I would have preferred the dark, introverted truth-teller to remain faithful to his depressed character and deliver a necessary contrast and balance with Richard Kerr’s bounce. But overall the comedy flows easily and Gerome’s "first time" is tactfully engineered and hilarious. But the real gift of the play is the magic trussing of performers who deliver a cohesive group of six whose physical and facial attributes shore up the imagination. This Australian version of the second in Neil Simon’s trilogy, after Brighton Beach Memoirs and before Broadway Bound, is an absolute treat. Directed by Len Crook Playing until 27 November (Thurs to Sat at 8pm, Sunday matinees 13 & 27 November at 2pm) Duration: 2 hours, with a 20 minute interval —
Daphne Haneman (Performance seen: 5th November 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Comedy of Errors Queensland Shakespeare Ensemble (Metro Arts Theatre) By William Shakespeare Amateur production Imagine this. Twin brothers, separated from each other at an impressionable age, but both retaining their servants, who are also twin brothers. Unknown to each other, the twins bear the same name, and the twin servants also share a name. Will they get back together? Will their mother and father ever see them again, after one of each pair has gone off with each parent? Why are Syracuse and Ephesus at war? How will this affect one brother’s quest to find his twin? Does the other twin know or care? Do we care? Is this just a supremely silly piece of plot-making, or a 16th century version of Jigsaw, the organisation that reunites separated families? If you think that’s a complicated plot, you’d better read a summary before you go to see the Queensland’s Shakespeare Ensemble version at the Metro Arts Centre, because director Rob Pensalfini and his team have twisted it even further with some radical gender-bending and androgynous costuming, so that both pairs of twins become women, and it becomes a game of who does what and with which and to whom? (I can feel a limerick coming on…) You can find a dark sub-text here if you like, but I suspect Shakespeare was just having fun, which is what this enthusiastic university company also does, although the program notes claim that The Comedy of Errors is one of Shakespeare’s most violent plays, and that very few productions have engaged with the text at anything but a superficial level. Pensalfini might have an academic point, but it isn’t manifested in this production, which is played purely for laughs (northing wrong with that, though), and with more sexual innuendo than I suspect is in the text — although I must admit that it must be 20 years since I last read it. The production is a romp, and a very funny one at that, and if you tend to be puzzled by complicated Shakespearean plots, I suggest you go half an hour early to down a plastic tumbler or two of cheap-and-nasty wine (although you’d be better off sticking to the beer) and listen to the entertaining mock-Renaissance music improvised by Pensalfini himself and the indomitable Gavin Edwards — who appears later as a trans-gender prostitute clad in a bolero that proudly displays his expensive chest-wax job. The group of Ladies Who Had Lunched Not Wisely But Too Well seated in the front row didn’t have a clue what was going on, but at every interval (there are two) they tottered up to refill their plastic goblets and then settled back into their seats, playing up to Clint Bolster (Luciano, but don’t you worry about that) who was camping it up so much that he seemed to have come straight from the set of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, or from playing side-kick to Benny Hill. A lovely performance in itself, but he was in a different play from everyone else. Still, who cares? The play itself seems chaotic, in spite of its carefully-plotted structure, and the production mirrors this crazy ambivalence. It may well take you a full hour to work out which twin is which, because both pairs are dressed the same and the actors look alike enough to confuse anyone except the most avid Shakespeare scholar, and I found it better just to put away the program, sit back, and let the whole thing wash over me until suddenly, miraculously, all became clear without my having to worry about it. It’s a rollicking cast — Sarah Ogden and Jane Barry make a lovely pair of Dromios (the servant-twins, although don’t ask me at this stage which one was from Ephesus and which from Syracuse), Louise Brehmer excelled in her send-up of Dr Pinch, mumbo-jumbo witch-finder willing to condemn anyone to prison just on a gut feeling (why am I reminded of some of our current politicians?), and Warren Meacham made even a two-centimetre thick wooden axe looking menacing. There are lots of pantomime tricks in the production, such as the mass spitting whenever the name of Syracuse is pronounced, savage but thankfully mock beatings, pulling of pigtails, and the inevitable randy raising of the forearm, and if after two hours you still don’t get it, just remember that, as in all good comedy, all’s well that ends well. Let’s have more from this refreshing little company, who refuse to let themselves be over-awed by the Great Name, but who take the trouble to understand the text, and (even more impressively) speak it without affectation so that the audience can understand it too. Directed by Rob Pensalfini Playing until 12 November 2005, Wednesday – Saturday at 8pm, matinee Saturday 12 at 2pm. Duration: 2 hours, with 2 brief intervals —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 4th November 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Harvey Harvest Rain Theatre By Mary Chase Pro-am production Since the human story began, the idiot-savant has always been an intriguing type, a seeming fool who has an insight and grasp of profound truth but who cannot fir into the ordinary “sane” world. Dustin Hoffman played one in Rain Man, and Peter Sellers in Being There, but before them a much simpler example of the type was brought to the stage in 1944 by a woman called Mary Chase, who wrote a play called Harvey to cheer up a woman whose son had been lost while on active service. Not only did it achieve its aim, it also won the Pulitzer Prize that year and ran for an unprecedented 1175 performances. Presumably times were simpler then, because the film version of 1950 became James Stewart’s best-loved movies and immediately became a cult classic. A classic it may be, but it didn’t do much for me. I couldn’t raise a single laugh because, frankly, the idea of a kindly eccentric dimwit walking around with a giant-sized invisible white rabbit just isn't funny any more. When it’s a cute creative four-year-old, yes, but when it’s a guy who has lived with his mother all his life and takes to rabbit-walking when she dies, you have to worry. And although you can’t really sympathise with his sister, who is trying to commit him to the loony-bin (there are a lot of men in white coats in this play, as well as a slightly sinister German doctor with a Brunhilde wife), you have to admit that he does muck up her social life, which seems to consist of holding Wednesday Forums and trying to marry off her daughter, an extremely unappealing creature even when you make allowance for her psychedelic mini-skirts teamed with red tights and white vinyl platform boots. Yes, that’s another problem. Why set this tired old Forties’ clumper in the Sixties? Maybe the costumes were funnier then (yes, I remember, I remember), but some of the sillinesses of the play, such as committing a harmless eccentric on the say-so of his sister, were well gone 20 years later. And I don’t think pop songs like “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “He’s my Brother” add much to our understanding of the play’s rationale, which seems to be that if people are harmless eccentrics, why not leave them alone? Live and let live is an admirable motto for life, but this play doesn’t really go anywhere with the idea. The cast try hard, but they’re out of their depth with this play – it’s too old-fashioned, too predictable, too badly-written and too stereotyped to work in anything but the hands of cutting-edge practitioners. And that’s the trouble with the old chestnuts, like Charley’s Aunt and Arsenic and Old Lace , for example. They’re so much of their period, with a dated humour that no longer works, that the only way to treat them is to play them as sophisticated high-camp or with deadly seriousness which allows the text to mock itself. Unfortunately, that’s not the case with this production. Amateurs deliberately playing it for laughs rarely manage to get a play moving, and there’s too much over-the-top caricature in these portrayals to achieve anything but – well, amateurism. It’s a clumsy and patronising text – Elmer P Dowd, friend-of-rabbits, reads aloud from a book which, one would suppose from the text, is called Jane Austen. Are we so ill-read that we don’t recognise the opening line of Pride and Prejudice ? This may be a pedantic quibble, but I don’t like being talked down to, and this play treats its audience as if they were as dim-witted as the characters. No, give me Harvey-the-Imaginary-Rabbit over this bunch of losers any day. Perhaps the play needs re-writing, with Harvey actually on-stage but invisible to the characters in the play. Now there’s a thought. What about Harvey the Pooka , a play about this creature from Celtic mythology, a benign but mischievous fairy spirit in animal form, cheerfully turning the lives of these dull human beings upside down and proving that logic isn’t the only thing that drives the world, and that sometimes there doesn’t have to be a reason. And now it’s time for True Confessions. I was so bored by this play that I left at interval, by which time it had already run for 75 minutes, with another act to go. As the deputy shrink in Harvey says of Elwood, this is “as outdated as the horse and cart”, so I got into my car and drove home to watch some serious silliness in the form of Sea of Souls on television. Directed by Robbie Parkin Playing until Saturday 19 November 2005, Wednesday – Saturday at 7.30pm, Saturday matinee at 2pm Duration: about 2 hours 30 minutes, one interval —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 28th October 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Dance of Jeremiah La Boite Theatre Company (Roundhouse Theatre) By Matthew Ryan Professional production "I’m a therapist, and I’m here to help you." If you believe that, you can believe that Jerry can manage without Tom, that paper umbrellas will drop from the sky, that love wears a green polka-dot skirt, that your self-help tape starts ringing your mobile, and that an office desk can take a dislike to you and chase you around the room. All these things happen to Jeremiah Daniels, except perhaps the first, for when his whiz-bang mentor in the nameless advertising agency drowns himself, the old team of Tom and Jerry is no more, and Jerry’s choice is whether to go for Tom’s old job, or follow his newly-awakening conscience and chuck it all in. For Tom begins to recognise that, like the advertisements he creates, he is a message without a product, a construct designed to create a void and then fill it, a super-efficient player in a game that isn’t worth the effort. If this play is starting to sound like David Mamet on a bad day, or Death of a Salesman meets Samuel Beckett, relax, for it isn’t the existential desert it might seem from that description. It combines the Absurdist techniques of Ionesco with the comic brilliance of the Monty Python team, with the underlying satisfaction of some recognisable truth. It is one of the funniest Australian plays to hit our stage in many years, a bizarre piece of surrealist comedy with side-splitting physical components, and the only time it begins to sag is in the second half, where realism creeps in for a few stodgy minutes and we begin to care about these people as human beings, rather than as characters in a morality play. Because I think that’s what it really is, a mediaeval treatise on the emptiness of society with the added edge of post-modern hysteria, and it works not just because of the text, but because Sean Mee allows his five actors to be caricatures whose truth can be seen precisely because they aren’t realistic. If that’s starting to sound a little heavy, let’s look at the plot. Jerry (Hayden Spencer is at last adding a dimension of angst to his natural comic genius) and his partner and rival (Iain Gardiner as the sleazy, back-stabbing go-getting advertising man is so true to type that it’s frightening) see a note in their dead boss’s diary which says “Moby Dick, Friday”. Assuming that this means a meeting with a big client, for Tom always referred to his clients as fish, they realise they have to come up with an advertising campaign which will impress the Big Boys upstairs – and the one whose idea is best will automatically get Tom’s job. The only trouble is that they don’t know who the client is, nor even the product they have to sell. This is where the playwright’s ear serves him well, for the meaningless jargon is as good a collection of mumbo-jumbo as you could ever hope to hear. Unwittingly, a junior staff member is present when they plan their empty campaign, and they have to let her in on it. Neridah Waters plays Kathy, wide-eyed with love for Jerry, but having to worship him from afar, a classic send-up of the star-struck office junior. The audience loved her, with her dowdy clothes (think lime-green tights under a pale blue skirt in Princess Margaret tartan) and big seventies black-framed specs, and when she finally gets her reward (for this is one show with a very satisfying happy ending), they cheered with delight. But there’s more to the tangled web than this ill-assorted trio. Jerry is married to the ultra-chic Beth, who supports but doesn’t understand him, and when he meets a kooky girl at the bus stop in green polka-dots (both women played with great panache by Georgina Symes), trying to work out the meaning of Moby Dick , part of his dilemma, and ours, is to separate the reality from the fantasy – are they both real, or both imaginary? In fact, what is real? Is it the super-salesman self-help guru-therapist, played with wicked exuberance by Danny Murphy with hair; or his alter-ego, Danny Murphy sans hair and ego, the failed therapist who relies on Jerry to help him? It won’t all be made clear, but you’ll have a wonderful time trying to work it out, especially when Hayden Spencer gets up to more of his insane antics which include fighting off the attacking office desk with a lead pencil, and strangling the ventriloquist’s doll that is taking over his personality. The illusory nature of the script is echoed in the tricky little set by Jonathan Oxlade, two tiny dolls house constructions on one side of the stage representing the office block and Beth and Jerry’s story-book happy home in the suburbs, and the huge real-size office space where desks take on personalities of their own, and paper umbrellas fall irrationally to the floor. Combine this with Jo Currey’s clever lighting, and a haunting sound track from Tyrone Noonan, and you have an evening of wit, elegance and sheer delight. It’s a long time since I’ve seen a new Australian play this good, in a production that shows La Boite is keeping up its image as the ground-breaker for modern Australian drama. Don’t miss it. Directed by Sean Mee Playing Tuesday–Saturday until 5 November 2005 at 8pm. (Tuesdays at 6.30pm, matinee 5 November at 2pm) Duration: 1 hour 45 minutes, no interval —
Alison Cotes (Performance seen: 20th October 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine Oedipus the King Queensland Theatre Company (The Playhouse, QPAC) Professional production I’ve been looking forward to this production of Oedipus all year, for the very good reason that it is quite possibly the greatest play ever written. Yes, yes, Oedipus , the Greek play with the weird psychoanalytic complex named after it, where boys are supposed to want to sleep with their mothers, the very same. It’s all nonsense, if you ask me, but for those of you out there that are blindly assuming that the play must be nonsense also, I’m happy to say you are quite mistaken. You see, in answer to the nay-sayers, this play rocks. Murder, suspicion, love, sex, plagues, monstrous beasts, riddles, and all this before the play even starts. Then they get stuck into with jealousy, accusations, mystery, prophesies, murder investigation, death, self mutilation ... ah, I don’t want to give it all away. So what happens in this production and will the audience be able to understand it? Happily Michael Gow, the director, has chosen a fresh English version that is more adaptation then translation. The adaptor, Don Taylor, has accomplish quite a remarkable job, finding a lot of humour in the work to help balance all the murder and other things I mentioned earlier. If you’re expecting a traditional version, this isn’t it, and that’s to its credit. Along with the updated language there is a modern stage setting and costuming to help round out what is a very natural re-telling of the story of Oedipus, without any stylised toff language. You get the feeling you’re not just watching some age-old story of ancient Greece but also a very contemporary struggle for a man’s sanity, or perhaps more straightforwardly a great detective slowly unravelling the knot of riddles he’s bound by. Michael Gow’s sensible direction gets the best out of both space and cast. Somehow he has managed to make the Playhouse seem confined, as in the kind of confined you’re supposed to feel in a play like this, where the themes are just so big it swamps you all. The audience becomes part of the retelling as they become the people of Thebes addressed by their king. And more than anything else, this is perhaps one of the great compliments I can give to this production. It just makes sense, over and over again, which is great. This is rare in theatre these days, and even rarer still in productions of the Greek tragedies. And yes, the cast. Lead by none other than TV’s Marcus Graham as Oedipus, whose early matter-of-fact delivery had me first salivating, and later at the stage of emotional collapse – well, let’s just say he’s pretty bloody good. He is well supported by Carol Burns who plays his wife Jocasta, whose fancy-free Queen of Thebes was a delight to behold. Paul Bishop delivers a finely arrogant Creon, and David Clendinning makes a beautiful turn as the Priest. The mood of the piece is further enhanced by both live and recorded music composed by Gerard Brophy, whose subtle approach does much to lend the right atmosphere. I went to see this production with high expectations, and for the most they were well and truly met, and I think the often stuffy opening night audience would agree. Between the gasps and laughs we experienced something we’re unlikely to forget anytime soon. This, ladies and gentleman, was a true night at the theatre. Bravo to all concerned. Directed by Michael Gow Playing until 29th October 2005: Wed-Sat 7:30pm Running time: 1 hour 45 minutes, no interval —
Glen J. Player (Performance seen: 13th October 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine This Way Up Brisbane Powerhouse By Elizabeth Coleman Professional/amateur production Cast: Ali Kerr, Kathryn Marquet, Gavin Edwards, Ray Tiernan, Gillian Simpson Since when do men consent to polishing the silverware after their partner announces they are deserting them and after discovering their belongings bundled together without their knowledge? Certainly not in this lifetime! Elizabeth Coleman’s script is contrived. She let the team down in This Way Up and there is little room for excuses from director Cienda McNamara for directing a play billed as a comedy which fails to invoke belly laughs or resonate strongly with contemporary audiences. After the success of Secret Bridesmaids' Business, this was a disappointment. But the audience is treated to a great set and an excellent performance by Ray Tiernan as journalist Nick Brown. This play is about relationships – the absent partner, a guy in love with the wrong girl, a girl in love with the right guy who doesn’t notice she’s alive, and a woman who wants her absent partner to give up his day job. And there is a cheeky comment about the police as Gillian Simpson plays Senior Sergeant O’Brian. Ali Kerr plays Melanie, a girl in her twenties who is tired of "sleeping with the Walkley award" and is prepared to ditch her journalist partner Nick who is always away performing mundane employment rituals like saving lives while risking his own. When Nick returns home earlier than expected after a long assignment overseas, Melanie reacts by telling him to “go and have a lie down” and “polish the silverware”. And he does it! This heavily clichéd male characterisation features throughout the play and is just old-fashioned. The measure of the play’s phoniness starts with Melanie prancing about the stage obsessed with packing up the house, polishing, dusting and avoiding in-your-face issues like breaking up with her partner and openly declaring the truth to her sister. This is too far removed from reality to be funny. The tiny audience of 12 laughed about three times in a two-and-a-half hour show. Audiences are street-wise these days. They’ve grown up with reality TV and terrorism and are sensitised to artificiality. Theatre-goers should expect cunning interrogation of reality and stimulating reflections of the truth. Anything less is insulting. Melanie’s sister Kristen (Kathryn Marquet) does a good job despite the script. She is a psychology student who analyses the goings-on. She frequently hits the nail on the head with her interpretations of her sister’s state of denial but after delivering her wisdom, her character retreats from it, collapsing into a girlish inanity and coyness which fails to develop any level of sophistication. Damien is Nick’s best friend and he is secretly in love with Melanie. Gavin Edwards’ fondness for Melanie is over-the-top and his performance is strained and farcical. A domestic next door turns into a violent siege and means the four are stuck inside together where another, less violent but disturbing siege begins using emotional weapons. Melanie holds an emotional gun to everyone’s head in her attempt to control everything by refusing to face or talk about what’s really going on. She dominates the action as partner Nick finds a news story closer to home and Damien and Kristen fire blanks until they find fire in eachother. And a certain well-known telecommunications company also comes under siege! But the lines are predictable. Melanie looks deeply into Nick’s eyes and is sorry for trying to stop him doing what he loves most after she wanted all the attention. And Damien and Kristen find true love and it all becomes rather clichéd. Writer Elizabeth Coleman fails to nab the complexity of human relationships and what really goes on behind closed doors. This play is more farce than comedy as it tries to re-invent Big Brother but ends up being The Bold and the Beautiful. Set designer Julie Leaver put together a great set and deserves credit for her cardboard box theme which invigorated the script and reinforced the themes. But where on earth did the girls get their costumes? The very unflattering, long black boofy number worn by Melanie looked like something off the set of Gone with the Wind. And poor Kristen could have done with some reality clothing – I don’t know anyone of that age who wears high heels with knee-highs and long shorts. Not even daggy dressers do that! Nick Brown’s performance is flawless. He looks the part and delivers his lines with remarkable dedication. His talent nurtures the script and makes it believable and at times compelling, especially when he is on the phone to his editor. His performance anchors the play to a sophistication it desperately needs. Reality television has advanced viewers through the doors of saccharine smiles and into a harsher world of reality. ‘I Love Lucy’ or ‘Martin the Martian’ have lost much of their appeal because they are completely contrived and today’s audiences no longer have the patience for nonsense. This Way Up should be labelled handle with care. Directed by Cienda McNamara Playing Wednesday 5 October to Saturday 15 October, 8pm Duration: 2 hours fifteen minutes, 15 minute interval —
Daphne Haneman (Performance seen: October 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine The Marriage of Figaro Opera Queensland A combination of excellent ensemble and individual singing plus very good comic acting make Opera Queensland's Marriage of Figaro an engaging and memorable night out, despite some disappointment with the production's design. It is of course a brilliant opera, which should be part of everyone's musical experience, and I can recommend this version (co-produced with Opera Australia and the Welsh National Opera). To recommend is not to like everything in the show, but it is undoubtedly well worth seeing and enjoying. Director Neil Armfield's concept is interesting and works beautifully in some respects while less successfully in others. The brown paper bag set design seems one of those things where directors and designers get carried away with what may have seemed a good idea at the time. The festoons of brown all over the place are nothing but a depressing distraction, notwithstanding the supposed subtleties suggested in the program notes by Armfield ("a glow that reminded us of the sandstone of the Moorish palaces of Spain"). By contrast, the essentially traditional costumes are splendid in their range and variety — and perhaps are better appreciated for their drab setting. The squeezing of the entire first of the four acts into a narrow downstage area is unnecessarily constricting and artificial. It may well enable a speedy scene change to Act II's countess's boudoir, but that seems little enough reason. Nor can we be too excited by some of Armfield's interpretations. He goes for the asynchronous touch beloved of modern directors — Susanna works an electric iron in the 18th century castle, the countess has an electric hair dryer, the weddings conclude with flash-lit photography. All tolerable I suppose, but not so his spin on the "Non piu andrai" song, where instead of concentrating on telling Cherubino he's off to the army and that his dalliances with the girls are over, Figaro openly directs his teasing, and then anger, at the count, who stalks off with Figaro in pursuit. Sure, it's not a bad idea to suggest that the count is a parallel target of the song, but Armfield's approach runs counter to the subtlety of the servants' and particularly Figaro's rebellions against the aristocrats. And do we really need the howl from the young page at the close of the aria? However, the boudoir scene, Act II, is absolutely the tops. This is the scene where Cherubino romances the countess and where the countess and Susanna disguise Cherubino, who hastily hides when the count appears and then changes places with Susanna and leaps out the window, to the consternation of the gardener, while Figaro is almost caught out trying confusedly to cover for everyone's fibs. Local director Roger Press and his charges must be congratulated on a brilliantly executed scene, with plenty of pace and great comic effect. Andrew Collis in the title role is the star of the performance, with a strong and pleasing baritone voice in combination with versatile acting. Tiffany Speight as his bride acts pertly and sings sweetly, while Michael Lewis ably depicts his sleaze factor as an aristocrat who perhaps senses that his class's days of dominance are numbered. Although appearing a little nervous in the role on opening night, Leanne Kenneally as the countess grows in assurance and acts well in depicting her confusion and mixed emotions. As well as successfully representing her sorrow at the count's infidelity, she conveys her stirring interest in the cheeky and persistent Cherubino. The direction includes very nice touches during Cherubino's famous "Voi che sapete" area. Caitlin Hulcup is very well cast and does a great job as the testosterone-charged page. The interaction between the pair foreshadows the little-known Beaumarchais sequel in which Cherubino does indeed have his way with the countess, who bears his child. (And sadly, Cherubino is to be killed in battle.) But that's in a galaxy far away from the romps and fun of the action-packed day depicted in this opera. The middle-aged minor nobility occupied with plotting against Figaro are nicely sung and acted by David Hibbard, Irene Waugh, Geoffrey Harris and Geoffrey Ashenden. Effectively amusing touches include Waugh's astonishment at the discovery of her lost child and Hibbard's instant attempt to slope off when the implications sink in. As the music master, Harris puts on a superb comic turn, especially in his frantic conducting of the chorus during the wedding celebrations and his direction of the clumsy photographer who ends up in the front stalls. The orchestral work under Richard Gill is generally pleasing, despite occasional balance problems and a more muted sound than usual. There also seemed some problem in the transition from overture to the opening aria. The Opera Queensland chorus are up to their usual high standards, with members also contributing very well to the comedy in various cameo roles. Group singing is perhaps the highlight of this production, in the various duets and other combinations. The ensemble singing by soloists at the end of the final act is richly brilliant. The program notes include an interesting analysis by Adrian Mourby of that sexual feudal right which has fascinated two centuries of theatre-goers, the droit de seigneur — exposing it as, after all, nothing but an Enlightenment version of an urban myth. —
John Henningham (Performance seen: 8th October 2005) www.STAGEDIARY.com: Queensland's Online Stage Magazine |
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