Tag Archives: drama

Review: One Hour No Oil (Kings Cross Theatre)

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Venue: Kings Cross Theatre (Kings Cross NSW), Oct 26 – Nov 6, 2022
Playwright: Kenneth Moraleda, Jordan Shea
Director: Kenneth Moraleda
Cast: John Gomez Goodway, Shaw Cameron. Alec Steedman
Images by Clare Hawley

Theatre review

Massage therapist Bhing was on his way to making a better life as an immigrant in Perth, when troublemaker Scott walked through the doors of Golden Touch, to seek help with various pains and ailments. When different worlds collide, in Kenneth Moraleda and Jordan Shea’s One Hour No Oil, it is the collapse of the very barriers of segregation, that makes visible the many social ills entrenched in our Australian lives. Things invisible and overlooked, yet hugely consequential, are unveiled in a piece of writing ostensibly describing an unlikely friendship. Meticulously considered, cleverly constructed and deeply felt, One Hour No Oil explores toxic masculinity, racism and poverty, amongst many other things, for a portrait of contemporary life that is both familiar yet profoundly revelatory.

Direction by Moraleda ensures every sociopolitical point is made with power and clarity, but unwavering focus is placed squarely on the devastating drama between two very dissimilar men, to deliver a riveting experience that proves rewarding on many levels. Set design by Soham Apte, along with costumes by Jessi Seymour, accurately provide all the visual cues necessary, for us to know as if instinctively, where the story takes place, and who these people are, whilst allowing for a performance space that imposes no limitations on its cast. Lights by Saint Clair, offer great enhancement to the emotional intensity of the piece. Music by Zac Saric and Alec Steedman are a crucial element that works surreptitiously, to guide our evolving temperament and sensibility through the journey. Steedman plays multiple instruments live, adding beautiful texture to a presentation memorable, for its complex melange of influences and inspirations.

Actor John Gomez Goodway is completely believable as Bhing, and nothing less than heart-breaking, in his depiction of a man surviving the tremendous challenges of an unjust world. It is a wonderfully surprising yet authentic performance, compelling and entertaining, but with a consistent emphasis on integrity for both the art form and for the character being celebrated. Shaw Cameron is a marvellously effervescent presence, able to prevent the dark role of Scott from turning dreary or hateful. There is impressive vulnerability in his rendering of a difficult personality, and an excellent sense of rigour that offers valuable detail to our understanding of the dynamics being articulated.

It is useful to think of that which oppresses, as being not any individual, but a system. It is important that we learn to appreciate the sentiment, as articulated by the poet Emma Lazarus, “until we are all free, we are none of us free.” Hard as it might be, we need to be able to see that our neighbours too need emancipation, much as their conditions appear to be different from our own. Indeed we must acknowledge that this system privileges some over others, but it is an illusion that even those who benefit the most, are receiving what they truly need for good and meaningful lives. Nobody gets away scot-free from something so diseased and pervasive, but until communities shift their values, progress shall remain elusive.

www.kwento.com.au

Review: Let The Right One In (Darlinghurst Theatre Company)

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Venue: Eternity Playhouse (Darlinghurst NSW), Oct 7 – Nov 20, 2022
Playwright: Jack Thorne (based on the novel by John Ajvide Lindqvist)
Director: Alexander Berlage
Cast: Stephen Anderton, Callan Colley, Will McDonald, Eddie Orton, Josh Price, Monica Sayers, Sebrina Thornton-Walker, Matthew Whittet
Images by Robert Catto

Theatre review
Things are going terribly for 12-year-old Oskar. His mother is a raging alcoholic, and the bullying at school is interminable. Meeting Eli late one night, may seem to indicate a change for the better, but falling in love with a vampire comes with major drawbacks. Jack Thorne’s adaptation of John Ajvide Lindqvist’s novel and film Let the Right One In, attempts to transpose an unorthodox story of young love to the stage, complete with all the hallmark features of a genre piece.

Under the directorship of Alexander Berlage, Let the Right One In becomes an unexpected concoction of romantic-comedy with horror elements. There are moments of gore to be sure, but a quirky sense of humour dominates the staging. It is a compelling experience, enjoyable especially for its unusual tackling of the supernatural, although the confluence of humour with revulsion, seems a tricky one to resolve.

Trent Suidgeest’s sensual lighting design is highly attractive, but can sometimes seem at odds with the comedy being performed. There are competing tones being presented, each one detracting from the other. Daniel Herten’s sound and music too, work consistently to build tension for something resolutely scary, seemingly unaware of the show’s strong tendencies toward the funny. Isabel Hudson’s set design is appropriately cold and stark, depicting somewhere appearing a cross between hospitals and abattoirs, with shiny surfaces that keeps the chill in our spines. Hudson’s costumes are evocative of Sweden, from whence the tale originates, but the main characters never really look persuasively like children.

Actor Will McDonald is very endearing as Oskar, perfectly conveying the innocence of his character, whilst offering a rich interpretation, of someone going through something impossibly intense. The challenging task of portraying Eli, who is both a small child, and a phantasm over a century old, is taken on by Sebrina Thornton-Walker, who brings a satisfying sense of macabre physicality to the role. Supporting players, Stephen Anderton, Callan Colley, Eddie Orton, Josh Price and Monica Sayers, are spirited in their embrace of the show’s absurdist dimensions, each one leaving a strong impression with the idiosyncrasies they are able to find, for the various personalities that we meet.

It is a strange phenomenon, that people should pay good money to make themselves feel scared. It is perhaps an opportunity for us to release, that which has to be psychologically suppressed, in order that we may face daily life with an attitude of normalcy. The possibilities of afterlife are hard to discount, for the unknown has the ability to take on infinite configurations, and the terror of death makes our imagination of that aftermath go to the darkest. Hence it is easy to believe the worst, but only in chosen occasions can we indulge in those frightful meditations.

www.darlinghursttheatre.com

Review: Mother May We (Griffin Theatre Company)

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Venue: SBW Stables Theatre (Darlinghurst NSW), Sep 27 – Oct 8, 2022
Playwright: Mel Ree
Cast: Mel Ree
Images by DefinitelyDefne Photography

Theatre review
Mel Ree performs her own writing in Mother May We, a meditation on identity, heritage, aspiration and liberation. A vulnerable collection of thoughts, scant with autobiographical details, placing emphasis instead on the translation of deep personal feelings, into words. It is the essence of Ree’s being that emerges, from these poetic scenes, retaining for the subject a certain mystique, but leaving us a strong impression about the riveting personality we encounter.

With magnetism seeping from every pore, Ree makes an hour in her presence feel a fleeting moment. She charms and delights, with masterful control over her physicality, along with the silkiest of voices, Ree effortlessly but powerfully keeps us under her spell for the entire duration. Her presentation oscillates between humour, poignancy and eccentricity, serving up testimony from the perspective of a queer woman-of-colour on these colonised lands.

Whether flippant or sombre, the tone of Mother May We constantly morphs, but what it reveals is always and only the truth. In allowing that truth to occupy space so absolutely, Ree stands for something radical. There is a transformation that she synthesises, that we are made to be a part of, when we open ourselves to the autonomy of her storytelling. The audience is forever changed, as a result of encountering a soul, so insistent and so defiant, in the assertion of something that can only be described as the artist’s sense of authenticity.

The poetry is enhanced by an intricate sound design by Steven Khoury, who twists and turns our sensibilities, so that we connect with the various dimensions of quirkiness, that Ree brings forth so gregariously. Lights by Frankie Clarke and video by Nema Adel, mesmerise and titillate, much like the star of the show, full of surprises, and always with an underlying but distinct air of glamour.

It is perhaps the job of feminism, to wrestle with uncertainty and that which is undecided, because convenient answers have proven to only serve hegemonies that we know to rile against. In Mother May We things seem to be in flux, seeking for destinations that we discover ultimately to be further transitory points. It is our idiosyncrasies, that we should learn to honour. To cultivate a capacity for individuality in our humanity, and to resist that which demands uniformity and conformity. Feminism holds us at every inevitable occasion of chaos, when we are able to get to the truth, and it teaches us to be apprehensive, when things fall too neatly into tidy little boxes.

www.griffintheatre.com.au

Review: Overflow (Darlinghurst Theatre Company)

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Venue: Eternity Playhouse (Darlinghurst NSW), Sep 9 – 25, 2022
Playwright: Travis Alabanza
Director: Dino Dimitriadis
Cast: Janet Anderson
Images by Robert Catto

Theatre review
For an hour in a nightclub toilet, Rosie shares her thoughts, reflections and memories. It is perhaps not surprising that she has so much on her mind, being a young trans woman, who has had to navigate everything in life with extraordinary dexterity. It is perhaps not surprising also, that we find Rosie stuck in a public loo, hiding from the constant presence of threatening forces on the outside, as trans people remain some of the world’s most persecuted.

Travis Alabanza’s Overflow is a passionate one-person show, very much of our times. Trans people have always existed, but with the confluence of activism and technology, we find ourselves with a new voice, discovering access that had hitherto been unavailable. Alabanza’s verbosity represents floodgates being finally open, and in Overflow, they talk exhaustively about injustice and struggle, as well as emancipation and inspiration. It is the perspective of a new generation of transness, one filled with jubilation and with anguish.

Alabanza’s keen observations and irrefutable candour, are the ingredients to Overflow‘s immense power and intensity. There is a haphazardness to the work, as an inevitable result of the conceit, involving a person in the midst of trauma trying to find coherence, but under the directorship of Dino Dimitriadis, those fragmentations turn poetic, for a theatrical experience that is perhaps unexpectedly beautiful, in its expressions of frustration, fear and fury.

Janet Anderson plays Rosie with exceptional commitment, and irrepressible sass. It is an exhilarating performance, highly convincing with her depiction of challenges faced by trans communities everywhere. Delivering poignancy at select key moments, Anderson’s vulnerability is perhaps slightly too sparingly mobilised, although the intention of portraying Rosie as self-possessed and spirited, is certainly sagacious.

Flawlessly designed, this production of Overflow is an unequivocal treat for the eyes and ears. Set design by Dimitriades uses the claustrophobic scenario to create a tight enclosure, so that our attention is always kept sharply in focus. Costuming by Jamaica Moana conveys the precise era of where we are right now, along with Rosie’s brassy youthfulness. Lights by Benjamin Brockman are an astonishing pleasure, invoking the exuberance of club life, along with its dangerous and foreboding sides, to connect with our complex and contradictory instinctual responses. Sound and music are precisely and imaginatively rendered by Danni A. Espositol, who works intricately with Alabanza’s text, to amplify our emotional reactions for every detail of the play, in an exploration of humanity at its fundamental levels.

With new freedoms, come new forms of retaliation. In some ways, trans and gender non-conforming people have in recent years, found more room to be, but it seems our adversaries are concurrently triggered, and emboldened. Where we had previously felt the palpability of potential threat, that lurking sense of menace has turned into substantiated violence, most notably in places like North America, where more than one trans person is being murdered every day, keeping in mind that we are only an estimated 1.5% of the general population.

It is a legitimate worry that our numbers are too small, to be able to change enough hearts and minds, for the revolution to be completed. The creativity and fortitude we possess however, allow us to reach not one person at a time, but the masses, on the stage and on infinite internet screens. We are the wisest and the most captivating, and in Overflow it is clear that our message of defiance is not to be denied.

www.darlinghursttheatre.com

Review: A Raisin In The Sun (Sydney Theatre Company)

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Venue: Wharf 1 Sydney Theatre Company (Walsh Bay NSW), Aug 27 – Oct 15, 2022
Playwright: Lorraine Hansberry
Director: Wesley Enoch
Cast: Nancy Denis, Bert LaBonté, Angela Mahlatjie, Zahra Newman, Gayle Samuels, Leinad Walker, Jacob Warner, Adolphus Waylee, Ibrahima Yade
Images by Joseph Mayers

Theatre review

It was 1959 when Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun debuted on Broadway, telling the story of a Chicago family living in poverty. Lena Younger is waiting for an insurance cheque to arrive, upon the death of her husband. Her son Walter is determined to invest that money in a liquor business, to which Lena has religious objections. The drama is constructed around the $10,000 and how this Black family had needed to lose the head of their household, before they could have a real chance at life.

Appearing between the Montgomery bus boycott of 1955, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s 1963 “I Have a Dream” speech at the March on Washington, Hansberry’s ground-breaking play was the first by an African-American woman to be produced on Broadway. With A Raisin in the Sun, Hansberry also became the first African-American writer to win the New York Drama Critics’ Circle Award, so it is no exaggeration, to state that the cultural significance of the work is truly immense.

63 years on, there is little in the play that has diminished in relevance. In fact, with the exacerbation of wealth gaps everywhere, Hansberry’s observations on economic disparities, are as pertinent as they had always been. Her concerns about racial injustice, at our time of renewed vigour for social activism, retain their resonance. Hansberry’s depictions of women within patriarchal systems, were already modern and sophisticated during her times, so feminists too will have the rare pleasure of seeing intelligent and authentic women in a mid-century play, created many years before the second wave.

Director Wesley Enoch honours beautifully Hansberry’s vision, in a production that feels perfectly appropriate, in its choices to be faithful to an original text, that demonstrates itself to require little to no updating. Enoch ensures that all of the politics in A Raisin in the Sun is accentuated, whilst its humour and drama are harnessed robustly, to deliver a show that proves consistently riveting, involving characters that are as spirited as they are enchanting.

Brimming with charisma is Gayle Samuels, who plays Lena, an older woman who knows the limitations of her only son, but who also understands what he needs, to be able to hold his head high, as a Black man in the United States of America. Samuels’ is a vivacious performance, that conveys both the intensity of emotions for a person in Lena’s position, and the stoicism needed to deal with the challenging circumstances she is given. 

In the role of Walter is Bert LaBonté who brings both dignity and fallibility, to a tale of systemic oppression. Equally vulnerable and compelling, as Walter’s wife Ruth, is Zahra Newman whose determination to fortify a role that can easily be misinterpreted as subservient, is admirably judicious. Walter’s 20-year-old sister Beneatha is performed with astute ebullience, and excellent comic timing, by Angela Mahlatjie, another magnetic presence on a stage filled with marvellous actors. Supporting parts feature Nancy Denis, Leinad Walker, Jacob Warner, Adolphus Waylee and Ibrahim Yade; a cast memorable for their dedication and dazzling talent.

Designed by Mel Page, the presentation is suitably traditional in style, having us travel back decades, only to come to the realisation that so little has changed. Verity Hampson’s lights are similarly circumspect, totally devoid of gimmickry, for a taste of a classic theatre form that can still do so much for hearts and minds. Sound by Brendon Boney is subtly rendered, except during scene changes, in which we are given the opportunity to delight in music reminiscent of twentieth-century North America, the kind of which is underpinned by their African diaspora.

It is not often that we immediately think of slavery as a part of Australian colonial history, but the dispossession and displacement of Black peoples on this land, are at least as traumatic, and are certainly as consequential, as those suffered in other places. We do however, have a deficiency in our language, when discussing the nature of prejudice and violations on this land, having experienced colonisation in ways that are different from the United States, where the legacy of slavery has steered so much of discourse in their activism spaces.

It would appear that the way in which white people have pillaged this land, have over the centuries, manifested in modes of obfuscation, and that the (misguided) idea that we were not built on slavery, means that more explicit avenues of castigation, are not available to those seeking redress today. The atrocities are however utterly real, and learning from the fighters who have come before, even those overseas like Lorraine Hansberry, will always be an invaluable part of our strategies in decolonising this so-called Australia.

www.sydneytheatre.com.au

Review: Tom At The Farm (Kings Cross Theatre)

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Venue: Kings Cross Theatre (Kings Cross NSW), Aug 26 – Sep 10, 2022
Playwright: Michel Marc Bouchard
Director: Danny Ball
Cast: Di Adams, Zoran Jevtic, Rory O’Keeffe, Hannah Raven
Images by Becky Matthews

Theatre review
City slicker Tom travels to a farm in rural Ontario, where his boyfriend William’s funeral is being held. William’s mother Agatha remains oblivious to the fact that her son was gay, which makes things very complicated for Tom, who finds himself lured into a longer stay on the property by William’s brother, Francis. Michel Marc Bouchard’s Tom at the Farm, offers a look at homophobia, and its various manifestations. Through Francis, we observe that the hatred toward gay men, although born of ignorance, can easily turn into cruelty and violence, no matter how close in kinship. Bouchard’s writing is beautifully heightened, able to convey realism along with an unmistakeable lyricism, that prevents the story from turning dreary. There are hints of humour that provide delightful reprieve, but Tom at the Farm is certainly a dark tale at heart.

Danny Ball’s direction of the piece luxuriates in that moodiness, and applies a sexual charge to interactions between Tom and Francis, that interrogates Francis’ homophobia, and questions if self-hatred is part of Tom’s own erotic constitution. Kate Beere’s set design, although evocative of rustic agricultural lands, seems restrictive of the actors, who often feel to be positioned uncomfortably. Rachel Adamson’s costumes help to depict the personalities with efficiency and accuracy. Lights by Kate Baldwin and Alice Stafford, bring theatricality to the presentation, and prove to be adept at illustrating the multiple degrees of malaise that the story explores. Music by Chrysoulla Markoulli also adds drama, as well as a great deal of sophistication, to how we experience the show.

Actor Zoran Jevtic demonstrates admirable commitment to the role of Tom, discerningly restraint in his approach, yet able to portray a sense of authenticity for a highly complex study of character. Francis is played by Rory O’Keeffe, who looks every bit the part of a hateful yokel, although his intensity can at times feel overwrought. Di Adams brings a quirky charm to her portrayal of Agatha, skilfully turning likeable, a somewhat deficient woman. Hannah Raven enters late in the narrative, as Natalie, to extend much needed gender balance, and to allow viewers a refreshed access point, for a story that develops to increasingly bizarre territory.

Queer people reside in cities, because we find strength in numbers. Out in the bush, marginalisation is hard to overcome, and conformity becomes de rigueur, for everyone. Tom’s grief propels him to escape into a dangerous place, seduced by the illusion of Francis’ familiar physicality. Where instincts tell him there is security, awaits only degradation and harm. We too can be persuaded that the idyllic beauty of the countryside, but it is without doubt, that rural life is not for everyone.

www.fixedfootproductions.com

Review: Whitefella Yella Tree (Griffin Theatre Company)

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Venue: SBW Stables Theatre (Darlinghurst NSW), Aug 19 – Sep 23, 2022
Playwright: Dylan Van Den Berg
Director: Declan Greene, Amy Sole
Cast: Callan Purcell, Guy Simon
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
It was the dawn of colonisation, somewhere on this land now known as Australia. Teenagers Neddy and Ty, mountain mob and river mob respectively, would meet at every moon to exchange information, on what the white man is up to, as indications point to their presence beginning to seem a threatening one. Dylan Van Den Berg’s sensational new play, Whitefella Yella Tree tells a multi-faceted story of great importance, with scintillating humour, extraordinary tenderness, and shattering poignancy. Everything one could possibly ask of a playwright, Van Den Berg delivers, through the greatest of acuity and sophistication.

As a work of romance, Whitefella Yella Tree is likely one of the most moving pieces to encounter. Its narrative ventures into the sweetest terrains of innocent young love, only to deal a devastating blow, when it all goes wrong, for two characters we had fallen hopelessly for, from the very first minute. Furthermore, politically, and socially, what the play is able to articulate, are perhaps some of the most pertinent and urgent messages of our time, presented with unparalleled clarity, yet bears the elegance necessary to make the tough pill easy to swallow.

Van Den Berg demonstrates the real power of theatre, as a communal space of imagination and creativity, capable of creating meaning, understanding and consensus. Away from the grips of capitalism, in auditoriums still deemed to be sacred, we congregate to share vulnerabilities and seek truths, and in the case of Whitefella Yella Tree it all happens in only 90 magical minutes.

Declan Greene and Amy Sole are co-directors, marvellous at turning word to flesh, so that we can be thoroughly immersed with all our senses, into the astonishing world of Neddy and Ty, and everything their story represents. Greene and Sole bring incredible detail to the presentation, with resonances to be discovered everywhere our attention resides. The show says so much yet, quite incredibly, Greene and Sole ensure that we are able to absorb it all, helping us form comprehension about each and every issue being raised. Additionally, the show is full of irresistible charm, effortless at eliciting laughter and tears, for an experience as intense with the emotions it provokes, as it does the ideas it inspires.

Designed by Mason Browne, the set evokes our mountainscapes with little fuss, and makes a statement about territories being stolen, through a visual emphasis on the very portion of earth, on which the titular tree stands. Browne’s costumes are a delightful expression of Indigenous youth identities, choosing contemporary garb over speculations on what might have been, ironically brings authenticity to the personalities we meet. Lights by Kelsey Lee and Katie Sfetkidis, along with sound and music by Steve Toulmin, manufacture high drama for key revelatory moments, utilising the theatrical form to full effect, addressing both our instincts and intellect, in a show that requires us to think and feel, at every juncture.

Brilliantly performed by Callan Purcell as Ty, and Guy Simon as Neddy, the pair brings vigorous life to the stage, riotously mischievous at every opportunity. Bringing new meaning to the word “play” in a theatrical context, the two are infectious with their unbridled joy, as they discover the first pangs of passion and lust, in a decolonised tale about boys in love. As the story darkens, the gravity they introduce becomes unequivocally sombre and palpable, with a soulfulness that defies any attempt to disconnect, from all that they wish to impart.

The process of decolonisation may involve a conceptual returning to the times before, but it mostly involves reinvention and imagination. It requires that we interrogate values that are harmful to all who are Indigenous to this land, and seek ways to have them amended, remembering in the process that to address the injustice on Indigenous peoples, will always result in the aggregate progress of all on this land. We simply must no longer accept, that the displacement and disadvantaging of any minority, is a necessary evil for us to sustain a sense of nationhood. A new identity is being forged, and the colonial ways need to be eradicated.

www.griffintheatre.com.au

Review: Tell Me I’m Here (Belvoir St Theatre)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Aug 20 – Sep 25, 2022
Playwright: Veronica Nadine Gleeson (based on the book by Anne Deveson)
Director: Leticia Cáceres
Cast: Tom Conroy, Deborah Galanos, Nadine Garner, Raj LaBade, Sean O’Shea Ellis, Jana Zvedeniuk
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
Jonathan has schizophrenia, but he is not the only one who suffers its consequences. The story is told from his mother Anne’s perspective, who for obvious reasons, has to keep her wits about her, and is therefore extremely level-headed. Tell Me I’m Here is a stage adaptation by Veronica Nadine Gleeson, based on the 1991 memoir of the aforementioned Anne Deveson. We see the chaos created by Jonathan’s illness, along with a certain stoicism that Anne has to cultivate, in order to manage the challenges presented by her son’s condition.

There is a monotony to the hopeless exasperation expressed in the play, as well as an unrelenting frenzy brought on by the mental disorder. The story often feels stagnant, which is probably an accurate representation of Anne and Jonathan’s lives, but director Leticia Cáceres injects a great amount of energy to the staging, so that our attention is consistently engaged, even if our emotions tend to reflect Anne’s impassive pragmatism. Cáceres also ensures that characters are always depicted with dignity, as we explore the vulnerabilities of their difficult existence. The lead performers embody those admirable yet unenviable qualities with great aplomb.

Nadine Garner plays Anne, with an impressive exactitude that offers fine balance to the naturalism that she instinctively delivers, for this tale of parenthood and heart break. Tom Conroy is inventive in the role of Jonathan, and is suitably wild with a performance memorable for its radiant humanity. The unyielding intensity from both, are given moderation by a jaunty ensemble of four performers, Deborah Galanos, Raj LaBade, Sean O’Shea Ellis and Jana Zvedeniuk, who offer a sense of buoyancy, to a show that is at its heart, full of despondency.

Set design by Stephen Curtis features an imposing bookcase, stuffed with exemplars of breeding and sophistication, as though a reminder that all the refinement in the world, cannot prevent a person from the trauma that life will invariably dispense upon them. Costumes by Ella Butler bear a whimsical charm, that firmly positions all the personalities we encounter, in a realm that straddles perfectly, between theatricality and authenticity. Veronique Bennett’s lights are dynamic, almost busy, in their attempt at providing visual flourish, to accompany a narrative of the disturbed mind. Sound and music by the duo of Alyx Dennison  and Steve Francis are beautifully accomplished, able to convey nuanced textures for an emotional landscape that can otherwise feel too static.

Nature is cruel. The gift of life, comes with the surety of death, and in the process it seems no one leaves unscathed. Even those who are perceived to be awarded a charmed life, must think that the challenges that they do face in private, to be the hardest thing. To witness the torment of those in Tell Me I’m Here however, is a sobering reminder that there are indeed worse spaces to find oneself.

www.belvoir.com.au

Review: Albion (Seymour Centre)

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Venue: Seymour Centre (Chippendale NSW), Jul 27 – Aug 20, 2022
Playwright: Mike Bartlett
Director: Lucy Clements
Cast: Jane Angharad, Joanna Briant, Claudette Clarke, Alec Ebert, Deborah Jones, Mark Langham, Rhiaan Marquez, Ash Matthew, Charles Mayer, James Smithers, Emma Wright
Images by Clare Hawley

Theatre review

After making a fortune from her retail business, Audrey decides to revive a stately home, located some distance away from her usual London residence. What initially looks to be a noble enterprise, soon reveals itself to be a project that is more problematic, than Audrey had ever imagined. Mike Bartlett’s Albion explores the meanings of conservative values in the twenty-first century. In a literal way, characters play out the repercussions of one rich woman’s desire to preserve a relic. Wishing to hold on to the past, can be thought of as part and parcel of being human, but in Albion it becomes evident that to resist change, is perhaps one of the most extravagant indulgences, that only the privileged can afford.

Bartlett’s writing is irrefutably magnetic, replete with confrontational ideas and delicious scorn. The staging on this occasion, as directed by Lucy Clements, gleams with emotional authenticity, although its humour feels needlessly subdued, and its politics ultimately shape up to be somewhat muted in effect. A reluctance to cast explicit and pointed judgement over Audrey, diminishes the dramatics that the story should be able to deliver.

Actor Joanna Briant is a very convincing leading lady, with a performance that looks and feels consistently genuine, but other elements of the production bear a certain uncompromising earnestness that detracts from her work. Briant makes excellent choices at creating a personality who only thinks of herself as sincere and well-meaning, but other forces can work harder to create a sense of opposition to Audrey’s behaviour.

Thankfully, Briant’s is not the only strong performance from the cast. Claudette Clarke’s spirited defiance as Cheryl the ageing house cleaner, is a joy to watch, with an edgy abrasiveness that thoroughly elevates the presentation. Also highly persuasive is Charles Mayer, who plays Audrey’s ride-or-die lover Paul with a lightness of touch, humorously portraying the complicity of bystanders who have every opportunity to intervene but who choose to ride passively with the tides.

Imagery from this staging too, has its moments of glory. The collaboration between production designer Monique Langford and lighting designer Kate Baldwin, is a fairly ambitious one, able to invoke a grand landscape on foreign lands, with only the power of suggestion. Music and sound by Sam Cheng provide a gravity befitting the stakes involved, reminding us of the wider impact of these personal narratives.

Romantic nostalgia, the kind that Audrey is so invested in, represents a longing that those, for whom the system works, is bound to have. Of course Audrey is able to look back with rose-tinted glasses, now that she has her millions. There are others who simply cannot look at those symbolic structures, without having to wish for improvements. We do not regard icons with the same reverence, or indeed irreverence, because they mean different things to different people. The way in which we live our lives, have hitherto relied upon power discrepancies and injustices. Of course Audrey and her ilk will want to retain old things, but unless they can afford to make up for all the sacrifices, that the lower classes are no longer willing to submit to, then they too will have to move on with the times.

www.seymourcentre.com

Review: How To Defend Yourself (Old Fitz Theatre)

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Venue: Old Fitzroy Theatre (Woolloomooloo NSW), Aug 11 – Sep 3, 2022
Playwright: Liliana Padilla
Director: Claudia Barrie
Cast: Georgia Anderson, Madeline Marie Dona, Brittany Santariga, Jessica Spies, Jessica Paterson, Michael Cameron, Saro Lepejian
Images by Phil Erbacher

Theatre review

Two men raped a woman, at an American university campus one night. The student body convulses in response, trying to do its best to make sense of the violence, but finds itself unable to come to terms, with life after the abhorrent episode. In Liliana Padilla’s How to Defend Yourself, we see a group of young people congregating at a dojo, ostensibly taking classes for self-defence, but is in fact finding solace in one another, and hoping for emotional emancipation, following the devastating attack on an institution that had hitherto felt safe and secure.

Padilla’s 2019 play is appropriately cynical and pessimistic, written at a time when the meanings of gender (and its injustices) are rapidly collapsing. We watch characters in the show desperately finding ways to mend their individual lives, within a system that clearly needs an overhaul. Thankfully there is surprising humour to be found throughout the piece, although the production seems hesitant about its implementation. Directed by Claudia Barrie, How to Defend Yourself is certainly well-intentioned, but the way in which its discussions are conducted, often feels surface and perfunctory. A lack of vulnerability, prevents us from reaching deeper into the issues at hand.

Chemistry between cast members too, are insufficiently vigorous, for a story that relies on explosive revelations and overwhelming poignancy. There are strong performances to be found, from the likes of Brittany Santariga and Jessica Spies, who bring emotional intensity, and from Georgia Anderson and Saro Lepejian, with their captivating idiosyncrasies, but not all are able to connect meaningfully with one another. Perhaps it is that disjointed communication, that is at the core of our social problems. No matter how fervent we are, it is an inability to find consensus that hinders progress.

Set design by Soham Apte, along with Emily Brayshaw’s costumes, transport us to the world of American colleges, with accuracy and concision. Lights by Saint Clair have a tendency to be overly enthusiastic, but are effective in bringing visual variety to the imagery that we encounter. Sound design by Samantha Cheng on the other hand, is conservatively rendered but able to manufacture surges of energy when required.

Much of sexual violence springs from our conceptions of gender; what it means to be a man, a woman, and how the two are supposed to converge. We teach our young to take these notions as gospel, and then watch as they relate to everything from their assigned vantage points, as they place themselves in positions of power and subjugation accordingly. We expound to women that the world is kind, and that people nurture one another, while we drill into men that the world is for their taking, and that fortune favours the brave.

To undo that indoctrination, not just for individuals, but for entire societies, has proven a long and arduous road. We are however, in a moment of acceleration, as we awaken from false binaries, and begin to reshape our understanding of being, and of communities. As gender begins to disintegrate, we are forced to reckon with all that it touches, which in essence, is all and everything. We can no longer tolerate prejudice of any kind, which means that we must no longer allow barriers and disadvantage of any description to remain. How we accomplish this pipe dream however is, as Padilla indicates in How to Defend Yourself, quite the mystery.

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