Venue: Old Fitzroy Theatre (Woolloomooloo NSW), Sep 22 – Oct 17, 2015
Playwright: Keith Huff
Director: Adam Cook
Cast: Nick Barkla, Justin Stewart Cotta
Image by Tim Levy

Theatre review
We are all flawed beings. Denny and Joey are Chicago policemen who have all their imperfections put on display in Keith Huff’s A Steady Rain. There is a liberal amount of machismo in the way they live their lives, but the play is more interested in their vulnerabilities and in exposing the damage that resides behind tough exteriors. There are dramatic events and cinematic characters to be found, and even though passions run high, there is no guarantee that audiences would respond with the compassion it aims for. We see the humanity of the cops, but whether we relate to their weaknesses and forgive their misdeeds, and hence empathise with their stories, would probably depend on each individual’s own world view.

Adam Cook’s direction works hard to establish the grave pain experienced by the two men, but we never forget that their circumstances are largely self-inflicted. Nevertheless, Cook’s work is thoughtful, energetic and operatic in its sentimental expressions. He brings a grandeur not only to all the explosive emotions of the narrative, but manages to create in the space, an unceasing frenzy that elevates the two-hander to an immensely gripping thriller of a show. Design aspects of the production are superbly accomplished, with Ross Graham’s set and lights providing an atmosphere full of drama and grit. Sound by Jed Silver underscores the entire text with measured tension and outstanding sensitivity.

The centrepiece of the staging are magnificent performances by its two leads. Justin Stewart Cotta plays the fallen Denny, eloquently detailing a moral and bodily descent that is simply fascinating to watch. His aggressive approach gives the show an edge, and his tenacious ability to intimately engage his audience during his many monologues, makes his character’s destructive journey an insightful exploration into the way we can let things spiral out of control. Joey’s experience is less extreme, but Nick Barkla’s work in the role is certainly no less intense. The actor’s extraordinary emotional range is showcased at all its extremes, and the level of authenticity he injects into every moment is wonderfully mesmerising. For those of us who are unable to find satisfaction in the tale being told, the impressive craft that is put on show by these men is more than compensatory.

There is more to A Steady Rain than a buddy cop drama, but what it tries to explore is not wholly convincing. Narratives take predictable forms because our responses are calculable. Innocence and redemption hold a certain sacramental value, and dark stories need them to find resonance. If blame can be squarely attributed to its victims, whatever demise that befalls them stands every chance of leaving us cold. Here, theatrical magic is delivered on many levels, but what is actually being said is ambiguous at best.

www.oldfitztheatre.com

Venue: Old Fitzroy Theatre (Woolloomooloo NSW), Jun 30 – Jul 25, 2015
Playwright: Brendan Cowell
Director: Jessica Tuckwell
Cast: Cheree Cassidy, Sean Hawkins, Ben O’Toole, Jamie Timony
Image by Marnya Rothe

Theatre review
There are three men in the play, each representing a negative aspect of machismo. One is the narcissist, another is the brute, and the weakling makes the trio. Brendan Cowell’s script is filled with insecurity and angst about modern maleness. Set within an indeterminate but claustrophobic context, Jules, Bob and Guy are aggressive expressions of all that we think is wrong with boys and men in Western societies today. It is a real challenge creating a story with no likable characters, but the author’s own presence is strong in the piece, and his self-effacing approach is an appealing one. Cowell achieves a fine balance between manufacturing objectionable scenarios and dialogue, with a critical undercurrent that gives us the freedom to indulge in the often politically incorrect humour. Despite its coarse demeanour and brash tonalities, Men is deeply poetic, with a strange and tragic beauty accentuated by the hopelessness that it depicts.

Jessica Tuckwell’s direction of the work brings a showy brazenness that entertains for the entirety. Energy levels are pitched very high, but we are always conscious of substance and subtexts lying beneath. There certainly is a good amount of depth to the play, but much as we are invited to analyse these young men’s thoughts and behaviours, there seems an unwillingness to delve into the causes of their plight. Comedy is handled with an impressive restraint that shows sophistication, as well as a well-placed confidence in the script. Haizel, the sole female personality on stage is a predictably enigmatic figure, but Tuckwell resists ascribing her with an archetype and her resultant ambiguity adds interest, if slightly unsettling.

All performances are accomplished for the piece, especially that of Sean Hawkins, who impresses as the boundlessly vain Jules. The writing demands of its players loud and fast delivery, which means that characters can appear mono-dimensional, but Hawkins’ portrayal reveals fragility and bewilderment where least expected, and his ability to inject subtle flashes of irony into a world of conceit, is thoroughly delightful. The level of concentration and clarity that each actor displays for their own part, gives the production its electricity, and despite their despicability, we hang on to their every word and action, always eager for more.

There are some spiritual schools of thought that believe in the importance of knowing what it is that one desires, rather than knowing only what is undesired. The production only shows us the troubling parts of being human, but is hesitant at discussing the alternatives. Regardless, Men is hugely satisfying. Deeply interesting questions are brought up that refuse to be ignored, and the sheer visceral excitement derived from its excellent performances is quite exceptional. Men, can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

www.oldfitztheatre.com