Archive | September, 2023

Wolves are coming for you

30 Sep

Are they? Really? In these modern times?

But howling has been heard in the wind. And there have been sightings, admittedly in half light, and from witnesses less than reliable. But now a girl has gone missing. The people of the village barricade themselves in the local hall.

This is a terrifyingly good play about fear, about that greatest of tensions in the human experience: how much of Life can we manage or control, and how much of it must we leave wild, to grow and flourish in gloriously unpredictable ways?

Joel Horwood’s script was first produced in the UK in 2017, and it’s both evocatively poetic and entirely truthful to the nuances of everyday speech.

This production directed by Georgia Britt is magnificent. Britt, Riley McNamara and Cameron Hutt play all the roles, and their performances are utterly enthralling. I love this sort of fringe production because it spotlights what I think are the things about theatre that really matter: fine writing and fine acting.

It’s probably beyond my skill to give a complete description of these virtuoso performances, so I’ll cherry pick.

Hutt gives us a splendid portrait of an adult son overwhelmed by the responsibility of managing his aging mother, and then slips effortlessly into the role of local teacher, calm and almost, almost, almost in control, and then off into the local councillor, a hilarious combination of self-importance and paranoid hysteria.

McNamara masterfully presents an uncertain but wonderfully sane small town policeman and then, living in the nearby forest in a dilapidated caravan, an almost mythically self-aware outlier, only to offer a thrilling contrast to these characterisations of male pragmatism, that of an aging farm woman whose failing mind is being overcome by the bestial anger that is the natural child of fear.

Britt gives two superb portraits of young people: one a teenage girl refusing to be defined by her physicality, and the other a small child – perhaps the boy who cries wolf, except with the insight born of innocence that stories actually do matter. And then to top this off, Britt plays the local vicar, and it’s a deeply moving portrait of a soul on a journey to understand the true nature of Good. The epiphany she presents is powerfully provocative, a Life affirming response to the coming of the wolves, in whatever shape they may take.   

Paul Gilchrist

Wolves are coming for you by Joel Horwood

at the Emerging Artist Sharehouse, Erskineville, as part of the Sydney Fringe

until 30 September

sydneyfringe.com/events/wolves-are-coming-for-you/

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Shadow Boxing

29 Sep

This show is a knockout!

It packs quite a punch!

It floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee!

Some of my reviewing colleagues, those who’ve spent more time in the ring than me and have suffered the resultant brain trauma, will probably rely on such clichés.

But they’re all entirely accurate (and I expect to be quoted on them.)

In a snappy, totally engaging 45 minutes, Flynn tells of his career as a boxer. The rub is that he’s gay and no one knows. His plan is to come out – after he wins the national title. The piece worries away wonderfully at the concept of respect: why it’s desired, how it’s measured, how it’s achieved, and what is its value.

Written originally in 1989, James Gaddas’ script is beautifully rich. It takes its rhythms from the world of boxing, its vigorous muscular language in a glorious dance with pace and poetry.

Samuel Addison as Flynn is superb. Under the guidance of director Teresa Izzard, he delivers a performance that is high energy and tremendously physical while simultaneously utterly at one with Gaddas’ brilliant words.

Simple staging, a terrific script and a sensational performance – if boxing were this good I’d be at every bout.

(Did I prove victorious in my fight against cliche? No, I suspect I have lost on points. The reigning champion of reviews remains undefeated. But….)

With productions like this, theatre is the true winner.

Paul Gilchrist

Shadow Boxing by James Gaddas

at the Emerging Artist Sharehouse, Erskineville, as part of the Sydney Fringe

until September 30

sydneyfringe.com/events/shadow-boxing/

Image by Hannah Oliver

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Whale

28 Sep

Fringe festivals often have a lot of shows where performers talk about themselves. The theatre of personal testimony seems to suit the usual parameters of fringe: low tech, minimal set, short running time, niche audiences.

Theatre of personal testimony is also indicative of our current cultural focus on untold stories, of our belief that there are demographics within our population who have been silenced and now must be allowed a voice.

Whale, written and performed by Courtney McManus, speaks of fatness. She tells of the prejudices faced by people larger than average: supposed friends who unnecessarily and patronisingly compare her to Rebel Wilson; shop assistants who give unwanted advice; doctors who fail to listen and see only the issue of weight.

I say ‘tell’, but the first two thirds of this production is definitely ‘show’. McManus interacts with recorded voiceovers. Sometimes these encounters are sadly amusing. At other times they are damning evidence of the lack of empathy we have for those who differ from some supposed norm. McManus’s performance is always engaging (though some of the voiceover performances are a little flat; though perhaps that’s the point.)

In the last third, we get less showing and more telling as McManus claims her own identity. I wish the focus had remained on showing (though I acknowledge this is perhaps an illogical wish when the piece is about the performer finding her own voice.)

Identity is a funny concept. It clearly serves the purpose of giving individuals a sense of stability and certainty in the vast, tumultuous ocean of humanity. (McManus evocatively compares suffering prejudice to being dumped over and over by the surf.) But, in so far as identity offers stability and certainty, it is a denial of complexity and change.

This sort of first person theatre is fascinating for its silences; its truth-telling is narrative-building. The story you need to tell yourself will not necessarily satisfy me. I wanted to know more: more about the impact of intergenerational trauma; more about the health consequences of weight; more about body acceptance and sexuality. This is a powerful and provocative piece, and my curiosity is one proof of that.

The sharing of personal experiences was once the province of churches and self-help groups. It’s fun to theorise why this particular form is growing in popularity in theatre. But sociological interpretation aside, this show, standing alone, is a generous-hearted invitation to empathy and understanding, and an inspiring paean to resilience.

Paul Gilchrist

Whale by Courtney McManus

at the Emerging Artist Sharehouse, Erskineville, as part of the Sydney Fringe

until 30 September

sydneyfringe.com/events/whale/

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Good Grief

27 Sep

I’m a huge fan of the one-person show.

But I do feel it’s odd that the actor often tells their own story. (It does make for an experience rather different to watching an actor play Macbeth.)

Truth telling creates an intriguing frisson in theatre. Such pieces are performative, ingenious, theatrical, yet not fiction. And as the performer shares their feelings (which we take as genuine) we know they will do it all again tomorrow night, which is teasingly intriguing, because such personal Truth is notoriously fickle and resistant to repetition.

And all this fascinating oddness is increased when the topic is something as personal and poignant as grief.

Writer and performer Georgina Pender tells us of the death of her mother and of her response. We are told her mother was an alcoholic who died early of throat cancer.

Grief is a ubiquitous thing, perhaps the most so: who is there among us without loss? How do you say anything original? Is there really any requirement to do so? Perhaps Pender comes from a place of sufficient difference: her relationship with her mother was frightening and fractious. How do we grieve someone for whom our feelings are so complex?

It’s a truism that people grieve in different ways, and it’s become one because it’s had to be repeated so often. We judge grief. It’s stupid and narrow-minded to do so, but that’s never stopped anyone. That she stares down this demon is what makes Pender’s performance so very admirable. Sharings like this broaden our world.

Directed by Lauren Bennett, this show is especially theatrically rich. Georgia Wilkinson has created clever projections with voice over with which Pender interacts. Oliver Close has composed and plays live a beautiful soundtrack, and Pender reveals a gorgeous singing voice. She also presents some powerful movement pieces and a gift for finding unexpected humour in the darkness. All this makes for a stimulating and compelling production, one that dares to both share and explore that everyday mystery, our eternal connection with the eternally absent.

Paul Gilchrist

Good Grief by Georgina Pender

at the Emerging Actors Sharehouse, Erskineville, as part of the Sydney Fringe

until 30 September

sydneyfringe.com/events/good-grief/

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DEMO

23 Sep

Language is a net we drag through the icy sea of reality. The small escapes this net; the subtle, the nuanced, they all slip through. And the large, the grand, the sublime, they rip through. The net of language only captures the mediocre. And that it kills.

DEMO, created and performed by Melody Rachel, is a fascinating piece that playfully invites us to consider the limitations of language and the dangers of simplistic labelling.

It’s done without words, or at least the spoken word. The performance begins with a captivating movement piece that powerfully expresses a desire to break free. Then, through single words or phrases written on foam board signs, we’re offered a series of alternatives – apples or oranges, Coke or Pepsi, Labor or the other lot – but Rachel’s movement suggests the absurd reductionism inherent in privileging such narrow choices. And then the signs become more mischievous  – feminism or men, progressive or progress – teasing out the limitations of an outlook that insists on binary opposition and excludes life-giving complexity. There’s non-compulsory audience involvement, and the gang gleefully joined in this subversion of stifling simplicity. (If WB Yeats had been present – he wasn’t – he might have offered the Dancer or the Dance.)

At one moment, Rachel’s written signs suggest she is both a church going Christian and a lesbian. It’s a suitable grounding of an abstract debate. It gently reminds us that the genuine will resist the categories we impose. The real thing will escape the net, and live.

This is a warm-hearted, intelligent show, beautifully performed.

Paul Gilchrist

DEMO by Melody Rachel

at The Emerging Artist Sharehouse, Erskineville, as part of the Sydney Fringe

until September 23

sydneyfringe.com/events/demo/

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Cate Fucking Blanchett

22 Sep

Before this show, the writer asked that I be “brutal” in my review. She was joking. Receiving an unfavourable review is equivalent to being savaged by a sponge. But, more to the point, a review that does not shy away from the supposedly honest but harsh truth is usually one written by someone with only a passing acquaintance with Truth. (My fleeting impressions are hardly handed down from heaven, especially in a world where fewer and fewer of us believe there’s a heaven from which they could be handed.)

As you can see, the meta route is available to us all, playwrights and reviewers both, and I suspect it will always leave some audiences dissatisfied. (If two footballers must stop playing in order to argue the rules, the least they could do, for our entertainment, is decide their differences with their fists.)

But Cate Fucking Blanchett by Karolina Ristevski is a piece of meta-theatricality that does satisfy; it’s extremely funny and enormously clever, a teasing invitation to consider the nature of theatre itself.

One of the characters is a writer. She has written a play about her family, and they argue about whether they are an appropriate source for her inspiration. And, in that play she has written about her family, they argue about the very same thing.

Meta-theatricality is a dangerous game; play that card and have you thrown away your chance to evoke empathy? Perhaps. Sometimes the wisest thing is to push on, which is what this piece does, allowing a play within a play to become another play within another play.  (Analogy: You see your partner in the act of applying lipstick. This might make her beauty appear a façade, or it could be an erotically charged moment. Does Performance hide Truth? Does it reveal Truth? Or is it the only Truth?)

In addition to the meta-theatricality, another element of this magnificently rich script is the plotline in which the writer donates eggs to her sister so she can have another child. I give you something; you develop it; it’s no longer mine – an allegory of the creative process.

The play is beautifully directed by Ristevski herself.  And her cast is absolutely terrific. Melissa Jones, Lana Morgan and Angela Johnston as the three sisters offer performances of comic brilliance. John Michael Narres give an exceptional turn as a fast talking doctor (and as a fast talking actor playing a fast talking doctor …. you get the drift.) As the writer observing the play being performed, both Kate Bookallil and Josie Waller deliciously capture the inevitable tension between the creative dream and the stage reality. And Siobhan Lawless’ cameo as chairperson in the mock Q and A post-show is played with a wonderfully deliberate obtuseness to the absurd.

And what about Cate? She wasn’t present on the night I attended. But there were several hilarious imitations. (Jones’ shot was glorious; gorgeously balanced between replication and parody, perfectly suiting the production’s goal.)

So why is Cate referred to at all? She is to play one of the sisters if (when?) the play (within a play…) is picked up by a major company. It’s a divine conceit; a reminder that despite all our talk of Truth within theatre, the subtext is often the pursuit of Fame.

Paul Gilchrist

Cate Fucking Blanchett by Karolina Ristevski

At Flight Path Theatre as part of the Sydney Fringe

Until 23 September

sydneyfringe.com

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Human Activity

21 Sep

It’s a Dan Murphy’s now.

But, in 2014, it was a Lindt Café, and the scene of a siege in which three people, including the gunman, died.

This is the background action to Katie Pollock’s Human Activity. Somewhere off stage, this horror has happened, or is happening.

The stories we follow, the ones in the foreground, are also about male violence. A woman seeks an abortion but must do it secretly due to her controlling husband. Another now lives on the street because of abuse from her man. Another woman is fired when she complains about sexual harassment. An elderly couple trace the route taken by their niece on her final day; her partner’s malicious behaviour has driven her to take her own life. Linking all this with the Lindt siege, an act of terrorism, is deliberately and powerfully thought-provoking.

Lest this seem all too dire, there’s much humour and gloriously understated poetry. There’s a group of teenagers whose dialogue is pitch perfect. On occasion, this group morph into a flock of birds. Theatrical playfulness in combination with concerns of vital importance is what makes this a thrilling example of new Australian work.

Director Suzanne Millar wisely mines all the diverse elements of this rich script, and offers us a cast that reflects the diversity of this rich city of ours.

And there’s a further motif: loss. Belongings are lost, as is a sense of belonging. Species are lost. Innocence is lost. It’s a deeply humane vision and a courageous one: the acknowledgement that the world flows in one way, and that way is often not the way we’re looking. It’s a vision beautifully encapsulated in the most surprising of closing monologues.

Paul Gilchrist

Human Activity by Katie Pollock

at KXT on Broadway until 8 October

www.kingsxtheatre.com/human-activity

Image by David Hooley

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Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill

18 Sep

Billie Holiday was one of the greatest jazz singers of all time, but she had a difficult life.

She faced racism and abusive partners. She had serious trouble with drugs and drink. She spent a year in gaol.

This production of Lanie Robertson’s play captures brilliantly both the genius and the pain.

The piece consists of a single gig at Emerson’s Bar and Grill. Holiday sings and, between songs, banters.  

Zahra Newman’s performance of Billie is absolutely outstanding. Supported by a seriously classy band (Kym Purling, Victor Rounds and Calvin Welch), Newman’s rendition of Holiday’s songs is pure gold. But it’s her performance of the banter that makes this extraordinary theatre. Robertson’s script is an astounding tight rope walk; what could be the drunken ramblings of a traumatised individual becomes a glorious invitation to empathy. Holiday has been hard done by, and despite the beautiful dream that suffering makes us saints, it rarely does. (The fact suffering does not automatically make you better is at least one of the reasons we call it suffering.) Billie is both flawed and worthy of our deepest respect; not because she was a star, but because she was a person. Newman’s portrayal of this Billie is superb, a true image of humanity, a window into the soul.

The only reservation I have about this production is Pepe. Pepe is a dog. Pepe is carried onstage. Pepe may have loved the experience, but it didn’t seem to me he did. I might be wrong; thanks to Newman’s performance, I can understand what it might have been to be Billie, but I really have no idea what it is to be Pepe. We definitely live in the age of call out culture, and if I see injustice, I am to name it. (This appears to be the criteria for modern sainthood.) But, here, I don’t have the necessary certainty; I can only record that Pepe’s presence made me feel uncomfortable.

Paul Gilchrist

Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill by Lanie Robertson

at Belvoir until Oct 15

belvoir.com.au

Image by Matt Byrne

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The Importance of Being Earnest Expedited

15 Sep

There are currently two (at least) productions of The Importance of Being Earnest running in Sydney. To wildly misquote a famous playwright: “To have one production may be regarded as good fortune; to have two is a godsend.”

One of these productions is by the Sydney Theatre Company at the Roslyn Packer Theatre. That show runs 2 hours 20 mins (with interval) and tickets are $117. The other is in The Bordello Room at the Kings Cross Hotel. This show runs 65 mins and tickets are $35.

I saw the one at the top of the pub.

Wilde’s script has been shortened (as the more discerning may have guessed from the word ‘expedited’ in the title.) The play is an absolute classic of comedy, and in this version all its wit and mischief shine through.

Three actors play all nine characters, and this doubling, tripling, quadrupling beautifully enhances the madcap fun. Under the direction of Keith Bosler, David Woodland, Lib Campbell and Tai Scrivener are magnificent, playing each character with a total commitment to their crazy comic potential. The deliciously absurd costuming by Tanya Woodland is icing on the cake.

The show gallops through at a cracking pace, and is given a suitably playful sound track by musician Courtney Powell.

For some time now, it’s been the fashion to view The Importance of Being Earnest as a type of queer piece, a coded exploration of the necessity for complex and duplicitous identities in a heteronormative society. This reading is no doubt encouraged by Wilde’s miserable fate. However, this production privileges audacity and exuberance, and so joyfully resists any single reading; it both delights and indicts, in myriad ways, with Wilde’s gloriously subversive humour.

Paul Gilchrist  

The Importance of Being Earnest Expedited

at The Bordello Room, Kings Cross Hotel, as part of the Sydney Fringe

until 23 Sept

sydneyfringe.com/events/the-importance-of-being-earnest-expedited/

Image by Stephen Reinhardt

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Summer of Harold

13 Sep

This is a 90 minute evening of three short plays written by Hilary Bell and directed by Francesca Savige.

Each playlet is delightful. (As is the word ‘playlet’, if you think about it. Like ‘spiderling’, it’s a diminutive that manages to only partially hide the thrilling, ferocious potential of the thing it labels.)

Summer of Harold opens the night. It’s a monologue, delivered beautifully by Hannah Waterman. Her character recalls when she and a friend spent a summer housekeeping for Harold Pinter. The acclaimed playwright is portrayed as daunting, at least to the young protagonist. It’s a charming piece about the passing of time and where we direct our fears.

Enfant Terrible is performed by Berynn Schwerdt. Gareth has just returned from an award night honouring his long-time friend, a world renowned ceramicist. It’s a terrifically amusing portrait of smallminded envy.

Lookout is a two hander. Jonathan is about to set off on a life changing road trip with his new love. Waterman and Schwerdt combine wonderfully to tell a tale of the need to grow, even in age.

So what do the three pieces have in common? They’re all told with a captivating humour. They’re all superbly performed. And they’re all tightly constructed; each is like a little mousetrap (though without the ghastly consequences.) This sort of clever tightness is so valued by the production that I was warned by the publicists not to write spoilers. Such a warning might seem unnecessary, but if the snap of the trap is both satisfyingly and sufficiently loud, there are some of my oh so noble profession who can’t but help let the echo sound in their review.  

Another connection between the pieces is that each is about our relationship with what might be called size. Two of the playlets are clearly fascinated with fame and our response to it. (And here I’ll point out that Summer Of Harold references Pinter’s cricket team, the Gaieties, and it’s important for everyone to know that I am personally acquainted with someone who played in that team.) The closing piece alludes not to fame, to those of us who appear larger than Life, but is instead an exhortation to acknowledge Life is larger than us, and to embrace it, regardlessly.   

Paul Gilchrist

Summer of Harold by Hilary Bell

at Ensemble until 14 Oct

ensemble.com.au

Image by Jaimi Joy

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