This is theatrically exciting and dramatically thrilling.
Written by S. Shakthidharan with Eamon Flack, and directed by Eamon Flack with S. Shakthidharan, it spans two continents and several generations. It’s grand storytelling at its best.
In the early 2000’s in Sydney, Siddhartha lives with his mother, Radha. (Siddhartha is played by Shiv Palekar with delicious charm. Nadie Kammallaweera as Radha is the backbone of the production, and she’s suitably spiky and magnificently strong.) Siddhartha was born here, but his mother fled Sri Lanka during its time of civil conflict. The play jumps between the past in Sri Lanka and the turn of the century both there and here.
Three ideas explored in this production make it extraordinarily vital.
The first of these ideas is encapsulated in a line delivered by Radha’s grandmother (played with engaging verve by Sukania Venugopal). She repeatedly asserts “Weddings are more important than politics!” We’re now so accustomed to the mantra that the personal is the political that we blur the difference between the two spheres of life, potentially to the detriment of both. Here’s a working definition: the political is what can only be done with others, and the personal is what can only be done alone (or, at least, in the intimacy of what we call personal relations.) A full life requires acknowledgement of the separate existence of both of these spheres. If you don’t, you run the risk of living a personal life that’s selfish and parochial or a political life that’s shallow and inhumane.
The second idea that makes the production so timely is this: Don’t court division. Apah (played superbly by Prakash Belawadi) is the only Tamil in a Sinhalese dominated cabinet. He believes in unity and equality, and he distrusts tribalism. When escalating violence challenges his convictions, his granddaughter, the young Radha (played wonderfully by Radhika Mudaliyar), urges him to keep his nerve – and it’s an electrifying scene. “There’ll never be another Gandhi ji!” he cries, and it’s the intensity that the dramatic form facilitates that turns this despairing lament into a direct challenge to us. Currently, our culture is tempted to conflate assertions of difference with the attainment of justice. It’s also being seduced into valorising anger and justifying violence. There are several reasons for these disturbing trends, but a key one is the sheer historical ignorance born of privilege. This production gives a frightening glimpse into the hell of civic disorder – and is a powerful cautionary tale.
The third idea is implied in the play’s title, and gains clarification in the scene I’ve just referred to. What exactly does the political sphere consist of? Is it always either the counting of heads that is voting OR the cracking of skulls that is physical coercion? Does the political reduce solely to the various manifestations of brute power? Or are there other things at work? Perhaps too late, young Radha urges those fearful of the imminent violence to seek refuge with the people they can trust. A just and peaceful civic society is dependent on the building of relationships.
I began by suggesting the production was theatrically exciting. This is thanks to Belvoir’s trade mark rough magic house-style. Actors become a clothes line. A beach is represented in the most delightfully nostalgic way. Scene changes are fast, fluid and gloriously energetic. Perhaps a quarter of the text is in languages other than English and this is translated “live”, with a gleeful awareness of translation’s tricksy nature. All this adds up to a production that constantly reminds us that it is telling a story – this story. Not too long ago, this particular story was unlikely to appear on our main stages, and we’re being cordially invited to celebrate that change.
I also suggested the play is dramatically thrilling. It makes the most of the multi-voiced nature of the artform. I don’t mean there’s explicit tension between characters (that’s just the bread and butter of drama). What I mean is that there’s also grand unspoken tensions, the ones that explain why Life’s big problems are so notoriously difficult to solve.
Take this as an example: In the Sri Lanka of last century, we’re presented characters who warn of the dangers of tribalism. Meanwhile, in 21st century Australia, Siddhartha and his girlfriend Lily (played with an enchanting stage presence by Abbie-lee Lewis) are embracing their tribal identity. We assume it’s the right thing for these generous-hearted young people to do. But when does the positive form of tribalism start to become the other, more hazardous, form? The play doesn’t explicitly offer an answer; it doesn’t even explicitly acknowledge the possible danger. It simply places the two forms side by side with beautiful honesty.
Paul Gilchrist
Counting and Cracking by S. Shakthidharan with Eamon Flack
a Belvoir production at Carriageworks until 21 July
Image by Pia Johnson
Theatre Red 
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