Are literary awards evil?

4 Nov

I was recently asked this question by a close friend, Paul Gilchrist of subtlenuance.

Well-meaning but naïve, Paul shares the qualities of many dramatists. He has a taste for hyperbole, exacerbated by a lack of a consistent moral compass.

Apparently, subtlenuance is soon to administer the inaugural Silver Gull Play Award. This award will recognize a play by a local writer that explores philosophical and political themes. It will be sponsored by the wonderful Buzz from Sydney.

In the hope of intelligent conversation, I asked Paul why the idea of an award bothered him.

He said it didn’t.

And then he referred me to my previously published comments about competition in art.

(Which can be found here https://theatrered.wordpress.com/2012/08/11/the-dreadful-legacy-of-the-greeks/ and here https://theatrered.wordpress.com/2011/11/09/by-way-of-a-manifesto-or-theatre-is-not-olympic-diving/ )

Contemplating evil

Contemplating evil

Most working writers are ambivalent about awards. For them, competition is at best a distraction and at worse destructive. Yet they’ll take the prestige, and the money. They know there’s little danger of being spoilt.

To me, it’s blatantlyobvious why subtlenuance would administer such an award. (See what I did then?)

subtlenuance focuses on political and philosophical theatre.

A clear-eyed pragmatist would say they’re simply attempting to raise the status of their preferred genre.

(A mean-spirited pessimist would say that before promoting intelligent theatre to Australian audiences, those audiences need to be made aware that such theatre is actually possible.)

I wish subtlenuance luck.

Veronica Kaye

Amadeus

30 Oct

Envy is a stupid vice.

Perhaps all vice is. Plato certainly thought so. And he’s not alone.

It’s a common belief that reason and virtue are inextricably linked. To this school of thought, vice is simply the result of faulty thinking.

Envy is usually based on the belief that life is a zero sum game. In other words, your gain is my loss. But is this actually the case? Why would your happiness exclude mine? And, really, how happy could I be if I knew you weren’t?

Peter Schaffer’s Amadeus is a brilliant study of envy, and this production by director Stephen Lloyd-Coombs is terrific.

Amadeus Sal and Vent

Salieri, played wonderfully by Nick Hunter, is faced with the phenomenon that is Mozart. To him it is obvious Mozart is the better composer, and it destroys him. The strength of this play is that Salieri is not reduced to mere cattiness. He’s cold and clear. But his envy is convoluted with his concept of justice. Rather than perceiving justice as something human beings must strive to create, Salieri makes the mistake of believing that it’s a quality inherent in the universe. Such a belief is a recipe for tragedy.

Schaffer’s other major theme is genius. Jasper Garner-Gore’s Mozart is eminently watchable, a big likeable child. Salieri can’t help but acknowledge Mozart’s ability, but is shocked to find him so crass. But why? Why should we be all of one piece? (Curiously, it’s the same type of thought structures that won’t separate reason and virtue.)

The concept of ‘genius’ – which is not used in the play – is an intriguing cultural trope. (I call it a trope because it’s not as if there’s a scientific test for it.)

Why do we like the concept of ‘genius’? What is this trope’s purpose? Does it help us relax, by telling us that we can’t possibly compete?

Or is the label an attempt to quarantine our evaluations from the disease of subjectivity? ‘It’s not just my opinion. He was a genius!’

Of course, an important aspect of the story is that Mozart’s ‘genius’ does go unrecognized, except by Salieri. It’s an appealing notion. Who doesn’t want to believe that their own genius has been under-appreciated? (That Mozart’s ‘genius’ did go unrecognized should make us realize that all evaluations are just human, all too human.)

Which leads me to more of my own evaluation.

The leads are supported by great work by the rest of the cast. Nicole Wineberg as Mozart’s wife, Constanze, gives a captivating portrayal of frisky fidelity. Anthony Finch and Claire Stewart-Moore are marvelously flamboyant as Salieri’s spies and representations of malicious triviality. The costumes by Peter Henson and the set by Ashley Bell are a visual delight.

This is a very entertaining and thought-provoking production.

Veronica Kaye

 

Amadeus by Peter Shaffer

Genesian Theatre

til Nov 29

http://www.genesiantheatre.com.au/

 

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Procne & Tereus

21 Oct

In Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen’s parody of the gothic novel, the young heroine sees dark motives and hidden horror in the most mundane occurrences. At the novel’s climax, Catherine is confronted about her riotous suspicions. “What have you been judging from? Remember the country and the age in which we live!” Catherine is humiliated, realizing she’s let her imagination run wild.

And this is the challenge of contemporizing the ancient Greeks. Are they of our age?

(I’ve written previously of my attitude to this.*)

Procne and Tereus, written and directed by Saro Lusty-Cavallari, is a fascinating piece of theatre. Like Simon Stone’s Thyestes, this play contemporizes the setting and dialogue, and the result is an engaging immediacy that has the freshness of improvisation.

Procne and Tereus

The performances by Christian Byers, Lulu Howes and Victoria Zerbst are strong, creating captivating rhythms of light and dark.

Like Thyestes, the earlier scenes are very effective, but as the play proceeds an interesting thing happens. As the stakes become higher, there’s an intriguing discordance between the world of the play (as created by the setting and dialogue) and the behaviour of the characters. There is a provocative gap between what we think we know about these people and their actions. It reminds us how much we moderns expect rationality in behavior. (And asks us to consider whether this is a rational expectation.)

Foucault in his History of Sexuality asked us to consider the cultural aspects of what we usually reduce to biology. He pointed out that by claiming universality for particular behaviours we were actually making political assertions.

For me, this play did a similar thing with violence. A stimulating theatrical experiment, it led me to question the correspondence between the ancient and modern worlds, and to ask exactly how violence manifests itself in our contemporary society.

Veronica Kaye

* https://theatrered.wordpress.com/2014/07/22/phaedra/

*  https://theatrered.wordpress.com/2013/06/16/electra/

 

Procne & Tereus

Cellar Theatre

15 -17 Oct (This production has closed.)

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Howie the Rookie

7 Oct

Who doesn’t like a bit of rough?

Something about random violence and casual misogyny puts a tune in your flute. You dollies know what I’m talking about. Who doesn’t want to see some scrapping?

Howie the Rookie by Mark O’Rowe is a finely crafted tale about the bottom of Irish society. I call it a tale because it’s told. Two actors sit on chairs on a bare stage. One begins the tale. The other finishes it.

Photo by Kathy Luu

Photo by Kathy Luu

Despite the simplicity, these are absolutely brilliant performances. Directed by Toby Schmitz, Sean Hawkins and Andrew Henry are sensational. (And, no, they don’t remain seated. The performances are passionate and visceral.)

What does the tale say? Probably that violence begets violence.

This play is foreign. To me, that is. The whole street cred thing’s not my scene. Living a ridiculously privileged life, this type of theatre feels like an exotic holiday. But, if you’re sitting in front of an electronic screen reading this sort of stuff, you could probably do with a holiday.

Veronica Kaye

 

Howie the Rookie by Mark O’Rowe

Old Fitz til 25 Oct

http://www.sitco.net.au/

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Sondheim on Sondheim

7 Oct

A rare night of theatre. I mean in the sense of being uncommon.

It consists of songs performed live by the extraordinarily talented band and cast, interspersed with projections of Sondheim talking.

He talks about his art and life. I left knowing not much about either. I suspect that was the point.

The man has a certain charm, somewhere between imp and self-obsessed genius. At least, that’s his onscreen persona. He drops one mask in order to show another. It is Sondheim on Sondheim, after all.  For a musical ignoramus like myself, another voice would be helpful, one that could begin to place Sondheim’s achievement somewhere in the vast theatrical landscape. But, of course, this is not a documentary. It’s much more playful and entertaining than that.

And it’s certainly an opportunity to hear some of Sondheim’s vast catalogue performed brilliantly. I expect fans of the American legend will absolutely love this show.

Photo by Michael Francis

Photo by Michael Francis

Sondheim doesn’t do melody. (The show jokes about it.) I sort of wish he did, but then, as I’ve said, I’m a music theatre philistine. (If that’s not a tautology.) His lyrics are very clever, and most of the time I could understand them. Presented out of the context of the individual shows for which they were originally created, and with which I’m not familiar, I did have a creeping fear that their intensity was being diluted.

But there’s certainly enough here for the music theatre novice to be intrigued and enticed. Everyone knows Send in the Clowns (performed wonderfully by Debora Krizak), but there are plenty of other gems. One example is The Gun Song, performed powerfully by Blake Erickson, Rob Johnson, Phillip Lowe and Monique Salle. It’s from Assassins (a Sondheim musical I do know!) Telling of the various attempts on the lives of American presidents, it’s a fascinating exploration of violence and identity, and indicative of Sondheim’s ability to take the musical into previously uncharted territory.

I never tire of pointing out that I don’t really write reviews. I write what shows make me think about. (Yes, self-obsession, but without the genius.) And this one? It made me think about the concept of work.

Sondheim has worked for over fifty years. He’s over 80. God only knows how many songs he’s written. There’s some terrific ones in this show. He’s done the work.

Completely left field biblical allusion: Adam and Eve tended the Garden of Eden even before the Fall. Work is not what you do for a reward; it is the reward.

(Not that you shouldn’t come along to this show and enjoy somebody else’s work; the work of Sondheim and the terrific team behind this very entertaining production, Squabbalogic.)

Veronica Kaye

 

Sondheim on Sondheim

Seymour Centre til 18 Oct

http://www.seymourcentre.com/events/event/sondheim-on-sondheim/

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The MotherF**ker with the Hat

2 Oct

Who doesn’t love a guessing competition?

And the title’s not the most intriguing aspect of Stephen Adly Guirgis’ play.

It’s brilliantly written and brilliantly performed.

The story of addicts – both recovering and not – it’s a very funny and very moving exploration of truth telling.

There’s a marvelous scene in which Jackie (played by Troy Harrison) attempts to explain away an act of infidelity. It’s a tour de force of double talk. His cousin sums up his argument: ‘So except for the fact it actually happened, it didn’t happen.’

Lying to others and lying to yourself are closely related. The best liars lose themselves in the game, with disastrous consequences. It’s like being the hide and seek champion; in your victory you’re alone, undiscovered in some small dark cupboard, while the other kids have moved on to milk and cookies, love and laughter.

Photo by Kurt Sneddon

Photo by Kurt Sneddon

Adam Cook’s cast does a magnificent job. Troy Harrison’s Jackie is an eminently watchable and utterly lovable loser. He’s in love with Veronica, played by Zoe Trilsbach, who gives us a fireball of vivacious self assertion. John Atkinson is Ralph, Jackie’s sponsor. His is a powerful portrayal of self obsession masquerading as strength. Ralph’s wife Victoria, played wonderfully by Megan O’Connell, is sharp tongued and heartbreakingly vulnerable. Nigel Turner-Carroll’s Cousin Julio is a piece of comic genius.

So back to that guessing competition. If you guessed U C – congratulations! And if U C this show you’ll be rewarded with an excellent night of theatre.

Veronica Kaye

 

The MotherF**ker with the Hat by Stephen Adly Guirgis

Eternity Playhouse til 19th Oct

http://www.darlinghursttheatre.com/

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Through These Lines

30 Sep

Inspired by the letters of Australian women who served as nurses in World War One, Cheryl Ward’s Through These Lines is a very engaging and deeply moving homage.

Cleverly directed by Mary-Anne Gifford and brilliantly performed by a superb cast, this docudrama had me in tears.

Kate Skinner as Sister Florence Whiting gives a particularly powerful performance; she’s the sober soul navigating the awful, and absurd, tension between wooing and warring.

Photo by Bob Seary

Photo by Bob Seary

The production plays with the usual tropes of the WW1 myth; larrikin Australians and incompetent brass, but does so with intriguing invention. It did bother me that the war was presented more as natural disaster than the result of human action, but I’m prepared for a lot more of this over the next four years of the centenary of the conflict. It’s an understandable response to the pity of war, and to the enormous challenge of accepting our role in Big History.

These nurses showed enormous courage. And that’s a virtue we certainly need now if we’re to accept our current role.

Veronica Kaye

 

Through These Lines by Cheryl Ward

Australian National Maritime Museum til Oct 5

http://www.anmm.gov.au/whats-on/calendar/through-these-lines

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Brother Daniel

26 Sep

How can we make our ideals become reality? It’s one of the great human dilemmas.

Simone Weil wrote that imaginary good is easy. While our ideas remain in our head, they’re obvious and unproblematic; simple, smooth and flawless. They haven’t yet had to face the roughness, the wild unpredictability, of the external world.

And, in a sense, perhaps all attempts to bring our ideals into fruition are acts of violence. We are, after all, trying to make the world fit our pre-ordained pattern. There’s a type of brutality to it. Like taking the gentle fractal intricacy of a snow flake and forcing it into a round hole. (Like those made by bullets.)

James Balian’s Brother Daniel is a fascinating and intriguing exploration of the complexity and challenge of political action. Director Travis Green presents the tale with tension and humour, and the cast produce some good performances.

Photo by Mark Banks

Photo by Mark Banks

Daniel, played by Adam Hatzimanolis, is being tortured by representatives of a repressive regime, the very regime that twenty years earlier he helped bring to power. Lucinda, played by Mel Dodge, is a young lawyer desperate to help him. She’s a member of a growing student movement, inspired by both the idealism of the earlier revolution and its actual impact. Women didn’t become lawyers in the old days, she reminds Daniel. But Daniel is deeply disillusioned, and not just because of the electrodes. Violence begets violence, but there’s more; the dreadful discordance between dreams and reality.

This is sophisticated theatre. The pleasure and depth of the play is that it offers no simple reading. It reminds us political action is utterly necessary, but won’t tell us how.

Perhaps any such crude certainty would only lay the seeds for future violence? Perhaps we must find our own way, gently.

Veronica Kaye

 

Brother Daniel by James Balian

TAP Gallery til Oct 5

http://www.tapgallery.org.au/brother-danial-8pm-wed-24-sept-sat-27-sept-tues-30-sept-sat-4-oct-4pm-matinees-sun-28-sept-wed-24-sept-upstairs-theatre/

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Jade Empress Discovers Australia

23 Sep

If you look to the right of my blog you will see that I divide my articles into various categories. One category is Interviews with Artists.

I do these interviews by email. I ask pretty much the same questions of everyone and then simply publish the answers. It’s an opportunity for artists to promote their shows. Each time, I tell the interviewee to write as little or as much as she likes, and I tell her to feel free to ignore any questions she thinks are just plain stupid.

And there is one question artists often choose to ignore: What would you like your audience to think about, or feel?

If artists do answer the question, it’s common for them to write that the audience can think or feel anything they like. (Which strikes me as simply stating the obvious. Of course audiences will respond in multiple ways to your production. But surely you had an aim.)

I’ve even had artists tell me they don’t want their audiences to think about or feel anything at all.

I find this sort of response extraordinary. Sometimes I imagine these artists have confused ‘think about’ with ‘think’. There’s a reluctance to present theatre that could be perceived as preachy. (Imagine, the audience might squirm uncomfortably in their seats.)

But if a play doesn’t lead its audience to think about particular things then perhaps it has no textual integrity. Romeo and Juliet is about love. What exactly it says about love might be a point of contention, but that’s what the play tries to do: get you thinking, and arguing, about it.

So what am I to make of artists who won’t answer the question ‘What would you like your audience to think about, or feel?’ That they have nothing to say? Or that they are frightened?

Photo by Diana Popovska

Photo by Diana Popovska

 

Neither is true of Jade Empress Discovers Australia.

This cabaret is genuine, heartfelt and courageous. (And it played to a full house. Including a newborn; her presence putting all our theatrical games into perspective.)

Jade tells stories from her life, beginning with her migration from Malaysia as a three-year old. There are stories of good fortune, of finding herself in a lucky country. And there are stories of bad fortune, as she and those around her find themselves victims of racism.

With clever appropriations and subversions of some classic Aussie songs, Jade questions whether Australia could do better. She questions our treatment of refugees and the poor, and asks how we can continue to work for reconciliation with the indigenous people of this land.

Jade has a strong voice, and the accompaniment by Pete Ogilvie is wonderful.

The piece as a whole could be more tightly structured, but it has a moving honesty. And it ends with a question that is simple, sincere and absolutely vital: What will you do to make our country a better place?

Did the audience squirm? Did they think ‘This is not what art is meant to do’?

There was applause, and cheering, and a baby cried.

Veronica Kaye

 

Jade Empress Discovers Australia

Imperial Hotel, Cabaret Room

The season for this production has closed.

https://www.sydneyfringe.com/whats_on/event/12a43b45-2734-42ee-bf3e-e5a84ad4d81e/

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Four Dogs and a Bone

19 Sep

Brenda: I want to be famous!

Bradley: Why?

Brenda: I don’t know! *

First and third lines said with equal force.

This encapsulates John Patrick Shanley’s satire on the film industry.

This play is very funny. It’s jam-packed with tremendous one-liners.

Amanda Collins, photo Katy Green-Loughrey

Amanda Collins, photo Katy Green-Loughrey

It’s probably one of Shanley’s less substantial plays. The assertion that the film industry is laughable is hardly ground-breaking stuff. However, an enormous amount of money is invested in the triviality that is film while children starve (in the South Sudan as I write). So that means satires like Four Dogs and a Bone don’t lose their bite.

Shanley has created big characters and director Kate Gaul allows her cast to fill them. Design and blocking is kept appropriately simple, creating the space for linguistic brilliance and joyous hyperbole. There were a few opening night problems with pacing, but these will mend, and the cast will provide a terrific night’s entertainment.

Theatre’s revenge on film. Stage’s little brother is big on budget, but small on substance. And Shanley has fun with this. Victor, played by Paul Gerrard, is a stage writer hungry for money and therefore ripe for seduction by celluloid. Collette, played with glorious energy by Amanda Collins, is the star of the movie, but Collette is hampered by that most disgraceful of descents: she’s a theatre actor. Brenda is Collette’s support in the film and hence her rival in life. (Melinda Dransfield gives a delightful portrait of the nightmare performer: a façade of sweetness masking utter self obsession.) Belinda gleefully tells Colette that she looks grotesque in the daily rushes. As a stage actor, she is too big. A delicious irony – after all, regardless of performance style, big budget film rarely does subtlety.

Veronica Kaye

* Possibly a paraphrasing; my hunger for accuracy unequal to Brenda’s desire for fame.

 

Four Dogs and a Bone by John Patrick Shanley

Old Fitz til 27 Sept

http://www.sitco.net.au/

 

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