I saw this play in 2007, during its first run at Belvoir. I left the theatre deeply moved, but a friend was less so. After some grumbling, he admitted the cause of his dissatisfaction. The play had said only the obvious. His partner snapped that it wasn’t so “obvious” to a lot of people. This was before the Marriage Equality Act, and not long after homosexuality had been decriminalised. (1997 in Tasmania.)
But my friend persisted, theatre should push the envelope. And, up to that moment, I probably would have agreed.
But the 2007 Belvoir production of Holding the Man changed me. It made me realise that we have to celebrate the values we think matter. Generosity of spirit. Openness. Kindness. Love. These are not obvious. No heaven underwrites them. Their promise lives only in our stories, their impact only in our actions.
This production by Eamon Flack is as beautiful and moving as that I saw in 2007.
It’s a love story. A true story. Tim and John meet in high school and fall in love. There’s acceptance of their love, there’s rejection, and hovering over it all – this is the 1980’s – the spectre of an enormous human tragedy. The threat of HIV/AIDS is still with us, but those who lived through its early years remember the horror of its blind, bewildering cruelty.
Danny Ball and Tom Conroy are utterly superb as the lovers, and the ensemble cast is brilliant.
The first act brims with humour. There’s a gleeful, glorious commitment to the comedy. We’re warmly invited to laugh, with both nostalgia and a more universal recognition, at the dagginess of life. The awkward enthusiasms of our teenager years. Our oh so suburban families. Our seriously naïve university activism. Even the drama school that will teach us truth by having us roll around the floor.
All this anchors the story in the everyday, and the pay off in the second act is of immense emotional impact. Playful theatricality makes way for a simple honesty that honours the human tragedy. The beautifully understated performances of the second act are grounded in the genuine.
No angry cry for justice, no burning resentment, gets in the way of Truth.
As Wilfred Owen would say, the pity is in the poetry, or in Murphy’s case, his complete command of the Australian vernacular.
I haven’t read Timothy Conigrave’s memoir, but Murphy’s adaptation is absolutely masterful, and Flack’s production is hilarious, heartbreaking, and so very vital.
Paul Gilchrist
Holding the Man by Tommy Murphy, from the book by Timothy Conigrave
at Belvoir until 14 April
belvoir.com.au
Image by Brett Boardman
Theatre Red 