CIRCONOLCLASM - NICA

Always in for a treat, NICA delivers an enjoyable romp with a message from its second-year student ensemble.

Directed by David Woods (Ridiculusmus Theatre Company, London), Circonoclasm is a sharp and fun take down of the sacredness of the arts space. In the National Australia Gallery, the artwork’s shelf life is brief as elastic thieves swing, bounce and flounce between the bored security guards. As the nation collectively yawns, bored by the art perhaps, or bored by the way in which it is displayed, the capable hands of thieves go to work.

“Not our fault” is repeated by a gussied-up Maya Davies, who in a transatlantic accent delivers a history of all the failed attempts to preserve past works. In Woods’ own words, the “deadpan physical theatre schtick” is the mode for which iconoclasm is explored by the students in this 70-minute performance. The messaging is clear: the arts has given way to excuses and corporate sponsorships, where art for art’s sake is preferred to quality. One could say we experience Circonoclasm as shtick for schtick’s sake, but I like that Woods has injected something deeper into the showcase of NICA’s talent.

The talent is indeed on display, which is a hard feat to pull off when you have a 23 strong ensemble with their own unique skill to showcase. We cycle through Seurat (with a magical nod to the circus), Michelangelo and Munch to name a few, as works of art come to life through the physical expression of the performers.

Dominating the performance is a series of heists that toy with physical boundaries, but the plot thickens (as does the humour) with enquiring characters, a dog-pigeon, and some fantastically mind-bending backtracking. In an attempt to uncover the architects of the heist, we are treated to a series of hysterical vignettes where the guards interrogate one another. Notable mentions to Dean Moran’s compelling relationship with an orange, and Harrison Sweeney’s great seduction.

Overall, I was enthralled with NICA’s talent and Woods’ vision.

Circonoclasm was performed at the National Institute of Circus Art. For more about NICA visit https://www.nica.com.au/

This review was first published for Theatre Press.

Zoey Dawson's AUSTRALIAN REALNESS

Drawn into the notes by Zoey Dawson for her play, Australian Realness, I was captured by the unspoken truth she was prepared to tackle. Do we love the larrikin or not? Modern educated Australia says no.

It’s a depressing state of affairs, classism, and the warfare that literally ensues as this play’s absurdity evolves into an ever-fantastical barren stage of mimes. Advertised as a joke, and at times dreadfully funny, Dawson manages to spear the arts world and the educated Fitzrovians (sorry, Fitzroy bourgeoise) right in their guts. While you may at first think you’re watching a Ray Lawler play, Dawson’s distinctive touch as a playwright is her ability to coax her audience into a sense of comfort and then disrupt it with pure dystopia.

The play opens at the Christmas gathering of a thoroughly modern Melbourne family, still tepidly dipping their toes into diversity. The daughter (Emily Goddard) is both wonderful and utterly annoying as she waddles her heavily pregnant privilege across the stage, whilst her tradie partner (Chanella Macri) must politely dodge the artful Moet-filled barbs of the daughter’s mother (Linda Cropper). Greg Stone’s enthusiasm in his role as the affable father perfectly contrasts with the shrill snobbery of the mother. Janice Muller competently directs the performances in Australian Realness, which are all stellar, particularly Cropper’s transformation. I was stumped for a little while there. Who was this other actress?

A laugh here and a laugh there, and we’re taken into the underbelly of every foul assumption concocted of the working class Australian. Transformed into the bogans in the shed out back, Cropper and Stone heave with clichés. Dawson’s writing is laying it on thick here, but it achieves what it needs to. The increasingly absurdist entries of the bogan family members on stage with laugh tracks is understood to be the audience having a laugh at the working class, sit-com style. The play is totally self-aware and challenges you not to see through its display of stereotypes. Between the banker son (André De Vanny) displaying his white short-shorts whilst talking money and ordering cocaine on his 80s flip phone, and the ill-behaved bogan son playing a Bennie Hill inspired sequence with his father, we get the drift.

Romaine Harper’s set design brilliantly shatters itself apart from the comforts of the Aussie living room, and thrusts Goddard’s character out of her proverbial bourgeoise womb and that of her baby. The camera work from here is temporarily jarring, and we are soon confronted by the banished – a migrant woman who was once the subject of the daughter’s art. The daughter, finally levelled out by the class warfare and on the streets, confronts her new reality and rebels against it, calling the banished woman names as she hears her baby cry under the rubble, unable to accept the even playing field of this new world. Try as her character might to be magnanimous to those less fortunate, once her bubble of a life is burst, she reviles the otherness of what she once accepted from her ivory tower.

Australian Realness force-feeds the fear of the working class down the throats of educated Australia. The working class ultimately takes a wrecking ball to the art, homes and privilege of the educated. It’s almost enjoyable to see how the patronising language used by the supposedly cultured against those they exert superiority over does little to save them from their ultimate fear.

Don’t let the bastards get you down.

THE RABBLE/CROGGON / My Dearworthy Darling

Feminist collaborators and visual provocateurs, The Rabble (Emma Valente and Kate Davis), bring audiences, My Dearworthy Darling, a thought-provoking work that is both entrancing and utterly disconnected all at once. I was particularly titillated that I’d be critiquing the work of the widely respected writer, Alison Croggon, a former critic that I both admire and who’s theatrical opinion I’ve revered. It is surprising to me then to find that I have a love-hate relationship with this work, which sets my mind into motion and confounds it equally.

My understanding is thus: our leading woman (Jennifer Vuletic) is struggling with her mental health as she wrestles her own image of herself away from her worst emotional abusers, her partner (Ben Grant) and her sister (Natalie Gamsu), who are also gripped with the torments of their life and its mundanity. In breaking free, Vuletic’s character strikes a chasm to the past, unravelling her own mind and reflecting the collective woes of womankind to a time where voicelessness was enshrined.

The chorus of medieval voices is perhaps the most breathtaking part of this production. Croggon’s inspiration here was taken from her residency in France’s monastery and centre for theatre writing, La Chartreuse. Inspired by Margery Kempe, a 14th century English Christian mystic, who’s book was considered to be the first autobiographical work, the chorus speaks the text of this work as Vuletic’s modern woman is grappling with telling her own truth, rather than through the twisted reflection of others.

It’s brilliant to me that in Croggon’s own words, the “writing is not so much about conscious intention as it is about process and discovery”, and My Dearworthy Darling achieves exactly that. Like an unfurling scent, I am at first overwhelmed and unable to see the notes for what they are, but with time I see with clarity the complexity of its character. The work on first impression, is a high-brow ‘art for art’s sake’ snobbery into the woman’s mind, with particularly gifted composing (Valente), and set and costume design (Davis). But with deeper introspection, I see where the Croggon/Rabble collaboration was reaching for.

The play splits between often humorous and relatable daily modern drudgery, and the other realm of our lead’s enigmatic psyche. The work opens with Vuletic sprawled sensually upon a boulder, silk-satin, languid-limbs, describing in luscious detail how her body is exposed and caressed. This visual and erotic reverie is interrupted by her partner, accusing her of poor memory as he refuses to take responsibility, an assault upon the earlier voluptuousness. The woman here is servile, not in charge of her voice or body, but a vessel without steam. This emptiness continues to pierce her reality, and she is accused by her sister of being selfish and cruel, goading the partner’s disgust. Unsurprisingly, facing the internalised misogyny of the existing women of her life, Vuletic’s character retreats in her mind to a world where she is supported in body and mind by the hooded chorus. After a particularly brutal episode in her current reality, she is taken to a place without hard edges (a mental health care facility perhaps) and ascends to take a crowning place amongst the medieval chorus, eventually stripping herself bare of her life before.

My Dearworthy Darling will divide its audiences, and this is largely due to its disjointed and often confusing trajectory. What one can do is enjoy the lush language, stunning visuals and Old English choral pieces. It is an inspired and thought-provoking work, but I too left the theatre wanting to perch myself upon a rock, and contemplate what it is I’ve been exposed to, and if that’s all there really is.

Sentient Theatre presents A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN

“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.” – V. Woolf

Image by Tommy Holt

Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own remains so powerful it leaves my mind gaping at the beauty of her words, and the astonishing strength of what they carry. It is, and will always remain, a masterpiece by a woman, for women. Adaptor and director, Peta Hanrahan masterfully returns her adaptation to stage since its successful season in 2016 at La Mama.

Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own is a work ripe for adaptation and as Hanrahan points out, the words are no longer confined to their pages, breathing a new life into all that they offer – something which Woolf herself did in a lecture in 1928. In this adaptation, the dialogue is extracted from Woolf’s writing into a new medium and expressed by four narrators. The words restlessly turn the lived experiences of women and their sex across generations of voicelessness. Without the tools to articulate their insights and feelings, women have been historically forgotten and obscured by “reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size”. We are reminded of all the doors closed in our faces, the education denied us, and the pleasures extricated from our lives from the pincer-like fingers of man and his indoctrinated disciples. The anger expressed in the language used to demean women in historical texts and even great literary works is a documented example of fear and an absolute lack of reason. Despite being such loathed creatures, Woolf clearly shows that women remain man’s obsession.

I absolutely loved how this production pulled the string of a history of mistreatment and fashioned it into a living and breathing criticism of the tired trope of women’s inferiority. It remains relevant both then and now, and without needing to examine the state of our world today, Hanrahan’s production sets our thoughts alight.

Much like Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, the multi-narrator work is explored wonderfully through fluid dialogues on stage between The Questioner (Anthea Davis), The Diplomat (Marissa O’Reilly), The Sceptic (Anna Kennedy, also producer), and The World (Jackson Trickett). The strength of Hanrahan’s direction is evident in the engaging way her cast approaches the complex and eloquent material. The work feels like an enlightening reverie, and in this hour, we are invited into an articulate trance. Each actor embodies their role perfectly; Davis opens the dialogue like a seasoned lecturer, O’Reilly’s ethereal presence gently coaxes us to consider all viewpoints and Kennedy is magnetic with her casual wit that is both thought-provoking and on point. As the only masculine presence on stage, Trickett approaches the dialogue with respect – an outsider of sorts commenting from ‘the world’ at large.

Dagmara Gieysztor’s set design is minimalist to the unconcerned eye, but we are in fact surrounded by thousands of pages from books, strung up and fashioned like chains of history. Layer upon layer, laying down the foundations from one generation of writers to the next, androgynous minds unencumbered.

I think Woolf would have loved this production, grateful to see that her writing has inspired another generation of women to continue to create and explore fearlessly.

SOLARIS

Of all planetary science-fiction writing, Solaris, remains one of the most cerebral and enigmatic. Published in 1961 by Polish writer Stanislaw Lem, Solaris has found itself adapted for cinema and the stage a number of times. Solaris emerged at a time when space travel was new and vogue, still unfurling its mysteries to the world. The possibilities of what the universe had to offer, the terror and terrific, captivated the imagination – and clearly still does today.

Award-winning playwright, David Greig, breathes new life into the work, catapulting a female heroine into its centre. Matthew Lutton directs one of his most evocative works yet, with the usual intensity of sound design by Jethro Woodward, which we have come to expect from his productions.

In this adaptation, Solaris, a planet at the far reaches of space, is visited by a small cluster of humans. For over two years no contact has been received from this expedition, and it is upon the arrival of Dr Kris Kelvin (Leeanna Walsman) that some rattling truths about the crew’s time in isolation emerge. Through a series of tapes, the recently deceased leading scientist, Gibarian (Hugo Weaving via video), reveals to Dr Kelvin his discoveries of the lonely planet, which is clearly attempting to make contact with the crew on board.

Aloneness, the frightening alien other that nestles itself in the mind, is at the heart of the work. Hyemi Shin’s set design extraordinarily creates the sterility of space travel and its disconnection from the familiar. A series of white moving parts typical of space travel juxtapose with scene changes incorporating a visual curtain of black liquid waves from the planet below. The set design mimics the depths of human intention, and for the more poetically inclined, the depths of the soul as it invites connection. It is unclear if the planet is inviting the crew into itself, or vice versa, remaining a point of fascination and uncertainty.

Lutton asserts that the power of representing science fiction on stage is through its ability to explore alternate realities, and Solaris is the kind of work that suits the confinement of the stage perfectly. The shifting spectrum of primary colours injects both beauty and trepidation into this world, expertly designed by Paul Jackson. The final image of Dr Kelvin standing alone, her shadow awash with red lighting is reminiscent of the feminine power of another famous science fiction performance. Alone, Dr Kelvin faces the dangers of her own mind rather than the danger of aliens that Ellen Ripley must entertain.

Leeanna Walsman is in her element here, and an excellent cast supports her. Fode Simbo as Snow, Jade Ogugua as Sartorius, and Keegan Joyce as the “visitor”, Ray, are captivating. Weaving’s presence via video is warm and earnest, adding a layer of depth to this already quality production. There is a crackling humour in the writing and acting, despite the gloom of the world they inhabit, and the audience regularly laughed and connected with the performances on stage.

Solaris makes for a pleasurable theatrical experience in every way. The questions that the characters explore, particularly on our power to inflict the worst of ourselves onto an innocent other, are pertinent. Like Solaris, we all seek connection – but what are we prepared to do to keep it?

WAKE IN FRIGHT

Beer, babes and brutality in chilling adaptation 

Australia, the land of plenty, the land of expanding planes, and dust. Dust as far as the eye can see. No sea in sight to quench the traveller’s hungry eyes, just the heat rising from the earth.

Kenneth Cook’s 1961 novel Wake In Fright, is a jolting horror of the kind of underbelly Australia that a city slicker would gladly forget. The 1971 film directed by Ted Kotcheff finely and fantastically brought this horrendous fever-dream to life, and essentially became a cult film for its notorious representation of hunting the ‘roo.

I am therefore very pleased to see Declan Greene (Melancholia, Pompeii L.A., The Homosexuals, or Faggots) adapt and direct Cook’s work for the Malthouse stage. In this incarnation, Wake in Fright, a usually bloke-soaked nightmare, is spectacularly performed by one woman – Zahra Newman, who boldly embodies the terror and toxicity of masculinity.

The 70-minute performance, much like the sleepiness of the town Bundanyabba (“The Yabba”), begins rather benignly as Newman struts about all-beared-up as Lead Ted, the friendly 1990s bear, teaching the children of Broken Hill about lead poisoning – a first foray into the horror of the night. During Newman’s playful introduction, we are treated to a talk about immigration, racial issues and more of the gamut of the daily-woke blogosphere. I liked how Newman challenged the audience, but I admit I wanted to see the show unfold rather than be subjected to a surface-level string of views without proper unpacking. Wake in Fright is itself a cruel truth about the worst of our nation.

With excellent lighting and projection design from Verity Hampson, and music and composition from friendships, we descend into the gloom with the skilful Newman. I am truly, honestly, terrified.

John Grant, an educated fellow, finds himself waiting for a plane back to Sydney in the remote Yabba. Coaxed into a brutal bender by local cop, Crawford, he soon finds himself in a two-up joint, rendered penniless and with a missed flight back to the world of the living. Stranded, he takes a ride with a local into the outback, and so begins Grant’s final mad descent into the Yabba culture of beer, babes and brutality.

Hampson’s projection design coupled with the intense beats of friendships DJing in the corner of the stage turned the Beckett theatre into a hellish nightclub. As an audience we feel strapped in for a ride we don’t want, sucked into the psyche of Grant as he battles his way through the unknown cruelties of this world. It feels indeed like a rung of hell, with no end in sight.

This is a thoroughly ingenious modern take on Wake in Fright. Greene’s work is compelling and effective. The Malthouse has shown again that some of its finest work is one woman on stage taking a male-dominated story and making it her own. Newman joins the ranks of Pamela Rabe in The Testament of Mary, and Alison Whyte in The Bloody Chamber. You really can’t get better than that, mate.

TIM WINTON'S CLOUDSTREET

Inescapably brooding adaptation of Winton’s novel

From the moment the audience is silent, Matthew Lutton’s reincarnation of Tim Winton’s classic, Cloudstreet, begins to play out like a sombre funeral procession. The work takes a very far turn from the warmth that is conveyed even through the darkest moments of Winton’s novel, becoming laden with the density of the pooling grief of the First Nation girls whose souls drown the house. Lutton makes this clear from the outset: Cloudstreet’s living residents are living on haunted land, and here, Lutton takes a fist-full of Winton’s Western Australian earth and presents it to the audience through a new, more enlightened lens.

Cloudstreet tells the tale of two battler Australian families after World War II who find themselves sharing a large house on Cloudstreet, Perth. The house is full of tragic history and is itself a character breathing in the background of the families’ lives. The house is a witness as it brings them together in a maelstrom of fortune and tragedy. Through the magic realism employed in Winton’s writing, Cloudstreet has become one of Australia’s most beloved works.

What Lutton has achieved is specific to the times: this work addresses the racial diversity of the Australian story, and it charges the work from the choice of casting through to the addition of Noongar language in the script. The ambition here is clear, and it is served as a vehicle to bring Cloudstreet into a conversation of today. Throughout the production, the Indigenous Australian characters narrate events and connect to the new residents of the home, creating a fresh pathway into what has been a forgotten storyline in the great Australian work. With so much promise in this crucial retelling, my appreciation for the production sadly leaps off the page into disappointment. Lutton’s usually electric style missed its mark in what is one of the most anticipated shows of the Malthouse season.

The performances are mostly bloodless, and the lack of vocal modulation led to excessive shouting in unnecessary moments. This is exacted by most characters, and particularly by the usually brilliant Alison Whyte. Whyte’s turn as Oriel exceeds in the brashness of the character, and Natasha Herbert’s Dolly Pickles is so brazen and gargantuan it borders on slapstick-hideous. Herbert however redeems herself in the shift towards the character’s grief later on. This contrasts with the performances of Bert LaBonté’s Sam Pickles and Greg Stone’s Lester Lamb.

LaBonté delivers some of the few moments of low-key humour and Stone’s exuberance is a welcome energy in this production. Another exception is Benjamin Oakes as Fish Lamb – an incredibly likable character who extracts a warmth and care from the audience. Brenna Harding’s intensely bitter Rosie Pickles is strong and driven, and one can hardly imagine her choosing the company of Guy Simon’s Quick Lamb. The portrayal of Quick Lamb is so highly-strung it is difficult to see much of the character’s humanity through what appears to be extended teenage angst.

Image by Pia Johnson

Zoë Atkinson’s set design is grim. With a few human shapes drawn in sections, the misery of the house is etched crudely. The shifting walls and rising water through the floors are a clever addition, but hardly novel. Paul Jackson’s lighting design does not add to the gloom that settled on stage and includes unnecessary flashes of light to throw the audience into darkness. J. David Franzke’s sound design coinciding with the blackouts was another irritation, particularly the loud gunshots – in their desire to shock the audience, they only became an anticipated tension in dramatic moments. While I have enjoyed these effects in numerous Malthouse/Lutton productions, here they became an overbearing element that served little towards the story unfolding.

This is a production that has so much to say, but ultimately loses sight of the core of Winton’s work in its inescapably brooding qualities, even at the supposedly happier moments of the play. I wanted to love this two-part production, but it served as a kind of blunt-force knock to the head – the point is made, but the quality is not.

Opera Australia's WEST SIDE STORY

1950s ‘Murica. Nothing quite says New York, New York, like West Side Story. It’s the kind of American dreaming particular to the imaginings of Jerome Robbins, the original director and choreographer of the beloved and memorable work. Instead of a Miller-esque fatal flaw, our characters operate in a world that has marginalised them, and they exist between missing the past and wanting a future. Migrants, lovers, hooligans, West Side Story is a warm embrace for musical theatre lovers everywhere.

I’m as surprised as the next person to see Opera Australia take on the collaborative work of heavyweights Robbins, Leonard Bernstein, Arthur Laurents and Stephen Sondheim. It’s pure musical sugar, with numbers that are hyper and tantalising in a way that opera often turns away from. I am of course intrigued, as Opera Australia wades into the commercial realm to reach out to a broader audience perhaps. I want grit from West Side Storyand Bernstein’s score, but instead we are treated to something lightweight, which does not do justice to the grandeur of Opera Australia, and certainly not the yearning power of this excellent and nuanced musical.

Director and choreographer Joey McKneely’s production has some astonishing dance numbers which render the music almost secondary. The central issues in the work concern its casting (and not in this instance the whitewashing that the Sydney production was accused of). The clash of an operatic coloratura soprano Maria (Sophie Salvesani) with a pure musical theatre voice for Tony (Todd Jacobsson) is hard to move beyond. Jacobsson is more a sweet romantic than former Jet, struck by the lightning bolt of infatuation. Despite this, I had chills during Jacobsson’s “Maria”, which is essentially to music theatre what La Bohème’s “Che gelida manina” is to opera. Even so, Salvesani has a rich and enveloping voice, that is ill-matched to her co-star.

The band of Jets, led by a charismatic Noah Mullins as Riff, overall look more like young awkward schoolboys than a gang of hardened street rats, and they are outmatched as they move between voluptuous and highly sexualised women. In contrast, the Sharks, led by a convincing Lyndon Watts as Bernardo, are muscular, intense and commanding on stage. Wonderfully, the Puerto Rican women are an absolute force on stage. Outshining all other characters in this production, Chloé Zuel as Anita is breathtaking in a memorable and electric performance. “America” is the pinnacle of perfection and quality I wanted out of West Side Story, and unfortunately it is one of the few moments I was nodding my head in joy. The Jets redeem themselves in a playful “Gee, Officer Krupke”, which joyfully washes over the salty reality of their poverty and troubled homes.

Paul Gallis’ set design is in itself a character in this production, with looming grey photographs of Manhattan and a shanty-town of wooden pilings to show the decay of this part of the iconic city. The gloom of the set powerfully contrasts with the gorgeous costuming of Renate Schmitzer whose smashing array of decadent hues, which are complimented by the rich lighting design of Peter Halbsgut, set alight the already blazing dance numbers.

In contrast, one strikingly dark place this production took the audience to was the terrifying assault of Anita by the Jets, witnessed by Jets-wannabe tomboy Anybodys (Molly Bugeja). After the violence the stage is quiet and Anybodys runs away screaming, suddenly voicing another cruel reality of the streets.

West Side Story remains as topical as ever, with gun violence, sexual violence and racism rampant in our world, it remains an ode to the oppressed and cyclical entrapment of those living a life of poverty and crime. Despite this, its musical message of hope for a better future and greater opportunity remains just as strong.

I’d like to see a future production of West Side Story by Opera Australia where it will hold its own and wrestle away from the slick spectacle of commercial musical theatre and find something to contribute of its own. Even so, West Side Story makes for an entertaining night with some memorable performances and staging.

West Side Story will be performed at Arts Centre Melbourne until 28 April before touring to Sydney, Wellington, Canberra and Adelaide. Tickets can be purchased online and by calling the box office on 1300 889 278.

Red Stitch presents DANCE NATION

Clare Barron’s Dance Nation is the kind of charming macabre well suited to the world of dance. Directed by the excellent Maude Davey and assistant director Angelica Clunes, I am not surprised to see Davey has injected her wacky charm into directing this work for Red Stitch. What you ultimately have is a glorious unicorn of a play performed by adults acting as children. The irony of the dance world through this lens is great, particularly as audiences will be well acquainted with the fierce and devastating early maturity for youngsters caught up in the competitive world of dance.

It all starts as expected, our herd of dancers preparing for a big competition for exposure and FAME! Peter Farnan’s sound design is perfect here, sound bites of sighing and breathing intersperse scene changes with Clare Springett’s sharp lighting design. We’re off to a good start with a formation of dancers’ legs waving about to an amused audience. The scene quickly descends into that macabre goo when one has severed her leg – the price of fame!

Before auditions for the leading role of Gandhi, a brilliant cliché of the creepster dance teacher Pat (Brett Cousins), it is evident friendship will be tested. Zuzu (Zoe Boesen) and Amina (Tariro Mavondo) are the two glory girls of the troupe, who somehow manage to sustain a level of sweetness up until the big first night of the competition.

Adrienne Chisholm’s set and costume design are perfectly sparkly and quirky, and you will enjoy seeing what she serves up for the competition. Choreographer Holly Durant sets us into a barrel of laughs with zombie dance moves and extra dagginess to boot.

The cast is fantastic, and the characters are completely engaging throughout. Natalie Gamsu’s odd young Maeve is downright the funniest of the bunch, and in the most unexpected ways. Somehow her subtle smile as the moon passing over Connie’s bedroom (played by Georgina Naidu) is a bit of a low-key show stealer. Caroline Lee’s monologue as the quietly ambitious and hyper-sexualised Ashlee is perhaps the greatest personal pep-talk I’ve ever heard, and Hannah Fredericksen’s tomboy/cool girl Sofia is utterly brazen and suitably goofy. Token dance boy, Luke, played by Casey Filips is delightfully at home amongst the feminine, waiting for a chance at Zuzu’s affection, and Zuzu’s dance mum (Shayne Francis) is the kind of child-soul-killer you’d see forcing Vaseline onto her child’s teeth in USA’s Dance Moms.

Despite all the laughs, Dance Nation has a litany of poignant moments for its characters. Sofia’s need to be tough is brought back down to earth when the most feminine of life occurrences strikes at a critical moment. Connie’s need to be seen is so vital to her, that her little heart breaks throughout the play are all the more tragic and are handled beautifully by Naidu. As events try and tear the dancers apart, they still manage to lift each other up by imagining themselves as they will be some day. I find that childlike wonder uplifting despite the gravity of adulthood weighing in upon their hopes and dreams.

Dance Nation runs until 14 April at Red Stitch Actors’ Theatre. Tickets can be purchased online and by calling the box office on 03 9544 8083.

15 Minutes from Anywhere presents COCK

Cock is hot, Cock is great

From the get-go, Beng Oh’s direction of Mike Bartlett’s witty work is sharp and arresting. We are thrust into the ring of a domestic dispute between John (Matthew Connell) and his long-term boyfriend, M (Shaun Goss). The dialogue is the kind of whip-crack smart that makes you laugh and consider for a moment the tortured inertia that lingers between the pair and coupledom at large.

Cock plays out like a fight between M and W (Marissa O’Reilly) for the affections of John, but it rapidly reveals itself to be the fighting rounds in John’s own mind that drive the plot, oscillating between the feminine ideal and the comfort of his accepted sexuality.

Shining the light on bisexuality it would seem, John crushes his poignant observation that love is reserved for the individual and not the gender while he still remains wholly inept at choosing his person. I find myself torn between the belief that Cock is a genuine attempt for Bartlett to unpack bisexuality in a world that seeks to rigidly define desire, or a plot that clenches its fists at the insecurity of indecision whilst moonlighting as an intellectual take on sexuality. Despite these feelings, I am raptured in the glory of the performances and dialogue that truly carry this play.

Emily Collett’s costume and staging is minimalist, allowing for the characters to shine, whilst gussying up W and throwing a stern jacket on the judgemental father figure, F (Scott Gooding), to solid effect.

Goss is pure energy, unrelenting in his performance throughout, countering with his grand movements the wilting indecision of Connell’s almost boy wonder. Connell perfectly captures the differing relationships his character has with M and W. With M, he is the lost boy needing direction in discovered territory, and with W he seeks direction like a voracious and able explorer. One is almost rooting for his passage to W, and not for ultra-conservative reasons, but for the new pathway he forges to a would-be maturity.

Having now witnessed O’Reilly’s performance a second time as W in Cock, she takes the character to a more insecure and jaded place. This incarnation of W frets a great deal more, leaking her truth of the wreckage of a past relationship, throwing her hopes and dreams upon John with the intent that his virgin heterosexuality will invoke a new life for her too.

The entrance of Gooding as F late into the play is a great shift in the dynamic of the piece, carting out now generally accepted archaic belief systems to pick apart the revelations of John’s newfound feelings and desires. F’s focus to define and box the individuals before him largely fails, and he enters and exits Cock’sworld like an awkward flashback.

It’s all a bit overwhelming, and in the last gasp of the play, the great question hangs above us all. Quoting critic Michael Billington’s earlier observation, Cock is truly in Schopenhauer’s words, a “tyranny of the weak” – and a spectacular display of it.

THE ILLUSIONISTS: DIRECT FROM BROADWAY

Prepare to be completely astonished and awed, as the glamour and trickery of The Illusionists returns to Aussie shores where all the magic began. Simon Painter and Tim Lawson’s inspired production has been tantalising audiences for almost a decade, performing in 350 cities and 35 countries. It’s an unstoppable phenomenon and is as expected, a hallmark of society’s fascination with the dark and seductive grandeur of smoke and mirrors.

The Illusionists features an array of extraordinary talent, who’ve honed their skills and showmanship to mastery. Expect to see the classics: card tricks, femme fatale’s being sawn in half, a bit of the old spook and plenty of laughs. It’s a seriously family-friendly show, and children are delighted to watch and frequently be included in some of the on-stage antics. If audience participation terrifies you, this is not for you. But if you don’t mind a bit of schadenfreude at the hapless individuals who find themselves in the cross-fire of a joke, you’ve really come to the right place.

Featuring some of the most celebrated tricksters from across the globe, one can expect a little bit of something for everyone’s personal tastes.

Paul Dabek as The Trickster is our delightfully scathing master of ceremonies. Dabek’s British flair and wit make for a perfect segue into various acts, and he certainly gets the audience laughing. Humour abounds in this show, and Dabek is joined by Chris Cox as The Mentalist, whose name really lends itself to the type of humour he indulges us in. Cox is another British boss with a stellar repertoire, and his games of guessing leave the audience shaking in both disbelief and fits of laughter as well as awe for those who were subject to his astonishing mind reading.

Mexico’s Leonardo Bruno as The Alchemist is a crowd pleaser, he melts the hearts of his audience with the dancing tissue act, and tissue snow storm for the seriously smaller members of the audience. Bruno’s charm and warmth make him a highly likeable addition to the magical family.

Australia’s own, Sam Powers as The Enigma is both tempting and terrifying as he utilises his astonishing physical endurance honed by NASA technology (actually?). Powers’ execution of the flaming trap trick while being strapped upside down in a straitjacket makes for some tense moments, and I certainly had to look away. Although, don’t be fooled, these guys know what they’re doing with all the tech in the world. Considering Houdini stalked this territory long before without modern trappings astonishes me even more. I certainly wouldn’t survive what Powers can do with elegance and ease.

All the way from France, Florian Sainvet as The Manipulator gives us his science fiction flair wielding cards in a space suit. I found myself less as enthusiastic with this piece, but was later delighted by his street card trick antics and audience interaction – an area he really shines in.

At the crux of the show, Jinger Leigh as The Conjuress and her Showman husband performed by Mark Kalin, love to excite and stir the audience with their large-scale Houdini style illusions. Leigh’s saucy quality lends perfectly to her glowing ball illusion, adding an enchanting quality to the show. For myself and my partner, the most memorable moment of the night came with Leigh and Kalin’s ring trick, which has to be seen to be believed. Taking three rings from audience members, Leigh somehow managed to merge them all to our absolute disbelief. As promised, I’d never look at rings the same way again.

If anything, The Illusionists could close its show on a more grandiose scale than was provided. We were both thrilled with The Illusionists, and vowed to make a beeline for Vegas to catch more shows like this. The larger-than-life tricks, humour and pure showmanship make for an exciting few hours with these amazing performers. I highly recommend to absolutely everyone I know, whether aged 5 or 95.

*Robyn Sharpe “The Warrior” was not featured in the 22 January show.

Red Stitch presents SUDDENLY LAST SUMMER

Tennessee Williams, the Mississippi native and master playwright had a knack for unearthing the steamy splendour of human decay. In Suddenly Last Summer, Williams’ choice of name evokes the sense of a thrilling and romantic episode in the most carefree of seasons, but instead delivers a quiet horror that lurks in the shadows of memory.

In a gorgeous cultivated New Orleans garden, Mrs Violet Venable (Jennifer Vuletic), an older dame with a cane, flourishes on stage to seduce Dr “Sugar” (Charles Purcell) to lobotomise a young relation who knows the dark secret behind the death of her son, the unseen and ever-present Sebastian.

The staging is swathed in falling gardens and mist, and one cannot help but be intoxicated by the allure of wealth and the power it carries. Violet exerts her power upon those around her, and yet it entraps her. Her character is perfectly juxtaposed with the equally seducing but refreshingly volatile Catharine Holly (Kate Cole), the last person to see Violet’s son alive. In an attempt to understand what has happened to Sebastian, Dr Sugar administers drugs in the veins of Catharine to render her loose-lipped. After a kiss from her lips, Catharine seals Sebastian’s mysterious fate to the captive audience, including her desperate mother (Zoe Boesen) and brother (Harvey Zielinski).

The daring Stephen Nicolazzo (Merciless Gods, Salome, Psycho Beach Party, sex.violence.blood.gore), manages to direct a subtle and intensely entrancing production of Suddenly Last Summer. The performance of Vuletic is an initial standout as the neurotic Violet. Her striking embodiment of old-world glamour and kookiness makes her a centrepiece for the play. Wheeled about on whim by her faithful servant Miss Foxhill (Chanella Macri), Violet lives between cocktails and memories. The sickening Oedipal elements of Violet’s relationship with Sebastian pervade the play, and it is no surprise that Sebastian in his one moment of freedom abroad loses all control of his life. The punishment for his companion Catharine, are the memories of a life touched by privilege and violence. Cole is wonderful as Catharine, showcasing the character’s incredible vitality and fragility. Her final recollection of events is so moving and realistic, that I am transfixed upon the powerful imagery she creates and the tears that roll down her face.

Suddenly Last Summer is an ode to marvellous storytelling; enriched with symbolism and elegance, Williams’ writing comes alive in this play. Sebastian sees God, and God in turn like the cloud of birds upon the shore, upends Sebastian’s good fortune in one fell swoop. The only force greater than nature and establishment appears to be truth, and Catharine delivers it even to the non-believers.

NICA'S COMPANY 18

I was lucky to bear witness to last year’s National Institute of Circus Arts (NICA) showcase, and the astonishing talent left me breathless. I am always absolutely thrilled by circus arts, so I was a little surprised to see that the focus this year became more of a variety show of occasionally awkward (albeit sometimes spot on) jokes from Jan Van De Stool, and a closing song by Queenie Van De Zandt that could rival Eurovision without the fire and lasers. What a pandemonium…

Aside from the variety elements, and the occasional focus on theatre over circus for some acts, I was still impressed with the talented group. These amazing circus artists are elite-level athletes with three years of training behind them. Company 18benefited from a new NICA initiative that provided individual artistic consultation sessions. Aside from the excellent networking opportunities this provided, Company 18 also had the benefit of discussing and honing their preferred skills with those at the top of their field.

The opening act of Jordan Hensley-Twartz performing diablo was certainly a jaw-dropping beginning. Hensley-Twartz’s ability and concentration was a very strong start to the night. It’s always difficult as the first act, as it sets the tone of the night – and on this occasion the bar was set high. As the night progressed, performers told stories through their bodies and choice of song. Notably, the joyous folk-hop as Hayley Mills circled the stage in her Roue Cyr was followed by a startling and dark performance by Ellen Henry on loop straps. I really began to enjoy the variety provided on the night.

As the night progressed, some real standouts emerged. Poppy Fairbairn and Zion Martyn were mesmerising with pointe adagio and risley. The choice of costumes by the pair and their play on the marionette made for incredible entertainment and a showcase of their skill. I could barely look when Fairbairn on one pointe balanced herself on Martyn. One would think the following act would struggle to keep up after such a crowd favourite, but Adam Malone absolutely smashed it with his hula hoop act. Malone’s blend of meditative dance and use of lighting made for an excellent alternate experience to the previous act.

For something a little different, the audience loved Shay Bowskill who had a large focus on comedy and physical theatre, which was less circus-focused. I was also delighted by Georgia Deguara on her aerial chair with the showgirl feel she injected as she performed to Rolling on a River.

Post-interval began with death-defying ferocity as Karla Scott tantalised on a swinging trapeze. I was delighted to see Elanor Nunn follow on tissu, which was absolutely gorgeous to watch; Nunn was able to stand between the soft materials in an incredible feat I did not think physically possible. This segment also brought something out of the ordinary in Zoë Marshall’s contortion carpet spinning. Marhshall’s performance was completely beautiful, and showcased both her poise and unique skill. Brooke Duckworth and Lyndon Johnson performed together in an endearing set of acrobatics, which they undertook with an ease that might tempt audiences to perform at home (don’t). An ethereal and powerful Emily Chilvers (on rope) and an elegant Liam Dummer (on straps) were in perfect form as they scaled incredible heights in their individual acts, representing in my opinion, circus excellence.

As Company 18 awkwardly smiled through the final sing-song, I have high hopes for next year’s talent, which given the excellence of NICA and its pupils, should remain more circus, and less variety show.

Images by Aaron Walker

Post's ICH NIBBER DIBBER

Witty, gritty conversation draws laughter and reflection

Ich Nibber Dibber is really as it sounds, a nonsense phrase dressed up as “a woman’s work” in German, and if this is women’s work, Post co-creators Zoë Coombs Marr, Natalie Rose and Mish Grigor make it look fabulously funny.

Descending from the heavens, these three angelic women draped in white come to be upon the stage. Make whatever metaphor you want from it – exiting the womb, descending like messengers from heaven – the women have something to say, and it starts with plenty of cussing and fussing about being trashed at a party.

Welcome to the human experience.

If you thought poo jokes didn’t captivate theatre goers, then listen here, you are gravely wrong. But there is so much more to this wonderful production than the humdrum of day-to-day life – my friend and I, and so many more in the audience can remember conversations like these with our friends, a combination of the profound and the banal. On a superficial level, the blokes in the audience will laugh, but for the women, we will laugh because we see ourselves in these three very human characters (even Gywneth Paltrow would agree).

The women inhabit personas we all recognise within our friendships – the sardonic, the naïve, the progressive, and it’s all tongue in cheek. If they poke fun at each other, they do it with profound love, in only the way the closest of kindred spirits can. Nat, Mish and Zoë admit that this is all them – they are just hanging out on stage having the really silly and gritty conversations close friends do. It’s really refreshing and welcoming, and it’s incredibly easy for the audience to connect and relate to the work.

The 70 minutes of Ich Nibber Dibber is all talk, but it’s the talk of over a decade of friendship. The women party, break up, and give birth in the span of the decade, and their conversations continue to shift with the times of their lives and the eras they fall within. It’s a glimpse into the past for many in the audience, from the choices of music to the socio-political backdrop of the noughties and today. There are serious issues the women face: sexual and racial discrimination, the disintegration of intimate relationships, haphazard views of the self – and it’s all handled with an impressive amount of subtlety and humour.

There are some poignant moments within this spectrum, particularly when the writer John Berger is quoted as they cannot recall whether John Berger or John Burgess was the first celebrity death of 2017. Berger’s quote on women surveying themselves as a man alters the atmosphere reminds us that while we are watching women inhabit the stories of their lives, they are still a spectacle of the male gaze.

I find Ich Nibber Dibber intelligently comments and navigates the complex terrain it raises with a lightness of being, and its capacity to make its audience laugh under such examinations makes for powerful theatre.

Malthouse Theatre presents SARAH KANE'S 'BLASTED'

Violence is violence, is violence, as Kane reminds us

When I think of Sarah Kane I imagine a rawness of writing, and Blasted is as brutish and raw as it gets. There is no line between the private violence of the domestic and the intrusion of war upon private citizens. Blasted drags us in not with string but with rope, and we are gripped in the hideousness of a reality we want to forget.

Anne-Louise Sarks directs her cast through treacherous material, and each rises to the occasion, despite how confronting it would be to wade through the play’s material on a daily basis.

Blasted begins in such banality. A woman (Eloise Mignon) and man (David Woods) with an obvious power imbalance, share a hotel room for a night. We are on edge, because the man plays with his gun like it’s an extension of his ego. The woman, a former lover we eventually learn, is subjected to his sexual, emotional and physical violence. It’s all shrouded in the banter of their conversation, all strangely accepted by the audience as the currency of their relationship, until we are rudely awoken to the scene of war as a soldier (Fayssal Bazzi) urges his way into their private space.

This production is hard to watch, and it is hard to listen to. The audience has no doubt heard of the atrocities of war and of the extremities of domestic violence, but how many transgressions do we forgive in our every day lives – what is the difference between a lover raping his partner and the stranger taking the same liberty as part of the “spoils” of war? Violence is violence, is violence, as Kane reminds us. While it was not received well by critics upon its first foray into the London theatre scene in 1995, this production has gathered momentum in its relevance like never before. Timely, is what I would call this production for the Malthouse Theatre.

Marg Horwell’s stagecraft and choice of costuming is on point; the cleanliness of the hotel and its beige colours contrasts wonderfully with what’s to come. The space gradually turns from the rubble of domestic violence to the thunderous destruction of the entire space. It’s a titanic feat to turn a hotel room into a rung of hell in under a minute, but the production team smash it. My only criticism is the use of the screen above the stage to capture the small intimacies of the play. It was an unexpected and unnecessary touch. There was enough on stage to convey the power and cruelty of the work without having to contrast it with rotting petals.

Woods’ performance is strong and sustained. As he journeys through the terrain of this play, we feel fear, disgust and ultimately pity for his character. Mignon’s woman is mercurial, childlike and random, which contrasts well with the intensity of the men she shares the stage with. Bazzi’s soldier is relatable and poignant, perhaps more relatable than the others as he is able to convey reason within the madness of the play’s world, despite being a terrifying presence.

The soldier goads the journalist, questioning whether he understands what it is to commit atrocities, but on some level, they are both brutes made from the fibres of their society and circumstance. How did we become so indifferent to violence? I find it to be the core of what Kane raises in Blasted, and a question I continue to ask myself after leaving the theatre.

Kane has succeeded.

Written by Sarah Kane. Directed by Anne-Louise Sarks. Performed by Fayssal Bazzi, Eloise Mignon and David Woods. Set and costume by Marg Horwell and lighting by Paul Jackson. Photograph by Pia Johnson.

Malthouse Theatre presents MELANCHOLIA

So, this is the way the world ends, not with a bang… or does it?

Lars Von Trier’s cinematic masterpiece, Melancholia, is conceptually breathtaking and frightening all at once. What begins as wedding party blues turns into the most intimate and bizarrely universal existential crisis. Oh yes, it’s Chekhovian, but as it releases itself, Melancholia leaps away from its inertia and challenges its spectator and characters into asking the big, dark and pulverising questions about life as we know it.

It’s totally arresting cinematically, and a monumental challenge for anyone attempting to adapt it for stage. But this is what Malthouse Theatre maverick Matthew Lutton is drawn to, and what he has taken on with astonishing success. Declan Greene’s writing is an excellent match here for Lutton, and the language takes flight with such rich, fullness that I can smell the manure, woods, and scent that the bride Justine (Eryn Jean Norvill) smells in her heightened state.

The opening of Melancholia immediately reflects the Romantic elements of Von Trier’s world with the floor chandelier, manor-grand carpeting and stunning costuming of glittering light and pearl shades. The ceiling, with its large circular opening, is like a planetarium that dispenses pink confetti to dust the scene with its ominous beauty. Set and costume designer Marg Horwell delivers with immaculate detail, and her work gives an ethereal glow to the whole piece. Paul Jackson’s lighting design triggers the most sensual and terrifying feelings within the audience, as it acutely reflects the hours of time ticking towards doom. These elements are aided by J. David Franzke’s sound design that shakes us to our core from the middle to the crashing end. It takes a powerhouse of a team to bring together this overwhelmingly good production, and the designers delivered threefold.

Act One begins with a wedding party that is so delayed, it turns the bride’s neurotic perfectionist of a sister, Claire (Leeanna Walsman), into a mad manikin. It is a riotously comedic start, and the actors have the opportunity to stretch their talents, namely the mother played by the stellar Maude Davey. The audience, like the characters (sans Justine), are lulled into the lavish evening before the beauty of it all begins to decay in Act Two. The mother’s humour turns into a drunken rampage, Justine steps out of her pearlescent, yet muddied bridal gown as if to remove her mask, and Claire’s husband (Steve Mouzakis) hits peak menace.

Melancholia, without lending itself to the cause, beautifully depicts the shadow of depression and mental illness upon a family. Norvill’s Justine is perfection, reflecting fragility and exerting her numbing power with such grace that I am transfixed by her performance. Walsman, whose stern yet loving resolve is no match for the finality of what is to come, supports Norvill wonderfully. Nature itself caves in upon the sisters as Melancholia, the planet, brilliantly shows itself in the sky with its threatening size and magnetic pull. The pull of the planet seems to elevate Justine out of her hiding place, and I get the impression that it has a similar effect on all of the characters. Everyone reveals their real faces, including Claire’s husband whose cowardice and cruelty emerges breathtakingly, literally.

It’s a hard play to stomach, as you leave the theatre feeling as though you’ve exerted all your power to the planet, Melancholia. The actors, especially Norvill and Walsman, give so much of themselves to the performance that you can just feel the harrowing nature of its undertaking. I found myself unable to tear away my gaze, because the production is simply so beautiful in all of its elements and I found the exertion a worthy exercise. I was particularly triggered by some of the feelings uttered by the characters, as its existential questions sink within the spectator so spectacularly.

You may have been living under a crushing behemoth planet if you had not heard of Von Trier’s work, but I wager you to give Greene’s theatrical adaptation a whirl at the Malthouse Theatre this season. Ground breaking and bold has been Lutton’s mark thus far on the Malthouse, but he absolutely hits his highest notes in his direction of Melancholia.

Play Dead Theatre presents FESTEN

The Danes sure know how to put on a family affair… from Shakespeare’s Hamlet to David Eldridge’s take on the Danish film ‘The Celebration’, in Festen, the audience must once again question whether the prized son is a raving lunatic or a man on a quest for truth.

The production of Festen is performed in the ballroom of the heritage listed Ripponlea Estate, which is an astonishingly fabulous choice of venue. The gorgeous interiors are surely a treat for Set Designer Diane Jouvet, and Costume Designer Helene Marie Froisland matching luxe against luxe. Festen is a feast for the eyes, and I am admittedly easily absorbed into the grandeur of this world.

On the 60th birthday of patriarch, Helge (Adrian Mulraney), his family find themselves reunited in his grand home for the first time since the evident suicide of one of his daughters, Linda. The opening scene begins with valets rushing about in preparation for a family feast, and it is quickly established that the arrival of one of Helge’s sons, Michael (producer Michael Mack), is unwelcome. Michael is flanked by his beautiful wife Mette (Hester Van Der Vyver) and their young daughter (Isobel Henry), and quickly establishes himself as a brute without cause. Greeted by Linda’s living twin, Christian (Mark Yeates), it is apparent that the siblings are of a starkly contrasting disposition. After the arrival of middle sister Helene (Aimee Sanderson), it is obvious Christian is favoured by his father above the others, but it is soon revealed over the course of the dinner, that it came with a dark and harrowing price.

Grappling with tragi-comedy is nothing new for Director Jennifer Sarah Dean, an award winning writer and theatre director, and her capacity to direct thoroughly entertaining theatre has become her trademark. Her direction here is excellent in her use of space, and the effortless interactions between the cast as they fill up the space, each living out their own experience of the evening’s events. I found the ebbs and flows of the quiet reserve of the dining table marvellously contrasted with the sudden ruptures in the peace. It feels utterly real for the audience, who are spectators to the disintegration of the family, and all the embarrassment and cruelty that it entails.

Overall the cast are excellent. Yeates’ Christian is quiet and subtle and all at once burning with what he wants to reveal. This contrasts so well with the stern and unrelenting performance of Mulraney as the patriarch. At first far too shrill and false, Sanderson’s Helene is soon revealed like her brother Michael to be crushed under the weight of their parents’ gaze, and the moment where she reads Linda’s letter to the dinner table was quietly poignant and heartbreaking. Tori McCann’s Pia, a maid to the family, and lover of Christian, is excellent in her supporting role, anchoring the indifference of the family with her genuine care. The remainder of the supporting cast offer great humour, including Richard Moss as the drunken and forgetful Grandfather, Jonathan Peck as Helmut, the wannabe son of Helge, Tref Gare as Poul, who mingles depressive and joker expertly, Victory Ndukwe as Helene’s boyfriend Gbatokai, who stirs the racist ugliness of his lover’s clan, and Liam Seymour as Kim the chef, who urges Christian on in his battle for transparency.

Despite the dark and murky waters Festen journeys through, its ending leaves a feeling of emptiness, that nothing was truly achieved by all the truths it reveals about the humanity of its characters. In the effort not to reveal the ending, I felt that the family sitting for breakfast the following morning after the night’s events was not so much an exercise in healing, but rather the final nail in the coffin of the burial of the truth. While the truth is acknowledged, this cold family do what only feels natural to them – to forget. They forget the abuses, the easy racism, sexism and classicism, and carry on. In this way, Eldridge’s play is a critique of this particular kind of family. They are satirised and both admired and derided by viewers, but we all secretly love the dinner parties and the gowns, no matter how rotten the interior.

Overall, Play Dead Theatre’s Festen is an admirable effort of a production – however I can’t shake off the feeling of hollowness… perhaps that’s just how good it is.

Malthouse Theatre presents Brothers Wreck

Jada Alberts is an exceptional writer and member of the creative community. Her first community, as an Indigenous Australian, is that of her family, and her family have lived and breathed realities that were not their choice to create. So Alberts creates, and as a storyteller she can take the tragedy of losing a loved one and make it a powerful conversation about grief. For a first foray into the world of playwriting, Alberts’ Brothers Wreck is an aching and loving work, despite its shroud of suffering.

Jada’s grief for those she’s lost and the lives of her people runs deep, and Brothers Wreck is a potent “love letter” to her own family. In Brothers Wreck, a family must manage their loved one coping with the aftermath of a suicide. With an existing high rate in young male suicides, Indigenous Australian men are at an even greater risk. From the biting account of his every day roadblocks, Ruben (Dion Williams) recounts his frustrations with the world to the Court-appointed counsellor, David (Trevor Jamieson). Ruben’s anger is palpable, and no reason will quench the deep sense of injustice he feels towards his world. Fiercely protective of his family, we learn that he was unable to protect his friend and cousin, the unseen Joe, from himself.

Ruben’s struggle reaches a fever pitch with the terminal illness of his mother, and the arrival of his aunt (Lisa Flanagan), an uncompromising powerhouse of a woman who refuses to give up on him. In truth, none of those around Ruben, including his sister (Leonie Whyman), and cousin (Nelson Baker), will give up on him. Confronted once again with the gloom of death, Ruben’s nightly visitations to the past deepen his addictions and sense of gloom.

The oppressive heat and thunderous downpours of Darwin serve as a brutal backdrop to this family’s saga. With harrowing recollections of the past, including a haunting account of death, Lisa Flanagan’s performance as Ruben’s aunt is the absolute standout in this production. Her arrival upon her family brings the storms, and the opportunity for healing. Supported by a stunning cast, Alberts directs a deeply moving performance literally saturated with rain and feeling.

Images by Tim Grey

Dale Ferguson’s staging becomes another character in this production, as the stage feels like a glib prison, with doorways made of metal-screen netting, and drains to collect the water that intrudes upon the stage. It’s a fantastically considered set: its prison-like qualities a reminder of the excessive incarceration of members of the Indigenous community, and the sense of hopelessness and poverty that pervade the characters’ lives.

Despite the focus on mental health and death, Brothers Wreck is a hopeful, often funny, and poignant play about a family and its refusal to collapse in the face of hardship. Momentarily uplifted by this warmth, I am reminded that family cannot be the only hope for a community, there is so much more work needed to bridge the almost insurmountable gap between Indigenous Australians and the rest of the nation.

Alberts’ work is an achievement of storytelling, and I hope to see more of her writing in the future.

MICF presents Sketch Me Like One of Your French Girls

Enter the mad, mad world of David Massingham

Image by Kris Anderson

David Massingham is a one-man show of wonder, and he takes you and your fellow audience on an adventure, and one that requires you to become a part of the act. Now, that isn’t exactly everyone’s taste, but I can assure you that even the wallflowers of the audience had smiles bursting at the seams as Massingham drew them into his mad, mad world.

Set in a gorgeous and intimate room in Tasma Terrace, one really feels like they’re in a boudoir being sketched by an eccentric. With artful use of voice over, and a fantastic set of drawings to accompany his sketches, Sketch Me is an utterly spirited and innovative sketch show. Massingham’s marvellous embodiment of a multitude of characters, and brilliant knack for unique sketch makes this a highly enjoyable show for this year’s Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

Massingham is kind of a big deal already in comedy circles, he’s a state finalist for Raw Comedy Queensland (where he hails from), is a member of The Sexy Detectives, and has been running shows since 2015 for the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. He swims in his material, and as a comedic improv master, he’s not afraid of his audience, but rather harnesses the audience’s power to his bidding. This particular quality features frequently in his sketches, where he anticipates audience avoidance, and instead turns it into participation. I won’t let on how he does this, but at one point he uses his sketchpad.

Within a series of sketches, some are recurring, and honestly garner the most laughs. I had a perpetual smile on my face, teeth ready for the next toothy laugh. The audience became Massingham’s co-conspirators in the humour on show, and it takes a truly talented performer and sketch writer to harness us all on stage with him. This is what really drives the success of Sketch Me, between the clever plots and puns, Massingham challenges his audience through breaking – no, smashing – through the fourth wall to deliver comedy gold.

David Massingham is a rising star, and I am genuinely excited to see what he sketches next.

La Mama presents TO LONELY WITH LOVE

Director and Performer, Jennifer Monk, works towards unpacking the art and power of letter writing in To Lonely, with Love. It’s a beautiful concept – the idea that letter writing can transcend our circumstances offering connection to someone who can be so far away from our reality, or so withdrawn from their own present.

I found Monk’s thoughts on letter writing poignant, particularly as she found connection with a loved one behind prison walls through writing letters. As an avid letter writer myself, I am converted to the powers of the written word and how humbling and truly meaningful it is to write and receive it. To Lonely, with Love does a commendable job of extracting its powers, even in the short space of an hour, in such an intimate space of La Mama.

Performed by Lisa Dallinger and Monk herself, they use a stylised humour to fuss about the stage as postmasters, reading letters and voicing the trivialities and romantic longings of the letters that reveal people and worlds upon the sheets of paper. Both Dallinger and Monk are strong comedically, and this softens the intensity of the subject matter in a way that prevents it from becoming indulgent. However, at times I wanted less shifting set pieces and comedy, and a moodier set to compliment the content.

The piece shifts in and out of characters and time, where prison inmate Roger ‘Rog’, becomes an unlikely pen pal to a miserable, molested housewife, Samantha ‘Sam’, who seeks to find some form of escapism despite her stoic frailty. The roles swap, as do the costumes, and with time, as one adjusts to a life within prison, the other feels even more imprisoned in her existing life. This juxtaposition is a solid way of dealing with the power of connection that can be established between people who write letters to one another. Famously, many prison inmates have found solace, and even relationships with those who write letters to them, so strong is the bond.

Despite strong performances, To Lonely, with Love felt like a work in progress. Conceptually, it is a fantastic piece. I hope in time it will gather strength and continue to explore its execution.