The Wonderful Spiegeltent presents SCOTCH & SODA

The Wonderland Spiegeltent’s Scotch & Soda is a riot of mad-hatter-esque lunacy and junkyard jazz. It’s definitely more than a little something, something, and encapsulates the grassroots of carnival whilst injecting that dirty, depression-era feel.

Elaborate costumes and performances litter the circular stage and one genius act after other flows, much like the scotch and soda. Having witnessed several other circus performances as of late, what sets Scotch & Soda apart is the style and theatrics presented to us. It’s rambunctious, wild and pretty much guaranteed to have audience members gasping and laughing at the same time.

We are presented with a diverse range of acts which twist the classics. Balancing at obscene heights on even more obscene objects, the performers often use one another with assured physicality to push the limits of their bodies and our racing hearts. Definite highlights include watching a ‘drunken’ tango of sorts between performers turn hilariously violent, and one performer dangle and contort himself precariously over a toilet with mad abandon.

There is however the occasional slip, but I expect this is the usual business of opening night. Hopefully the drum kit will not tumble off stage! Yet given the highly physical and wild quality of Scotch & Soda, there is the expected element of uncertainty.

Setting the night further alight is the incorporation of the Uncanny Carnival Band, which features some of Sydney’s best jazz musicians. The band were evidently enjoying themselves as part of the night’s theatrics, and at one point we were treated to a sax solo whilst a performer spun the musician in circular motions, only adding to the absurd wonder of it all. Scotch & Sodacertainly gave every band member a chance to shine, whether it was a drum or sax solo, and a hilarious incorporation of the cellist who at one point walked down the aisle with his curvaceous instrument.

Scotch & Soda is not your average fun night out, but I guarantee you will enjoy every minute of it as you are lured into a world of carnival and mayhem.

Melbourne Festival 2016: OUR LADIES OF PERPETUAL SUCCOUR

The internationally renowned National Theatre of Scotland has indeed graced our good Melbourne Festival this year with a riotously funny, endearing and poignant show concerning the misdemeanors of Scotland’s wildest Catholic schoolgirls.

On a journey to Edinburgh for a choral competition, our girls are planning to booze, cruise and find a worthy specimen for their hormone-driven desires. Initially, their voices sing out unaccompanied to Felix Mendelssohn’s Lift Thine Eyes, but it’s a momentary holy light before the girls embark onto far wilder renditions of Jeff Lynne’s Don’t Bring Me Down and disco classic Shine a Little Love. The cast are all talented sopranos, and they heartily reimagine 70s rock and disco classics as they travel between dive bars and blow up a drug dealer’s shack with fireworks. They manage to do their mischief all I was expecting St Trinians, but instead I was treated to something so much better. A musical theatre lover I am not, but Lee Hall’s adaptation of Alan Warner’s Our Ladies of Perpetual Succour may have cured me.the while under the watchful gaze of a Virgin Mary statue.

There is heart to this production. The desire to rise up and beyond their incestuous poverty is an ever-present theme. One character, Orla (Joanne McGuinness), a cancer sufferer and virgin until further notice, peers across the world with the gentle eyes of someone who may soon leave it. Kay (Karen Fishwick) is the local doctor’s daughter, and a university hopeful whose momentary lapse into recklessness could change her life forever.

Our Ladies of Perpetual Succour feels like any wild party – there are moments of pure inclusive ecstasy, and moments of poignant truths. Vicky Featherstone has directed a fluid and thoroughly engaging production to rival anything we’ve seen on the Melbourne musical stages. Featherstone’s cast gel so effortlessly it feels like these girls have known one another forever. The cast must be commended on their highly physical performances, and a further accolade must be given to choreographer, Imogen Knight, for their well-crafted movement.

Overall, the entire production team have created a show that captivated and sent their audience into fits of laughter. A standing ovation was what they received for their efforts, and I expect Melbourne will be delighted to see the National Theatre of Scotland return next year.

Melbourne Fringe 2016: BETWEEN TWO LINES

“Fiction and poetry are doses, medicines…” – Jeanette Winterson

Image by Theresa Harrison Photography

I’m in a bathtub in a bookstore. I’m robed, sipping a blossoming tea, and being read to. The world outside bustles by, occasionally stopping to stare in wonder, but honestly, I’m already somewhere else. I’m on a different wavelength – a higher wavelength.

For the literary lover, the scent of the pages of a book is a gentle caress, speaking of untold and sometimes familiar places. It’s the promise of another world that draws us in, a chance to escape our chaotic reality.

Anna Nalpantidis, creator of award-winning live-art production, The Ministry, has brought us something exceptional for this year’s Melbourne Fringe Festival. Between Two Lines was inspired by Nalpantidis’ interest in biblio-therapy. A visit to Melbourne’s ‘School of Life’ ignited her interest in what the Greeks referred to as the ‘House of Healing for the Soul’. Literary healing.

Nalpantidis’ installation design is whimsical and breathtaking. With the help of illustrator, Astrid Mulder, and the astonishing gentleness of ‘therapist’, Elizabeth Brennan, these collaborators have created in Nalpantidis’ words, a “very intimate, indulgent and rejuvenating experience”.

So how does the magic unfold?

You will don a soft white robe, you will relinquish your possessions (momentarily), and you will fill out a short questionnaire that gauges your emotional state. Moments after you’ve read excerpts of literature, Brennan emerges from the veiled white world to take you in for your session.

Into the golden tub I climb, encased in soft, pillowy materials as a voiceless Brennan guides my senses to a tea of my choosing (chrysanthemum in my case). Once in my heavenly cocoon, Brennan reads to me. What she reads shall remain our secret…

My experience was like nothing I’ve ever had. It was as if Between Two Lines gently took my hand and guided me to the quieter part of my mind. Leaving Embiggen Books, I walked the mad cityscape like I was not of this world. I was on different terrain; tranquillity encased my whole being for what felt like a walk through the clouds.

Nalpantidis tells me that the responses of participants and spectators who look through the window are “profound”. Experiences can be quite emotional for some participants, and incidences of spontaneity are frequent, including people stopping their car to tap on the window and look within.

Between Two Lines stops traffic, literally. It pauses the participant’s life, suspending them in an ethereal state above the living world.

If you want to have a positive and enlightening experience, then I urge you to walk up Little Lonsdale to Embiggen Books until October 1, and experience this truly inspired and unique performance.

My only wish? That Nalpantidis and her team could indulge me again.

Melbourne Fringe 2016: FALLING APPLES

The concept of Lene Therese Teigan’s Falling Apples is vast and intimate – a Chekhovian-inspired world where the characters’ lives collide in uncertain times.

Image by Tommy Holt of T6 Photography

As a fan of Chekhov’s work and Peta Hanrahan’s wonderful direction of A Room of One’s Own earlier this year, I had high hopes for this production presented by La Mama and Verve studios as part of the 2016 Melbourne Fringe Festival, but it was ultimately a cacophony of words, ideas and vibrations.

The Kensington Town Hall is undoubtedly a beautiful place to perform a production. The echo within the large chamber provided a beautiful and haunting introduction as the voices of the performers hummed a suitably melancholy sound – this is Chekhovian terrain after all.

The echo, however, did not bode well for the performers and their interactions. Unless the audience was seated directly opposite the vignette, much of the dialogue was lost within the space. Due to the length of the performance space, the audience was seated along some distance, exacerbating this issue. This had the unfortunate affect of alienating the stories before us. I expect a better choice of space or seating arrangement would have prevented this.

I appreciated the concept of the characters constantly moving within the space as one scene was explored. Undoubtedly the message is clear – we cross paths with other histories every day, and occasionally collide. On this occasion it was further distracting from the already difficult-to-follow dialogue of the active scene within the work.

There were silver linings of strong performances from some members of the cast, particularly Elizabeth Huey-Williams as the troubled sister, and Marissa O’Reilly as the foreign lover. Huey-Williams and O’Reilly gave a lovely depth to their performancesthat managed to pierce through the chaos surrounding them. Unfortunately, some of the performances were unconvincing and I do not doubt that staging issues contributed.

Ultimately this premiere work was conceptually strong, but weak in execution.

The Butterfly Club presents THE LEAH GOLDBERG VARIATIONS

Few Australian audiences would be familiar with Leah Goldbergand her marvellous creative life.

For those who don’t know, Goldberg was one of Israel’s great poets, and the first woman to receive the coveted Israel Prize for literature.  It was only after receiving a PhD from the Universities of Berlin and Bonn that she travelled to Palestine and settled in a bustling Tel Aviv to find a home amongst the cafés and poets of her time.

Goldberg’s fluency in multiple languages and beautiful prose solidified her as an extraordinary woman. Unsurprisingly, Goldberg would be a compelling subject for collaborators Deborah Leiser-Moore and Adi Sappir, who come together in The Leah Goldberg Variations to bring us storytelling, poetry and music.

Cellist Sappir brings to life the tragedies and rhythm of Goldberg’s life, immersing her audience in the melodies of the East with her beautiful Hebrew vocals and cello. There was richness to Sappir’s delivery that would strongly appeal to Israeli expats and appreciators of the Jewish cultural heritage. As someone who has travelled to Israel, I felt a profound sense of longing for the country as footage is shown of the old bus route Goldberg took between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.

Through reading her diaries, and reciting her poetry, Sappir and Leiser-Moore perform a lovely tribute to Goldberg’s legacy. It’s a worthy story – that is for certain.

There are however some teething issues in this first full-length collaboration between Sappir and Leiser-Moore. At times segments of the work are disjointed and difficult to follow. Both performers are stylistically differing, and occasionally there is no real cohesion between the two. In one moment we are drawn into the mysticism of Goldberg’s life through music and spoken poetry, and then jolted by short bursts of dialogue that detract from the immersive quality of the work.

The Leah Goldberg Variations is beautiful conceptually, but in presentation it will require further tenderness and care to bring it to the rounded life Goldberg’s story deserves. It was performed at The Butterfly Club from September 8th-11th, 2016 and is well-worthy of future seasons.

Anthony Weigh's EDWARD II

For all the chaos of Christopher Marlowe’s brief life, I’m sure he would have sat in the Merlyn Theatre last night with a wicked smile on his face to see the tender chaos Matthew Lutton and his team resurrected.

But let’s be honest, with Anthony Weigh’s writing and Marg Horwell’s impressive set design, this work is a beast of its own glory.

The play is broken into the fragments of the artefacts the boy prince (Julian Mineo/Nicholas Ross) inspects from his father’s reign. The noble handle of a sword and handkerchief descends to a bag of faeces left at the palace gates. The frames of the scenes marked by the flint and steel of the lighter, signify the brief candle of these moments leading towards Edward II’s fall.

Edward II is a museum to the hypocrisy of the people’s love for their monarch. It’s a cold world, but despite the blood and pulpof the people within it, at the core of this rotten apple of yet another kingdom, is the most tender love story between two men I have ever witnessed on stage. Johnny Carr (Ned) and Paul Ashcroft (Piers) capture the heady, shaking, vulnerability of the impossible-to-bottle kind of love. Their energy was marvellous on stage.

Ned’s brutality and unpredictability at first drove this production, but even the bubbling inner-workings of an unstable princecould not quash the ambitions of the likes of Mortimer, played with mastery by Marco Chiappi. When Chiappi got going on Weigh’s words, it became Mortimer I. For all the sweat and passion of Carr and Ashcroft, Chiappi’s delivery drew the masses into the palm of his hand – audience and peasant alike. Even as Mortimer lulled a sensually delusional Ned towards death, we could not help but accept the sensibility of this decision. Because tomorrow, we will have another king.

The woman’s role in Edward II is to nurture the next king, but Sib (Belinda McClory) laments the loss of her potential in this world. Although Sib plays the role of the queen-to-be, there is ambition pulsing through her sinewy body for a surge of control. McClory’s voice is hollow and powerful as she pushes her lover aside and walks with purpose across the stage. But at the close of this play, she’s exhausted, calling out, unanswered, into the kingdom she birthed but could not rein.

The Malthouse Theatre has always been the Marlowe-esque bad boy of the Melbourne theatre world, challenging the dimensions of theatre and immersing its audiences in treacherous and thought-provoking terrain. This one such terrain was bold, decadent and ultimately heartbreaking.

Malthouse Theatre until August 21

Zoey Dawson's CONVICTION

Welcome to the prolonged anxiety attack.

Image taken with permission from Theatre Press

We were submerged into a seemingly soothing world of sound design maverick, James Paul. Distant shores ebbed and flowed into the subconscious and conscious workings of playwright Zoey Dawson. Inane, witty and self-indulgent thoughts grabbed us and made us laugh, and sometimes think a little too hard about ourselves. But that was Dawson’s point. Our own private narrative is both universal and compelling, and Dawson understands this, even if it ticks some theatre-goers off.

Declan Greene’s assured direction makes its masterful entrance as our actors form a tableau from a bygone era. The stream of consciousness that we found ourselves immersed in earlier is being spoken by our now shifting tableau. It’s a gorgeous beginning, and I feel safe in this space, which will become a central feature of what the Dawson/Greene team are going to undo.

And undo it they will.

Conviction goes House on the Prairie to Lord of the Flies in a descent one does not see coming. With every unhappy scene, it is reworked again, and again, just as its playwright tears the pages of their work away. You can almost feel the playwright’s desperation as historical inconsistencies litter the work, until our convict-cum-lady, Lillian (Ruby Hughes), is smoking out of a crack pipe and unravelling both out of character and out of era. The playwright has clearly become bored with the ‘great play’ and returns to a reality more familiar.

The cast is excellent – but it is our leading ladies who really stand out. Hughes dominates in her performance as the ‘survivor’ in a world of her own making, and Caroline Lee’s timing as a performer is effortless. Greene has directed his cast with style – transitioning them with ease from one dimension to the next. It’s a testament to this creative team’s skill that as an audience we take this wild and weird journey with them.

The only concern for this work is its exclusivity. Dawson may find it difficult to reimagine this work in another city. The references to Melbourne and the very specific Melbourne condition are hard to unravel. Dawson’s story resonated with me, but I wonder, outside of the theatre-loving privilege, how will outsiders connect? Dawson has taken on a mouthful in Conviction, but she still artfully weaves historical and feminist inconsistencies into her work in a way that is charming, jarring and familiar.  She reconfigures the past, as our stock white colonialists ask a passing native Australian to tell her story. The world stops for a moment, blacked out and blank, as this story was not Dawson’s to tell. Dawson reminds us that we write stories about our own experiences because they are authentic. It’s also a brazen up-yours to our great nation’s denial of a stolen history. But this is Dawson’s experience, and she manages to intersect her private narrative with a greater narrative about our fear of not being enough, and unworthy of telling our tale.

This isn’t a story about convicts – as I expect you’ve gathered by now. It’s a story about convicting ourselves to a life of self-doubt and anxiety for failing to have the conviction to tell our story.

You can join the stream of consciousness from the 27 July to the 6 August, Wednesday – Sunday at 7:30pm, Northcote Town Hall.

FLASH by Francis Grin

Image by Owl & Cat Theatre

You will flinch in Flash.

You will be unnerved, and that’s what Dutch playwright, and London-hailing Francis Grin, wants you to feel.

This play has come a long way from across the sea, but its resonance with youth shedding the skin of its innocence too soon resounds at a universal level.

The hours on the clock eerily inch back in time as we watch a group of teenagers initiate a naïve Laura (Casey Bohan) into their unflinching and remorseless world of non-consensual sex. Each tries to outdo the other in the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ stakes, and everyone loses in this soulless game.

Does it sound familiar?

Grin grew up within the affluent and private community of Sao Paulo, which fuelled both claustrophobia and feelings of invincibility in its resident youth. Although the play makes limited references to this world to its detriment, the sense of security one expects in the affluent family home does not extend to the minds of the youth who exact a cruel assault on their peers.

Carrie (Ruby Duncan), a veteran of the sticky fingers of entitled boyhood in the likes of Christian (Dominic Weintraub), carries a graceful numbness of the ‘cool girl’. The flicker of her evocative gaze betrays her empty accusations of what has been done to her as it pins its perpetrator on the move to his next victim. The strength of Duncan’s quiet performance drives the play, and this is beautifully juxtaposed with the spirited and sinister charm of Weintraub. The actors are incredibly competent. Quite frankly there was not a moment in which I felt that I was in a theatre. I felt deeply uncomfortable, and not just by the disturbing descent into understanding the events of these youth’s evening, but by the naturalistic performances that rendered the audience as voyeurs.

While director Carl Whiteside has piloted assured performances from most of his actors, there is a striking disconnect between the action of that night and the sequences between young Christian and what we are left to believe is an older, subconscious Christian (Brett Fairbairn). Unfortunately, the writing alienates and confuses audiences in these sequences, and the direction does little to navigate audiences to its depths.

Sonja Mounsey’s set design switches between the innocent bedroom of a teenage girl to the red paper-cup-strewn outdoor dining table where much of the emotional and physical violence is inflicted on its characters. The banality of the outdoor-area drinking session and the innocence of the bedroom covered with homework perfectly showcases how familiar places can become the perfect stage for trauma. And that is the nature of assault. It’s not always happening down the dark alleyway, but in the backyards of our neighbours and friends, and in the bedrooms where we rest our heads.

This is certainly a challenging work presented by the Owl & Cat Theatre, but the power of its message will have its audience thinking about it for some time after they leave the theatre.

You can catch Flash from 8pm Tuesday 12th to Friday 15th of July at the Owl & Cat Theatre, 34 Swan St, Cremorne.