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writing can transcend our circumstances offering connection to someone who can be so far away from our reality, or so withdrawn from their own present.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.

Melbourne Shakespeare Co presents Twelfth Night

With a previous season of Much Ado About Nothing in the gorgeous St Kilda Botanical Gardens at the beginning of summer 2017, it is lovely to see the troupe take their performance to Prahran’s equally stunning Victoria Gardens. Despite a little bit of frying by Melbourne’s sun, the performers managed to not just survive their high energy show in the heat, they honestly thrived.

The ensemble brings us one of Shakespeare’s most beloved comedies, Twelfth Night, in another superbly costumed production. The production is clearly Euro-folk inspired, with musical numbers featuring knee-slapping beats with violin and accordion playing for added authenticity. So much of the enjoyment of Shakespeare’s comedies rests on the abilities of the cast. Director Jennifer Sarah Dean rallies around her some serious talent, and its great to see her cast and crew continue to return from production to production.

Rhiannon Irving continues to deliver fantastically inspired costuming, on this occasion with plenty of petticoats, corsets and lacy veils. It perfectly marries the eccentricities and slapstick nature of the play, and the actors certainly use the costumes to their advantage.

Twelfth Night is a shipwreck tale of which the lovers are star crossed through mistaken identity. There are remnants of Romeo & Juliet, if you consider a young man of noble birth loving a woman who does not return his love, only to be surprised by an unexpected passion. Of course, this is a comedy, and no cases of mistaken identity and devilish subplots result in any deaths.

Vocally Nicola Bowman is a knock out, and serenades as Feste with charm and cheek. Iopu Auva’a (Duke Orsino) and Saxon Gray (Sebastian) do credit to their roles with their strong vocals. I was particularly impressed with the show’s schemers, namely Annabelle Tudor’s Maria, Peter Tedford’s Sir Toby, Mitch Ralston’s Sir Andrew and Bridget Sweeney’s Fabian. So much of the plot comes second to the antics of this group; Tudor is a strong and instinctive performer, and uses her physicality and voice to great effect. Maria is an excellent contrast to her highly-strung lady, Olivia, who is played by Jacqueline Whiting in such a way that you’d think she was born to play this role.

An absolute stand out was Johnathan Peck’s Malvolio, a character which is easy to scorn, but which Peck turns into a laugh-out-loud spectacle. Peck’s physicality and comic timing have been evident from the Company’s previous productions but here he completely reigns.

I’ve come to expect high quality laughs from the Melbourne Shakespeare Company, and they certainly deliver in terms of their cast’s excellent sense of comedic timing and acting abilities. The Company always conveys a sense of unity and genuine joy in the work they do, which is no different on this occasion. The season was unfortunately cut two weeks short due to a resident’s complaints, and I genuinely hope the wonderful Company pushes past this misfortune and returns with another high-quality work.

Images by Burke Photography

Malthouse Presents Picnic at Hanging Rock

The disappearance of the turn-of-the-century darlings in Victoria’s Macedon Ranges has all the evocative appeal of a timeless classic: young school girls in their bloom disappearing into the harrowing Australian bush in a southern gothic fever dream.

As a young child, I shivered as I saw the great mass of Hanging Rock, where like many Australians I fell for the alluring tale of the disappearance of the women. When Joan Lindsay wrote the 1967 classic, Picnic at Hanging Rock, I wonder if she realised that audiences would come in droves to take a step closer to the mystery that never really was. Or was it? That is the question that rises in Lindsay’s readers and viewers of Tom Wright’s adaptation for stage.

Picnic at Hanging Rock is not the first tale to evoke the power of Australia’s sublime landscape, however its unfurling secrets of untamed nature in the face of impressionable young women barely buckled to their schooling is utterly sensual and unsettling.

Director Matthew Lutton has realised his best work in this timely February production of Picnic at Hanging Rock. Lutton’s cast is par excellence: Harriet Gordon-Anderson, Arielle Gray, Amber McMahon, Elizabeth Nabben and Nikki Shiels use their wiles and voices to such evocative effect that their words and physicality have the power to send the audience leaping out of their seats. This production hoists Lindsay’s language into haunting dramatic storytelling in such a way that I believe I am there with the girls, as the sun sets and the white of their dresses disappear into the rock forever.

Lutton hammers the horror to great effect, as the dark stage bares only an ominous mass of twigs and wood that is suspended above. The cast appear suddenly out of the black, and in the midst of this nothingness, the sounds of nature, women humming and discorded effects play out. A perfect storm strikes the stage by lighting design master, Paul Jackson, sound designer J. David Franzke, and composer Ash Gibson Greig.

Picnic at Hanging Rock is a full-senses feast, and I am both terrified and drawn to the nightmare as it plays out before us. There are ample occasions of wit and excellent delivery from all performers, and Nabben’s turn as Mrs Appleyard is subtle and breathtaking, particularly in her last moments as a failed schoolmistress.

The tightly laced tension of teatime between Irma (Shiels) and Michael (McMahon) after the events on that Valentines Day at Hanging Rock, highlight the absurdity of the excessively civilised in the wake of traumatic events. This theme continues until there is no denying the significance of the schoolgirls’ disappearance and what that means for a society colonising an unfamiliar and dangerous landscape.

If you were fortunate enough to acquire tickets for Picnic at Hanging Rock, you will not be disappointed. The remainder of the run has sold out, and fittingly winds itself up on Valentines Day.

Arts Centre presents NASSIM

Playwright Nassim Soleimanpour returns with NASSIM after the very successful run of White Rabbit Red Rabbit series, which globally had some exceptional actors take a leap of faith without rehearsal to perform before an audience alone. Translated to 25 languages, White Rabbit Red Rabbit had a unifying effect on all who embraced the performance, whether as the audience or the actor. NASSIM has a similarly unifying effect, and due to the nature of the performance, I cannot reveal the contents of the piece, but I can unpack its meaning and impact for those like myself who experienced it.

In this Melbourne run at Arts Centre taking place over 5 nights, a new actor will appear each show to perform Soleimanpour’s piece. The play straddles between the hype of its mystery and the pure communal joy for those who find themselves connecting with it. I myself did not know what to expect, other than the fact that an accomplished Australian actress, Alison Bell, would be arriving on stage on this particular evening without prior reading of the script, or a rehearsal. That in itself requires enormous trust between actor and audience. The audience must come armed with openness and faith in the actor, and the actor in turn must submit themselves to the experience in a way that strips them bare of ego or expectation – the only currency here is trust.

Language is the central feature of the piece, and its power to alienate and bring people together is what drives NASSIM. So much of what informs the piece is Soleimanpour as its writer; a man once forbidden from leaving his home country of Iran sets his writing free across the globe. A theme that pervades the piece is the need to connect across continent and time to a sense of place and home. Soleimanpour evokes memories within us all, memories that most of us share in common, no matter our origin.

NASSIM is heart-warming and unexpected. Bell herself was frequently blushing with emotions ranging from joy to amusement. Bell brought a playfulness and candour that suited the piece perfectly, and the audience went on the journey with her which provided a communal and fun-loving energy in the theatre. When the performance was over, my friend and I turned to each other brimming with something completely positive.

NASSIM is such a choice way of taking the novelty of first greetings and turning them into a bonding experience for audience, actor and playwright alike. I have no doubt that the coming performances will have a similar impact on their audience.

Melbourne Shakespeare Co presents MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Delivering yet another flamboyant jewel to the Shakespearean scene this summer, Melbourne Shakespeare Company (MSC) returns with Much Ado About Nothing.

MSC manages to hook its audiences with its flair for performing some of the great comedies of Bill Shakespeare in a way that is totally enjoyable and easily accessible by audiences of today. So much of the work comes together due to its excellent direction from Jennifer Sarah Dean and her talented crew and ensemble cast.

The start of summer in Melbourne delivered some intense rainfall, and set in the beautiful rose garden of the St Kilda Botanic Gardens, the cast of Much Ado played on. We were thankfully housed under a marquee, but the cast’s professionalism through the occasional lashings of rain was commendable. With white frocks and florals a-plenty, the production was clearly set for warm days and balmy evenings. The use of the rose garden was artful for this production, and the creative use of space in the usual MSC style, was exceptional.

Much Ado is one of the more popular Shakespearean comedies, where the arrows and slings between leads Beatrice and Benedick, make for some enjoyable viewing. If you can get past the cruelty of Claudio’s treatment of Hero, it makes for a charmingly feather-light play.

Leading as Beatrice, Annabelle Tudor embodied the character’s classic snarky attitude and emotional range with humorous flair and passion. Tudor makes an excellent Beatrice, and her understanding of physical comedy (like much of the cast) is quality. As Beatrice’s counterpart Benedick, Fabio Motta gives a charming and delightfully warm performance, which is unusual for the Benedicks of productions past who often resort to snideness and arrogance to portray the character. The pair are supported by a fantastic cast, who perform in lively synchronicity with one another. Madeleine Mason made for a sweet Hero, the cool hippy vibe of the Friar played by Hunter Perske added another dimension to this enjoyable production, and everyone equally jumped in for solid performances and fun. May Jasper and Jonathan Peck were a satisfyingly slapstick pair as Dogberry and Verges, and Khisraw Jones-Shukoor was the definition of disco-sleaze as Don Pedro.

The musical element of this MSC performance was not the strongest, even where it definitely added to the comedy. Musical director Ben Adams, who directed an astonishingly fun and talented a cappella group in The Comedy of Errors in March this year, couldn’t quite get the performers to hit that mark this time with the evident exceptions of the delightful Nicola Bowman(Margaret) and Motta. The enthusiasm was there, but the quality of the musical talent did not match the excellent quality of the acting on this occasion.

A real highlight is Rhiannon Irving’s imaginative costume design, which once again adds a great deal to the delight of the performance. The choice of elegant white was utterly appropriate for the outdoor setting in summer, special mention must be made of the fascinating fascinators fashioned from CD’s, cassette tapes, and heat-affected records, and the consideration that went into Don Pedro’s flashing headgear was noted and greatly appreciated.

Despite the rain I really enjoyed myself, and have no doubt MSC’s future productions will continue to deliver.

La Mama presents THE CHAIRS

Eugène Ionesco was a notable writer in the French avant-garde and absurdist theatre, and a theatre-maker that found art in considering the futility of man. Like many of his contemporaries, Ionesco was the product of a world of wars and ideas. The Chairs is one of Ionesco’s earliest major works, and perhaps the play that depicts humanity’s futility and absurdity at its finest.

The premise follows an old man and woman, currently isolated from the rest of society, preparing to entertain a hoard of guests for the old man’s message to the world. The sea surrounds the bored pair as they plod through their lives, reliving the excitement of stories already told and vistas already explored. The old woman serves as the vessel from which the man relays his moments of glory (or the moments of glory he could have had), while the old man unsteadily looks upon the world from his ladder, eyeing the boats that pass them in the distance – a promise of life elsewhere. The claustrophobia in Ionesco’s language is palpable – the pauses that linger and the poignant sense that these two characters live within one another and no where else.

Award-winning writer and artistic director Jenny Kemp directs this La Mama production, bringing to secluded life the void of the old man (Robert Meldrum) and the old woman (Jillian Murray). The performance space of the La Mama theatre enhances the stifling intimacy of the writing and characters, and the adroit lighting design (Rachel Burke) and sound design (Russell Goldsmith) heighten this intense experience further.

The quality of the acting is excellent here: Meldrum and Murray inject so much energy into this production, and we utterly believe their characters’ profound desperation and manic highs and lows. The language of Ionesco is handled with real care and attention to detail; Kemp’s vision is clear and we as an audience feel crowded in by the invisible audience the play brings onto stage, culminating in the greatest chair pile-up I expect La Mama has ever seen.

This production is quite exhausting for the audience, but this was necessary given the content of the play. What starts as hopeful energy becomes devoured by the exasperation of the characters trying to bring their message to life and be seen and valued in their world. The arrival of the Emperor – another invisible force – brings the turning point upon which lives of the old couple have reached completion. There are comic moments in this journey, and there are universal truths about our existence worth contemplating during the course of the play.

Kemp’s The Chairs is impressively successful in mastering what it wants on stage, but whether every audience can patiently journey with the characters of Ionesco’s play is another proverbial ladder to climb altogether.

Melbourne Fringe 2017: THE BIRTH OF THE UNICORN MERMAID

Ruby Hughes’ alte-ego Ophelia Sol has graced audiences since 2014’s FR!SK Festival. Hughes, a VCA theatre graduate, and recent Green-Room nominee for her performance in Zoey Dawson’s Conviction, is one very capable performer.

The outlandish persona of Ophelia Sol makes a glittery stand in this year’s one-woman-wonder of a show, The Birth of the Unicorn Mermaid. Performed in the depths of The Butterfly Club, the show finds a perfect home amongst the mirrors and dolls. Everything is pink – absolutely everything – from the pink zip-onesie, to the baby clothes assembled upon the washing line. Perfect domesticity with a touch of fabulosity – after all, Ophelia Sol only wheels and deals in fabulous ways.

And this is Hughes’ overarching point of concern. In the interests of making the perfect child, the pursuit of strange medicinals and even stranger eating habits (glitter for brunch anyone?) to foster the unnatural wonder of a unicorn mermaid, the show is a fantastic farce on motherhood and the wannabe status of ‘yummy mummy’. Ophelia directs her attentions to the audience as if they are old friends in her game of one-upmanship at her baby shower. This is an artful nod to the obsession of putting oneself on show for strangers, whether on Instagram, or to the women who cohabit parenting spaces without the least interest in having a real conversation about motherhood with one another. Everyone is perfect, no time for anything less.

The show then rises to a darker and more poignant place where the unicorn mermaid baby does not arrive in this world as Ophelia expected. The monologue delivered is a testament to the heartaches and triumphs of motherhood. We later meet unicorn mermaid baby as a furry adult (‘cause women have body hair if you weren’t following), and she struggles with her place in her world and the relationship with her mother. Will perfectionism take hold of her? Perhaps, we wonder, as we exit the theatre through a fabric vagina.

Hughes’ show is a laugh-out-loud delight with some fantastic lines, dance numbers and even some puppetry. It’s incredibly well put-together and thought-out, and a definite nod must therefore be made to Hughes’ dramaturges, Candace Miles and Anna Kennedy. The performances managed to make myself and my companion sit back and think about motherhood and the impact of post-modern life on this journey. Will I be instagramming my baby? Probably not, if I choose to grace this world with one. But that’s the beauty of it – it’s my choice.

Arena Theatre presents TRAPPER

Arena Theatre has given consistently challenging and engaging works of theatre aimed at their 5 to 25 year-old market since their inception in 1966. The theatre company has constantly kept the issues of interest to youth in the present day in their focus, but what is particularly fantastic about Arena is that the appeal of their work goes beyond the specific age groups for whom they create, appeasing teenagers and their parents alike – or just charming your average theatre-goer.

Their latest creation, Trapper, is a futuristic and visually stunning set created from giant sculptural machines that light up and engage with the performers and their bodies. Designed by co-creator Jolyon James, with sound design and composition by Ania Reynolds and lighting design by Paul Lim (Additive), the stage ebbs and flows with the performers in an extraordinary and exhilarating manner.

From a selection of writings, the performers deliver a series of stories and segments that concern everything from our engagement with technology to the vastness of our capabilities and failings. Under the direction of co-creator of Christian Leavesley, the integration of the ‘trapping’ surrounds integrates so well with the profound topics discussed, and it is the human capacity to continue to exist (despite what we create that can destroy and expand our existence) that forms the underlying theme to Trapper.

Cleverly, the production appeals to its younger audiences as it takes us into the digital everyday life of a teenager – but the wit and whimsy of youth isn’t so far from adult engagement, as we are all reminded of our digital addictions. Once the younger members in the audience are enthralled, the piece continues to ascend to loftier places, with segment by segment asking larger and larger questions, ultimately reaffirming every individual’s place in the chaos of the world around. Thus Trapper artfully touches on an expansive set of topics with humour and poignancy.

Trapper is a thoroughly ambitious project, but Arena and their capable performers (Rachel Perks, Hamish Irvine, Daniel Schlusser and Naomi Rukavina) deliver with total vitality. The season was short, but hopefully this will not be its only one, so when it returns, take along anyone and everyone – Trapper is a journey of delight.

Little Ones Theatre presents MERCILESS GODS

Little Ones Theatre manages to make me laugh at the grotesque and alluring once again in Merciless Gods. Whether it’s the description of a hardened criminal unpicking thorns from the tongue of a paedophile or the pungent growth spurt of a teenage boy, beautiful and ugly words cohabit so eloquently at the end of Don Giovannoni’s pen, the result of which is imagined onto the stage with feverish intensity by director Stephen Nicolazzo.

The scene is set early on as a gathering of hip university-educated 20-somethings pop pills and dive into their samosas before descending into the truly “bad” things they’ve done. A competition of sorts of the varying evils they’ve seen or committed. Merciless Gods is at its core a series of monologues and performances that capture Australia’s foreign identity and the universal identity of being human, even if it’s grotesque and sadistic. There is enormous vulnerability too in this production, as it lays itself bare to hard truths.

Eugyeene Teh’s costume and set design is a perfect mix of minimalist drama. We have red curtains and a catwalk of sorts for a stage to let the intense performances unfold before us. Intense is honestly an understatement, and I found myself really affected and mesmerised by the actors.

Peter Paltos delivered a monologue that really defined the night for me. As the criminal who commits an unforgivable crime in line with the rest of the merciless gods of the night, Paltos manages to describe with such lush expression the pity he experiences, and the violence of his actions. I am certain the audience had their eyes fixed on his sweat, spit and grit with wonder. Another notable series of performances by the mercurial Jennifer Vuletic really heightened the calibre of this production. Vuletic could inhabit the pious tragic figure of a woman speaking broken English and then swoop on stage in naked cruel glorywearing nothing but royal red robes to tear apart her feminist daughter (Brigid Gallacher).

Despite its darkness, there is a great deal of humour in Merciless Gods. Gallacher’s comic timing sent the audience into frequent bouts of laughter, even when she beautifully and breathlessly gazed upon her teenage son with love and disgust. Of course the humour delivered really emerges from Giovannoni’s writing which in its poetic and succinct quality captures what we thinkbut cannot articulate.

Audiences with softer stomachs and a penchant for political correctness may feel queasy at some of the language, so heed this warning. Merciless Gods is unapologetic in its content and brutality and I find it utterly appealing for this reason.

Malthouse Theatre presents REVOLT. SHE SAID. REVOLT AGAIN.

Alice Birch’s Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again. directed by Janice Muller is a perpetual play on words, and a play on what those words mean to us. It isn’t just a revolution within our society, but a collective ‘revolt’ at our own bodies, and at the male gaze for which women squirm under. Yes, it’s a raging, raging work. It probably needs to rage, because what Birch tells us is nothing new to a woman’s struggle within the constraints of her world, the sharp lines that fix her within it – whether that is her workplace, her lover’s place, her child’s place – or any place in which she exists.

Birch’s text takes us to many dimensions of existence – at first it’s the constructed box that sits on the stage, vignettes of conversations that throw sex, marriage and work upon its head – women asking to be utterly present in the acts society inflicts upon them. Marg Horwell’s set design is effective here, the sound even strains within the ‘four’ walls created. Soon enough, this world revolts upon itself and a woman (Sophie Ross) climbs out of the four walls to really talk about the things we don’t talk about – about the damage women inflict upon our bodies, in a beautiful and hideous memorandum of all our physical evils – to be endlessly sexually available.

For all the seriousness of the work, the audience laughs with tears in their eyes at some scenes, and sometimes we flinched away – we couldn’t look upon what was before us. I sat behind male audience members who I confess I enjoyed watching too throughout the piece; in context, I admit I was morbidly fascinated at how they would react. Of course they laughed when it was appropriate, and sometimes when it was totally inappropriate, because on some level it was surely uncomfortable for male viewers to see a woman getting angry or opening her body up with Birch’s visceral words – but I can tell you that looking around the room at the women was an different story. Many moments of the play were a bitter reminder, unravelling us at the seams.

The cast is five-strong (Belinda McClory, Elizabeth Esguerra, Ming-Zhu Hii, Gareth Reeves, and Ross). Each actor delivered their parts with total abandonment and intensity – it is an absolutely demanding show to watch, but also to act. The words are hard, and they’re almost too funny and also too damn real. You know Birch is onto something good when you physically react to the words.

For all its power, the total breakdown of the world presented to us loses shape as characters throw costumes on, haphazardly run about, throw themselves on stage, shake, spit, shiver, deliver – it ceases to be a functional whole. Oddly enough, the work held its power until the final dimension and then disintegrated. Was it meant to show us how bad we really had it – apocalypse femme? I can’t say. But sometimes in an effort to rattle its audience, the hyper-modern piece loses us.

Did it change my outrage, or the message? No. Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again. remains a daring exercise to deconstruct everything that shapes womanhood in a violent world.

NICA presents CIRCOSIS

Circosis is the coming together of the National Institute of Circus Arts (NICA) final-year students. It is a solo performance showcase for the students to perform their skills after three intense years of studying their art.

Director Kate Fryer assisted students in crafting their solo works and created a hospital/warehouse theme as a backdrop, where students donned doctors’ uniforms and shuttled pieces and props offstage. Interspersed amongst solo performances, the group would create vignettes that were telling of their own skills and stories, some humorous and others downright disturbing.

Due to the large number of graduating students now coming through NICA, Circosis was split into two separate groups labelled the Left Brain/Right Brain. I attended the opening night of the Left Brain, and had an absolutely fantastic night.

The solos opened with Nelson Smyles – a last name befitting the Port Macquarie native whose clowning with hoops suspended in air was charming and breathtaking. Watching Smyles effortlessly leap through the hoops before him as they playfully bounced and wiggled out of his way was a delightful start to the night. Following Smyles were two very differing acts; Phillip Island’s Harley Timmermans performed a powerful and fluid piece with aerial straps and Maya Tregonning hailing from Perth treated us to a rambunctious day in the life of a wild-animal circus trainer in some clowning that sent the audience into fits of laughter.

A more nostalgic work followed with New Zealand’s Emily Gorewho took us on a sentimental ride in using the rotating ring apparatus. Isaac Lawry’s energy was palpable, but almost at odds with the haunting blue lantern that swung from the ceiling, sending him diving perilously away from it. One thing was clear from some of these works, there were definite energies and experiences they were calling upon – loneliness, desperation to grasp joy, or escaping from some force. The final piece before interval was therefore the shock factor brought by Brisbane’s Ela Bartilomo, whose anti-fur campaign began as a fashion-model photo shoot suspended in air before a contortionist act with a grotesque twist.

Post-interval revealed acts that only continued to raise the bar. Canberra’s Elizabeth Jackson balanced herself with breathtaking strength upon the Chinese pole, recalling an almost proletkult theatre-style. Jack Wilde also hailing from Canberra delivered a glitzy number whilst flirting with the crowd balanced on a ladder. Ulladulla’s Luke Thomas followed in what was one of the standout performances of the night: an ethereal piece that saw him suspended in the air in circus tissue. Thomas’ work captured the concept of rising above circumstances beyond our control as he fluidly ascended the tissue and plastic bags fell from above him. Sutton’s Sandra Lee took us to an even darker space as she hand-balanced and contorted her body to a recording of performance artist Marina Abramović discussing her experience of the piece Rhythm O, where she allowed the audience to inflict pleasure and pain upon her body. Listening to Abramović’s recording was harrowing and distracted a little from Lee’s movements – but overall Lee’s performance was a marvelous show of elegance and physical strength.

The last two performances of the night were very much about showmanship. Ulladulla’s Riley McDonald’s performance on the swinging trapeze as he embodied a deranged seducer/madman was very tongue-in-cheek and risqué, while Melbourne’s Jessie McKibbin’s performance on the roue Cyr (Cyr wheel) was a beautiful finish for the evening, and one of the most memorable performances of the night. McKibbin managed a multitude of costume changes in the few minutes whilst controlling her Cyr with effortless grace.

To wind up the night the performers came together in their doctors’ uniforms for an exciting finale – capping off an incredible evening from the up-and-coming circus talent in Australia.

A Dirty Pretty Theatre and Critical Stages Productions presents THERESE RAQUIN

The audience’s lust for work exposing the underbelly of human desire and vengeance never ceases, and gothic masterpieces always manage to spook and lure audiences centuries after their first public entrance. A great practitioner of literary naturalism, Émile Zola’s Thérèse Raquin finds itself dealt a supernatural twist in the hands of director and adaptor Gary Abrahams for theatre company A Dirty Pretty Theatre. Abrahams has not disposed of the elegance of late 1800s Paris, as his set designer Jacob Battistaand costume designer Chloe Greaves journey back in time with him.

Thérèse Raquin follows the tragedy of a small family moving to Paris for a new start to invigorate the sickly Camille (Andre Jewson). Trapped under the weight of wifely servitude is the beautiful Thérèse (Jessica Clarke), oscillating between wistful gazing and the swift practiced movements of someone wanting to shatter her proverbial glass cage. The delightful little family is threatened by vagabond artist, Laurent (James O’Connell), whose presence gleefully brutalises the now excitable Camille and stirs up the most carnal of longings in Thérèse – both of whom are desperately seeking something that helps them forget themselves. The lust overcoming the characters climaxes in a brutal killing: cue the total disintegration of the survivors’ sense of sanity in a manner that Shakespeare himself would admire.

In this production, projection was a difficulty for some of the actors, particularly Clarke whose voice strained into hoarseness, but this could be due to the total submersion into a desperate Thérèse. Clarke’s performance certainly conveyed the desperation of her character potently, and O’Connell’s Laurent was suitably dangerous. Overall, the performances throughout were strong: notably Suzanne as played by Emily Milledge had the captivating ability to take us far away from the gloom of the room in her girlish rants about a phantom lover. Keeping the pace of the production was the composition and music of Christopher De Groot, whose score injected a sense of melancholy to the production.

Tragically, some very dramatic moments were thrown askew on the night I attended by the curtain falling upon a poorly-placed table and a flower crown that was swept about underneath the gowns of the actresses. The audience’s occasional laughter was perhaps a welcome distraction from the gloom of the tale before us – but at times, in Zola’s land of naturalism, such misadventures cannot be helped.

Abrahams’ production ultimately aimed for high drama, but unfortunately came across as pure melodrama with too many distractions. I admittedly enjoyed the gothic horror elements that snuck up on us, but feel these could easily have been dispensed with for the subtlety Zola’s text warranted.

This gothic drama was performed at the beautiful National Theatre in St Kilda from 31 May – 1 June.

Malthouse Theatre presents AWAY

Matthew Lutton’s blaze through the Malthouse Theatre (and now as Artistic Director) has brought Melbourne audiences some extraordinary and outlandish theatre to feast upon in recent seasons. The announcement that Away would be on the banquet table for procuring no doubt left many theatregoers with a morbid curiosity. The matrimony between the rugged Australian summer depicted in Gow’s writing and director Lutton’s horror dream of dancing animal skulls somehow takes this classic to new contemporary heights. Yes, Dale Ferguson’s costume design keeps us well within the bounds of the 60s, but his set complies with the post-modern theatrics we’ve come to expect from the Malthouse under the gaze of Lutton. Lutton injects into Gow’s world a kind of dystopian synchronicity that plays out as the actors dance in formations together like glamourous zombies trying to forget their realities to Stephanie Lake’s choreography.

What we have depicted in Away is an Australia of then which is not that much different from the Australia of today. Everyone has high hopes for the Aussie dream, but even in the most comfortable homes the world outside will always rudely awaken us. What unites the families of Tom (Liam Nunan) and Meg (Naomi Rukavina), our high school would-be, could-be, not-be lovers, is the quiet sadness and acceptance of a life that was hard-won. The fear that something could steal the dream away lurks beneath the happy exteriors of (most) of Gow’s characters, and becomes a focal point of the play. That dream is already stolen from Roy (Glenn Hazeldine) and Coral (Natasha Herbert) through the loss of their son in the Vietnam War. Herbert’s Kim-Novak look-alike Coral continuously treads the line between reality and the past, slipping further and further away from the desperate grasp of her husband. Coral is not mad because Roy cannot control her; she is in such a deep state of grieving that the Aussie dream is well and truly lost for her. Herbert gives Coral a fluid naivety damaged by tragedy; her performance is one of the heart-breaking standout’s alongside Liam Nunan’s Tom.

Amongst the great pretenders are Vic (Julia Davis) and Harry (Wadih Dona) who manage to live in the moment as they watch their son Tom slip away from them due to his illness. We know the inevitability of grief will befall them, and they too may just stop smiling through their sadness and join Coral on her faraway shore.

In contrast we have the couple whose great tragedy is staying together, existing in a chronic state of unhappiness in which no holiday can salvage. Heather Mitchell’s Gwen is marvellously funny and annoying as her shrill voice drains her family of any moments of joy; a complacent husband Jim (Marco Chiappi) continues to accept his lot with a resigned shruggery. Their family is one blessed with health, but they are not untouched by the life of having lived as battlers-come-good. Gwen’s chronic state of stress is indicative of another kind of grief, one where a lifelong sacrifice for a future yet lived leaves traces of bitterness.

This is still a sensitive and poignant production by Lutton amidst the jarring devices of non-naturalism that threatens to break down the walls of their world. Audiences will be surprised from the outset of this play; if they are expecting a classic re-telling of Away they will be in for an awakening – but it really is a very good one.

MICF 2017: JIMEOIN'S RENONSENSE MAN

Jimeoin has brought the best of his physical comedy for this 2017 Melbourne International Comedy Festival season. He’s part-time Irishman, and part-time horny T-Rex, who brandishes his guitar for one of the best renditions of a one-night-stand love songI’ve ever heard.

You just can’t be disappointed with his comic prowess; he steers clear of the political rabbit hole whilst his humour never sinks to the boobs-and-farts dimension lesser comedians use to relate to their audience. Jimeoin is relatable because he’s totally human, and totally willing to laugh along with you. Sitting in a Jimeoin audience is like sitting with your good mates as the funniest one sends you into fits. It’s a social event, a comedy that brings everyone together.

Thrilling Australians since the nineties, Jimeoin can always get audiences in the droves, signifying that his humour through the ages never ceases to endure. Whilst us 20-somethings cackled with glee, we sat next to an older gentleman and his companion, who slapped their knees along with us. This is the mark of a great comedian, and Jimeoin’s star has returned across the seas to the United Kingdom where he’s been thrilling them since the naughties.

Renonsense Man is Jimeoin’s historical account of his life with such energy, humour and absurdity. It’s a return to his Northern-Irish roots; a father who banishes him to be funny elsewhere; a mother without a sense of humour whilst being entirely comic in his retelling; and the everyday all of us can recognise.

You can catch Jimeoin’s performance for the MICF at ACMI until Sunday April 23rd. Performances commence at 8:15pm most nights, and Sunday’s at 7:15pm.

Take your friends, take your neighbours, and maybe for the more daring lot – take your kids.

Melbourne Shakespeare Co presents THE COMEDY OF ERRORS

Shakespeare is reimagined in this marvellously funny production of the Melbourne Shakespeare Company. No one left Brunswick’s Siteworks where the production was held without having cackled with joy.

Shakespeare’s comedies are at times something to be endured with gritted smiles at out-dated jokes that haven’t been reined in for their times, but director Jennifer Sarah Dean and assistant director Paul Robertson have masterfully done justice to the work.

The production follows the usual case of mistaken identity of two long-lost twin brothers (Nathaniel Schneider and Jonathan Peck) and their forlorn father (Hunter Perske). Throw in two tumbling manservants (Nicola Bowman and Madeleine Stewart), sisters of differing temperament (Jaqueline Whiting and Lelda Kapsis), a courtesan (Annabelle Tudor), and a magician-esque doctor (Bridget Sweeney), and you have a comedy of seismic proportions.

I rarely get the chance to commend a production for all its elements, but The Comedy of Errors is perfection. The cast delivered with humour and panache in such synchronicity that their talent coupled with the direction of the performance provided an unprecedented professionalism (other companies should take note). Costuming by Rhiannon Irving was unique, colourful and striking. Each cast member donned a wig, which appeared to be put together by some seriously talented arts-and-craft person. A special mention must be made to the costuming of the a capella group (Andrew Isles, Ryan Smedley, Mitch Ralston and Patrick Hill), who sported brightly-coloured stripes and matching beards and lipstick. Irving’s creation was so imaginative and charming, the entrance of each character brought more marvels to admire.

Musical director Ben Adams concocted a mix of delightful old and new-school tunes for the a capella group to perform at opportune moments of the show. At times our quartet would enter from an unsuspecting part of the outdoor setting with a flourish and in unison, that would send the audience into fits of laughter. It was a modern touch that provided plenty of entertainment throughout the show. Further, the choice and use of Siteworks’ outdoor space from varying entrances, exits and positions made for an excellent and surprising use of space. The cast of characters had full use of the performance arena, and as an audience, we would shift our heads in wonder at all the happenings around us.

Overall, I am absolutely thrilled with the choices made in this production at every level. I would happily sit through the performance again and cart out every person I know in what would surely be a lively and enjoyable night.

Malthouse Theatre presents THE HOMOSEXUALS

How dare we, or you, or anyone, be politically incorrect (PC is very in, in case you weren’t paying attention). Lee Lewis’ romp as director into taboo territory is loud, colourful, slapstick, and rainbow-shoots dance hits of the bygones. This production of The Homosexuals is everything you would expect it to be, and then a little more sardonic.

And it is funny. The shining light of this show isn’t the performers so much as their sharp dialogue catapulted from Declan Greene’s pen. I can see the delivery only sharpening as the season goes on, and like Greene’s usual work, is so right now. Right now, and reflected in the play is the war between white homosexual men and other sexual and racial minorities that continue to be marginalised by cookie-cutter ideals. It rages in this production, and offers a farcical gaze upon the pompous rhetoric of queer theorist ‘Bae-Bae’ (played with natural grace and disdain by the genderqueer Mama Alto).

The play is set in a tiny modern apartment in Darlinghurst where Warren (Simon Bourke), the identified ‘older gay gentleman’ looks through his lens at the young and chiselled Adonis (Lincoln Younes). Clichés aside, Warren attempts to hide his interest in the Adonis from his shrieky partner, Kim (Simon Corfield). Cue the realisation that married paradise does not exist even for the queer community. What is meant to be the night of the Mardi-Gras and offensive costume party (hint: blackface/Hiroshimaface/Naziface), turns into a comedy of near-misses as a druggie and part-time cook (Mama Alto) is mistaken for the gloriously self-righteous ‘Bae Bae’. A series of mad antics ensue in what is sure to be a night of laughs.

A real shout-out must go to the top-notch comic delivery of Diana (Genevieve Lemon), who propelled the silliness on stage and brought a sage moment towards the close of the fare. Unfortunately this is where the script diverts too sharply from the rest of the play; the tone suddenly shifts to a serious placethat doesn’t have the same wondrous reality-shatter of other works that manage to take comedy to dark places. The point is already made in the piece itself – the audience knows. The show ultimately ends with a whimper, no bang in sight. I found this a touch disappointing given all the walls shattered earlier in the evening.

However, if you want to catch a show that pokes fun at itself and definitely makes you laugh – then by all means, enter the rainbow world of The Homosexuals, or ‘Faggots’, currently showing at the Malthouse Theatre until Sunday 12 March.

Malthouse presents LITTLE EMPERORS

2016 saw the glass-globe political bubble of China’s One Child Policy shatter. Picking up the pieces of what is presented as a haunted generation of youth and families, the brave new work of Lachlan Philpott and director Wang Chong is both penetrating and poignant.

A talented cast drive this absorbing story of Kaiwen (Yuchen Wang), separated from a family he is too young to remember and suddenly asked to return to the world that rejected him. His tenuous connection with his sister, Huishan, (Alice Qin) harbours a familiar Chinese communal secret, and we are plunged into a world built on memory, the subconscious and heartbreaking reality. Perhaps the most heart-wrenching character is that of their mother, played with such varied and breathtaking emotion by Diana [Xiaojie Lin] – a character so tormented by living the life she endured against her will.

Philpott’s writing is achingly familiar as it speaks to something even I, an outsider, can recognise as the universal desire for closeness with our kin. Philpott’s opportunity to visit Beijing and meet with local people whilst collaborating with Chong has given a real dimension to his work. It would be easy to dismiss Philpott’s writing as another outsider attempting to discuss the unrelatable, but Little Emperors provides a rare glimpse into a world rarely discussed or acknowledged by its own people. In the play, Kaiwen now living in Melbourne directs his own work to confront the One Child Policy, but his cast one by one vanish as they find unearthing their secrets either too painful or unspeakable.

Where this play is overall potent, the uncomfortable dialogue and acting between Kaiwen and his sound technician (Liam Maguire) distracts. While it would be easy to dismiss the relationship between these two characters, it reveals a savage loneliness of Kaiwen. This loneliness breathes throughout the play as our characters battle inner torments they find difficult to express to those around them. It is evident that those who live in Kaiwen’s originating home struggle with what occurred in their own way.

The staging of Little Emperors is visually and stylistically brilliant. The entire stage is one murky pool of water through which our characters navigate uniquely. Kaiwen walks in the water with ease, but he also uses it with a violence to convey his own turbulent mind. Little white chairs serve as stepping-stones for the women, as they, chair after chair, exhaustingly negotiate every social interaction with forced labour. In one scene, the mother beats her own body with the body of water, side to side, in an unrelenting force of self-flagellation. Romanie Harper’s set design is so effective I cannot think of a more fluid use of staging to convey the inner tumult and complexities of these characters. Nothing is left unused or unturned on the Little Emperors stage. James Paul’s sound design matches the staging with a moodiness that permeates everything around it – this little world created before us grips us in an oxymoron of vitality and gloom.

I walk out of the theatre feeling closer to a truth I heard about in passing, and I feel for a moment closer to a community I have had limited interaction with. Australian audiences can gain much by seeing this work, and it assists in breaking cultural boundaries and giving insights where none have really been offered before. This is brave, beautiful and necessary theatre.

Western Edge presents CALIBAN

The culturally diverse Western Edge Youth Arts’ Edge Ensemble under the directorship of Dave Kelman and Tariro Mavondodelivers a spirited, vibrant and painfully accurate adaptation of William Shakespeare’s The Tempest with Caliban.

Who is Caliban in this tale?

We are not dealing with a deformed witch’s son, but a native of an island, which carries the spirit of his mother – all mothers – in the sand, air and water. The Edge Ensemble’s Caliban (Oti Willoughby) is every pure thing, every angry living thing that despises the poisons inflicted by civilisation on the natural world.

In this tale Prospero is Prospera (Natalie Lucic), and Ariel (Piper Huynh) is a machine, not spirit, that can think up realities to save the planet from global warming and other ills that contribute to the inevitable downfall of our world. But Prospera needs capital. Propera needs wealth. Prospera’s adopted daughter, Miranda (Achai Deng), is shipped off with billionaire Afghani, Ferdinand (Abraham Herasan) for a better life, a life of opulence, but little freedom and incredible isolation. It is ironically a lonely and uncertain life at the top of the world, but all is not lost.

Caliban tackles big ideas with humour and poignancy. This is a remarkable and highly physical performance delivered by an ensemble with differing physicality. The performers are excellent, emotive, funny and totally humane. So much of the story told is delivered by this troupe through their bodies, and they each deliver something unique. Credit must be given to movement director, Amy MacPherson, who has successfully conjured the best of the cast. The set design by Lara Week, who previously worked with Mavondo in Greg Ulfan’s 3 Sisters, provides yet another bright and adaptable space that works well for the performers. Turquoise cylinders serve as podiums, seats, towers, and the ever-present reminder of man-made waste.

There is at the heart of this story a great longing for a home that is being stolen by land erosion and war. On one hand our lovers, Ferdinand and Miranda, each long for their homes, Afghanistan and the Sudanese Abyei Area, each torn, each broken by the worst of human nature. On the other, Phano (Rexson Pelman) longs for a Samoa with an uncertain future, and Caliban for his island home – two examples of the fate rendered by the hands of global warming, another ongoing man-made calamity.

The tragedy of our characters is that they each seek to do well, but fail fundamentally on their quest. It is deeply Shakespearean, but simply a timeless tale of humanity. Prospera is blinded by her mind, Ferdinand by his desire for respect, and Caliban by his anger. Their undoing is deeply psychological and a result of the previous ills of man-made affliction. And so is the cycle of human nature…

Red Stitch presents UNCLE VANYA

Nadia Tass continues her accomplished direction here in Annie Baker’s adaptation of Anton Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya. It is one of the best things I’ve seen this year, and Red Stitch delivers some of the best Australian theatre once again. Having witnessed a number of Chekhov productions recently, it is a delight to see such an accomplished and stylish cast bring to life one of Chekhov’s more titillating works. Uncle Vanya brings the longings for life, for land and for love in a way that embraces the depths of the emotional life rarely written so well. The melancholy acceptance of our lot rings true, we almost feel like tearing down the walls of the little world on stage and freeing the characters from their own reverie and turmoil.

Baker’s contemporary adaptation of Uncle Vanya captures the larger-than-life torment of the characters in a way we recognise as an audience. From the plight of the forests to the plight of the loss of youth and vigour to sedentary living, Chekhov’s world continues to make sense to contemporary audiences. While admittedly his world tends to drag (why any work should go beyond two hours is increasingly beyond me), the Chekhovian drag perfectly symbolises the endless days that follow in the pursuit of living – so aptly considered by the character of Sonya.

Long-time resident of Red Stitch, David Whiteley portrays the title role of Uncle Vanya with humour, bitterness and vitality. It’s hard playing a lovelorn, broken man, but Whiteley does it with panache. Whiteley is accompanied brilliantly by Ben Prendergast’s Astrov, the country doctor-cum-man of the earth. Both fall prey to the bored wanderlust of the leisurely Yelena, portrayed with so much grace, guile and allure by Rosie Lockhart. Lockhart’s mystery is balanced well with Sonya’s earthy kindness, played by Eva Seymour with astonishing conviction. The supporting cast bring their own, with a special mention to Justin Hosking’s tragi-comic Telegin, who’s timing and awkwardness are utterly endearing. Marta Kaczmarek’s ‘nanny’ Marina’s watchful, wise gaze pervades the production with the kind of certainty that only comes with a life lived and observed. Together this ensemble cast seamlessly delivers this universal family drama with an intimacy and tenderness that does justice to the writer’s work. My only displeasure is with the Russian accents deployed with too great a variety by the actors to genuinely contribute to the overall work.

Sophie Woodward’s set and costume design captures the country home feel astutely. The little window gazing towards the countryside that only the characters can see out of perfectly encapsulates the unending longing. The lounge sofa converts so well from the bed of the exhaustingly self-important Professor, Serebryakov (Kristof Kaczmarek), to the melancholy place where Voynitsky drowns his sorrows. The set is utilised very well, and the carefully thought-out production is aided by Woodward’s style.

There is great humour and poetry to Tass’ Uncle Vanya, and the excellent direction kites its audience along, observing all the moments that rupture, and all those softer moments in between. Chekhov fans will endure, and they will enjoy. For those who are unfamiliar with the work, this production would be a great place to start.

Theatre Works presents ANTI-HAMLET

Satirising the current state of Australian politics with the heady and destructive tendencies of the Prince of Denmark lends for a wild, funny, and at times utterly confusing production. Just as I’ve grasped one metaphor and issue, Mark Wilson’s Anti-Hamlet shifts us onto the next, expecting its audience to intelligently manoeuvre themselves through the multi-layered political arc Wilson has created.

This is the third of Wilson’s Shakespearean adaptations after Unsex Me and Richard II. Wilson comments that these productions “inherit from Shakespeare”, and fill the gaps. On this occasion, Wilson engages with the Australian inability to confront its history. History is the underlying theme of Anti-Hamlet, but I am deeply sceptical as to how tenuously Hamlet itself connects to a country’s collective blindness.  I will say in Wilson’s defence, his ability to bring Shakespeare’s Hamlet into contemporary ‘realness’ and embellish its themes with references to the Australian political climate is impressive. That is no easy feat. Despite this tenuous connection, the key issues rage on. A young man, both sexually and politically impotent – afraid and trying to find meaning at a time when ‘democracy’ feels more like forcing kool-aid down your throat.

Wilson is wildly funny and painfully irritating as Hamlet. Wilson is accompanied by some theatre-heavyweights in Marco Chiappi’s Claudius, Natasha Herbert’s Gertrude, and Brian Lipson’s marvellous contribution as Sigmund Freud. These actors brilliantly dive into Wilson’s writing and bring to life the characters in an exciting and relevant way. Herbert’s Gertrude is an indulgent, lazy queen whose concern is with turning her gaze towards her possessions rather than noticing that her power is waning. Chiappi’s Claudius is the fabulous politician in the blue tie (a wink to our political leaders), desperate to become President of Australia’s new Republic. A new addition is the role of Freud, and it’s so apt that Freud should show up as the family psychiatrist to stir Hamlet et al. Freud, like Hamlet in this production, is a self-aware character that almost recognises that he is party to a play and merely a plot device. It works very well, and adds yet another intricate layer to this complex work.

Anti-Hamlet unpacks two issues astonishingly well. Firstly, there’s the spin-doctoring behind politics, which takes on a seductive and serpentine fervour in Charles Purcell’s energetic American marketer, Edward Bernays. Secondly, there is the idealism of those politically-minded young Australians who succumb to the political machine in a feeble attempt to create change in the world. Ophelia (Natascha Flowers) is the modern woman; she’s no limp-limbed belle of Shakespeare’s imaginings. A Rhodes Scholar and Oxford graduate, Ophelia comes brimming with ambition for a better nation, but is the futile pawn to a more experienced and cynical power under Claudius and his newly-minted henchman, Bernays. Wilson’s Hamlet serves as the alternative to Ophelia – a politically awakened youth with nothing but privilege and a blossoming conscience who thinks taking back ‘blackface’ to undermine racism is an acceptable and intelligent statement. Hamlet is politically impotent, and this funnels through into his sexuality, which he attempts to mask. This is a striking point of discussion for this production, because it single-handedly takes on issues that are utterly relevant in Australian politics today, but does so in a manner that humours and pinches those politically aware within its audience.

Anti-Hamlet is self-indulgent and utterly self-aware. If you’re a Shakespeare puritan, perhaps step away. However, if you’re interested in a play that engages with the politics of today in an original way, you may be convinced to come down to Theatre Works and indulge yourself… and Wilson.