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?

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.