Dangerfield Park

 

Dangerfield Park

La Boîte Indie & Pentimento Productions

Supported by QPAC

The Roundhouse

21st of October – 5th of November 2014

 

Reviewed by Guy Frawley

 

 

In Dangerfield Park we’re introduced to a group of gay men from different backgrounds who through differing connections of friendship and sex are brought together at the same moment one of their friends is brutally bashed in a homophobic attack. The Noel Coward-esque theatrical producer Sholto (Sven Swenson); his journalist amore d’jour Tim (Michael Deed); solicitor Marc (Christos Mourtzakis); his paramedic fiancé Perry (Zachary Boulton); and the young, inexperienced Reyer (Nick Barclay) form the core cast of characters in the play who are all gathered in the St Lucia apartment of Sholto when they learn their friend Otis (Brian Lucas) has been bashed in the eponymous Dangerfield Park.

 

Dangerfield Park is a show a decade and a half too late to the stage that attempts to build it’s emotional core with outdated subject matter.

 

Yes the ‘gay panic defence’ is still on Queensland’s law books in some form (sigh) but changes several years ago by the state government have made the conditions of claiming the defence stricter and the defence of provocation can technically be applied equally across all genders and sexualities. Are beats still a thing? Sure, but they’re fast diminishing as the internet and mobile devices fundamentally change the mechanics of modern gay sex. Several references in the script imply a modern context but how can that even be with all the talk of sex and nary a mention of Grindr?! Religious discrimination? You bet it’s still a problem, but when we meet the fundamentalist Christian father of Reyer the painful struggle of dogma, love, salvation and family is reduced to an archaic stereotype that would have appeared comfortable in The Crucible. Most grating of all beleaguered and outdated messages was the constant harping upon gay couples suffering legal discrimination at the hands of a society that refuses to validate the love that dare not speak it’s name. I say this as a gay man who recently married his male partner of 6 years, and yes most of would like gay marriage to pass in parliament (even the polls agree!), but after the massive overhaul of policy in regard to same sex relationships under the Rudd government there isn’t a great deal of legal discrimination left to overcome. Yet we endure clunky monologues on the rights (or lack there of) of gay couples wrenched apart and disenfranchised by the unaccepting establishment.

 

By no means am I implying that all is good and right in the land of Oz when it comes to societies treatment of sexuality and same sex relationships but so much of what was obviously written to outrage and impassion just felt stale. Our primary cast of characters are an interesting and varied group that could have made much of contemporary issues but were instead left to stumble through tired tropes. Look to shows like Holding the Man and The Laramie Project for examples as to how similar subject matter is handled with far greater poise and nuance whilst being restrained by similar issues of contemporaneity.

 

Running at three and a half hours long the sheer length of Dangerfield Park makes the piece a laborious viewing experience. Swenson’s sharp dialogue and delightfully entertaining turn of phrase keeps the pace bustling along initially however the second act suffers as a result of the far too common polemic speeches that replace the witty repartee of earlier scenes. Cast your aspersions upon me as a product of the ‘Gen Y generation’ but everything I enjoyed about Dangerfield Park was tarnished by the utter boredom I felt by the end. Apathetic towards the conclusion and wishing a firmer hand had been shown with the editorial red pen.

 

 

There’s a lot in this show that I obviously disliked but the performances in Dangerfield Park are really very good. Swenson does a thoroughly fabulous job as Sholto, playing the deliciously funny ageing queen with a delicate mixture of acidic bite and emotional depth. I would have enjoyed the show far more if we could have remained within Sholto’s domain and revelled in his lighting fast tongu. Brian Lucas brings the character of Otis to the stage in a fully realised and authentic performance that in many ways is the polar opposite of Sholto character. Otis is really the hardest role to play in this show requiring a performance that at times requires lecherous but never predatory, sleazy and sincere. Lucas carries the role beautifully and to me imparted the only sense of true authenticity I felt throughout the show.

 

I think Dangerfield Park would have made a real impact on me if I’d seen it a decade ago as a young gay man growing up in the changing world of the new millennium, but in 2014 it just left me underwhelmed and disappointed. When Swenson’s script succeeds it truly sparkles and allows the cast to shine but spread over three and a half hours these moments are sadly few and far between.

Angel Gear

 

Angel Gear

La Boite Indie & Pentimento Productions

Supported by QPAC

The Roundhouse

October 14 – November 8 2014

 

Reviewed by Xanthe Coward 

 

 

Angel Gear: hooning down a hill without the car in gear.

 

This play is as pointless as the titular activity suggests. Lacking subtlety, mystery, substance and wit, the best part of Angel Gear is its end. And I mean, that it ends. It’s two hours of WHY and WTF? It’s Deliverance in Dalby (sorry, Dalby, that’s unfair), only Deliverance had complete characters. And a plot. And a point.

 

Look, if you get food poisoning in a restaurant it’s really hard to go back. The only way I’ll see another Sven Swenson play is if somebody I respect tells me I must. I suspect some of the other opening night audience members will have felt the same, despite the polite and genuinely appreciative applause at the conclusion. There is, after all, regardless of a disappointing outcome, a hell of a lot of work in staging a production.

 

 

I overheard a gentleman at interval on opening night lament, “After a very tough week it’s not lifting me up at all.” Well, we don’t always go to the theatre for a lift. Did Victor Hugo ever expect a rom-com to come out of Les Mis? Did Shakespeare or any of the ancients try to hide mankind’s miseries in their tragedies? Theatre makers are either creating entertaining theatre or they’re creating something that makes a statement, makes us think, and makes us want to see more…

 

 

The latest from Sven Swenson – sans Sven Swenson (he was sick on that first Saturday night and unfortunately, rather than offering an alternate performance, the decision was made to put Assistant Director, James Trigg on stage with book in hand) – offers one perspective of a subculture with which I can’t identify. Whether or not this group is accurately portrayed, I don’t know. I feel it must be but I hope that it’s not. I hope this is a grossly inaccurate picture of a seriously flawed lot of human beings. Sam, sadly, assures me it’s quite accurate. I’m glad I don’t recognise characters of this sort. This is the very essence of Aussie trailer park trash.

 

 

 

What’s it for? Why do we need this theatre, which makes us grit our teeth and leaves a bad taste in our mouths?

 

I was looking forward to experiencing this show because in conversations about Swenson’s last La Boite production, The Truth About Kookaburras, people confidently informed me that this is a man of great talent…and how dare I question anything at all from him. OH! Right.

 

#anothersacredcow

 

I actually wanted to write a great review of a great production. It would be so much easier to give this a rave…or to say nothing at all. Good sense, that little voice, tells me, “Don’t write it!” Integrity tells me I must.

 
No doubt the sycophants, suckholes and arts worker wannabees will have their say, and y’all are entitled to your opinion too. Aside from the vitriol though, I look forward to hearing differing opinions, and exactly what it is you believe the artistic merit of Swenson’s work to be. If the purpose of this work is to shock audiences, it’s failed on that level too. We’re so desensitised now that we barely take in the crass language, brutal violence, sexism, homophobia, incest and the blatant representation of women as whores. If anything, despite a few witticisms within the crude, er, dialect (others find the insults and labels hilarious while I wonder why it is men must write anything that perpetuates these myths of scrags and sluts and whores), it all becomes a bit tedious and again, I have to wonder, what is it for? In experiencing this work how am I challenged and changed? Why would I take a friend or family member to see this play?

 

The constant barrage of gutter language, and the lack of any structure, intelligence and meaning, makes this piece, for me, nothing more than pointless drivel. The supposed shock factor contributes only to a whole new level of cheap-tricks-theatre, offering nothing new to the canon of Australian work.

 

The design is ugly, cheap and nasty, perhaps precisely as it was intended to be, and there are very few moments of convincing, dynamic character work, despite obvious attempts to create ebb and flow in a fairly flat story arc. The emphasis seems to have been on spitting words, shooting wary glances at each other and holding the inevitable forced glares that follow. Luckily, Casey Woods shines at times. As Jayanne, we sense some sort of fading vulnerability, which is completely overridden by single-minded determination to seek revenge and eventual satisfaction. The pace lags as poor Triggs struggles to drive the drama in the second act, which dissolves into a low budget hostage scenario, lazily penned and poorly presented.

 

We muse afterwards that Swenson should concentrate on writing plays for Short & Sweet. That way we could sit through just 10 minutes of self-indulgent sloppy setup and no plot, go to dinner and see a movie. Sam says out loud – he can’t help it, he’s still furious that his valuable time has also been wasted – that Pearl Harbour had a better plot!

 

Ultimately, the problem I have with this brand of theatre is Swenson’s blatant disrespect for audiences.

 

For years, I’ve seen Sven Swenson paraded before us, lauded by a certain circle. While I certainly respect the opinions of my peers, I’d love to know what it is that puts Swenson’s writing at the top of the Queensland theatre tree. Is there no competition? I know that’s not true. Somebody send me the scripts that have earned Swenson his reputation. Because I don’t see the merit. Surely it’s time to say, “The Emperor isn’t wearing any clothes!”.