Spencer

 

Spencer

QUT Gardens Theatre & LAB Kelpie

QUT Gardens Theatre

August 23 – 24 2019

 

Reviewed by Shannon John Miller

 

 

One of the final scenes from the 1994 film Muriel’s Wedding has Muriel played by Toni Collette and her father played by Bill Hunter, looking out over a scorched laundry line and backyard in the aftermath of a devastating family tragedy. Her sister appears on the balcony saying, “Dad, the cricket’s started. […] Do you want me to open you a can of beer? Bill responds, “That would be lovely, Joanie. With you in a sec.”

 

While essentially a comedy-drama, Spencer, a new work by award-winning playwright, Katy Warner, much like Muriel’s Wedding, is a dark idiosyncratic work epitomising the cultural cringe of the Australian suburban family. With themes of social isolation, suburbia and family dysfunction, it also touches on how masculine sport culture can serve as a family’s surrogate emotional connective tissue.

 

 

Set over the course of a weekend, Ben (Lyall Brooks) is still living at home; an overweight X-Gen who’s failed to launch and broken up with his fiancé now facebooking from Bali with a guy who was at their engagement party. His sister, Jules (Fiona Harris) has also returned home to live. She’s quit her job and is also in the midst of a messy break up with a married man who has kids of his own.

 

But as far as their single mother, Marylin (Jane Clifton) is concerned they live in the shadow of their younger brother, Scott (Jamieson Caldwell), the white-haired boy. On the precipice of a professional AFL career and while he’s the favourite, he’s also returned home burnt-out and at a crossroads in life. He’s also about to meet the two-year-old son, Spencer, he never knew he had. And while mum’s forgiving and excited in preparing for Spencer’s welcome home-cum-birthday party, things really get going when they receive an unexpected visit from their long-estranged father, Ian (Roger Oakley).

 

 

Clifton is magnanimous in playing the central matriarch, Marylyn; a role certain to become a staple in a contemporary actor’s repertoire. She’s an exhausted Sisyphus, while having spent  her life pushing the heavy boulder of a broken family up hill, she finds herself having to revisit the role as mother and peace-keeper later in life as her failed flock come home to roost, now adults and this time with more complex social baggage than just scraped knees and spilt Coco Pops.

 

While funny and acid-tongued, Clifton is brilliant, lashing out at her disappointing adult-children, and trying to counsel them through an unqualified lens of embittered motherly love. She’s cynical, a misanthrope, however living unrealised dreams naively through her young son, Scott, never realising the crushing burden it causes him.

 

 

This is wildly entertaining and funny stuff though. Brooks as Ben is vivacious as he channels Rick Mayall of the Young Ones and Perry Heslop of Muriel’s Wedding. Now washed-up and coaching a kids footy team, he’s an alternate masculinity in comparison to his more successful, more popular, and fitter younger brother, Scott. Ben’s a mummy’s boy, he grew up crying at everything, and while he isn’t afraid to express his emotions, he wants Scott to succeed where he failed.

 

Scott on the other hand, in his mother’s eyes, is on a pedestal of masculine pride. While seemingly mild-mannered, fit and handsome with a promising career verging on the celebrity, he’s got skeletons, he’s an emotional void, a purposeful blank onto which his mother projects her own ideals.

 

Scott can do no wrong, and his mother, an apologist to his mistakes, cannot see the real Scott due to blinding disenchantments with her own life. Scott, however, is disconnected with the world. He’s unable to articulate his emotions, unable to reconcile past machismo behaviours, and his return home prompts a spiralling identity crisis.

 

 

Playwright Warner isn’t afraid to take her characters where they need to go, tackling men’s mental health and the double standards of sexual politics. Meryl Streep opined recently that terms like toxic masculinity “hurts our boys”, and in the aftermath of the #metoo movement, Warner also raises questions of internalised misogyny, slut-shaming, revenge porn, and the casualised sex-discrimination which pervades the home.

 

It’s also about our identity and how that sits within the family dynamic. And it’s set masterfully against the backdrop of an economic generation of failed social refugees who’ve found themselves returning home in their 30’s.

 

 

Director, Sharon Davis expertly delivers the actors to beautifully crystalised moments of self-reflection or further delusion. She brings them together in remarkably playful and innovative ways, further developing them into full characters with lived-in relationships.

 

Set designers, Rob Sowinski and Bryn Cullen have created a simple diorama of an ancient 80’s/90’s domestic sphere with archways leading into linoleum kitchens, the rattle and slam of the obligatory security screen door, and clusters of family photos while polluting the walls, point to the innocence of once happier days.

 

Much like The Castle and Kath & Kim, Spencer is an exciting and important work which beautifully typifies an Australian domestic heritage; a time capsule of contemporary life as we know it. 

Richard III

 

Richard III

QUT 2nd Year Actors

Creative Industries Precinct

May 7 – 11 2019

 

Reviewed by Shannon John Miller

 

 

Director, Travis Dowling’s program notes give us insight as to why QUT have ambitiously selected Shakespeare’s Richard III to showcase the bold talent of their Bachelor of Fine Arts 2^nd year acting students. He opines that “we need only look at the recent history of our political system to see that the ambition and actions of these characters are still present in our world today.” It’s only fitting that Richard III’s lyrical prose, with its machinations akin to the revolving-door leadership of current Australian federal politics and its slaughterhouse cabinet reshuffles finds its mouth peace in the rising millennial voting body of its confident young cast.

 

The story follows the treacherous uprising and hubristic downfall of Richard III, the short-reigned last king of the House of York whose death marks the end of England’s middle ages. Motivated by an evil career demon within, it’s his charm and eloquent dance with language that allows him to perpetrate his atrocities and traverse the poisonous royal court to the top. “Now is the winter of our discontent,” our villain opines in his opening line played formidably by Rachel Nutchey whose dynamic repertoire effortlessly encompasses Richard’s many faces. From his vulgar tuning of the women in his midst to his raging threats of violence, Nutchey navigates the titular character’s demanding spectrum with ease, transforming herself physically to effect his malformations and psychologically as she swings to the audience, entreating us to delight in her puppet mastery with a spontaneous comic timing.

 

Half the battle in modernising Shakespeare is the suspension of disbelief actors must effect, which requires them to tap into workable anachronistic instincts, while orating convoluted and archaic dialogue without being clunky and disingenuous. But the women of the cast have got this one with strong performances from Isobel Grummels playing Queen Elizabeth, Imogen Trevillion’s Lady Anne, Lucy Heathcote as the Duchess of York, and Sidney Shorten as Queen Margaret. And it’s when they’re all playing together that the dramatic tension, like a tightening spiral, really collects and draws us in. We quickly forget ourselves and are consumed into their lyrical and tumultuous predicaments.

 

However, in an age where presentation is everything, it’s the costuming, hair and makeup that need attention. With a young and vibrant cast posited in contemporary grit and grunge, it would be prudent to have a finger on the fashion pulse and invest in good wardrobe design.

 

The stage, although minimal at first, is lit with a dull effervescent-purple floor, which resembles either a discothèque or the cold floor of a slaughterhouse. The walls are draped in translucent flaps of plastic which evokes Psycho’s famous shower scene or perhaps Dexter’s clinical killing room and this allows director, Dowling seemingly infinite possibilities when it comes to blocking his actors on and off stage. With entries and exits choreographed tightly against Sage Rizk’s punchy and grim soundscape, and Glenn Hughes’ gruesomely stark lighting design, action is effectively obscured beyond the plastic shrouds. There’s lots of blood too with director Dowling choosing thankfully to Macbethise some of the dispatchings.

 

There are also bold voices and noteworthy performances amongst the cast, especially Ethan Lwin’s Clarence, Angus Linklater’s Buckingham, Tate Hinchy as the affable Hastings and Ben Jackson. This is a confident production of enthusiastic young talent whom will no doubt pursue promising careers in the dramatic arts, and it’s their director who truly cares about them, who’s pushing them to exploit their talents and physicality, and whose success in grappling with the demanding text has resulted in a solid and visually engaging production.

 

Lysa and the Freeborn Dames

 

Lysa and the Freeborn Dames

La Boite & QUT Creative Industries

La Boite Roundhouse Theatre 

July 21 – August 11 2018

 

Reviewed by Meredith Walker

 

 

Aristophanes’ classic Greek comedy Lysistrata is a comic account of a woman’s extraordinary mission to end the Peloponnesian War by withholding sexual privileges from their men as a means of forcing negotiation of peace. As an early exposé of sexual relations in a male-dominated society, it is an apt source for Lysa and the Freeborn Dames, a new work by Claire Christian, which waves the feminist flag through a story of self-discovery, albeit with some stereotypes.

 

Bold and defiant first year university student nineteen-year-old Lysa King (Tania Vukicevic) resents the traditions of her regional home town, most notably its annual rugby match known as the war weekend. Bolstered by viewing the 2017 women’s marches, during a trip home to the typical church/Chinese restaurant/CWA town, after awkward reunion with once girlfriend Peta (Clementine Anderson), she stages a protest to disrupt the event, as mouthpiece of the #metoo movement, angering most of the town, including her friends and her father (Hugh Parker) who is being awarded Man of the Year in one of the weekend’s rituals.

 

 

Rather than rallying the women of the town in solidarity with their international sisters, Lysa alienates almost everyone though her fired-up hostility and wide range of demands for equality as she locks local footy star Grant (Jackson Bannister) hostage in the club’s locker room after he catches her alofting a ‘Pussy Power’ flag over the hallowed footy field. As the show revolves around this decision and its consequences over one night, in one place, staging occurs within the one room of the local footy club, represented simply by a sunken set complete with daggy club-type carpet. And music is likewise used to effect, especially in cementing a concluding sentiment through Cold Chisel’s Flame Trees.

 

 

Its recognisable everyplace type of town ‘somewhere in regional Queensland’, setting increases its accessibility, however, clearly the show’s intent is to engage a younger demographic through showcase of impulsive protest as a privilege of youth, which may alienate traditional mainstage audience members. At times, it verges on caricature, overwhelming potentially poignant moments with over-the-top character portrayals which can make it a frustrating experience, especially when any warning about the potential dangers of single-minded activism seems to be breezed over in its somewhat all’s well ending.

 

 

It is difficult to empathise with Lysa. Even though she has right on her side, her raging militancy is off-putting, especially as we witness her refusal to accept other viewpoints or ‘I don’t care’ perspectives which almost cost her close friendships. And although there are three male characters within the story, their responses to Lysa’s assertions appear as mere mentions, dismissed as being ‘part of the problem’ rather than allowed space for consideration.

 

 

Obviously whether audience members will see passionate defiance or stubborn belligerence in Lysa will depend on their personal experiences and life’s journey stage. Thankfully, there is a Greek chorus of freeborn dames (the all-wonderful Barbara Lowing, Roxanne McDonald, Hsiao-Ling Tang) to mix things up. The trio doesn’t just setup the action, serving as Lysa’s persona oracle, but allows for a reprieve from her lack of relent, providing a powerful presence in their punctuating reminder the feminism is not just for the young. In particular, Lowing’s monologue about legacy and post-middle-age liberation from the repression of service to others conveys a moving honesty that makes the audience applaud mid-show. And the trio’s sardonic commentary also offers much dry humour. Indeed, like its Ancient source material, “Lysa and the Freeborn Dames” is very funny, thanks largely to its vibrant supporting cast – prim and proper(ish) fourth generation Miss Weekender (with sash to prove it), Esme (Tatum Mottin) and brash tell-it-as-it-is gutter-mouth Myra (Samantha Lush), who bring an engaging energy to the at-times physical show, especially in its spirited ‘Wild Ones’ dance scene. Also of note are Morgan Francis as the town’s well-intentioned, plucky young caught-in-the-middle policeman and Hugh Parker’s as Lysa’s everyman, good-bloke father who by his own admission, just doesn’t understand.

 

With provocation at its core, this is far from polite theatre. The show begins with a punch of profanities which continues in some way for most of its duration. The words do become wittier as the show ebbs and flows along, but its message sometimes lacks discernment; in touch on big themes like gender, sexuality, politics and sexual politics, there is a lot going on and while sometimes it works, sometimes not so much.

 

Turning the international lens inward to feminism in rural Australia makes for an interesting theatrical premise, but working toward social change that takes everyone into consideration is complicated and it is probably for this reason that the show seems to lack a single thesis. From this tangle, there arises much opportunity for discussion though, especially for its target school group audiences, which is the show’s real value, for as Lysa tells her father when he questions her changed appearance and claim not to care what people think, “how is anything going to change if people can’t even have a conversation.”

 

One way or another, Lysa and the Freeborn Dames will evoke a response, whether it be in the form of feelings of frustration or fulfilment, and will, as enticed by its “fury fuelled dramedy” descriptor, generate contemplation and conversation.

 

 

Blackrock

 

Black Rock

La Boite & QUT Creative Industries

La Boite Roundhouse Theatre

July 26 – August 12 2017

 

Reviewed by Katy Cotter

 

 

Cast your memory back to when you were young(er). Was there a secret you kept for someone? A secret that twisted your insides, and opened your eyes? You saw a person you thought was your best friend in a different light. And you told their secret…

Black Rock is a beachside suburb where Jared (Ryan Hodson) welcomes home his friend Ricko (Karl Stuifzand). Ricko is wild and speaks before he thinks. He’s the guy who walks that fine line of having a laugh, and throwing the first punch. There’s a history between Jared and Ricko. They’re mates, till the end of time, yeah? And the boys have each other’s backs. Toby (Tom Cossettini) is turning 18 and his party turns into a welcome back for Ricko. All the kids from Black Rock are there, and you bet the alcohol is flowing!

Tracey Warner was found dead on the beach that night. She had been raped and her skull bashed in. Toby’s sister (Jessica Potts) found her. Rumours were going around that Tracey was a slut. She asked for it. Three boys were questioned, and one of them was Toby. Who killed Tracey Warner?

20 years have passed since Nick Enright’s Blackrock was produced at La Boite. This show presented by the company and QUT Creative Industries AND directed by AD Todd MacDonald is spectacular. It not only introduces amazing performances by the third year acting students from QUT, but also three incredibly talented and established actors, Joss McWilliam, Christen O’Leary and Amy Ingram.

The revolving set, designed by Anthony Spinaze, looks like a mix between a lifesaver tower, a sun-bleached jetty and coastal lookout, giving the audience an intimate insight into a beachside community. It exposes the actors, though being in the round allowed the audience to capture different moments. A subtle touch, a look of guilt…

The entire cast is captivating and vulnerable, and though I know the play I delighted in watching the action unfold. I had forgotten how powerful this work is and how confronting the themes are. Victims today are still silenced, their stories scrutinised, forgotten in the mess of it all… Todd MacDonald did not steer away from the darkness, showing the cracks in relationships, the violence, but also the tenderness and heartache. You melt into the scenes with O’Leary and Ingram as they show raw human emotion without any frills. You believe them completely. McWilliam moves seamlessly from character to character, leaving you in stitches one minute and your stomach burning with rage (on purpose) the next.

There’s no question that it’s the QUT actors who bring this show to the next level with their adventurous physicality and youthful spontaneity on stage.

Yes, there are moments of melodrama but that’s teenagers, right? To see young people at the beginning of their careers giving it their all makes this show a cracker! Karl Stuifzand is a stand out as Ricko. He is both playful and menacing, leaving you on the edge, unsure of what he’ll do next. I look forward to following this young man’s career; he has something electric.      

After the show, I heard mixed reviews and opinions. Why are we watching this work now? It was written in 1995. Nothing has changed and it’s 2017. The power of theatre is to bring light to important issues and demand change. It’s disgusting how relevant the themes explored in this play still are; such as victim shaming and the “boys will be boys” attitude. Isn’t that the point of revisiting these iconic works, and particularly Australian work? We are making and watching this work to educate young people, to start a conversation with both young and old, to teach them (and ourselves) about the importance of self-worth, respecting others and speaking the truth. 

La Boite and QUT Creative Industries have presented a challenging and exciting production, throwing you straight in the deep end. Go and support the third year acting students as they make a tremendously loud and vibrant debut. 

Tartuffe

Tartuffe

Queensland Theatre & Black Swan Theatre Company

QPAC Playhouse

November 12 – December 4 2016

Reviewed by Xanthe Coward

Queensland Theatre’s final production for the year is a co-pro with WA’s Black Swan Theatre Company, and Director Kate Cherry’s last for the company before she takes up the reins at NIDA. This delightfully fresh reimagining of Moliere’s Tartuffe has Black Swan stamped all over it, largely due to its clean, white, luxe, functional design by Richard Roberts. I love it. The orange accents not so much. Still, we could be in Sydney, or Noosa; it’s elegant, understated and stylishly lit (David Murray). The full revolve allows for seamless transitions and all the anticipated hiding-and-overhearing shenanigans of traditional farce, because as Roberts notes, a set designed for the best actors and directors should be “Like an adventure playground that allows kids to play imaginatively”. This is evident from the outset, with a raucous party appearing to be taking place. The music evolves as the set revolves (and the characters regress, misbehaving in all the best ways while the father is away), from an unsurprising baroque lilt to a surprisingly upbeat, very contemporary shake & stir style orchestration. And suddenly it dawns on us that this is simply the good, fun, wealthy life without apparent consequences, which we all (still) want to be living! And so the tone is set for a riotous take on this French classic.

A wonderfully funny scene has the maid, Dorine (Emily Weir) and the bride-to-be, Mariane (Tessa Lind), on the second floor balcony in a frenzied discussion about her limited options as the daughter of the house. The hysterical young girl, having been promised by her father to the titular character, a conceited con man, performs a little miracle of props mastery, both impressive and hilarious, taking urgent drags on a cigarette, chugging desperately from a champagne bottle and inhaling necessarily, her Ventolin, though not necessarily in that order. This is a fabulous scene Cherry has stitched up for Lind because Moliere gives her little else to do in the role except fawn over her lover, Valere (James Sweeney, the smartly dressed playboy/pool boy/Noosa Main Beach boy of the story, and somehow looking not a little unlike Rob Mills here. Not a bad thing…), and protest loudly to her father, Orgon (an infuriatingly upright Steven Turner in a perfectly pitched performance), re the match he’s made for her with the awful Tartuffe in his awful wig.

Tartuffe (Darren Gilshenan) is the easily recognisable, much lauded, and laughable spiritual guru, ghastly in every sense, sleazy and sneaky and suddenly the master of the house through his devious machinations and double standards. Orgon, incredulously, falls for his every word and allows him to have his way…almost. A short, rather silly but successful scene, in which Orgon’s wife (Alison van Reeken) is as sexy as Tartuffe is shallow, slimy and simpering, has Orgon hiding under a table at her insistence, until he deems the monster has gone far enough in the seduction of his wife to convince the poor, stupid man – FINALLY – that everything the family has told him is true, catching Tartuffe with his pants down.

Jenny Davis delivers an accomplished performance as the intolerant matriarch, Madame Pernelle, and Alex Williams takes the opportunity to claim the spotlight on more than one occasion as Damis (offering our second actors’ lesson for the evening in dealing with difficult props, as he rescues a runaway green apple and then has to use it until the scene’s end without creating further distraction. Hugh Parker, one of our faves, is a gallant-arrogant Cleante, perfectly balancing the scrutiny, wit and wisdom of this character with an appropriately unapologetic air of superiority. There’s a hint of Bottom the Weaver, as he instructs his players and whether a conscious choice or not, it works to endear us to him. The fans tend to feel endeared already towards him and we can look forward to seeing more from Parker in QT’s 2017 season.

But it’s the new QUT Fine Arts grad, Emily Weir, who neatly and boldly steals the show. Her comedy is so bold and witty, and precise, and for one so new to the table, she plays every hand like a seasoned pro, such a pleasure to watch. So much of her character comes through her gesture and facial expression, as the other characters interact around her, unwittingly perhaps making her the centre of their actions. She employs her full vocal range and incorporates a fantastically funny and irritating Australian nasal twang, playing with the language to extract the vivid colour of the piece and placing it smack bang in contemporary Australian money-not-necessarily-indicating-style suburbia.

Justin Fleming’s astute adaptation is the other star of the show, making the 17th Century text brand new again, retaining the original structure and adding without shame or apology, our favourite Australian colloquialisms. Fleming also delivers a more conclusive and satisfying end than the original, during which Parker shines again, in the fitting guise of a reporter for the ABC.

Kate Cherry’s cheeky, savvy, slick Tartuffe demonstrates the power of redressing the classics in a truly contemporary way, delivering timeless messages wrapped in timeless style.