The Rocky McLaughlin Show

I shivered with antici…. 

... pation as I sat in my seat (in the back row), awaiting the latest production of The Rocky Horror Show. I was curious as to how Craig McLaughlin would interpret the role made famous by Tim Curry, and most recently delivered to Sydney audiences by the divine Iota. I was clearly not the only cat in the audience; the crowd began cheering at the first familiar base thumps of Sweet Transvestite, eager to greet the man who brought us Mona (which prompted an hilarious aside later in the show). In fact, the applause was so loud that the first lines of this iconic piece were completely obscured, leaving us to wonder for a bit longer what kind of voice McLaughlin was in.

I needn’t have worried – vocally McLaughlin delivered the musical elements of his role well, if occasionally too theatrically. But it was clear this performance was not so much about the singing and music as it was a vehicle for McLaughlin to deliver every hammy cliché he could cram into his fishnets. This is not necessarily a criticism – McLaughlin’s Frankenfurter is laugh out loud funny and immensely likeable. But subtle? I'm afraid not.

Whether intentional or no, this Frankenfurter is reminiscent of the ‘villains’ from Commedia del Arte – brash, loud, pantomimic, scene-stealing and naughty to the point of vulgarity. His comedy is delivered both orally (through frequent asides and ad-libs) and physically (utilising props such as a conveniently delivered microphone to simulate his, er, enthusiasm).

But unlike the Commedia productions of old, this was not an ensemble performance. This show is McLaughlin’s, almost to the point where you can’t help but pity an audience who sees him on an ‘off night’. The other players appear more as set decoration, providing back-up vocals when required. 

Bert Newton promised much, but sadly did not deliver as the Narrator. And whether it was the director’s or the actor’s choice that he leave the stage while still delivering the last line of each scene, it was a bad choice; my drama teacher always used to warn me about walking and talking and now I see why. Kristian Lavercombe deserves a mention for his enthusiastic portrayal of butler and side-kick, Riff Raff, but he could have/should have been given greater room to exercise his talent. Jade Westaby (Magenta) and Angelique Cassimatis (Columbia) all but blend into the background (except for a very random ‘outburst’ from Westaby who humps an ottoman and then promptly exits). Brendan Irving, while a very attractive Rocky, is disappointingly thin (and I’m not just talking about his physique). Stephen Mahy and Amy Lehpamer (as our ‘heroes’ Brad and Janet) try their best to bring something new to the roles, but sadly miss the boat. They’re not nearly so frightened or innocent as their costumes would suggest.

Musically the band does an admirable job, although I felt some of the numbers could have been faster. The one moment of a-capella is delightful but as previously mentioned, this feels like a musical that is not really about the music. This could have been because I was at the back of the dress circle, and a little disengaged from the action, but given its current billing as ‘the rock n roll musical’ I couldn't help but feel a little short-changed.

The set design is bright and cartoonish (matching the live elements of the production), but is not overly inventive. So much more could be done to revamp this show – I feel like this was a bit of a missed opportunity. The lighting, which another reviewer observed was reminiscent of a rock concert, was a clever addition. Sue Balne’s costumes meet the brief without breaking new ground. Again, there is a certain cartoon style here.

Overall, the production was fun and generated the requisite laughs. But as a part of the canon of Rocky interpretations, this one will probably drift from memory like artificial smoke from a stage. In an era where the marriage equality debate features weekly on our news casts and the issues faced by transgender individuals are detailed in documentaries and sitcoms alike, surely there was an opportunity for the deeper issues to be explored with fresh, more tolerant, eyes. Instead, this is a production lost in time, and lost in space… and meaning…

DetailsViewed: 15 May 2015
Venue: Sydney Lyric, Star Casino
Author: Richard O'Brien
Director: Christopher Luscombe
Production Company: Howard Panter for Ambassador Theatre Group and John Frost

But What Does it Mean?

We’re not beginning to… to… mean something?

Mean something! You and I, mean something! Ah, that’s a good one!

If there is a quote that sums up Beckett better than the above from ‘Endgame’ then I haven’t heard it. Just when you think you’re starting to make some sense of the seemingly nonsensical dialogue-driven, physically challenging theatrical diatribe that is the hallmark of Beckett’s work, the author changes direction with barely a twitch and you’re left once again puzzled and inadequate. Make sense? Absurd!

Which is not to say that his plays are not enjoyable. You don’t need to understand something in order to enjoy it. But it’s usually advisable.

With this in mind, I wittingly attended Sydney Theatre Company’s production of Endgame, starring Hugo Weaving as Hamm. ‘This won’t make sense half the time,’ I kept saying to myself. ‘Just treat it like modern dance – admire the physical form of the performers, the way they deliver the message persuasively even if you don’t know what it is, appreciate the moments of humour.’

I was right; it didn’t make sense half the time. But wow! What a performance!! Trying to explain Endgame is like trying to put a leash on a pug – be prepared for wiggles and squirms and snorts. I know because I tried both this afternoon. For the purpose of this review, though, it is vital that you understand that the play centres around Hamm, an elderly gentleman who spends the entire performance sitting centre stage in an armchair with wheels, his legs immobile and his eyes hidden by blacked-out glasses.

Any actor that tackles this role is already facing an uphill challenge – how do you deliver a compelling performance without the ability to pace the stage or convey emotion with just a look? Add to this a script that turns back and around on itself, making learning it (let alone creating meaning from it) a seemingly interminable task, and you have some idea of the position Hugo Weaving found himself in.

So I would already have praised any actor attempting this role, even if their performance was mediocre, due to sheer force of will. But no – Weaving was far from mediocre. His Hamm was measured, controlled, playful, thoughtful, charming, and undeniable. His gestures were superbly rendered, both large and small, bringing humour to a character that could easily be pitied. His vocal delivery was flawless, with volume and aggression applied sparingly, interspersed by lip smacks and fillers that brought realism to the absurd.

In fact, Hamm could very well have been my father, viewed in a future where his body is failing, and he has only his overactive but befuddled mind to keep him company. A writer, yes, but more importantly a storyteller, who delights in demonstrating his professorial knowledge of everything, despite perhaps no longer really ‘knowing’ anything at all. Weaving delivered him to us perfectly.

His fellow actors, also bodily restricted, gave strong performances. I have always loved Bruce Spence, and his face (the only part of his body really visible throughout Endgame as his character Nagg is confined to a bin) was suitably elastic. Sarah Peirse (Nell) was delightful, conjuring her youthful love affair with Nagg so vividly through only her eyes (again due to her position within a bin). Tom Budge, in his STC debut, delivered a comical, controlled Clov, which reminded me of some of the best physical theatre I have seen in my time. His was the hardest character to ‘get to know’, but I doubt this was Budge’s fault (although as this is my first live viewing of Endgame it’s hard to tell).

Nick Schlieper’s set and lighting design was really the other star. Using the height of the Roslyn Packer Theatre (previously known as Sydney Theatre) to his advantage, Schlieper delivered a cold but strangely comforting tower, with viewless windows, stagnant water and a sense of a world without life. The lighting was subtle but superbly done, focusing the audience’s attention at the appropriate moments without overwhelming the restricted cast.

In place of a picture of director Andrew Upton in the program is a photograph of some of the key props from the production, arranged comically about Hamm’s armchair. Sitting on the seat is The Dog (a mangy, matted toy, missing one leg, used to tremendous comic effect during the show). He is wearing Hamm’s glasses and at his feet rests Nagg’s biscuit. This image perfectly reflects Upton’s treatment of this play – set the pieces perfectly but let the man in the chair tell the story.

A real treat.

Details

Viewed: 28 April 2015

Venue: Roslyn Packer Theatre

Author: Samuel Beckett

Director: Andrew Upton

Company: Sydney Theatre Company

Boys Will Be Boys - But Should Girls?

Can women ever really play in a man’s world?

This is the premise of Melissa Bubnic’s Boys Will Be Boys – a play about a female stockbroker who believes she is taking it to the boys, and beating them at their own game.

Having spent most of my working life in the finance sector, I, along with my fellow theatre-going party, saw a familiar world unfolding on stage. We had come from an early dinner, during which the four of us discussed our respective workplaces, with two of our group noting their firms were currently recruiting women for senior management roles. That’s right – in order to meet their gender equality/diversity quotas, two major finance institutions were under strict orders to interview only women for the open positions. We were eager to see how our reality was going to be portrayed on stage.

Bubnic’s play takes us into the fast-living, fast-selling world of broking, where clients are pawns to be manipulated, careers are based on who not what you know, and the big deals are won and lost in the back rooms of strip clubs. The lead character, Astrid, has wriggled her way into this world, seemingly on her own terms. She takes on a junior, a girl named Priya in whom it appears Astrid sees something of herself. Together, they navigate the boys club, adopting the old line about Ginger Roger’s as a mantra: ‘She did everything Fred Astaire did, just backwards and in high heels’.

The cast is all female – a decision which forces the audience to examine their own attitudes towards ‘working’ women (in all senses of the word), and sexism. An uncomfortable early scene featuring an almost naked Zindzi Okenyo (who just five minutes earlier was playing Harrison, the son of a wealthy client who is bullied by his new employers) made me question my own feelings about the female form. Would I have felt as embarrassed for this actress if there were no men in the audience at all? And when Tina Bursill crossed the stage in a skimpy blue leotard, breasts thrust forward, did I, like many women in the audience, give her a subtle murmur of approval, acknowledging her bravery? When women use their bodies to generate influence – or to make money – is it empowering as Priya suggests, or simply perpetuating the idea of the victim?

The actors spent the majority of the show in tailored pant suits – the three supplementary characters in bold green, blue and peach, standing out against the white and grey of our protagonist and her protégé. This choice was no doubt made to help the supporting cast demonstrate their masculinity, juxtaposed against their occasional forays into sequinned leotards. The only hint of femininity about our leads was the shiny black heels they strutted the stage in. But in reality, the business women of today, particularly those in senior positions, opt for bright colours, prints and strong but feminine statement pieces. It’s not uncommon to see bright pink pencil skirts, silk blouses, bold floral patterns printed across knee-length, structured dresses and heavy knit bolero jackets in white or cream. I wondered if our leads could have benefited from a more womanly look, but in the end this did not detract from the overall design of the show.

In the Director’s Q&A, featured in the program, Paige Rattray talks about how she dealt with the challenge of staging the piece, which slips regularly from boardroom, to strip club, to hotel bar – as the narrative unfolds - to cabaret theatre in which we hear Astrid’s ‘inner monologue’. “Basically, we had to try to create a space that we could shift between those two worlds really quickly,” Rattray explains. The end result was a wide, sparsely furnished office space, complete with fluorescent lighting tiles and likely-fake pot plant. Astrid’s cabaret moments are treated in situ, with the addition of a microphone, mirror ball and fog machine at varying intervals. Personally, I think the transitions could have been done more effectively by actually introducing a cabaret set to a small corner of the theatre, most likely downstage; this would have permitted the audience to more easily forgive Astrid’s crude but flirtatious dialogue and passable singing voice.

That is not to say that Danielle Cormack’s performance as Astrid was flawed – it just could have benefited from more polish around the vocals. Perhaps this will come over time – the play had only opened two days prior. This also meant that the cast tripped over their dialogue occasionally, a blemish easily forgiven. Otherwise the performances were strong, and all parts well-cast. Cormack’s Astrid was both hard-arsed and likeable, with just enough subtly that you could believe she was neither victim nor villain. Sophia Roberts as Priya was perhaps a little rigid and naïve, but this was as much to do with the script as her interpretation.

The most interesting character was Isabelle, played beautifully by Meredith Penman. The high-class hooker tells Astrid straight up that she’s not in ‘Pretty Woman’ and there will be no rescuing, and it is through her eyes that we see just what playing in a man’s world can do to a woman. This is not because of how Isabelle makes her living, but due to her treatment at the hands of Astrid. The iron-clad exterior Astrid has assumed makes her somehow more masculine than her male colleagues; a character trait made worse because we feel she should know better.

The script has potential, but perhaps needs a little more time to reach its goal. Why, for example, have Priya tell the lamest, tamest jokes to the delight of her male clients while they downed liquor ahead of the expected floor show? Similarly, why are those same nameless men portrayed as clowns, buffooning around an office party (Christmas?) like naughty boys? They are not sinister, nor realistic. Was Bubnic trying to avoid victimising men, or was she saying they are actually quite harmless? Or was the intent to play down these interactions so that they did not take away from the main game – the relationship between Priya and Astrid? Either way, I was not convinced.

In the real world, a woman is afforded perhaps a little more credit for her success than was shown to Astrid, but then again, there is absolutely a ‘behind her back’ conversation that goes on between men about their female counterparts in the finance sector. I have witnessed the blokey attitudes, the drinking culture and the innuendo-laden laughter first-hand. So do I think a woman can play in a man’s world? Perhaps a better question is – why should she want to? If I have to turn a blind eye to behaviours that make my stomach churn simply to succeed in a job, then I have to question why on earth I would want to do that job in the first place? If I wanted to be a broker, why couldn’t I start my own, female-only firm, with only female clients? Why not play on my terms, instead of someone elses? Instead of trying to beat men at their own game, why don’t women start their own league, with their own rules – ones that suit their particular strengths and abilities? I thank Bubnic and the team from STC for challenging me with these questions. 

Details

Viewed: 22 April 2015

Venue: Wharf 2 Theatre

Author: Melissa Bubnic

Director: Paige Rattray

Company: Sydney Theatre Company

Our land is girt by sea

In honour of Australia Day, I thought I'd write about my favourite Australian plays. Not just ones written by Australians, but those that tell something of our country's story. Sadly though, I came to realise my experience with true 'Aussie theatre' is painfully limited.

I could always blame the theatre-makers for failing to produce new works. But I think that's not necessarily the problem - there are numerous new plays being written and performed across all of Sydney's theatres. I was lucky enough to get to see Keating! on its third return season, and laughed hysterically, in spite of only being a mere child during the majority of the period presented in the show. I do however believe it resonates in Australia, rather than of Australia. Could you tour this internationally with the same success - doubtful, although the songs are certainly catchy.

I also got to see the brilliant Deborah Mailman in the equally brilliant premier of 7 Stages of Grieving, which she co-wrote with Wesley Enoch. It was the first time I had ever seen Indigenous Australia represented on stage. I remember crying, laughing, crying and generally being in awe of the extreme talent of the woman in front of me.

The good news is that the Aboriginal voice has not disappeared from our theatres. Look at Belvoir's determination to bring the Aboriginal voice to the stage in last year's Buried City, Don't Take Your Love to Town and Beautiful One Day. And this year will give us This Heaven, Coranderrk and The Cake Man.

And the Sydney Theatre Company are kicking off their 2013 season with The Secret River, based on the award winning book by Kate Grenville (which I hear is brilliant, more on this when I finally get to see it in February), and finishing with an adaptation of Storm Boy.

Plus, moving away from just the Indigenous angle, you've got the team at Griffin, who's website proudly claims to 'lead the country in developing and producing great Australian stories'. And the increasingly long Short and Sweet festival.

So what about existing work? This is probably more of a concern. Last year I watched Summer of the Seventeenth Doll at Belvoir, and fell in love with the play that had seemed fairly boring to me in high school. It was especially refreshing to hear the Aussie accent used in its appropriate setting, rolling over words like 'bloke', 'blue' and 'up North'. (Not that I'm criticising the artistic choice of many local directors to insist upon their actors using their natural voices but it don't always work so good, eh). What I like (now) about Doll is that there's a desperation to the characters - a little of the Aussie battler in all of them. Interestingly, though set in Melbourne (or Sydney depending on the version), I can't help but picture  Pearl, Olive, Emma and Roo in an outback town; the dusty streets, the single pub, the falling down shack of a house. But probably the strongest pangs are drawn in picturing those 16 kewpie dolls, with their hideously made-up plastic faces, painted on hair and spiky skirts providing the poor dear with zero modesty. It's been successful in that it is part of the school curriculum, but it really didn't come to life for me until I saw it staged. Thanks Belvoir for introducing this classic to me for a second time.

But I can't say I've seen a lot of other 'classics' from the Aussie library. There are countless Williamson's, Enright's and Nowra's that remain on my 'to do' list, and regardless of the fact I heard more about it than any other play at university, I'm still to see a production of Away, by Michael Gow. University can also be thanked for introducing me to Blackrock and Cosi, and Stephen Sewell's Sisters (which I think is sadly un-lauded) but only to scenes, rather than whole productions. I guess the lesson is that the classics don't come around too often, so make the time to see them.

And memorandum to own-personage: see more new Aussie theatre, lest it never get produced again!

Review Review - Peter Pan (Belvoir)

When I picked up our Peter Pan tickets from the Belvoir box office last night, I asked the girl behind the counter if it (the production) was any good. Dressed in a bright red Belvoir t'shirt, with a comic-strip-patterned skirt, yellow high-tops and large, red, apple earrings that perfectly matched her shirt (and lipstick), she gleefully said: "Yes! I want to see it again! And again!! And again!!!"

Quite a review! And not being one to spoil my theatrical experiences with reviews (perhaps it was silly of me to ask in the first place) I entered the theatre with some trepidation. What would Belvoir do to this children's classic?

As TimeOut Sydney says so eloquently in its review, Belvoir's production of Peter Pan "... captures the way that children dream when they play."

The corner stage was transformed into a bedroom straight out of my childhood, complete with board game classics like Mousetrap, Connect 4 and (as my partner excitedly pointed out) Test Match. Uno also made an appearance. And just like my formative years, each item in the room took on a new identity as the story unfolded. I won't share too many of the transformations here (as Lloyd Bradford Syke does in his review) because they are all the more delightful for being so unexpected, but watch for a very funny fishing rod-cum-ship's mast and the clever use of a blanket to represent water (haven't we all dreamt we were drowning only to find ourselves buried under the covers?). Props (in every sense of the word) to both Set Designer Robert Cousins and Director Ralph Myers for letting their imagination run wild.

And so to the cast who are given full reign to play in the space. Often I find that one or two casting choices leave me perplexed, but not so with Peter Pan. I disagree with TimeOut who suggested that Meyne Wyatt (in the title role) lets the side down - I thought he was the epitome of an adventurous boy. Dressed in his sporting attire and jumping fearlessly from one piece of furniture to the next, Wyatt brought depth to a character who is often simply thought of as merely a child. Sure, Peter never wants to grow up, but isn't there something in that idea that all adults could benefit from? He seeks out a regulator for himself and 'the boys' (a mother), and desires structure (he needs to find out what happened to Cinderella at the end of the story, for example), but refuses to be confined by the usual parameters of life - school, office, and such like. A challenging role indeed, and one which Wyatt owns.

He does, however, lose some limelight to the comedic talents of the ensemble, who steal more scenes than is usually recommended. But again, Myers allows the actors to play, rather than simply act, and this brings a sense of fun that is sometimes lacking in today's performers (particularly those working on a show that they clearly loathe). Notable mentions go to Charlie Garber as the ad-libbing Captain Hook, who "turns the pantomime up to 11" and the delightful, Harriet Dyer, whose "giggly Twins (either and/or both), sunbathing mermaid and succession of doomed pirates are unlookawayable" (well said TimeOut). I also loved (as I usually do) John Leary's performance as Nana (the dog) - very Wilfred-esque.

There were so many moments that made me smile, and even more that made me laugh out loud. But I think the main reason my cheeks ached all the way home was for the sheer brilliance of the production elements. I hope I'm not spoiling things too much by sharing that Tinkerbell is perhaps the cleverest creation, in that she appears as flashing lights, darting across the room to the sound of bells rung by the cast. Congrats to Damien Cooper, Lighting Designer, for realising this tricky character so effectively.

As Tomas Boot explains on theatrepeople.com.au, "this is inventive theatre at its best, with director Ralph Myers crafting a taut and hilarious work... The delight comes not just from the comedic ensemble, but the ingenuity of the entire machine, as it were."

In some ways it was made all the more joyous an experience as it was the first time we (my partner and I) had taken his mother to this beautiful little Surry Hills space. Needless to say, she loved it. Wept tears of joy, in fact, a phrase I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of needing to write before.

I simply cannot wait to see it again! And again! And again!!!

Review Review - Private Lives, Belvoir

Firstly, a word of explanation. I don't like to read reviews before I go to see a show. That way my view of the show is not tempered with a preconceived idea of what that production may be. Instead I prefer to form my own views and then go back and look at what others have said. So this is my review of the reviews of Private Lives at Belvoir.

Safely ensconced in the back of a cab on our way home from attending Private Lives at Belvoir (til 11 Nov in the Upstairs Theatre), my partner made an interesting comment:

"I really enjoyed that, but I can tell why some of the reviews said that if you were a traditionalist you probably wouldn't like it."

I was intrigued.

Private Lives, written by one of England's most revered playwrights, Noel Coward, is set in a hotel in 1930, where two couples - Elyot and Sybil and Amanda and Victor - are enjoying the first night of their second honeymoons. Enjoying, that is, until Elyot and Amanda, who were married some five years before and have since divorced, discover that their honeymoons are to be spent in adjoining hotel rooms. Despite assuring their current spouses otherwise, sparks ignite between Elyot and Amanda and they run away together to Paris, leaving their partners to team up to find out just what went wrong. The synopsis alone gives rise to a smile, and yes, this is very much a farcical comedy which thrives as much on witty dialogue as it does slapstick.

And yes, it is true that Belvoir's Artistic Director, Ralph Myers' Upstairs directorial debut is very much in keeping with the Theatre's boundary-pushing style. The three-acter has been condensed to just one, a 90 minute onslaught of dialogue and door slamming. Instead of toffee-English accents, the actors are encouraged to use their natural voices, and the lavish furnishings that typically dress a play set in France in the 1930s are replaced with a stark, white, near-naked set. And the musical choices are eclectic and travel between the decades without blinking. But do these artistic choices make the production unlikeable?

Overall, I have to agree with the majority of reviewers who have concluded that the production is a good one. It is as entertaining a night out as one would expect from a comedy at 'the little theatre that could'. But it does have a few flaws that prevent it from truly attaining the heights that I, and others, have come to expect from Belvoir...

First, lets address the absence of accent. "With this sacrilegious move he's revealed that Private Lives is a delightful, clever play and, in order to amuse and entertain a 21st century audience, it has no need of sepia-tinted reverence for things past... The humour and wit don't need on comic plummy accents to generate laughter - it's actually humorous and witty anyway." So says Diana Simmonds in Stage Noise (26 September 2012). I could not agree more. True, there are one or two odd words that jar the ear and distract the audience for a minute or two while they ponder how much the English language has changed ('I love the world to be gay' anyone?), but on the whole, the use of natural voice allows the text to shine.

So too does the extremely talented and very watchable Toby Schmitz, who's take on the usually pompous, sarcastic Elyot is assured and cool. Described by Simmonds as "tall, urbane, and good looking", Schmitz steals the show, and rightfully so. Schmitz delivers his punchlines quickly and cleanly, much like a 50's (M)ad-man, who drinks for amusement and never quite seems to be totally present (as if he - the character - would much rather be elsewhere). The only question mark over his performance relates to the issue of violence - it is a little hard to believe that someone so charming could be violent towards women.

Schmitz is matched admirably by Zahra Newman, who plays Amanda, the ex-wife who is oft overshadowed by her ex-husband. But Newman's take on the part is best summed up by Lloyd Bradford Syke as "a modern woman: strong; strident; self-assured; go-getting; assertively sexy" (see Syke's well-written review for Crikey on 1 October).

Unfortunately I cannot agree with Simmonds and Syke on their assessment of the other two main characters, Sybil, played by Eloise Mignon, and Victor, given to us by Toby Truslove. While both Simmonds and Syke give props to these two Belvoir regulars for their 'gifted' and 'skilled' performances (Syke even goes so far as to say Truslove "has set a whole new comic high-water mark"), I felt underwhelmed. I'm afraid I didn't truly believe Mignon's naive, girl-in-love Sybil, and felt perhaps the performance was a little one-dimensional. And while Truslove gave plenty of dimension to Victor, bringing his usual laid-back, hands-in-pocket, downtrodden-love-fool style to the role, it was the wrong fit for the play. A more awkward, stuffy, too-nice and too-uptight interpretation would have given the character play more balance.

And speaking of off-balance, while he is known for his design cred, Myers lets his Director-self down with his set design. This play calls for a number of doors, driving the action throughout. But just because the doors are the most important part of the set doesn't mean the rest should be thrown-out completely. Myers has gone with a single flat, white wall at the rear of the stage which houses the two afore mentioned doors, and a third entry/exit - a lift. The floor is the kind of awful stone-look lino that you seen in hospital corridors. By using the minimal approach, Myers has addressed the change of location from hotel to Paris apartment that is normally managed through an intermission or long blackout. But it just doesn't work with the action and dialogue.

"The absence of set creates some distracting problems for the actors to solve: where to put the cocktail glasses? What to do with the mattress?" says Jason Blake on Eight Nights a Week. The mattress he mentions is used playfully in the 'second act' by Elyot and Amanda as they rekindle their romance. It is dragged onto the centre of the floor in front of the elevator (which of course is in the apartment scene because the set hasn't changed). At the climatic end of the scene (apologies for spoilers) the elevator opens to reveal Sybil and Victor, who stare incredulously at Elyot and Amanda, rolling around the floor in throws of violence. Well, that's what's supposed to happen. The night we saw the show the problematic mattress was pushed too close to the elevator doors which caused an amateur-like set malfunction leaving one half of the lift open and forcing a slightly ruffled Truslove to await an unscheduled blackout.

The other key problem with the set (and the small number of props that are used) is that they do nothing to help the audience determine the era in which the action is now set. It could be 2012, but who listens to records in 2012? It could be the 1930s, what with the dialogue and references to telegrams and trunks, but then how does one explain the use of Phil Collins in the soundtrack (a moment which I will not go on to explain because it is by far and away the funniest moment of the entire show)?

Alice Babidge's costume designs don't help either. They're actually well suited to the characters and their situations, but other than placing them sometime in the late 20th Century don't do enough to truly 'date' the action.

Simmonds sums up the issue best when she says...

"The thinking behind all this is deeply unfortunate and if the cast and direction were any less than sparkling, could have led to disaster. As it is, the packed Sunday afternoon preview audience (I'm overseas for the opening) absolutely adored it and so did I - but I did passionately hate the set and the bicycle."

I couldn't agree more. An enjoyable evening, marked by a fantastic performance by Schmitz, in a production which showcases a great playwright. But I did hate the set! I guess I'm just traditional that way.

Heaven Helpmann the Aussie Musical

The Helpmann Award Winners were announced this week. Television news coverage of the event was, of course, limited, but what did manage to make the 6pm reports was the winner of Best Musical. A Chorus Line.

 

My first thought was – really? 

 

To give some context, I saw this show with my ‘theatre group’. The group is made up of my partner’s mother, sister, sister’s best friend, and aunt, so it is really a family affair and I wouldn’t necessarily call us the most discerning, critical group of theatre goers (and ‘theatre’ generally translates just to musical theatre). However, when I saw that A Chorus Line was coming to Sydney I couldn’t wait to pitch it to the group as our next outing. 

 

Why was I so excited? Well for one, I’d never seen the show performed live. I had also sung a few numbers during my period of regular singing lessons (Dance 10 anyone?) and knew that it was musically very entertaining. Plus, as a fan of dance I had high expectations for a show taking its name from one of the most well-known dance ‘moves’ ever.

 

We booked our tickets months in advance, such was my enthusiasm, and when the day finally rolled around I was so enthusiastic I arrived an hour early (but I bought some killer heels while I was killing time so it all worked out for the best). Program in hand, and safely ensconced in our stall seats, I braced myself for the leotards, chorus shoes and kick lines I’d been dreaming about.

 

Admittedly we did see a matinee, and it was very early on in the season, but I left feeling very disappointed. 

A case of too much anticipation getting in the way of objectivity? No, I don’t think so. Here’s my critique (such as it is being several months after the event)…

• The Director’s voice-overs were terrible. He sounded flat, bored, and for the first part of the show I actually thought they’d been pre-recorded. There was no engagement in the dialogue, and it sounded as though he could care less about the answers to the questions he was asking. I guess maybe he was cast for his dancing ability and not his acting.
• The choreography was dated and formulaic. I realise that the choreographer was one of the original A Chorus Line performers and she was drawing on history but in this day and age I thought a dance show could have benefited from some new ideas and fresher moves.
• The Music and the Mirror dance number was below average. The song is all about how great a dancer Cassie is – so you expect a dynamic, captivating performance. I thought instead that the performer was holding back (perhaps like me she has difficulty keeping balance in chorus shoes and didn’t want to slip over). I wanted a Catherine-Zeta-Jones-In-Chicago-like effort, and I got marking it.
• Finally, the much anticipated Dance 10, Looks 3 – more like Dance 7, Looks 5, Singing 2. This is meant to be a sassy belt and sounded more like a whimper. And I didn’t think the actress looked like she’d had work done or understood why anyone would.

Sigh.

 

Okay, it wasn't all bad. Paul's monologue was beautifully delivered, the costumes were gorgeous and exactly what I expected, and the staging was minimal but utilised mirrors wonderfully.

 

So does all this ranting have a point? Yes. When I heard that this same production had won a prestigious Helpmann I was gobsmacked. But then I looked at the list of nominees:

• An Officer and a Gentleman – probably one of the biggest flops in Australian-premiered musical history
• Rock of Ages – which did so badly in Melbourne it didn’t even make it to Sydney
• Grey Gardens – never even heard of it.

Right, so perhaps it was a case of the best of a bad bunch. I can’t say that any of the others were better as I didn’t see them (because An Officer and a Gentleman had such bad reviews and because Rock of Ages didn’t make it to Sydney and because I’d never heard of Grey Gardens), but I felt saddened that this was the selection this year’s judges had to choose from.

 

Fingers crossed that the 2012-13 crop of musical theatre brings more choice, not just for the judges but also for my theatre group.