Friday Five: Spanning the year of theatre

1. Emilia - Essential Theatre, The Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre: When I read this play, I fell in love with it; it has feminism and Shakespeare intertwined with a glorious delight of language and heritage. It purports that the 17th-century poet Emilia Bassano is not only the 'dark lady' of the sonnets and his sometime lover, but the original writer of many of the works, whose words Shakespeare shamelessly stole to heighten the drama of his plays. Naturally, I was really excited to see this Australian touring version directed by Petra Caliva. Three women play Emilia at different stages of her life - one for her childhood and youth (Manali Datar); one for her young adulthood (Cessalee Stovall); and the third for her as an older woman (Lisa Maza). As each woman tells her story, the other two listen, react, encourage, cajole and reflect from the sidelines. The acting is of a high quality and the dialogue is delivered clearly and with passion. The characters are all played by women with the cowardly, grandiloquent and ultimately pathetic Shakespeare - played by Heidi Arena - getting the best lines and the biggest laughs. The set is minimal, comprising a revolving staircase which represents a multitude of scenes; the costuming brings the modern to the Jacobean (the brightly-colored Converse are a nice touch); and the choreography is eclectic with some snazzy contemporary moves. And yet, it just felt like there was something missing. Perhaps the haranguing and brow-beating tone left no room for nuance or relief so that the final speech, which should be incendiary - "The stakes we have been tied to will not survive if our flames burn bright. And if they try to burn you, may your fire be stronger than theirs so you can burn the whole fucking house down." - felt more like a damp squib, leaving the audience with nowhere to go and no way to react.
2. The Tempest - Sydney Theatre Company, Roslyn Packer Theatre: I love the way certain directors interpret Shakespeare to suit their own ends - and why not? In this version of The Tempest (directed by Kip Williams), however, the attempt to force it to fit the 'they stole it from us' colonialist narrative, means Caliban has been made into the good guy by excising all references to his brutal rape of Miranda, Prospero's daughter. Rather than Prospero enslaving him due to fear of his bestial physicality, it becomes purely a white-man-subjugates-a-black-man narrative, and while the white man (Richard Roxburgh) and the black man (Guy Simon) in question are exquisite in their roles, and deliver the bard's blistering words with passionate sincerity, it removes much-needed nuance from the original drama. The set of a big central rock (Uluru anyone?) is inspired as it provides levels, hiding places and dramatic hierarchy, and the lighting effects are spectacular. The rest of the cast are all perfectly cast - Peter Carroll is a waspish and world-weary Ariel; Claude Scott-Mitchell as Miranda gets to speak some of Juliet and Jessica's lines (Shakespeare's other works have been plundered for their poetry), which she does with affecting flair; Susie Youssef is an unexpected boorish delight as Trinculo. Of course, some critics have taken issue with the gender-blind casting, but if they are concerned with straying from 'traditional' portrayals, I would have thought that would be the least of their worries.



Cast of The Tempest by Sydney Theatre Company

3. The Importance of Being Earnest - ACT Hub, ACT Hub: Determined to be different, Jarrad West's direction is more  cabaret than theatre, including bursts of song (Louiza Blomfield does a lot of heavy lifting as the chanteuse) and outstandingly vibrant costumes designed by Fiona Leach - Lainie Hart as a stylish Lady Braknell presents as a steam-punk-ringleader. Many of the lines have been cut (including the one about never travelling without one's diary so as to always have something sensational to read on the train) and characters' roles trimmed down; Miss Prism (Victoria Dixon in a seething passive-aggressive turn heightened by inebriation) really only serves to be hoodwinked by Cecily (Holly Ross in a wheedling doll-like performance) and for the famous misplaced handbag denouement. The setting is the Bunburry Club, and we are part of the action, with scenes taking place at tables often after audience members have been asked to move to make way for the performers. There is a lot of food and slapstick comedy involved in eating - Cecily and Gwendoline (Shae Kelly making a deliberate mockery of affectation) have a food fight over cake, and Steph Roberts delights in the gluttonous Algernon Moncrieff as she stuffs her face with muffins and refuses to take anything seriously. Joel Horwood has perhaps the hardest role of all as he plays the straight man, Jack Worthing, and with the delightfully gender-blind casting, this is no mean feat. Painting with such broad and colourful strokes, many of the British class nuances are missed but that doesn't seem to matter in this riotous production, which is more of a madcap comedy than a comedy of manners. 
4. Amadeus - Sydney Opera House, Red Line Productions and The Metropolitan Orchestra, Concert Hall, Sydney Opera House: Let's face it, Michael Sheen is the draw-card here. Peter Shaffer's play is full of words and wit, interspersed with snatches of music and spectacle, and it requires a triumphant actor to bring the bombast and pathos in equal measure. As he looks back on the rumours concerning his part in the untimely death of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Rahel Romain), Salieri (Sheen) interprets events with a satirical detachment and studied indifference, barely concealing his passionate envy and desperate ambition. It is a masterly performance, and his voice and presence command our attention. This is important, because there a few occasions in the second act where the script becomes burdensome and the audience begins to realise that three hours is an awful long run time. Director Craig Ilott revels in the flamboyance and offers plenty of distraction. The costumes are sumptuous (Anna Cordingley and Romance Was Born) with the rich fabrics, sensational colours and flamboyant designs appearing particularly striking on the austere set (designed by Michael Scott-Mitchell). The black steps and folding doors hint at a keyboard, a ladder and an amphitheatre reflecting the action back to us as if we are witnessing our own foibles and Faustian pacts played out before us. Nick Schlieper's lighting design - heavy on the back-lit scenes - creates intriguing shapes, silhouettes and shadows, although some bits of staging can only be fully appreciated if seated in the middle seats as the sight lines from the sides would cut off a lot of the visuals. Besides the brilliant pairing of Romain and Sheen, other stand-out performances come from Toby Schmitz as an endearingly foppish Emperor Joseph II, Belinda Giblin and Josh Quong Tart as the frenetic Venticelli who buzz about the stage transporting news and gossip, and the musicians of the Metropolitan Orchestra who supply Mozart's sublime music which, despite Salieri's best (and indeed, worst) efforts, we all know and love. 
5. Grapes of Mirth - Contentious Character, Canberra:  Merrick Watts hosted an afternoon of comedy at a winery: the more we drink; the funnier they get. The acts were Frankie McNair (who gets funnier at every performance - proving that comedy is hard work), Peter Helliar (telling comfortable and amusing stories like a favourite uncle), Nath Valvo (very energetic and forthright), Dilruk Jayasinha (probably the best of the line-up), and Geraldine Hickey who was not in a good mood and was clearly thrown by the drunken heckling. Although it was baking hot and there was insufficient shade, it was a good, fun day out; not side-splittingly funny, but with plenty of entertaining stories.

Michael Sheen centre stage as Salieri in Amadeus

Beware of False Gods

God of Carnage
Circa Theatre, 4 April – 2 May

Ferdinand (son of Annette and Alain Reille) has broken Bruno’s (son of Veronique and Michel Vallon) teeth with a stick. The middle-class, middle-aged parents gather to discuss the consequences like the polite and reasonable adults they are. Instead their civil conversation degenerates into adults behaving badly as they become as infantile as the children they are discussing. The question is asked, ‘Are we ever interested in anything but ourselves?’ and the answer is that I am certainly not interested in anything on this stage.

Veronique Vallon (Carmel McGlone) is a writer with expressive hand gestures who cares deeply about things, particularly at present the history of Darfur. Her husband, Michel (Andrew Foster) is a hardware salesman who appears to be acting in homage to John Cleese as Basil Fawlty. His impressions of a paralysed hamster liberated on the pavement and his mother hobbling along on crutches are hyperactive and amusing at least. Veronique has no sense of humour which is in itself quite funny despite the hints at alcoholism and deep depression.

Their world is highly structured with neat piles of art books, starkly positioned furniture (if this is meant to be a natural front room the setting of the sofa alone negates it) and arrangements of tulips. Living against a backdrop of red corrugated iron walls, it is clear that this couple are minimalists who don’t like mess. It is equally predictable that chaos (represented in this case by drunkenness and vomit) is exactly what will be introduced. This is because the god of carnage has ruled since the dawn of time, apparently.

Apart from people discussing their diets (thanks to my sister for pointing that out), the most boring topic of conversation on this earth is parents discussing their children. We are ‘treated’ to 90 minutes of debating different child-rearing techniques. Alain (Jeffrey Thomas) concedes that his son really is a savage, but despite the best efforts to interest children in reading and art, all boys really want to do is belong to gangs and pretend they are John Wayne or Spartacus.

Alain and Michel agree that perhaps the lads should just have it out ‘man to man’ until it is pointed out that they are only 11. Alain gets some of the best lines, such as ‘Children are the worst thing you can inflict on anyone’; ‘Children fracture and consume our lives’; ‘I’m not a pushchair father – it’s deathly all that’. Veronique questions, ‘Why have children in the first place?’ Why, indeed? There is no satisfactory answer to this question.

Alliances shift throughout the play between couples who fall in and out of agreement quicker than they down their rum. Initially the couples hold hands with an intimacy that will clearly be broken. When the Vallons bicker and Annette (Carol Smith) begins to argue with Alain, he cautions her, ‘Just because their marriage is fucked up, we don’t have to compete.’ Things reach such a state of suburban cliché, I am almost surprised that they don’t indulge in a spot of wife-swapping

In a rare moment of accord, the women agree that men are a dead weight when it comes to parenting and that they are instead wedded to their gadgets. Annette is irritated when Alain, a lawyer embroiled in a pharmaceutical debacle, takes increasingly frequent business calls. Having had a husband who is permanently on call and will answer his mobile in the middle of a conversation, I have to disagree with the reviewer who found this ‘compromised credibility’.

Evidently this is a play about words, which are emotive and have connotations. For example, was Ferdinand ‘armed’ or ‘furnished’ with a stick? The Reilles ‘don’t care for the word disfigured’ to describe Bruno’s toothless appearance. The courtroom parlance is introduced to the courtly parlour, as the couples find the art of co-existence goes deeper than the veneer of politeness.

It takes half an hour before they call each other by their first names; to ‘tutoyer’ someone is a big deal in France and this scene could echo the introduction of Gwendoline Fairfax to Cecily Cardew in The Importance of Being Earnest, except it lacks the comic and social commentary. It might be possible that the fault lies in the translation, but Chistopher Hampton (who wrote Les Liaisons Dangereuses) is not entirely to blame.

The acting is uniformly good, and each character gets their moment to shine with acerbic barbs and witty ripostes. All production values are more than adequately met, which indicates that the fact this falls flat is in the writing. Although I have never seen Art or any other works by Yasmin Reza, I had great expectations of this play based upon her reputation.

One of the characters says, ‘We are a lump of potter’s clay – it is up to us to shape something out of it’. The God of Carnage proves that sometimes idols really do have feet of clay.

The Importance of Being Earnest

The Importance of Being Earnest
Wellington Repertory Theatre,
Gryphon Theatre, November 26 – December 6

Oscar Wilde is in the highest echelon of playwrights – to my mind, only half a step behind William Shakespeare – and his plays are legendary with oft-quoted lines. Sometimes directors can ruin the sparkling wit by trying to stamp their own interpretation on them, but Julia Harris largely resists this temptation.

Stephen Walter as Algernon Moncrieff has some of the best lines of the play and he delivers them superbly. His mix of cynicism and bafflement is both comic and endearing, pitched at just the right level of understated savoir faire. If only men were like this in real life, women would stop complaining about the man drought. His understanding butler Lane (Chris Barker who doubles as Merriman) copes stoically with his indiscretions á la Jeeves and Wooster.

Hayden Rogers as John Worthing is the foil to Algie’s rapier. Often these two are played as a comedy duo, and here Jack is the straight-man. Rather than criticism of his lies and deceit (pretending to have an ailing brother and then ‘killing him off’ when he gets inconvenient), his even temper elicits sympathy as it is plain he will never succeed if left to his own bumbling devices.

The girls the boys are in love with are poles apart but both exquisite. As Gwendolen Fairfax, Danielle Duberguet is the ultimate in refinement – woe betides any man who attempts to resist her girlish determination. Rosemary Williams is sprightly and verging on feral as Cecily Cardew; no less resolved to snag her man despite flights of infantile fancy. The scene in which Gwendolen and Cecily become friends, adversaries and then friends again is the highlight of the play.

Lady Bracknell is one of the most fun creations for an actor and Margaret Hill doesn’t disappoint. Her icy demeanour gives an indication as to how Gwendolen (her daughter) will develop. After all, as Algie quips, ‘All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his’. She remains tight-lipped and ferocious throughout without a hint of warmth. How refreshing it would be to see her played with the merest suggestion of humour and flirtation. She is slightly one-dimensional but to her credit, delivers the famous ‘handbag’ speech with distinction.


Mary Coffey is an utter delight as Miss Prism with a unique blend of blushing girlishness and spinsterish insecurity. It is charming to see her paired with the Reverend Chasuble (Leslie Craven). His calm generosity of spirit ensures that this will be one relationship that is likely to last and brings a genuine smile to the audience. If this is a battle of the sexes, it is one in which all is equal – the women get their men, and the men are happy to be got.

I would question why it is set in the present. The use of cell phones, blackberries and laptops is incongruous in a play which hinges on the difference of town and country mores – the global village effect negates all the intricacies and farcical constructs that Wilde works so hard to establish. The dialogue is practically poetry, and when did you last hear a texting teenager speak in sentences of more than rudimentary grammar and vocabulary?


Also, Algie and Jack’s discussion about smoking jackets or going to a club so that they can sit and talk makes no sense in a modern context. This setting allows for some delicious wardrobe (once again the undisputed domain of the excellent Annabelle Hensley and team) but if the intention was for us not to get distracted by the period frocks, it has backfired by making us question the contemporary relevance. Whoever designed the poster has stuck with vintage Victoriana and designed one of the best posters seen all year.

The Importance of Being Earnest is like a sumptuous game of cricket – all dramatic tradition and tortuous tactics. Despite some devastating spin and dazzling confidence, five days of manoeuvres can end in a very satisfying draw. It is, after all, just a game.