Friday Five: Books Read in February

1. The Deep Blue Sea by Terrence Rattigan (Nick Hern Books) - A very fine play set over the course of a day in a shabby London flat in the 1950s. The play begins with the discovery of Hester by her neighbours and landlady after she has failed in an attempt to take her own life by gassing herself. It soon becomes apparent that the source of her anguish is her relationship with Freddie, a former RAF pilot, who cannot love her as she wishes to be loved. Her husband, Sir William, a respectable judge, is reluctant to grant her a divorce on the grounds that he now cares for her more than ever. But is it enough or is it just because she is "simply a prized possession that has now become more prized for having been stolen."? While others tip-toe around her predicament, it is the straight-talking struck-off doctor, Mr Miller from upstairs, who is able to force her to face reality. The play is a great expose of social mores across ever-widening chasms of class and culture.  
2. The Wife and the Widow by Christian White (Affirm Press) - A well-written, suspensful and engaging novel with plenty of intrigue that examines the consequences of hiding feelings and burying emotions. When Kate's husband, John, dies, part of her grieving process is to return to their holiday home on a fiction island (which seems remarkably like Bruny Island), that "represented a cold exclamation mark at the end of a sentence." As the title suggests, there is another viewpoint from which the story is narrated, that of Abby, the wife, with husband Ray. There is of course the secret life aspect that is no surprise when it surfaces, some aspects of the novel are unoriginal and over-explained, and it’s difficult to tell whether the occasional gender-reductive viewpoint is that of the character or the author, or both. Overall, however, sharp writing, original similes and colloquial appeal make this an intense and compelling thriller which is hugely readable and atmospheric.



Tom Hollander as Henry Carr and Clare Foster as Cecily in Travesties, directed by Patrick Marber in 2016

3. Travesties by Tom Stoppard (Faber) - The characters in this sublime play include Tristan Tzara (Dadaist who wears a monocle), James Joyce, Lenin, and Henry Carr – based on a real character from history who performed in The Importance of Being Ernest, directed by Joyce when they all live in Zurich. Carr then sued and was counter-sued by Joyce over nonpayment of tailor’s bills due to Carr’s insistence on wearing sartorially elegant trousers for the production, and Joyce believing he had not been reimbursed for ticket sales. This is mentioned in a minor footnote in Ulysses, and Stoppard picked it up and turned it into a play. In much the same way as in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, the characters of Gwendolyn and Cecily from Ernest come to the fore, and in similar fashion to Arcadia, time and place overlap – like a derailed toy train that must be set back on its rails – this is also in part due to Henry Carr being old and senile (we see Old and Young Carr, both played by the same actor), and an entirely unreliable narrator – he may not even have been the consulate he believes he was/is. There are so many layers of understanding and allusion – recycling and reappearing like the Dadaist anti-structure which removes meaning, context and cause – that it needs to be read and deserves to be seen.
4. The Good Husband of Zebra Drive by Alexander McCall Smith (Abacus) - As with all the novels in the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series (this is the eighth), the crimes themselves - a person stealing stationary supplies, three suspicious deaths in a hospital at the same time in the same bed - are secondary to the characters, their development (or otherwise) and relationships to each other. Mma Makutsi is greatly looking forward to her future life with her fiancé, and she bridles at her apparent lack of authority with Mma Ramotswe. Meanwhile, Mr J. L. B. Matekoni is bored with his job and asks to take on some detective work. He lands the role of investigating for Mma Botumile, who suspects her husband is having an affair. She is the “rudest woman in the whole of Botswana” so he wouldn’t be surprised, although he tells himself he must not judge. He asks what car her husband drives so he can follow him after work and see where he goes, but she only tells him it is a red car, which horrifies him – how can she not know the make and model? Of course, he follows a different red car and investigates the wrong man. Charlie, the apprentice, buys a Mercedes Benz and leaves Mr J. L. B. Matekoni’s garage to become a taxi driver. He is distracted by dreams of greatness and girls, and his fledgling business fails to launch. And, once again, we return to the comforting bush wisdom of Mma Ramotswe, who believes that women make better detectives because they observe more detail and have natural intuition. “There was room in this world, Mma Ramotswe thought, for things done by men and things done by women; sometimes men could do the things done by women, sometimes not. And vice versa, of course."

One-Sided Passion in Multidimensional Play: The Deep Blue Sea

The Deep Blue Sea by Terence Rattigan

Nick Hern Books

Pp. 90 

F3; M8

 

The play begins as a young woman, Hester Collyer, has attempted to take her own life, although the gas went out because there wasn’t enough money in the meter. In this respect, it almost commences with an element of black comedy. Hester is discovered by the landlady, Mrs Elton, and the couple from upstairs, Anne and Philip Welch. Mr Miller also gets involved, a mysterious resident of the tenement who may or may not be a doctor. It transpires that Hester is in love with Freddie Page and has left her barrister husband, Sir William Collyer, to be with him, but Freddie doesn’t feel quite the same as she does and is, in fact, alarmed by her physical passion. “He walks forward and kisses her. Instantly she responds, with an intensity of emotion that is almost ugly. After a moment he pushes her away and smacks her playfully.”

 

Freddie was an RAF fighter pilot until an accident curtailed his career, and he has turned to drink, although he still maintains the lingo and bravado. “Funny things about gongs, when you think what a lottery they were. They don’t mean a damn thing in war – except as a line-shoot, but in peacetime they’re quite useful.” When Jackie reminds Freddie that he was “the tops… as a test pilot”, he replies, “I was – a year ago. Since then things have changed a bit. (He points to his glass.) This stuff isn’t exactly what the doctor ordered for nerve and judgment. Besides I’m too ruddy old. You’re finished in that racket at twenty-five. I wouldn’t last a week. I want something chairborne – not airborne. I’ve had flying for life.” His staccato speech is in sharp contrast to Hester’s stillness, and when he first enters, her simple responses which are made without her once turning to meet Freddie’s eye, creates a cruelly ironic effect distancing Freddie from the audience’s sympathy.

 

The play takes place in one room, over the course of one day, follows one narrative, and as noted by Dan Rebellato in the introduction, “almost no violent action occurs on stage. This unshowy preservation of the Aristotelian unities perhaps subtly encourages an audience to expect a tragic ending.” Instead, there is a final glimmer of hope, and many contemporary critics felt cheated. Miller thinks Hester may some talent in her painting which might become a little flame. “Not a great fire, which could have illumined the world – oh no – I’m not saying that. But the world is a dark enough place for even a little flicker to be welcome.” Rebellato champions the play: “The story of Hester Collyer, trapped in a relationship with a man incapable of returning her love, and her transition from attempted suicide to groping, uncertain self-determination is handled with extraordinary economy, precision and power. The depths of despair and desire that Rattigan plumbs have made The Deep Blue Sea one of his most popular and moving pieces.” Other reviewers feel it is a brutally bleak meditation on the cruel consequences of one skirmish between sexual desire and social repression.

 

Rattigan was known for putting character ahead of ideas, and for themes of sexual longing and humiliation. Hester knows that Freddie loves her as much as he ever did, which means that he doesn’t. He’s not a bad man, but she is passionate about him and that is not socially acceptable for women in this era. In this respect, the play in similar to Look Back in Anger to which it is often compared, usually unfavourably. When asked what he thought about Osborne’s Look Back in Anger, Rattigan replied that it should have been retitled, ‘Look how unlike Terence Rattigan I’m being.’ Hester is a tough character to play without being mawkish, maudlin or melodramatic. She could also be self-pitying and dull or hard and matter of fact. It’s a fine balance. Hester explains, “When you’re between any kind of devil and the deep blue sea, the deep blue sea sometimes looks very inviting.”

 

Freddie tells his mate, Jackie Jackson, “A clergyman’s daughter, living in Oxford, marries the first man who asks her and falls in love with the first man who gives her an eye. (After a slight pause.) Hell, it’s not that I’m not in love with her too, of course I am. Always have been and always will. But – well – moderation in all things – that’s always been my motto. (At the table.) Have another?” Another touch of black humour in that he is immoderate in drink, while glibly discussing his lover’s broken heart. Freddie thinks only of himself, while accusing others of being selfish. “Supposing she’d pulled it off last night, do you realise what everyone would have said? That I’d bust up a happy marriage, and then driven Hes to suicide. I’d have been looked on as a ruddy murderer. Did she think of that, I wonder? Who the hell would have believed what I’ve just told you?” He is the conventional one, while Hester risks being a social outcast through her honesty. When having a disagreement with her husband, she says, “There are polite words and impolite words. They all add up to the same emotion.”

 

Collyer tells Hester that he would happily take her back and that he is even more in love with her than he was “on our wedding day.” He tells her that Freddie is reprehensible, with which the audience agrees. “This man you say you love is morally and intellectually a mile your inferior and has absolutely nothing in common with you whatever; what you’re suffering from is no more than an ordinary and rather common infatuation; and it’s your plain and simple duty to exert every effort of will you’re capable of in order to return to sanity at once.” She despairs that her husband cannot understand how she feels. “In sober truth neither you nor I nor anyone else can explain what I feel for Freddie. It’s all far too big and confusing to be tied up in such a neat little parcel and labelled lust. Lust isn’t the whole of life – and Freddie is, you see, to me. The whole of life – and of death, too, it seems. Put a label on that, if you can.” She will not return to Collyer, as she tells him, “I’m simply a prized possession that has now become more prized for having been stolen.”

 

Michael Billington wrote of The Deep Blue Sea, that it is “as timelessly true as Phèdre in its portrait of the inequality of passion.” Dan Rebellato considers that “Rattigan has placed Hester between her father the clergyman, her husband the judge, and her lover, the ex-airman; Hester’s sexuality is policed by a repressive triad of church, law and the army.” Philip attempts to take charge of the situation by telling Hester, “Without trying to be preachy or anything, it is really the spiritual values that count in this life, isn’t it? I mean the physical side is really awfully unimportant – objectively thinking, don’t you think?” A lot of the humour is at Philip’s expense, and he is so uptight and pompous that he doesn’t notice. When he lectures Hester by recounting his own experience – “I went away for a fortnight all by myself – and of course I had hell, but gradually things sort of got clearer in my mind, and when I got back I was out of the wood.” – she replies, “I’m so glad. Where was it you went?” His answer, Lyme Regis, deflates him and his specious argument.

 

Meanwhile, Miller appears to be the only one who can relate, as he counsels Hester, “To see yourself as the world sees you may be very brave, but it can also be very foolish. Why should you accept the world’s view of you as a weak-willed neurotic – better dead than alive? What right have they to judge? To judge you they must have the capacity to feel as you feel. And who has? One in a thousand. You alone know how you have felt. And you alone know how unequal the battle has always been that your will has had to fight.” This is also a caution to the audience. Miller is amused that Ann should concern herself about Hester’s mental state, when she is physically unharmed. “You make that distinction? Her mind is perfectly sound. There is no trace whatever of any psychotic symptoms which might justify a certificate of insanity.” When Ann asks what made her try to kill herself, Miller answers “(after a slight pause) She wanted to die, I suppose.” Again, this hints at black comedy, although he suspects she “probably will try again, and try again very soon.”

There has been considerable criticism levelled at Rattigan (as there is to E.M. Forster in The Inheritance) that he wasn’t open enough about his sexuality – it was illegal to be homosexual – and that he writes coded characters, such as Mr Miller. Many people at the time (and me) thought that the reason Miller couldn’t practice as a doctor was because he had performed an abortion (also illegal), but modern interpretation believes it is because he was discovered to be gay. Attempted suicide was also illegal in the 1950s. Miller insists he is not a doctor although he has all the credentials, and he mocks Collyer with his understanding of patient confidentiality. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. It’s much the same as the English schoolboy’s code, isn’t it? No sneaking.”

 

Rattigan had a relationship with a man who tried to end his life through gassing himself and failed – but this doesn’t mean that he has made Hester a male stand-in and written in code about homosexuality. It is a lot deeper and more complex than that, as Rebellato explains, “Homosexuality, then, was explored and experienced through a series of semi-hidden, semi-open codes of behaviour; the image of the iceberg, with the greater part of its bulk submerged beneath the surface, was frequently employed. And this image is, of course, one of the metaphors often used to describe Rattigan’s own playwriting.” He is criticised for smuggling furtively homosexual themes into his plays and for lacking the courage to confess to his sexuality both in his plays and his writing – the devil and the deep blue sea, indeed.

 

The fear and repression in palpable. In his obituary of Rattigan, Michael Billington wrote, “His whole work is a sustained assault on English middle class values; fear of emotional commitment, terror in the face of passion, apprehension about sex.” Rebellato argues, “There are traces of gay experience running through The Deep Blue Sea. The set itself strongly captures the continual fear of exposure felt by so many homosexual men and women. The room with a communal stairwell right outside the door is positioned to encourage a constant awareness of surveillance, with characters perusing each other’s letters, exchanging gossip, and overhearing one another’s conversations.”

 

The letter Hester writes to Freddie is passed around and becomes a plot device, typical of the ‘well-made play’. Rebellato feels, “There is a fluidity and subtlety in the way that Rattigan has the suicide note pass from the mantlepiece to the Welches, then into the pocket of Hester’s dressing gown, and finally into the hands of Freddie. Rattigan expertly misdirects us, so that we have forgotten about the letter, until Freddie’s desire for a cigarette leads him to stumble across it... The same confidence and theatrical economy marks Rattigan’s use of the shilling which Freddie cruelly offers Hester, ‘Just in case I’m late for dinner’, and which lies on the table until Hester picks it up in preparation for her second suicide attempt. Through these devices… Rattigan not only creates a satisfyingly taut theatrical unity, but reminds us of the dangerous atmosphere in which these characters live, in which everything is charged with meaning, and where objects and actions are constantly scrutinised, judged and battled over.” If we can stop comparing this to Osborne (as if they were both trying to write the same play) and appreciate it for its own merit, we must conclude that this is a very fine play indeed.

Friday Five: Books read in March

 

1. Iron by Rona Munro (Nick Hern Books) - This play for four actors, mainly concerns a mother daughter relationship as Josie goes to visit her mother, Fay, in prison for the first time in 15 years. Fay is imprisoned for the murder of her husband, Josie's father. Throughout the course of the play, set mainly in the visiting area, the two try to learn about each other, with Fay asking for details of Josie's life in an attempt to live vicariously through her experiences and Josie asking for annecdotes of the childhood she can't remember. Meanwhile the guards interject as all privacy is removed and people question motive and emotion. Fay tells Josie,  “It’s not the zoo, you know, you can’t come in when the fancy takes you and throw me a bun!” The dialogue is grim and brittle with rapid shifts of mood and tone as the playwright questions boundaries and how we would react if we are pushed beyond them. 
2. Outspoken by Father Rod Brown (Ebury Press) - I have a signed copy of this book from when I saw Father Rod speak at the Canberra Readers and Writers Festival in 2019. Rector of Gosforth Parish, Father Rod is most known for putting up billboards with pithy sayings espousing love and tolerance, and denouncing bigotry and hate, 'because justice is always social'. The story begins with his autobiography, and then moves into a call for a discussion about morals and faith, and how he believes they relate to issues such as migrants, marriage equality and the review of child abuse within the church. While holding onto his values, theology, and decency, he rejects much of the Bible-thumping conservatism often equated with Christianity. He is actually the Anglican priest we should welcome into our hearts and homes for thoughtful and rational debate in a space of respect and compassion for all. 
3. The White Cottage Mystery by Margery Allingham (Penguin) - Margery Allingham’s first detective story, published initially as a newspaper serial,is a country house mystery of the type favoured by the Queens of Crime and follows the formula expertly. The blurb on the back summarises, “Seven people might have murdered Eric Crowther, the mysterious recluse who lived in the gaunt house whose shadow fell across the White Cottage. Seven people had good cause. It was not lack of evidence that sent Detective Chief Inspector Challenor and his son Jerry half across Europe to unravel a chaos of clues.” The clues involve people trying to cover their secrets, such as blackmail, homosexuality, adultery, class pretence, and other sins. Attitudes may have changed, but the well-plotted drama and general motivation to keep things hidden remains. As with all Golden Age detective mystery fiction, the crime is treated as something of a game. W.T. muses on the suspects, “They all behave as if they were innocent, and yet each one is hiding something. Each has a motive for killing Crowther, and admits it freely. No sane person would dare to do that unless they felt safe.” It is, of course, baffling to the duo attempting to solve it. The White Cottage Mystery is a gripping, short caper, capable of being consumed in a day, and the fine plotting ensures that everything is neatly tied up with a bow after all. This is highly recommended for fans of the genre.

4. Cat vs Cat: Keeping Peace When You Have More Than One Cat by Pam Johnson-Bennett (Penguin) - This is a practical book full of information about feline dynamics and how to handle them. It covers topics from introducing a new, younger, cat to the household where there is already an established resident (and why you might choose not to do that in the first place) to calming a scared or anxious cat, and the trouble with anthropomorphosising your pet. The main piece of advice is to always give the cat a choice (including plenty of places, on a variety of levels, to hide, if that's what they want) and provide enough resources that the cats don't have to share. This includes food and water bowls, litter trays and human playtime or interaction. Cats will happily curl up to sleep and groom together, but they always need their own space and independence. I respect that.
5. All That I Am by Anna Funder (Peungin) - First published in 2011, this novel about characters involved in left-wing activism in 1930s Germany received stacks of awards in Australia, including the Australian Book Industry Award Book of the Year. The author is Australian. The four main characters are forced to flee Munich and become exiles in London. Based on real people, the fictionalised version of their lives seems simultaneously sanitised and dramatised for clearer narrative. Justifiable paranoia and a sense of betrayal afflict the remaining members of the once tight-knit group who narrate their stories in alternate chapters from Sydney and New York. It's gripping with elements of secrecy and espionage with a high sense of danger. Of course I was far too contrary to read it when it was on everyone's book pile, and more than ten years on, I wonder if it still meets all the hype.

Friday Five: Our Cross-Stitch’s Good

Further to the previous post about cross-stitch quotes from Our Country's Good by Timberlake Wertenbaker, here are some more words of the text picked out in the colours of the local birdlife.

Said by Watkin Tench (played by Gaurav Pant) in the colours of a crimson rosella (Platycercus elegans)

Spoken by John Arscott (played by Paul Sweeney) in the colours of the Eastern ground parrot (Pezoporus wallicus)

Said by Ketch Freeman (Played by Maurice Downing) in the colours of a Gang-gang cockatoo (Callocephalon fimbriatum)

Said by 2nd Lt Ralph Clark (played by Callum Wilson) in the colours of an Eastern rosella (Platycercus eximius) 

Said originally by George Farquhar in The Recruiting Officer, and frequently by director Karen Vickery in rehearsals, in the colours of a King parrot (Alisterus scapularis)

Friday Five: Cross-stitch quotes from Our Country's Good

Tonight is opening night of Our Country's Good by Timberlake Wertenbaker at Canberra Repertory Theatre. As I am in it, I have listened to the wonderful words night after night in rehearsal and, as is my wont, in my down time I have created cross-stitch patterns based on the text to make into cards for the cast. 

The colours I have used are based on the plumage of Australian birds (mainly parrots). I remember when I first moved here myself, how taken I was with the avian vibrancy, and so the line, "You have been made Governor-in-Chief of a paradise of birds" (spoken to Captain Arthur Phillip by Captain David Collins) resonates particularly strongly. 

Said by Arthur Philip (played by Amy Crawford) in the colours of a Bald-eyed corella (Cacatua sanguinea)

Said by 'Shitty' Meg Long (played by Meaghan Stewart) in the colours of a Rainbow lorikeet (Trichoglossus moluccanus) 

Said by Robert Sideway (played by Isabelle Gurney) in the colours of a Sulphur-crested cockatoo (Cacatua galerita)

Said by Liz Morden (played by Alexandra Pelvin) in the colours of a Yellow-tailed black cockatoo (Zanda funerea)

Said by Mary Brenham (played by Rosy Fasano) in the colours of a Galah (Eolophus roseicapilla)

Life's Nourishment: Milk by Dylan Van Den Berg

Dylan Van Den Berg, Katie Beckett and Roxanne McDonald in Milk

Milk by Dylan Van Den Berg

Directed by Ginny Savage
The Street Theatre
3 -12 June, 2021

The theatre is a forum for sharing stories; exploring the past; questioning the present; and preparing for the future. ‘Milk’ does all of the above with superb staging and atmospheric sound and lighting featuring pivotal moments in liminal spaces, directed with depth and nuance by Ginny Savage.

We are taken to a metaphysical Flinders Island off the coast of Tasmania, which is created instantly through imagery and sound (Peter Bailey) – the wind is a constant presence. The design of the rock-strewn stage (Imogen Keen) is evocative and versatile; piles of stones can be interpreted as cairns and path-markers, burial sites and weapons. Ranging in size they indicate the passage of time through erosion, and they can be put in a pocket and transplanted to another time and place.

Spanning two centuries the play tracks the conversation between three Aboriginal ancestors coming together on the verge of life-changing moments. The characters are nameless – known only as Character A, B, and C – which suggests a blending of personalities and continuation of stories. Playwright and Character C, Dylan Van Den Berg has just become a father, which has made him introspective. He wants to know where he came from and what he might be passing on to a future generation.

Character A (Roxanne McDonald) and Character C (Dylan Van Den Berg) 

He and the other characters, A (Roxanne McDonald) and B (Katie Beckett), attempt to reconcile what came before invasion and colonisation of Tasmania with what is yet to come. Roxanne McDonald (portraying an old woman from the 1840s) tells her story with honesty and heartbreaking integrity. While the horror and violence of the past is not dwelt upon, there are certainly uncomfortable scenes and a few tears were shed in the audience. A note in the programme reminds us that “a group of Palawa people, mostly women, were removed from their country and taken to the Bass Strait Islands in the early-to-mid 1800s. They were sold, bartered, and gifted as ‘wives’ to the white sealers who lived there.”

Katie Beckett plays Character C’s grandmother, although the actors are similar in age, which leads to an intimacy and shared understanding of identity. The difference is that “You’re lucky with that milky skin. You get no trouble. You get to carry it all on the inside – all the knowledge. Some of us gotta carry it on the outside for everyone to see.” Character B is a middle-aged woman from the 1960s who is attempting to find fun and explore the world through various encounters and relationships, while refusing to be confined by convention. 

Katie Beckett as Character B

Through outstanding physicality, the actors all embody greatly varying experiences and shifts of mood that are entirely convincing and utterly compelling. The costumes, also by Imogen Keen, are designed to accentuate the details of their circumstances, from the rough-looking, sturdy coverings, fashioned like a blanket, of Character A, to the impractical and uncomfortable shiny fabric worn by Character B as she prepares to go on a date and sell herself as something she is not – “I’m a natural blonde, baby… this is just a dye-job.”

They progress and move past grief, shame and self-loathing by literally picking themselves up and carrying on. Lighting by Gerry Corcoran illuminates, defines and conceals spaces in intriguing ways that create conversation. We all have blind spots in our family history, but learning about the past can inform our present and teach us to be more compassionate towards the people around us.

It is apt that Milk opened in a world premiere during Reconciliation Week. It may be a personal story about loss and survival, but it asks us all to question our heritage and to consider our relationship to the land we live on. Again, the programme notes that, “For many years it was said that the Palawa people were ‘extinct’. White history has swallowed our stories. This is just one of many.” A lot of stories and knowledge have been lost through lack of sharing, but in the words of character C, “It’s all out there. Even the stuff we think is gone. We just – have to listen. We just – have to dance.”

This play is stunning and heartfelt. It is personal and it is broader than one man’s story. It affects all of us, as it should. See it; feel it; share it. That is all.

Cross-Cultural Chekov: Hotel Sorrento

Hotel Sorrento by Hannie Rayson

Eltham Little Theatre Inc

Eltham Little Theatre, 15 Feb - 2 March 2019

Australian amateur theatre groups love Hannie Rayson’s Hotel Sorrento, with good reason. It is by a local playwright with resolutely Aussie themes and it features strong roles for women (who make up most of the auditionees in community theatre).

The story centres on the Moynihan sisters who grew up together in the seaside town of Sorrento. Hilary (Alison Jones) still lives in the family home with her father, Wal (Roderick Chappel) and her teenage son, Troy (Mason Frost); Pippa (Michelle Cooper) is a businesswoman visiting from New York; and Meg (Sharenya S Kumar) is a successful writer who has returned from England with her husband, Edwin (James Chappel). When the three sisters are reunited after ten years apart, they feel the constraints of family life and sibling rivalry as ancient grudges and old grievances re-emerge.

Middle sister, Meg, has written a book which is shortlisted for the prestigious Booker Prize, and has set the local community alight. Neighbour, Marg (Chris Perkins) is fascinated by the details within; her friend, Dick (Peter Helft), is offended by what he sees as Meg’s dismissal of her background; and all concerned want to know how much is ‘true to life’ in the semi-autobiographical fiction. Hotel Sorrento is largely about family ties and the reliability of collective memory; the main focus is the relationship between three sisters and who has the right to tell their story, so it is a great positive that these relationships worked well.

Hannie Rayson creates plausible characters, and through their interactions, she layers the text with deeper social concerns. It’s a lot of responsibility, but the trio shoulder it admirably and present a solid grouping, despite some different acting choices. Alison Jones brings a calm patience and warmth to the role of Hilary; her gentle mannerisms a delight to watch as she embodies so much more than she says. Sharenya S. Kumar is a touch melodramatic as Meg; although the flamboyance may suit the character, it feels at times as though she is performing in a different play, or perhaps a musical or pantomime. Much needed naturalism is introduced by Michelle Cooper as Pippa, whose every facial and bodily gesture expresses a range of emotion from frustrated resentment to unbridled amusement.

Alison Jones as Hilary and Michelle Cooper as Pippa

The question of storytelling – who gets to do it and who owns the narrative – is approached from many angles ranging from personal and intimate to political and global, and everyone gets their say. In a 2014 interview, Hannie Rayson explained, “Who has power, how do they wield it and who suffers at the hand of it, are questions [that] always interest me. So I go to the family to explore them. I understand it in a family context. I can take the audience with me on that and make the links between what we understand in our known worlds with how the tensions might express themselves politically, in a bigger national canvas.”

In this production, directed by Kath Buckingham, the impulse to expand every metaphor proves a hindrance. The set (designed by Phil Holmes and Brad Buckingham) is too crowded with all the elements given equal weight and therefore jostling to find space. The conflicted characters in Hotel Sorrento spend a lot of time internalising their thoughts and emotions while gazing out to sea; the surrounding ocean is a strong image with its omnipresent ebbing and flowing and relentless energy, and the scenes on the edges of the stage are those that work best when actors and characters alike are unencumbered by furniture and free from physical and metaphorical restrictions. It would be satisfying to see them given greater release.

Troy (Mason Frost), Hilary (Alison Jones), Edwin (James Chappel), Dick (Peter Helft) and Meg (Sharenya S. Kumar)

Meg and Edwin’s interchanges before they leave England are conducted at the back of the stage with poor lighting and projection, which makes them difficult to see and hear. Similarly the pivotal scene where Hilary connects tenderly with Troy is handled sensitively by both actors but undone by awkward staging. The indoor/ outdoor effect of the porch of the house opening directly onto the dining room/ kitchen is confusing and hampers the speed of action as actors cannot move seamlessly from one location to the next. Lighting changes are slow, with some scenes held for far too long whereas a quick snap change would help with pacing.  Many lines are lengthened and several cues are late leading to dialogue, which should be fast-paced interchanges, instead becoming ponderous and dragging the narrative down.

Sharenya S. Kumar as Meg with James Chappel as Edwin

The theme of cultural cringe is a contentious one. It was a timely topic in 1990, but a quarter of a century later, these lengthy debates seem somewhat unnecessary. The scenes in which Marge and Dick argue over identity and (ex-)patriotism, and their introduction to the family dinner table to swap stereotypical slurs are the weakest moments of the play. This is no fault of the actors (Chris Perkins and Peter Helft handle their expositional roles with charm and commitment), but rather due to the fact that we have moved on to such an extent that these once-fresh discussions now seem tired and clichéd.

Indeed, Hannie Rayson herself said several years ago, “If I were producing the play now for performance, I would cut most of the references to the cultural cringe in relation to Britain. That time has passed… I think Australia has a pretty robust sense of self. The swagger born of insecurity about our cultural worth has all but disappeared”. She continued, “Hotel Sorrento was a play I wrote very early in my writing life. I think it is structurally flawed and expresses much of my inexperience as a dramatist… It was a journey of the soul, and even though I now think it's clunky in part, it's strange because actors, directors and audiences love it. It is my most produced play. It has had hundreds of productions.”

The reasons for that are still clear, and it is largely due to the humanity of the three sisters. Like Chekov’s multi-faceted counterpoints they are flawed and repressed, and often unable to express their feelings for each other and the situations they find themselves in. But they are also bright and funny and deep and complex and we know them; in fact we are them and we are ineffably drawn into their circle of light.

The cast of Hotel Sorrento

Friday Five: Recent Theatre Excursions

And here are another five shows I have seen and enjoyed, to various extents.

David Pearson as Sweeney Todd

1. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street produced by Dramatic Productions at Gunghalin College Theatre - The staging of this show is problematic, as the pivotal scenes (such as the action in the barber's shop and the hellish production detail of the pie-shop) are shunted too far up-stage to receive the full attention they deserve. As is often the case with amateur musicals, director Richard Block has largely jettisoned acting ability in favour of singing voices. David Pearson as the titular barber has strong presence and a commanding voice, but doesn't bring sufficient contrast to his performance, striking the same sneering pose throughout. Kate O'Sullivan in an understudy role as Mrs Lovett has better acting chops than most, although she struggles a bit with the higher register. Demi Smith is the complete opposite bringing a piercing clarity to her singing that is noticeably absent from her dialogue; Lachlan Agett as Antony Hope does neither, and Max Gambale's Judge Turpin does a fine job of bring the sleaze and cynicsm. While some of the set pieces (No Place Like London; Pirelli's Miracle Elixir; God, That's Good!; By the Sea) are entertaining, they are incongruous with the tone of the whole, and generally filling the stage with chorus members doing a number does this show a disservice. It should contrast the demonic with the divine, but instead comes across as dull and dismal.
2. The Merchant of Venice produced by Bell Shakespeare at The Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre - My problem with Bell Shakespeare is that they often re-interpret the bard's plays to fit their own sensibilities by re-arranging the words and forcing modern meanings into the text. Admittedly The Merchant of Venice is a tricky play with its tones of antisemitism, but the ending is generally one of couplings, suggesting a more tolerant and understanding future, not one of heart-rending guilt. When Jessica says 'I am much ashamed', it is in Act II and refers to her dislike of being seen in male clothing by her lover. Bell Shakespeare moves these lines to the end of the play as she rocks back and forth and pretend they reveal her feelings about the treatment of her father, Shylock. This may work for schools (and the slick production values and strong acting styles will certainly please teens used to one-dimensional characters and plots) but is insulting to the intelligence of anyone who appreciates the intrigues and subtleties of Shakespeare.
3. Boys Will Be Boys produced by The Street at The Street - Caroline Stacey directs this hard-hitting boardroom drama in which all the men are played by women in sharp suits and cutting dialogue. The world of financial politics is clinical and unforgiving with no room for compassion, and everyone has a price. The stark set of mirrors and neon reflects the emptiness of the characters' souls, but there is also nowhere to hide. This is a problem for some of the weaker actors who are simply not strong enough to wield the crushing testosterone wrecking balls indicated by the text. Pippa Grandison stands out as Astrid, the woman with the most at stake who strikes the hardest deals and dares reveal a softer side only in song.
4. Love/ Chamberlain produced by Moral Panic and Ainslie and Gorman Arts Centres at Ralph Wilson Theatre, Gorman Arts Centre - Playwright Bridget Mackey imagines that Courtney Love and Lindy Chamerlain might have a lot in common. Despite coming from contrasting backgrounds with seemingly disparate outlooks, they were both pilloried by the media for not responding to grief and trauma the way women are expected to react. In her play directed by Cathy Hunt, Love (Emma Macmannus) and Chamberlain (Heidi Silberman) meet several times in several contexts as they jump back and forth in time across the Federal Highway; strewn with the paper detritus of old news. They are aided and abetted by the versatile barb barnett in a dozen different and well-developed roles, but even as the Oracle (dispensing advice from a cardboard booth like Lucy in Peanuts) she doesn't have all the answers. It's great to see new work by local theatre artists, especially when it is as thought-provoking as this.
5. Australia Day produced by Canberra Repertory at Theatre 3 - What is the purpose and relevance of the national celebration? Jonathan Biggins opens this can of worms in his satire set in a fictional country town. Lofty ideals clash with political expediency, torrential rain and an outbreak of food-poisoning. Anyone who has ever sat through tedious committee meetings will appreciate the contrasting personalities and sensitivities encompassed in the preparations conducted in a scout hall, which is freezing in the winter and boiling in the summer. The set is basic, and so is the acting and the direction by Cate Clelland, but this is not necessarily a criticism, as the script is allowed to take centre-stage where it belongs without distracting interpretations or excessive 'input'.

Friday Five (Seven Actually): Recent Theatre Excursions

I have seen a fair bit of theatre recently but have not had time to write full reviews, so here are some edited highlights:

Pip Utton as Winston Churchill

1. Churchill & Maggie by Pip Utton, produced by Imagination Workshop and Street Contemporary Drama at Street 2 - Pip Utton performs solo shows on consecutive nights, portraying political giants Winston Churchill and Margaret Thatcher. He weaves anecdotes, musings and facts into his 70-minute monologue on Churchill, a colossus of his time: "History will be kind to me for I intend to write it." During his embodiment of That Woman he invites questions from the audience, while achieving the voice, mannerisms and dismissive tone so successfully it made my skin crawl. His enthusiasm is boundless and his knowledge equally indefatigable.  
2. Wait Until Dark by Frederick Knott, produced by Canberra Repertory Society at Theatre 3 - Jordan Best directs this classic thriller with attention to detail on a meticulous set (designed by Michael Sparks) as a blind woman (Jenna Roberts as Susie) comes under threat from unscrupulous criminals looking for drugs they believe are stashed in her apartment. The tension was lacking from previous productions I've seen perhaps because I knew the story so well, perhaps because Roberts never displayed any vulnerability or uncertainty, or perhaps because the villains were neither as charming or as threatening as they might have been.
3. Cold Light adapted by Alana Valentine based on the novel Cold Light by Frank Moorhouse produced by Street Contemporary Drama at The Street - Trying to personalise politics in the most bureaucratic town in Australia is tricky. Sonia Todd plays Edith Campbell Barry, a (fictional - although many people are deceived) woman who tries to make her mark in international relations. It packs a great deal of history into a lengthy piece with multiple threads and tangents. The ensemble cast perform multiple roles with varying degrees of aplomb, but almost mimicing the projection of Canberra's street design, there is a feeling that we are being driven around in circles and getting lost in cul-de-sacs.





The Age of Bones



4. The Age of Bones produced by Satu Bulan, Teater Satu, Performing Lines and Ainslie and Gorman Arts Centres at Gorman Arts Centre - A mixture of Indonesian shadow puppetry, music, digital projections and contemporary satire tells the story of Ikan, an Indonesian boy who goes fishing one day and fails to return. He is imprisoned 'down under' in an oceanic world where he is befriended, pursued and judged by fantastical creatures (bubble-headed deep sea divers, a shark and an octopus). We are clearly meant to draw parallels with the plight of Indonesian boys incarcerated in adult jails throughout Australia for their involvement in human trafficking. While this is an original and commendable approach, certain technical aspects (such as the English surtitles failing to coincide with the spoken words) hamper the production, while the attempt to appeal to all ages (childlike repetitive motions alongside hard-hitting issues of abuse) means the production overall fails to connect with any particular audience.
5. Chicago produced by Canberra Philharmonic Society at Erindale Theatre - Interesting staging and directorial choices (by Jim McMullen) highlight different aspects of the play to usual - including the fact that the characters really are all horrifically unpleasant. Vanessa de Jager and Kelly Roberts as Roxie and Velma are both excellent in isolation but their dancing duets remain individual; Shell Tully has a great voice but no depth as Mama Morton; Will Huang presents a lawyer who seems merely slightly smarmy rather than truly repulsive; and Miss Mary Sunshine (Ben WIlson) is utterly peripheral. Most of the songs are still good (although Class was especially disappointing) but other facets, such as the sloppy follow spots, are mediocre. Curious staging makes us question whether we are in a gaol at all, as the protagonists pop out to the lawyer's office in their underwear. The fact that there are far too many people unnecessarily on stage literally jumping through hoops spoils what should be tight choreography, and the hanging scene is hugely underwhelming. The menace and terror of being locked up and possibly awaiting the death sentence is entirely absent: it's more like a circus in which everyone gets to run around and show off how good they look in a corset. 
6. Trelawny of the Wells by Arthur Wing Pinero produced by Canberra Repertory Society at Theatre 3 - Tony Turner directs a spirited cast in this touching and amusing late-nineteenth-century drama. The revolving set (designed by Ian Croker) allows for all the scenes to be played in the balance of affectation and naturalism which was becoming popular at the time and which is crucial to the play's ethos. Deliberately bombastic performances from the flamboyant characters such as Sir William Gower (Jerry Hearn), Mrs Mossop (Elaine Noon) and  Avonia Bunn (Jess Waterhouse) provide a delightful counterpoint to the more subtle sentimentality of Rose Trelawny (Alessandra Kron) and Tom Wrench (Robert de Fries). Slapstick extremes are tempered with emotional speeches, and the entire effect is a beautiful piece about acting and performance. 
7. Richard III by William Shakespeare, produced by Bell Shakespeare at the Playhouse (Canberra Theatre Centre) - Bell Shakespeare have taken the history out of the history play and turned it into a tragedy, in which the lead performer (Kate Mulvany as RIII) hams it up deliciously as Tricky Dicky, and the rest of the cast frolic about in a drawing room, like one of those frightful parties where you don't really like the host. As the actors do not leave the stage, there is no difference between intimate and group scenes, leading to a lack of tension and confusion as to the identity of many of the characters. The political is no longer important; it's all about the personal. This is the modern world, where I fear we have lost more than we have gained.

Kate Mulvany as Richard III

Shady Russian Dealings

Sonya(Yanina Clifton); Marina (Alice Ferguson); Vanya (Jerry Hearn); Yelena (Lainie Hart)

Uncle Vanya

Canberra Repertory TheatreTheatre 3

29 April – 14 May, 2016

Director Geoffrey Borny makes much in the programme about the humour in Chekov. He claims the dark view that the Russian’s plays are gloomy affairs is a radical misinterpretation. Choosing to work with David Mamet’s fresh translation, he brings out many shades of light and dark, and subtle nuances are a relief as the play zips along under his capable stewardship.

The laughs drawn from the audience are often at what might be considered to be the blackest moments, such as when Sonya (Yanina Clifton) agonises, “We are all desperately unhappy”, or when Vanya (Sam Hannan-Morrow) is driven so far to frustration that he attempts to shoot Serebryakov (twice) and misses (twice). We are amused, rather than touched by people feeling sorry for themselves and moaning about their plight instead of doing anything about it. Serebryakov (Jerry Hearn) in particular strikes several Eeyore-like poses, and, although he is a ghastly old grump, he is a comic one.

Sam Hannan-Morrow works hard to elicit our sympathies in the titular role. His self-pity is deliberately tedious, but he mines the pathos of his anger and his feelings of rejection. He falls in love with Yelena (Lainie Hart), the young wife of Serebryakov, who is his brother-in-law, having previously married Vanya’s sister. The image of Vanya as an unrequited suitor with a bunch of winter roses is quite heart-breaking, and his understated depression is genuinely affecting. The local doctor, Astrov (Jim Adamik) is also in love with Yelena, and so visits the house much more than his professional capacities should allow. Meanwhile, Sonya, Vanya’s niece and the daughter of Serebryakov, is in love with Astrov, but he doesn’t notice her because she is plain, although she has the proverbial “beautiful hair”.

Astrov attempts to seduce Yelena with his passion for the environment. When he explains the rampant deforestation and the effects it will have on future generations it echoes his own behaviour in acting rashly for immediate gratification with no thought to the consequences. This and his realisation that he has been a fool at the dénouement are Adamik’s best scenes, as his passion is much more convincing than his comedy.

Sonya understands his work, because she has hangs on his every word. Working on the land, she understands that all of nature is connected and that we are bound by our ecosystems, whereas the vapid Yelena has no interest in anything that requires thought or philosophy. The men don’t care for brains, however; they are all in thrall to youth and beauty. Although fresh-faced and dowdily dressed, Yanina Clifton glows on stage: she may be plain (without make-up) but her expressions are gorgeous and make her eminently watchable. Her calm strength and dignity are justly rewarded in the final scene as she delivers the climactic monologue with resolute conviction.

Yelena is described repeatedly as idle, languid and lazy, yet Lainie Hart flits across the stage with none of the indolence with which she is frequently credited. She is dashing and dramatic, flirtatious and restless, and we feel her pent-up dissatisfaction and irritation with her husband. When Sonya admits her love for Astrov to Yelena, the confession is more like a daughter to a mother than an understanding between friends. Similarly, Yelena’s meeting with Astrov, after being made aware of her step-daughter’s feelings comes across as spiteful rather than innocent. Youth and its passing is a major theme, so the miscasting of ages obscures the message. Similarly, Sam Hannan-Morrow is clearly not the 47 years that are mentioned at least three times in the play, and his constant references to stagnating in old age are not credible.

Times are changing and people don’t necessarily like change when it is forced upon them. Vanya and Sonya look after the estate, which belonged to Vanya’s sister until her death, when it passed to her husband, Serebryakov. When he suggests selling up and turning them out, his complete lack of comprehension at their distress is resonant with absentee landlords everywhere. Serebryakov stays up all night writing books that regurgitate other people’s opinions – Vanya tells him, “You know nothing of art because you have no soul.” To add to his anguish, Vanya’s mother (played with intelligence and restraint by Antonia Kitzel), adores Serebryakov, respects his pedantry, and herself writes pamphlets that nobody reads.  

The family lead dull and boring lives. They eat and drink and sleep, and follow a rigid routine of sandwiches and samovars, and are terrifically unsettled when this banal schedule is interrupted. The aesthetics of this life are beautiful from the set (Andrew Kay) to the costumes (Heather Spong), but empty. It is left to the servants to provide the depth, and the richest images are drawn from the land; when the men fight, the nanny, Marina, refers to them as a gaggle of cackling geese. Alice Ferguson imbues Marina with a warmth and assurance, which implies continuity; the delightfully simple Telegin (Neil McLeod) is happy when he sees a job done well, and even the workman, Yefim (Jonathan Pearson) has a solidly enduring presence.

Those who do the physical labour are the true heart of the country. Passing passions are fleeting, but solid foundations will endure. As a doctor and an activist, Chekov understood the importance of true substance over superficial artifice; as a director, Geoffrey Borny does too. The basic humanity of this production is without doubt; it may well be worthy, but it is also well worth seeing.