Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Friday, 4 December 2009

Roleystone Theatre seem determined to work their way through musical theatre legend Stephen Sondheim’s eclectic catalogue, having staged Assassins earlier this year and scheduling Into the Woods for 2010. But I’ll wager none will be as bloody at this production of Sweeney Todd, an inspired penny dreadful ‘grusical’ which parlays the Victorian urban legend of a fiendish barber who slices the throats of his hapless customers, and his lovelorn but even more insidiously guilty accomplice, Mrs Lovett (a whole creature cook no doubt) who proceeds to mince all that perfectly good meat into tasty pies whetting the appetite of the London working class. Masterchef with a cannibalistic twist!

Director Stephen Carr has presented a rich musical theatre experience, seeking to satisfy the palette of any Sondheim devotee, with able support from Musical Director Matt Austin who tackles the complex score replete with counterpoint and angular harmonies with reasonable assurance.

The strong introduction by the Ensemble singing The Ballad of Sweeney Todd was a Greek Chorus on fire, and their interludes pushed along the plot and background details of this revenge tale; their vocal collective a testament to the sheer hard work and talent on stage. The scene at the Bedlam Mental Institution was particularly well staged; the silhouetted starkness cinematic and clever, and more than a little disquieting when the lunatics began to break through their paper walls.

Inhabiting the title role was Scott Burns, his sturdy vocalizations overlaid with surly sarcasm, as he carried the weight of 15 years of hard labour throughout his demeanor, looking through everyone with cynical dead eyes and pitch black humour. Lindsay McNab as Mrs Lovett rendered her role with a nice, even voice, but at times her complex patter was lost in the speed of the score. Timothy How, as Tobias Ragg, an orphan assistant to popinjay rival barber Pirelli ( Manuao TeAotonga) seemed to be channeling early Jerry Lewis with his man-child simpleton shtick; complete with pigeon-toed gait, heightened squeal of a speaking voice (I half expected him to utter Lewis’ signature “Hey, Lai-dy!”) and half-wit determinism.

Delivering his lines with handsome projection was Paul Treasure as Judge Turpin (Boo! Hiss!), whose considerable physical stature incited genuine loathing for his character as he sang of the naked lust for his ward Johanna, the child of the woman he raped after incarcerating her husband (Benjamin Barker now returned as Sweeney Todd) on a trumped up charge. The images of the Judge flagellating his corpulent bulk, marking his back to somehow lessen his inward depravity were saliently disturbing.

The pacing for the production was a slight quibble; the last third of the First Act became unrepentant save for the small bird of a love story between Johanna (Cassie Skinner) and Anthony Hope (Owen Measday). And the set design incorporated a three tiered sectioning of the whole performance area which though reasonably innovative for a community theatre production, was at times problematic. While the middle stage was well utilized, and entries and walk ways through the audience broke the fourth wall for a this-is-live-theatre! effect; the far back raised stage seemed at times distant and cramped, and the few songs presented from this quarter were at risk of being drowned by the musicians housed right behind the flat.

Overall, however, a fine interpretation of this bloody difficult musical.

Girl of the Golden West

29 October 2009

Hold on to your horses! The WA Opera has brought to life Puccini’s La Fancuilla del West as a spaghetti western by way of John Ford’s searingly stark black and white palette, the opening an astounding vision of forced perspective and cinemascope projection (complete with film spliced static and the requisite smoke); and the titles literally coming towards you as if you were at the movies.

Impressed by the New World, Puccini wrote this rather specific opera to be set in the Californian Gold rush era, seeking to modernise his technique; however the resulting score has such strong orchestrations that it has been debated that singers are almost put to the test in a competition to see whether they can out volume the symphony.

The music is uncompromisingly and unabashedly melodramatic, telling a tale of a rough and ready mining camp, populated by men with gold fever in their veins but the wistful hearts of a clan of Lost Boys far from the comforts of home.

The intrinsically simple tale of boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy wins girl back is made complex by the girl being a gun-toting den mother/ sister/ teacher/ friend to this frontier mining camp; the hero being two faced and with conflicting agendas; and a black hat sheriff whose obsession for the titular heroine turns to menace when she rejects him.

The strikingly innovative set design by Michael Scott-Mitchell was post modern clever, the scored lines of an endless bar accentuated in Act 1 (taking place in the expansive Polka Saloon); then transformed into intimacy in Act 2 as we (and the bandit hero) ventured into the simple cabin of tough but naive Minnie; we are then transported to the unforgiving isolation of the woods in Act 3, about to bear witness to a lynching... All scenes were lit with dazzling chiaroscurophic effect by Philip Lethlean.

The costumes by designer Zoë Atkinson seemed to take their inspiration from John Ford’s films also – black, white and grey were outfitted to the cast; lending a pre-Oz, still-in-Kansas vision to the majority of the male chorus and soloists. It left the audience alert to colour...the bright red feather in minstrel Jack Wallace’s (Sitiveni Talei) hat, was a herald to the Technicolour vision of Minnie (Anke Höppner) when she appeared - aglow in a halo of honeyed curls, her dress like sunlight with bright yellows and oranges - a beacon of femininity in the midst of male gunmetal ambition.

However, the most startling and unexpected aspect of this production was the added insight and gasp-worthy glory brought about by video designer Scott Otto Anderson and video producer Mic Gruchy, whose projected art installations throughout the opera gave the piece such an excitement and contemporary feel that you couldn’t ignore that this production as a whole would have suffered for their lack.

From the family portraits of loved ones left at home, to the almost three-dimensional growing red rose of passion which lovers Minnie and Dick Johnson (Dario Volonté) seem to almost fall into, this is the first time I have seen projections used to such a degree in what is traditionally a theatrical piece – bravo to the WA Opera for taking a chance on presenting this imaginative concept!

Overall, the opera was spectacular, but time heavy, not overblown but possibly a little overdrawn. But for once Puccini gave us a happy ending, and Minnie manages to save her man by appealing to the hearts of the miners that she has loved and cared for in their isolating ambition to cultivate wealth. The lovers literally walk off into the sunset, their silhouettes a cinematic coda.

The Talented Mr Ripley

Friday, 25 September 2009

Would you be able to recognize a sociopath? The easy bonhomie charm, the sly reverse psychology opportunism, the wanton lack of empathy?

It seems no one can quite disbelieve the talented Mr Ripley, as he cunningly ingratiates himself into the rarefied sphere of moneyed New York, purloining a passage and stipend for Europe from the self absorbed parents of a beholden playboy.

Ripley plays submissive, bumbling, the poor school chum of lesser worth; but the audience knows better as he habitually unleashes his full scorn and ego for us to view, revelling in his superiority, terrifying in his justification.

Izaak Lim was paradoxically charismatic as the titular grifter with a homicidal edge who will stop at nothing to protect his lifestyle and his lies.

Scenes and dialogue dovetailed throughout and the set was a dreamy muslin affording shadows, half seen flashbacks fulfilling snippets of back story (the reason to leave New York, the confrontations with Aunt Dottie) and the smoothness of the transitions pulled through the sometimes disparate jigsaw narrative. If you’re familiar with the 1999 Anthony Minghella film starring a surfeit of Hollywood stars, you’ll be better served to allay the slight confusions.

Apart from the two leads of Tom Ripley and Rickie Greenleaf (Matthew Longman), the rest of the characters were doubled (or even tripled) amongst the remaining cast, which gave them a chance to showcase their range.

I was most impressed by Rod Worth playing two such dissimilar roles and utilizing shifting vocals, stance and persona to such an extent that I had to almost check the program to be sure that it was the same actor.

Marcia King as both matriarch Emily Greenleaf, resigned to her cancer, and then alternatively Tom’s bitter Aunt Dottie was innately compelling and imbued all her scenes with pitch perfect characterizations and gravitas.

So do we care about unsympathetic anti-hero Tom Ripley, who has no conscience and boasts no equal? Yes, if only to be aware enough to avoid his snake eyed thrall.

An interesting theatrical study in psychopathic malaise.

Iolanthe

Sunday, 20 September 2009

Introducing a lush and sparkling score by Arthur Sullivan tripping hither into inspirations from Wagner’s Ring Cycle and Mendelssohn’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, Iolanthe is a fanciful fairy dust concoction which cleverly pokes fun at the House of Lords, the practice of law and the British Government of the day.

Containing some of WS Gilbert’s cleverest and most slyly satirical lyrics, this staging by the Gilbert & Sullivan Society of WA was a pure delight to behold and fun from start to finish.

Strephon, a golden voiced and handsome Arcadian shepherd (cherubically cheeky Chris D. Lewis) is in love with a ward of the court, Phyllis (Katya Webb, purloining her brunette beauty from a recent turn in Bizet’s tragedy Pearlfishers into this comely comedy). It seems however, that the entire House of Lords is similarly smitten with the winsome shepherdess, and the Lord Chancellor (an astonishingly spry Conrad Crisafulli in a role perfectly matched to his talents) would rather his ward choose a husband with some blue blood aristocratic standing.

But Strephon is no ordinary shepherd, his mother is the immortal fairy Iolanthe, recently welcomed back to the fairy court at the pleading of her fellow fey. Banished 25 years earlier for having the temerity to marry a mortal, she looks to be a girl of 17 and her grown son is a fairy from the waist up and mortal from the waist down (ahh, the number of panto nudge-nudge-winks when this was recited…!)

Phyllis and the House of Lords catch sight of Strephon confiding in his youthful mother about the Lord Chancellor’s refusal to allow Phyllis to marry him, and jump to entirely the wrong conclusions. Phyllis angrily rejects his explanation, and hurt, announces she’ll marry one of the Lords instead (“…and I don’t care which!”) The fairies try to help but end up being patronized by the Lords who think they are a bunch of silly schoolgirls. Offended, the Fairy Queen casts a spell making Strephon a Member of Parliament with the influence to pass any bill he chooses.

Nevertheless, Strephon still pines for Phyllis; she’s frustrated as she doesn’t want to marry a Peer (Strephon seems to be a damn good kisser, I can’t fault her reasoning); the Peers are unhappy at being shown up as generally useless; and in the midst of all this the fairies realize that they have all fallen in love with the mortals and stand to suffer a death sentence at the wand of their very own queen!

But the reveal that Strephon is half fairy (nudge-nudge-wink!) and also the son of the Lord Chancellor proceeds to the inevitable happy conclusion as fairy law is tweaked to accommodate a round of marriages (the Queen herself is rescued from the new decree by Royal Guard Private Willis who magically sprouts a pair of the cutest red wings to match his uniform). Soon they may, off and away, to all live harmoniously ever after.

The Playhouse accommodated a beautiful set resplendent with copper tones and soft greens, and suggestive but recognizable backgrounds to transport the audience from country glades to Westminster streets, elegantly supported by Ian Boase’s soft washed lighting and gorgeous costuming by Penny Walker.

The musical direction by Daniel Masmanian was joyous and appealing, and director John Milson retained the heart of Gilbert & Sullivan but still made the piece enjoyable and entertaining for a 21st century audience.

To wit, one of G&S's prettiest and most popular operettas.

Equus

Saturday, 12 September 2009

With little warning and no announcement, Equus simply begins; a keenly muscled half clothed figure suddenly there - centre stage, his reflection mirrored in Shaun Gurton’s glass box set design.

Putting on exaggerated boots, their heels oversized hooves, he attempts to stand, stumbling repeatedly - coltish, yet already hinting at the strength, power and beauty that this full grown horse will be ultimately admired for.

Dr Martin Dysart (William McInnes) a dissatisfied and somewhat disillusioned institutional psychiatrist is cajoled into taking the case of Alan Strang (Kahn Cittenden) as a favour to the attractive local magistrate. We are his spectator audience, glimpsing our own impression briefly under house lights, invited to view his profile of the subject - a 17 year old boy who has blinded six horses with a metal spike. So begins a suspenseful thriller by Amadeus playwright Sir Peter Shaffer, as Dysart discovers not just the motive but his own increasing fascination with the mind and passion of Alan Strang.

McInnes, solid and conventionally handsome, has an amicable charisma which grows to fill the stage and beyond, his reassuring presence warming the audience immediately to his point of view, although a later confessional divulges some disturbing dream image butchery. He subtly reveals Dysart’s questing thoughts on aspects of “normalcy” versus the imagination of the primal, and appears reflectively jealous of Strang’s idolatry fervour.

In a role recently popularized on the West End and Broadway by Harry Potter’s Daniel Radcliffe, Chittenden suffers in comparison to his more stage experienced co-stars. Whilst McInnes can clearly be heard throughout the theatre, his projection skills vocally apparent; Chittenden’s current exposure mainly to television and film has resulted in his voice barely reaching half way to the stalls. His accent modulated quickly back to basic Australian, despite his character’s suburban south UK middleclass aspect. He seemed to fare better in his taped interview, so the actor may have simply been overwhelmed by the preview night, and the power and madness of Alan Strang could yet have the opportunity to grow as the season develops.

Vivienne Garrett as Alan’s mother was barely recognizable from her program shot, but eminently watchable, especially in her scenes with McInnes’ Dysart; her character revealing conversationally the religious element to her son’s fixation on horses, hinting at evangelical zeal and current class discontent.

The infamous nudity in Act 2 representing original sin is less shocking that when the play debuted in 1973, but still confronting, and it facilitates a breakthrough towards truth and empathy. Bravo to Chittenden and Alexandra Fisher for making us feel as if there was no one else in the room…but for the collective intake of breath of 700 audience members that night.

Director Melissa Cantwell has utilized choreographer Gavin Webber for many of the flashback scenes and the resulting movement from the chorus/ horses is sensual, full bodied and exciting, interplayed with sound designer Kingsley Reeve’s evocative aural scapes and compositions. They reverberate support for personal memories and observations, and segued through fascinating dialogue, so laden with nuggets of symbolism as to be a feast for any armchair psychiatrist.

Costumes also by set designer Gurton were nondescriptly early 70s era (though the nurse’s wimple headdress was another wink at the religious themes layered within), but a deliberate supernatural construct was the equine wire godhead that elevated and homogenized the human head wearing it.

As Dysart concludes, there is no place for Alan Strang in humanity; the devout violence that has been awaken by carnal desires incite revulsion and horror, but my god, what a play, a magnificent insight into the sacred and the profane.

Much Ado about Nothing

Tuesday, 25 August 2009

As an arbor of autumnal leaves freckle across its heaven, Black Swan State Theatre’s production of Much Ado about Nothing opens with a languid sigh; the fair citizens of Messina ambling onto the sun dappled stage, all reactions slowed to remind the audience of the unhurried pleasure of a summer’s day…despite Perth’s chilly night!

Soon though, the soldiers from a distant war return and the action picks apace as robust testosterone zings into the mostly estrogen air of this idyllic village town, and Cupid’s arrow finds its mark when handsome Claudio (Stuart Halusz) is felled by the sweet smile of Hero (Shubhadra Young), daughter and heir to their avuncular host Leonato (Michael Loney, scenery chewing his way through the Shakespearean text with relish).

Leonato welcomes back Don Pedro and his men and invites them to stay, relax, and be entertained; a celebration of having returned safely. The fair maidens of Messina quickly choose a favourite, but lively and fearless Beatrice, a defiant bachelorette, is nonplussed about all the matchy matchiness and instead verbally jousts with fellow nemesis snark Benedick, both almost unaware just how much fun they obtain in each other’s company with their ongoing competition of wordy one-upmanship.

Kirsty Hillhouse was an engaging Beatrice, her eloquent tone and charming manner disguising some sharp bon mots, softened somewhat by a smart twinkle of familial love in her eye. Benedick sported Kenneth Ransom’s natural American accent which while initially a novelty every time he spoke, was easily accepted, the original play notes mentioning that the soldiers are drawn from many countries. His lanky frame was well suited to some slapstick scenes and the love-hate chemistry between his character and Beatrice was delicious.

In all this honey there comes a fly, and a dour trio of party poopers led by Austin Castiglione as illegitimate pretender to the throne Don John, plots to humiliate regal Don Pedro (Steve Turner) who has recently courted Hero on behalf of Claudio. Little lies and intimations on the nature of Hero’s chastity lead to the first act finale of the worst wedding day scenario for a bride ever.

But this is a comedy, and of-many-roles Luke Hewitt in his alternate guise of Friar Francis shrewdly advises Hero to play possum and her family to likewise shroud themselves in mourning as he convinces them that news of her death will flush out the real culprits of this conspiracy.

It turns out that he’s right, as boastful Borachio (Tim Solly) with the sneering Conrade (Brendan Ewing) have drunk enough alcohol to reach the level of stupidity that allows them to not only spill their entire plot with Don John, naming names and pronouncing payment terms; but to be heard and captured by the largely ineffectual Messina night watch.

Dogberry (Geoff Kelso with more than a touch of Dad’s Army) and his Boy Scout lieutenant Verges (Brendan Hanson) remarkably manage to interrogate two battle hardened soldiers and handle the truth well enough to prove Hero’s innocence.

Claudio, remorseful and prepared for his punishment of a life married to Hero’s “cousin” is instead given back the girl of his dreams, but the audience has already moved onto the much more vibrant romance of Benedick and Beatrice, who really have a much more stable start to their union having dispensed with civility upon a previous meeting and told each other to their faces all their flaws and faults upfront!

Behind the scenes kudos to director Kate Cherry, set and costume designer Christina Smith, and lighting designer David Murray for setting the stage for a sparkling and witty Shakespearean night out.

Lord of the Flies

Saturday, 27 June 2009

Lord of the Flies is a Dangerous Book about Boys. Written by Briton William Golding in the shadow of the atomic bomb, the novel is rich with onomatopoeic imagery (the roar and then plop used to describe a tangled parachute is a wonder) and allusions to Milton’s Paradise Lost and Ballantyne’s Coral Island festoon the narrative with allegorical layers to be turned over and over.

Director Gregory Jones having staged directly from the text in previous productions, challenged himself with Nigel Williams’ adaptation, a translation that was first performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company at Stratford-upon-Avon in 1995.

The island is only imagined, as the audience is greeted by a blackboard ready set - tables and high stools in a typical classroom and boys in uniforms at attention. An overlay soundtrack of rhythm that sounds like a jump cut heartbeat is ominous, and it is not a plane crash that scars an island paradise and leaves these boys isolated, but a bomb in civilization itself separating children from adults.

The numerous lost boys of Littluns are reduced to one - Perceval (Thomas James), who despite his height did make you think he could actually be aged six as related in the original. Daniel Garrett as initially reluctant leader Ralph, impressively managed to stand on his head, which I thought was hilarious as his character is mentioned doing this very act numerous times in the first chapter – giving blood rushing physicality to the disorientation of a world turned upside down.

Nick Maclaine portrayed Jack as boldly belligerent, a school prefect confident in his right to rule and egged on from mere leader to despotic tyrant by the mysterious-boy-of-no-particular-school, Roger (Nicholas Hiatt) a character only referred to in the novel quite late in the piece, but who instills terror in all who see him painted savage.

Simon (Daniel Klemens), reflective and unpopular as prophets are apt to be, disappears in his epileptic fit and emerges with not just the truth about the Beast from the Air but the realization that society is fragmenting, so of course as harbinger he is killed in a disturbing sequence of sound and fury. Piggy (Izaak Lim) is left as a lone nagging voice of civilization, adamant on the importance of the conch, neurotic with his “ass-mar” and rightly fearful for his life.

Chalked chapters written across the back wall beneath a poster of the Queen marked the passage of time, but the compact pacing never lagged despite its Educational Edition repute, and this adventure into the heart of man’s darkness played out to an intense finale of almost unbearable apprehension…then suddenly, a grownup steps into the room.

Having read this recently, I have wondered about this ending - how do you process the experience of being hunted or a hunter? At 12, how does this ugly reality shape you and your future?

Are you forever tainted, or will you put the incidents down to childish games and a series of unfortunate accidents vaguely remembered in the far distant adult future?

I guess it makes you think - despite the promise of each new generation, could we have avoided the way the world is now? For it may not be just the wake of all that has come before, but as illuminated in this work, there is the uncomfortable knowledge within each of us of an innate turmoil between order and anarchy.

42nd Street

Saturday, 20 June 2009

Brash, tuneful and with the gosh-darn-it-let’s-put-on-a-show! attitude of a Mickey Rooney & Judy Garland baby Broadway musical; 42nd Street effervescently erupts right from it’s opening tap number.

It is truly a sight to behold 40+ dancers on stage tapping it out with style, finesse and frankly nostalgic charm – yup, they don’t do many shows like this anymore.

Modern audiences have little opportunity to experience the speed, rhythm and click-stamp-slide of tap; there have been a few novelty forays by Australia’s Own Dein Perry (Tapdogs, Bootmen) or maybe the syncopated drive of hiphop influenced Stomp the Yard; but all in all we’re mostly reduced to the occasional audition for TV dance mecca, So You Think You Can Dance.

This made 42nd Street an undeniable treat, and the closing night audience was there every uncynical step of the way, following the classic story of a talented understudy who gets her chance to be the next star on Broadway.

Kewpie doll faced naïf Peggy Sawyer (Meghan O’Shea) makes an impression on just about everyone she meets, (or blunders into!) and O’Shea was an appealing ingénue, with winsome contrariness and a big enough heart to hold the show within the show together. Tobias Madden as cocky tenor Billy Lawler was light on his toes and had a ready smile, but I felt like he spent most of the first act TALKING IN CAPITALS and punctuating the point.

Anthony Pepe as dance director Andy Lee was notable in his Gene Kelly inspired look and how-about-this-step? skills; and the comedy team of Maggie Jones (Kira Morsley) and Bert Barry (Drew Weston) twigged you to the fast paced 1930s banter of screwball comedic relief.

The person that most impressed though was Naomi Livingstone as Broadway diva Dorothy Brock, comfortable portraying her character’s ballooning ego and “I’m a star!” attitude, but able to elicit the audience’s sympathy over the love she left behind and a humble realization and confession that bright-eyed Peggy really is the best Pretty Lady for the role.

Jenny Lynnd dazzled the audience with her choreography, and with the amount of dance numbers on stage you can probably bet that the chorus members are most likely the fittest hoofers in town. I loved the slick and ultimately heartfelt musical ballet in the second act, reminiscent of the Broadway Melody interlude in the similar era set movie musical “Singing in the Rain”. Cyd Charisse’s green dress and looks were even homaged with a leggy brunette.

Set designer Nathan Weyers and his team gave us a tantalizing peak into the Great White Way with drop scapes proclaiming a constellation of New York’s myriad theatres, and the set change and side arch revolves as the Pretty Lady production travels to Philly was one of the best cast and crew transitions I’ve seen in an Australian show.

I has a fantastic time listening to this lullaby of Broadway.

Little Shop of Horrors

Thursday, 11 June 2009

Little Shop of Horrors is seriously, one of my favourite musicals. Written and scored by eventual powerhouse Disney hit makers Alan Menken and Howard Ashman (Little Mermaid, Aladdin and Best Picture Oscar nom Beauty and the Beast), Little Shop was originally adapted from a B-grade cult movie classic from the 1960s which had in a small masochistic role a lean actor with a feral smile named Jack Nicholson,…yes, that Jack.

The story of a boy, the girl of his dreams, and a carnivorous plant that wants to take over the world, inspired Menken and Ashman to produce some of the catchiest harmonies and endearing characters in modern musical theatre. With ironic lyrics and a twisted view of early 60s wish fulfilment consumer culture, these rose-coloured glasses nevertheless had sightlines to the real world harsh realities of downtown Skid Row; but the music is so amazing and clever, it never gets you down, though the content upon later reflection is rather disturbing…

This staging by Shine Studios was faithful to the Off Broadway production, and while I’ll admit a fondness for the original material, I had actually first fallen in love with a rerun of the 1986 movie musical directed by Frank Oz. The film had tweaked the theatrical ending, introduced a new song (that was subsequently nominated for an Oscar) and reinstated the masochistic character that had been in the sourced 1960 film but absent from the stage musical. Bill Murray took an enjoyably painful turn in the dentist chair that time around.

I haven’t seen that many productions at Murdoch University’s Nexus Theatre, but it afforded a decent sized space for the show, with the whole stage and some of the high tower catwalks being utilized by the cast.

The music buoyed the show along, but there were a few dead spots in between some scene changes or turns of dialogue where transitions could have been a little tighter.

I normally love seeing dancers in a show, but unfortunately in this instance I found the many choreographed numbers a little distracting to the central leads, especially during some of the more intimate or one on one songs – I could barely see Mushnik & Son for the crowd on stage!

Cameron Prestel was almost a little too clear skinned and confident to play orphaned loser Seymour Krelborn, but Shinead Gegas was great as bruised yet blossoming Audrey, her face revealing her sweet heart beneath the overdressed insecurity.

Can I say how much I loved Audrey II? The design and construction of these progressively larger and frighteningly impressive puppets was a wow factor every time you saw the next one – kudos to Kristy Messina, Grant James and Chris Messina.

I thought the program was also very well put together, themed as a FBI file complete with paper clips holding together notes, photos and character inspired business cards “Orin Scrivello DDS – there’s always time for oral hygiene”– it even had coffee mug stains and a final bloody page decrying “Don’t Feed the Plants!”. I wish more programs were this imaginative!

Go green for a melody rich fun night out.

Adam Hills - Inflatable

Thursday, 21 May 2009

Striding onto UWA’s Octagon stage like a returning hero to the strains of ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’, Adam Hills knows he is assured a Spicktacular welcome. The crowd had braved the first night of Perth’s long awaited winter showers, and the Octagon’s intimate and oh-my-god-we’re-so-close-to-the-stage! setup gave the comedian more than enough leeway to comfortably pick out a few choice ‘victims’, ahem, audience members with which to engage his fine wit and quick improve skills.

He had a gift with his first hit, a fan of the show (her T-shirt practically branded her crew) who was sitting next to two empty seats right in the front row. Did she know the two people in those seats? Yes. Why were they running late? A pole dancing class. Hills’ face lit up so much with the possibilities that he had to thank God, and much laughter ensued from the various sly observations he shared with the crowd.

He also found time to rib a couple about how they met (it involves our own Quokka Isle, a debauched party and chest shaving); and to the left of the stage, two wholesome young Christians friends from Mt Pleasant church…awww…so sweet that bunnies were imagined hopping down the stairs towards them.

But soon it was on to the show. Hills was full of beans and bright-eyed with regular sleep, something he says does affect a lot of his regular stand-up gigs as he usually tapes, writes or works on ABC’s Spicks & Specks during the day and then heads off to work his stand-up sessions at night. But the show has finished taping for the season and he warned us to strap in ‘cos he had energy to burn!

The crowd (including regular stalker, Maria) enjoyed a highlighted comedic pop into Hills’ life, from stand-up in Europe (nothing cuts across the language barrier like Bon Jovi apparently); to the humiliation of having told a ‘dad’ joke; and then his own excitement about being a dad himself one day.

A joyous and sweat tricked version of our national anthem set to Barnsies’ ‘Working Class Man’ ended the night with whoops and cheers – whoa-oh-oh-ooo, Advance Australia Fair!

The 25th Annual Putnam Spelling Bee

Friday, 15 May 2009

I’m a pretty good speller, not fantastic and probably lazier than I used to be thanks to Microsoft Word’s automatic spell check, but I often look up words in (online) dictionaries and encyclopedias, and I love the opportunity to increase my word score (a holdover from thumbing through my grandparents Reader’s Digest as a kid).

But while I remember taking an individual oral spelling test in primary school, Australia doesn’t really have the marvelously organized spelling bees that the US have slowly elevated to the height of brain nerd chic; so much so that a few years ago, there was a fantastically popular documentary called Spellbound which followed a group of juvenile high achieving wordsmiths and the families who push, cajole and fulfil their competitive dreams through them.

This was what awaited me as the premise for this show. Having been invited by a couple of Finlay friends and intrigued by the promise of audience participation, I was wickedly delighted to find that two other pals who had come to that night’s performance were unexpectedly called to star on stage (by general announcement no less!)

Hackett Hall had recently been refurbished to boast comfortable tiered seating which with its reasonably steep incline greatly suited the gymnasium look of the production.

Archetypes were established in the quick early songs - smart Asian girl with numerous controlled hobbies; eccentric boy with delusions of self importance; sweet, slightly hippy pretty in pink girl; boy scout with something to prove; the home-schooled kid angling for notice in his big family; and the right wing, politically active Type A daughter of two dads with a surname the length of which I have not see outside a Welsh township.

These, along with four “late entries” (aka members of the audience), took us through a roundup of barely decipherable words, fun puns and bonmots; with flashback insights into their families and growing up smart – relatable stories of good kids trying to do something academically extraordinary. A marked difference to the rebelling rage of West Side Story or even Grease; but I suppose these characters are skewed to be middle school and still have that apple core of innocence, yet to experience the rumble and twist of hormones and puberty.

The look and pace of the show was an acknowledgment to Kimberley Shaw’s confident direction and choreographer Kristen Twynam-Perkins gave fun, easy dance sequences that would be well received at any school concert – the fact that the “special guests” could pick up the numbers so quickly is a credit her sound sequences and the quick coaching from their fellow actors.

Lauchlan Bain was a standout as snarky William Barfee (BAR-FEY!)- Clark Kent handsome in thick spectacles and with surprising grace in his pas de duex with sweet Olive Ostrovsky (Tamara Woolrych).

All spelt out, it was a fun visit to junior high.

Giselle

Saturday, 2 May 2009

Poor old opera. While the serious theatregoer undoubtedly appreciates the soaring heights of complex arias, dramatic plot lines and sumptuous costumes and sets; ballet will always have it beat - at least in the eyes of the tween set and under (girls in particular).

It was the closing night of Giselle, billed as the ultimate romantic ballet, and tradition abounded. The recent Perth International Arts Festival had boasted a modern take on this tragic story, but the West Australian Ballet had chosen tutus, tights and true love.

The audience demographic skewed all the way down to pre-primary ballerinas-in-training, dressed in their sparkly best and with eyes shining with the dreams of one day dancing so lightly on their toes that they could come close to flying.

But while Giselle is trimmed with happy woodland dancers from a country village, and royal hunting parties with brocade aloofness; at it's centre is a doomed love affair.

Naive woman-child Giselle (Jayne Smeulders) gives her heart to duke-in-disguise Albrecht (Ivan Gil-Ortega) and goes mad with grief upon discovering he is customarily betrothed to visiting aristocrat Bathilde (Kasey Polkinghorne).

Snatching his sword, she dances wildly, desperately and so violently that her weak heart collapses under the strain and she dies calling on the Willis, cursing her soul to join the ghosts of maidens betrayed.

Act 2 brings forth the misty scene of Giselle's forest grave at twilight. Myrtha, Queen of the Willis appears and summons her court to weave a deathtrap for the ritual punishment of all who dare step in the forest.

Hilarion (Cass Mortimer Eipper) a rival suitor for Giselle's affections, is summarily dispatched to dance to his death. Surrounded by the vengeful spirits of maidens lost, he has no choice but to accompany them, and their supernatural powers bring about his demise.

Albrecht is similarly caught, and the Queen orders Giselle, the most recent novitiate, to take her revenge, but Giselle, still in love with Albrecht, dances as slowly as she can, delaying time and again, until the break of dawn releases the dark power of the forest and her former love is left regretful and alone.

I enjoyed the opportunity to see one of the Big Ballets (Giselle is often seen as the high point in a dancer's canon of classics, the character is rich with opportunity to display complex emotions and technical skill); however I was a little disappointed that this interpretation chose to give Giselle a weak heart overcome as an explanation for her death - I recall a version I had read about in my mad balletomane tweenhood, where Giselle takes up the sword that reveals Albrecht's true nobility and at the climax of her wild dance, plunges it unto her heart. I'll admit, rather bloodthirsty, but dramatic!

Jayne Smeulders as the title character displayed a bird-like fragility and while dancing well, didn't make me experience the full tragedy of her character. Her eyes were large, but I still felt a distance from her inner life and turmoil, and so was not able to fully feel my heart break along with hers when Albrecht's betrayal was discovered.

Ivan Gil-Ortega was non-threateningly swoon-worthy as Albrecht, and probably had the eyes of a hundred ballet class pupils following his every move across the stage; but his talent and charisma marked him as the perfect leading man, and his soulful gaze soften a character that could have easily been interpreted as a redemptive cad.

The rest of the corps de ballet filled the stage with swirling folkloric motion, there were a few standouts technically amongst the throng, but really they were mostly a movable backdrop for the leads.

But I could see how much all those girls in the audience (some little, some big) enjoyed the show, it is one of the dreams of girlhood... and so despite any critical quibbles will always have the popularity of the masses.

The Way of the World

Friday, 1 May 2009

I'd almost forgotten about John Curtin College of the Arts, a spectacular private school with an emphasis on training future successful auditionees for WAAPA. I must have heard of it when I was performing in my own high school musicals... but Armadale High, despite it's dedicated music program, is a far cry from this Fremantle academic and arts institution and I'm sure I was probably jealous of every single one of the students who was lucky enough to mark attendance here.

A small but colourful entry in a community newspaper stated that William Congreve's Restoration comedy classic The Way of the World was being performed for the first time in 25 years at Curtin Theatre, located on the school grounds and starring "senior gifted and talented drama students" directed by Raymond Omodei.

I'm passingly familiar with this work due to it's sophisticated and witty monologues and was curious as to how the whole play might look on stage. Arriving just as the tones signalled the show was about to start, I dashed in, grabbed a ticket from a teacher/ parent vendor and scored a seat with an envious amount of legroom in comparison to the average. (It pays to be close to the aisle!)

Glancing around I was proven right in my teenage assumption of private school equals awesome infrastructure as the theatre was fantastic, with a large stage cleverly utilised by set and lighting designer Jake Newby to feature large painted panels of complementary or suggestive artworks.

The wardrobe worked on by Isabelle McGrath also suitably represented the ostentation of the time, with elaborate gowns, jackets and knickerbockers costumed throughout, and the most hideously large wigs I've ever seen suffered under by most of the male cast. The men in general also wore a much thicker mask of makeup; while the women (save dowager Lady Wishfort) though cinched in to emphasize a wasp waist and buxom decolletage were able to look far fresher with little powder and pretty hairstyles. At the time, this was the way of the world...

Though the plot was a trifle convoluted, and the language at times unfamiliar, the cast and the crew could not be faulted and the performances were impeccable and well received by the audience. Witwoud (Michael Colson) and Petulant (Cameron Scott) deserve props for portraying such utterly ridiculous fops and talented Rose Riley was very funny as the melodramatic Lady Wishfort. Dark horses Fainall (Adam Sollis) and his lover Mrs Marwood (Zhada Kekez) provided a complex conflict to the comedy, but ultimately a clever resolution is presented at the denouement and all ends happily with the engagement of the the sharp tongued and quick witted sparring partners Millamant (Holly O'Donoghoe) and Mirabell (Jackson Heinz).

I was very impressed with the production and while still slightly envious, I'll admit that this is more than tempered by my admiration for the talent and ambition of the actors and production staff. I'll make sure I'm on the lookout for future shows!

The Seagull

Thursday, 30 April 2009

I don’t know quite what I expected from this Chekhov play – I had heard that his works are dour, talky, with languidly morose depictions; but this adaptation actually had a lot of humour, and some of the characterisations, such as lovelorn Masha (Michelle Davidson) were really rather droll.

Gifted actress and director Marcelle Schmitz has certainly teased out relatively naturalistic performances from her cast drawn from the WAAPA 2^nd year Acting Students, as despite the heightened drama involved in the plot lines, the truth of Chekhov exploring people’s everyday lives and how they justify their choices crosses the barriers of time and place. The theme of unrequited love and cross relationship entanglements formed a lot of the scenes and while the setting may have been 19^th century Russia, the discussions on the nature of fame, age, depression, and living within your means and superannuation (!) made it seem positively modern.

Kostya (Wade Briggs – in an intense and focussing performance) is introduced to us nervous yet excited, he is about to debut his play and is eager to showcase his leading lady Nina (Aileen Huynh) with whom he is desperately in love with. She’s not immune to his enthusiasm for her, but is far more interested in impressing the writer Trigorin (Nicholas McRobbie), erstwhile lover of Kostya’s famed actress mother Arkadina (Eloise Winestock) a scene stealer in every sense, and with enough ego to swallow up all the air in the room. Winestock is hilarious and later proves her dramatic acting chops in a scene with Kostya, first comforting her son tenderly while changing his bandages and then angrily confronting him as they snipe at the complexities of their relationship.

The central role of Nina in the first act needs such a delicate balance of youthful enthusiasm and dreamy virginal sensuality (she is said to have stolen the hearts of all the men of this country estate) that when she later returns as a broken, delusional young woman desperate to just be in the same house as her ex-lover Trigorin, it’s supposed to be a visceral shock to the audience. It’s a challenging role for any actress and I found Huynh a little uneven in her characterisation, but overall the cast was up to the challenge of enormous monologues and pages of singular dialogue.

Smaller characters such as Dr Dorn (Eric Beecroft – easygoingly charismatic) and Shamrayev (Oliver Wakelin) a booming and unselfconscious fan of Arkadina, provided slices of side humour, or in the doctor’s case, a lone voice of support for the depressed Kostya. Paul Dowson as Uncle Sorin, Arkadina’s straight arrow of a civil servant brother, wishing at the end of his life to have accomplished something fair more creative and grand, almost made my heart stop at one point; his hand falling off his chest, his death dreadfully anticipated. But then he snores and everyone laughs nervously. Chekhov wouldn’t do that to us! All the big action takes place off stage! The attempted suicide of Kostya, the affair between Nina and Trigorn, the triumphs and downfalls – these are all absent from our eyes, and we simply hear of them from the characters passing news to each other concerning beloved friends and acquaintances.

The staging was neat and compact with smart use of the trellis side sets and a mirror-like movable entry. The stage crew were as ghosts, experienced and sure. The music was sweet, but forgettable, less another element to distract from the dialogue. But it is the words, words, words that fill the stage and now with this introduction to his work, I shall shy no more away from Anton Chekhov and instead welcome future opportunities to see into his broken sardonic heart.

Mozart's Requiem

Wednesday, 8 April 2009

Religion has sneakily brought me back to church - by offering itself as an alternative venue for the performing arts. Last Christmas it was Handel's Messiah at St Andrew's, and this Easter it is the Gothic revival glamour of St George's Cathedral, staging two performances of Mozart's Requiem with the West Australian Ballet.

I guess it should make sense really - the Passion plays, the pulpit, the preachers - what is the congregation of church but another example of an audience searching for greater meaning or understanding in life?

Choreographed by Natalie Weir, the WA Ballet presented a mostly abstract, but none the less sombre and spiritual dance to Lacrimosa, a beautiful piece interwoven throughout Mozart's Requiem.

I'd forgotten how much I'd missed seeing the high classical style of ballet live; and the shapes, movements and lines of the dancers were of such pure beauty to me that it was as if they were in a dream.

While the sight lines for the "stage" were imperfect - the Great Crossing of the Cathedral was were the bulk of the performance was detailed and the large columns blocked some of the sections - overall, the audience still managed to see much of the narrative and there were large plasma screen monitors set up to provide a more intimate insight during various pietas between the lead dancers or a full stage overview of the corps de ballet.

The dancers were ably supported by soloists from the WA Opera, with backing from the St George's Cathedral Consort under the reverent musical direction of Joseph Nolan. Stewart Smith showcased his organist skills for the short 60 minute+ running time, with flourishes provided by two trumpeters and a timpanist completing the musicians.

With no obligation to pay for the performance witnessed, I nonetheless gave generously towards the event upon my exit; both for the guilt of being a self confessed lapsed Catholic, and for the spiritual and theatrical enjoyment that I had gained from this devout start to the Easter season.

Moonwebs & Scorched Thongs

Sunday, 7 April 2009

So you think you can dance? Yes, we are in the midst of a youthquake dance craze and boys are no longer afraid to show off their acrobatic and partner lifting skills courtesy of many hours at the ballet barre, and girls can rightly bring it! to the hiphop floor and krump till it hurts.

Steps Youth Dance Company, celebrating it's 20th year of creating dance for more than 2000 young people between the ages of 9 and 24 years, has contributed greatly to the development of movement and dance theatre in Western Australia. It started a Boys Can Dance initiative 12 years ago which has paid handsome dividends in the equal representation of males and females in this production's cast, and a relatively balanced view of gender politics for Generation Y & Z (the latter of whom I like to refer to as the iGeneration - as in iPod or internet).

A rather erotic quote was used in the miniprogram supplied at the Playhouse Theatre from Project Artistic Director, Alice Lee Holland:

"Male and female represent the two sides of the great radical dualism. But, in fact, they are perpetually passing into one another. Fluid hardens to solid, solid rushes to fluid. There is no purely masculine man, no purely feminine woman." - Margaret Fuller, The Dial Magazine, 1843

Confronting sexuality it would seem (the quote was supplied by one of the dancers for a communal ideas pin up board), but don't worry, this performance piece was more interested in investigating issues of gender than of coupling.

Flowing segments moving from period costume era ettiquette to present day schoolyard sectionals (the It girls, the Sports Jocks, the Squares, the Outsiders) transfered through from the opening onwards and there was always a constant pace across stage from left to right - signifying the passage of time, the journey from child to youth to adulthood - just that ever present movement that typifies growth.

I found the segments danced by the boys dynamic and interesting, at times dark and typically testosterone layered, but with enough creative technique and insight from the dancers to reveal that core of art and sensitivity that males on the surface sometimes choose to eschew.

The selection and choreography for the girls was pretty and at times melancholy, but I found a lot of the dancers seemed to be rather follow-the-leader in their movements - was this reflecting the stereotype that females are happy to go with the flow and are less inclined to rebel and display agressive movement then males? It would have been intriguing to see a few awkward, rebelling or emo edged girls expressing their individuality, but maybe I'm seeing conformity when I should really be intuiting camaraderie.

The schoolyard scenes were fun and relatable, with comic personalities giving us an insight into the dancers on stage. It's too easy sometimes to look at line and technique when appreciating dance and forgo the charisma of the performers.

I'm sure there were a lot of friends and family at the matinee I attended as the final scenes showing off in small groups or individually some amazing moves got the audience pumping and whooping it up - take that, Channel Ten! Look out for this year's class to graduate to an audition auditiorium for So You Think You Can Dance fame in the near future.

Looking forward to STEPS 21st birthday party in 2010!

The Marriage of Figaro

Saturday, 28 March 2009

Light, frothy and as mind twisting as an alcopop, Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro is an effervescent treat; it's mainstream familiarity not deterring the serious opera goer, rather it gives them a chance to enjoy the genius composer's prankster wit as we all laugh at the upstairs/ downstairs shenanigans within a country estate outside Seville.

I won't belabour the plot, suffice to say there are mistaken identities galore, boys dressed as girls (though that role is actually played by a girl dressed as a boy...who then has to masquerade as a girl - more Victor/ Victoria confusion!), romantic triangles, quadrangles and possibly even a pentacle; but a happy ending is assured; long lost families are found and true love truimphs.

The pace and performances were brisk and humourous with James Clayton skipping through his title role and Sara Macliver proving a fiesty foil as Susanna, Figaro's true love eager to outwit the Il Conte d'Almaviva (Luke Gabbedy), their philandering aristocratic employer, who is determined to wear down her protestations.

Stuart Liang was a hoot as Don Basilio/ Don Curzio, his round moonface alternatively bulging with bluster or sly with machinations and he, Marcellina (Sarah-Janet Dougiamas) and Bartolo (Conal Coad) provided much laughter and gossip in the opening act.

I loved the way the stage was dressed, the heavy curtains of light rust providing both set and cover in Act 1 and they reminded me of the layers upon layers of female courtly dress - under which just about all the males in the cast were eager to get to! There were touches of anachronistic modernity admist the props - a 50s style hair dryer, an ironing board and iron which were humourously affected, however I found the audience room columns in Act 3 rather squat and ugly and so out of place with the lighter colours employed in the rest of the sets.

The WA Symphony Orchestra ably supported the players on stage, but the WA Opera Chorus were practically a blip on the scene, mainly utilised in the audience room and apparently not even worthy of a bow as only the principals and supporting cast got the chance to receive applause from the audience. Ah well...

But the show itself was delightful, and an enjoyable evening of champagne fun.

Assassins

Saturday, 21 March 2009

It's always a little disconcerting to be at the wrong end of a gun, and while I knew that the pistols the actors pointed right into the audience were toys, painted sinister to fit Stephen Sondheim's darkly humourous musical, I couldn't help but feel a little uneasy when the assassins stood as a collective row and sung with passion about how "Everyone's Got The Right" because they judged it to be so via the barrel of a gun.

Director Paul Treasure has brought many a complicated production to life and here is one which stars anti-heroes that would be all too easy to hate. These characters are not merely murderers, no that's far too ordinary a term for their aspirations - these people, real people in American history - sought to be something far more significant, special; and in attempting (and in most of this musical's plot succeeding) in killing the President, they have changed the way the leader of the free world interacts with ordinary Americans. He is elevated and then vilified, in that respect Australians can recognize that there may be something of a tall poppy syndrome at play here, where the ordinary resents the extraordinary.

The stage was dressed well and reminiscent of the American flag; a small musical band in the left hand corner with the backdrop of a glittery blue curtain, a curved bar to the right slashed with thick white and red. The wide empty front stage was bare - this space would be inhabited by each assassin in turn so they could build their world through song and story as we jumped backwards and forwards through time and presidents.

Peter "Pear" Carr was a strong and interweaving presence throughout the piece, not only did he play the egotistical actor assassin John Wilkes Booth, but he went on to portray president after president, giving the audience the many ways a man can die.

The ensemble was unsteady in some parts; chorus numbers were strong, however the band at times drowned out individual singers and as Sondheim puts a lot of story in his lyrics, if you didn't know the musical very well you could miss out on the clever dialogue and smart characterizations inherent in the work.

A challenging show, but proof that musical theatre is more than just singing about love and adventure - the scene when the ensemble calls as ghosts of both past and future haranguing Lee Harvey Oswald to legitimatize them by killing JFK, is truly chilling.

Arabian Nights

Thursday, 19 March 2009

As a child I was captivated by the stories from the Arabian Nights - they were right there next to my copies of Grimms Fairy Tales, Enid Blyton and the fabled legends of Greek, Roman and Norse mythology.

It's been a while since I've indulged in reading fantasy (though author Mercedes Lackey has coaxed me back to the fold by respinning the fairytale genre with her Tales of the Five Hundred Kingdoms and Elemental Masters series); but there was still enough of a pull that when I saw that WAAPA was putting on a dramatic production of this classic I had to buy a ticket to check it out.

Dominic Cooke's TMA/Equity award winning Young Vic Theatre adaptation introduces us to a heartbroken and consequently cruel King who having been betrayed by his Queen, resorts to wed a new bride every evening and then execute her at dawn. Many women die by this edict, and one day clever and brave Shahrazad, the daughter of the Vizier comes up with a plan to save the remaining women and ultimately her kingdom by offering herself as the next bride. She asks for her sister to stay with her after her marriage and just before dawn, as secretly instructed earlier, young Dinarzad asks her elder sister to tell her a story...

Most of us know that Shahrazad then proceeds to weave tale after tale of magical, humourous, dramatic and thought-provoking adventures involving Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, Sinbad the Sailor and many others, day by day gaining a stay of execution as the King goes from indifferent to entranced by her storytelling skills.

Finally, Shahrazad decides to test his heart - after 1001 nights she refuses to tell him a tale and prays that she has managed to heal the pain of betrayal through her love, as it soon becomes evident that it's not just her life that is on the line...

This was a wonderful production, I had no idea what to expect from the 2nd year Acting students at WAAPA's Enright Studio, and the surprise and joy at such a imaginative performance made me feel like I was a child, discovering these fantastical stories again for the first time.

The ensemble worked together seamlessly under the expert and inspired direction of Lisa Scott-Murphy and the audience could tell that the company was having just as much fun bringing us this show as we were having watching it.

Special mention must be given to the following: costume designer, Katie Christie for her simple yet adaptable pieces for the many multiple characters the actors portrayed; lighting designer Tom Stoney for transporting us, not unlike a magic carpet ride, into the heart of all the adventures and within the King's memory and mind; and the invisible and very effective props crew of Dean Gibbs, Jorja Christensen and Nicolas Horne who supported and anticipated all the actors needs.

An enchanting evening.

Shane Warne - the Musical

Wednesday, 18 March 2009

I am a huge fan of Casey Bennetto's previous satirical cabaret hit Keating! so when I heard that he was part of the team bringing us the life and times of one of our best known and tabloid mugging cricket stars, it was a no-brainer to buy a ticket to see the show.

A lot of my friends sniggered at the idea of a musical theatre rendition of Warney's fiobles, from his diet pills fracas to the 'gotcha!' SMS headlines screaming of his extracurricular activities on the England tour, but the show is a fantastic night out and actually humanizes the man somewhat.

Eddie Perfect, who also wrote and composed the music for the production, is fantastic as the titular character, his shambolic demeanour and boyish charm making Shane likable and somehow almost innocent, a man-child who is given an easy life due to talent and who indulges in booze, pills, cigarettes and women because they are available.

Dream sequences involving a giant cigarette, worry about hair loss and baby doll dressed bedmates skewer the protagonist while the rest of the numbers consistently reveal sharp writing, current takes of these very real people's lives (Shane on meeting Simone waxes that she should be "Dancing with the Stars") and Australia's own tall poppy syndrome.

The professional ensemble were all superbly voiced and it was great to see Mike McLeish (star of Keating!) in the line-up. Amy Lehpamer as Simone was also suitable sympathetic and Sally Bourne as Shane's mother was both comforting and fussily bossy - you could see that Shane, at the crux of it all might still be a little bit of a mama's boy.

I loved how the show opened with the band playing "Fanfare for the Common Man" which has been used as a television theme for many sports shows, this version was reminiscent of the rock kick it was given headlining Channel 9's sporting shows at the height of cricket tragicdom.

We also got an announcement at the start to leave our mobile phones ON...'cos you never know when an important SMS might be coming through!

Rent

Saturday, 14 March 2009

I confess, while I liked certain portions of this musical and I know that it is well-lauded and has won a cache of awards... maybe I'm viewing it from a 2009 sensibility - which would make Jonathan Larsen's posthumous Broadway triumph almost a generation removed from it's zeitgeist era of late 1980's Lower East Side New York.

One of the first original American rock operas to reinvent the genre of musical theatre, Rent is loud, smart, rude and defiant - very much like it's youth quake MTV inducted creators and cast, and it's energy, confrontational subject matter and sometimes comedic characters and scenarios mark it as a worthy recipient of not just a Tony Award for best musical, but also the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1996.

This production was staged at WAAPA's Roundhouse Theatre, the audience very much up close and personal, right into the trials and tribulations of this AIDS and HIV-positive soap, dealing with hook-ups, AZT programs, relationship and commitment issues, debauchery and death.

Mitch Roberts played the central character of Mark, who through his candid camera and pontification introduces us to his merry band of mayflies, "No day but today!"

He was spot-on with his accent and it never wavered even in song, a difficult thing to pull off for the long period of time a majority of characters were on stage for. His lone status as being the only one not afflicted gravitated the audience somewhat; he was the viewer, trying to empathize with his creative friends, but ultimately selling out to escape the poverty and despair.

There seemed to be some sound issues on the night I went, a number of the singers were overpowered by the small but loud band, and pertinent lyrics and dialogue were lost to the newbies yet to class themselves as "Rent-heads".

Francine Cain as sexy and scandalous Maureen rocked the house in her opening number and played cute as both irresistible and pain-in-the-ass, the most memorable of ex-girlfriends.

Other romances swirled and slipped away but love seemed to still breathe as Mimi reclaimed enough in the closing scenes to not die in the arms of tortured Roger.

Does Rent now look a little self-indulgent in today's pared back world, where New York though not necessarily sombre is now far more aware of where it and America's excesses have taken it? Maybe. I would say more that the very contemporary vein that brought it acclaim over a decade ago might now be what marks it a epochal piece of the post Reaganite years.

Tales of King Arthur

Friday, 13 March 2009

I've been seeing shows on and off at WAAPA for the better part of a year now - ever since I discovered their Performance Program - but tonight was the first time I got a chance to be part of the audience at their Amphitheatre, an outdoor location close to the main studios and Building 1.

The saliva-inducing scent of a fundraising sausage sizzle drew the medium sized crowd to the location and the seating was most definitely on the casual side, blankets and throws to soften the functional sitting areas and tickets unreserved.

Cane hoops sturdily bound together served as a backdrop for the stage and they were scored here and there with fairy lights, cloth and pulleys. An open floor was the stage and found objects like modified garbage bins were turned over and reused to transform between the stone which held Arthur's sword to thrones and lookout points.

The legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table have fascinated scholars and the public alike for generations with their tales of gallantry and romance; trials, sacrifice and reward and at the centre of it all the doomed love triangle between Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot.

This production however, did not hold to the Middle Ages conceit of castles and courtly refinement, the actors were in a much coarser garb, almost Stone Age - with wild hair and bare chests for the boys and neutral dresses and heavy eye shadow for the girls.

Various roles were co-opted throughout the show; Merlin was played by no less than four different actors, his cape passed on and signifying his new incarnation Doctor Who-like; and various Knights of the Round Table also became opposing evil knights, kings or demons.

A character that I have not seen extensively in many representations of King Arthur was that of Kay, Arthur's often bossy older brother, a preening fop of a man played by Reece Budin who provided a lot of the comedy for the production.

Jamie Ward as Arthur was scrappy and keen - the King as a hormonally charged teenager; Luana Farina was pretty as the dutiful but secretly torn Guinevere, and Benjamin Hoetjes impressed the crowd not just with his fire-breathing skills (take that dragon!) but with his rough hewn romance and sensitivity in the role guilt-ridden Lancelot.

One of the funniest aspects of the show was the random use of regional accents. There was even a note in the program to allay the confusion with the caveat that "some accents are used to indicate a character's traits rather than region". I guess that explains the thick Russian burr that Morgana Le Fey sported and then lost!

A fun show, exuberant and well-told.

A Flowering Tree

Saturday, 7 March 2009

I had amazing seats to this production courtesy of a friend who sings with the WA Symphony Chorus, and it was quite a change to see the orchestra dominating the stage at the Perth Concert Hall while the pared back and rather muted (costume wise anyway) WA Opera Chorus were regaled to standing behind the musicians.

This was to be a semi-staged production of John Adams' contemporary opera based on a folktale from Southern India. The story focuses on a girl who can miraculously transform into a beautiful tree thus providing a way for her poor family to gain a modest income from the flowers that blossom upon her branches. The symbolism of a girl transforming into a woman is at the heart of this story, as Kumudha's simple life is ultimately taken over with more adult concerns, such as a prince who demands her as his bride and then only seems to want her when she metamorphosizes into the tree(!); and a jealous sister-in-law who talks the lovely Kumudha into showing her courtly friends her magical transmutation, only to grow bored and careless and subjecting her sister-in-law to pain and deformity as Kumudha is left in the rain. Unable to complete her tree-to-human transformation, Kumudha becomes a misshapen stump of flesh and wood. She crawls away and hides herself in the gutter, ashamed of how she looks.

The Prince, unable to find her, thinks she has run away from him and is overcome with grief and remorse. He gives up his royalty to wander aimlessly in the wilderness.

After many years almost by accident, he enters a distant kingdom that his sister now reigns and to cheer him, she finds a band a minstrels who unbeknownst to either of them have taken in Kumudha. As Kumudha sings to him, The Prince recognizes her and tenderly bathes her malformed figure; a miracle of pure transformation occurs and Kumudha become wholly human again for the lovers to be reunited.

Rachelle Durkin as the lovely Kumudha was beauteous in form and voice, her face as expressive in person as on the large screen which projected selected views of the leads, chorus and musicians, interspersed with images of ancient Indian art and montages of water with falling flowers.

I found Russell Thomas was reasonable enough in his initially unsympathetic role of The Prince, however he seemed a little stiff and to have hardly any chemistry with his leading lady.

Sanford Sylvan as the Storyteller was our anchor into this fantastical world, and his voice, stance and acting was impressive, expertly weaving a spell over the audience with his resonant and controlled baritone, dominating the orchestra even through some very loud arrangements in the opera.

The WA Opera Chorus were charged along with the WA Symphony Orchestra with bringing forth all the remaining characters in the piece; from Kumudha's disciplinary mother to the cacophony of The Princess' careless and spiteful friends. For some reason, the chorus sections were sung in Spanish (the majority of the libretto is in English) which made you have to seek out the surtitles set on relatively small screens either side of the stage (I pity those who would have had to squint to see them if they were much further back than the middle of the audience), but maybe vowel-heavy Spanish is more suited to what Adams wanted to skim over his almost film scoric production.

Enjoyable, but maybe more so for fans of classical music.

The Year of Magical Thinking

Thursday, 19 February 2009

UWA was abuzz with activity this evening, filled not with students ardent to earn their degrees, but with the general public, effervescent with choice for the large array of offerings from the Perth International Arts festival.

Walking past audiences heading towards the Sommerville Auditorium and the Octogon Theatre, I thought again what a beautiful evening it was, warm and calm, with just enough humidity to make it comfortable to leave your jacket at home.

I was visiting the campus to see Joan Didion's Pulitzer prize winning memoir brought to life at the Dolphin Theatre; and what was originally staged as a one woman tour de force in New York is now experimentally being brought to a Perth audience with two people on the stage.

A few weeks ago the Black Swan State Theatre and PIAF had invited their subscribers to an 'artists meet the audience' talk about how their production was progressing, and I had been intrigued by director Kate Cherry's concept of having not just the character of Joan Didion on stage, but of utilizing cellist and composer Iain Grandage to provide an internal soundtrack of sorts for Didion's monologue.

At the session the music Grandage previewed was dreamy, at times passive and then fervent and I thought how wonderful it would be coupled with this monologue detailing a woman's journey to understand how life could have taken away two of the things she most held dear.

But at that session Helen Morse did not speak overmuch, preferring to defer to her director for most of the questions.

At the performance last night she was incandescent, her grey-white hair haloed around her face, her bird-like features almost pushing into skeletal, and her eyes at turns defiant and despairing.

There was a slight jar when she first began to speak, for of course Didion is American and that accent in Australia will always stand out, but within minutes our ears warmed to the familiar cadences and the conversational tone of the piece made you feel as if you were right there with her in the hospital room, at her home in Malibu, in Paris with her husband, and at her side at his funeral.

The stage revealed two islands of white sand built up and surrounded by clear water. It was mostly still, but the subtle lighting design by Matt Scott would at times play up the ripples across the surface which was then reflected onto the back of the stage wall.

To be honest, I have to say that I found the soundscape improvised by Grandage rather distracting; while at times the words and the music seemed to work synergistically, overall I felt that Morse as an actress was much more compelling with just her face, her voice and Didion's powerful quixotic dialogue. I also felt that the sense of loneliness that Didion was attempting to control but at the same time impart upon her audience was belied by the fact that there was another person on stage.

Overall, well worth seeing for Helen Morse's rich and transformative performance and the evocative memory stagescape.