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.