Festival Freak

No Hello

Adelaide Duende Collective @ Bakehouse Theatre – Main Stage

6:00pm, Tue 8 Mar 2011

So – we’ve reached the end of the world, then. And, hunkered down in two separate bunkers, are two of the last people left on earth: Johnny and Anna. Faced with twelve months in isolation, they are only capable of communicating with each other via a single telephone line.

I like this setup. I like it a lot.

But some of the dialogue between them doesn’t feel right. For all their desperation, there’s a coolness to their banter – minutia blends into character-defining moments. Johnny’s struggling with the isolation, and hops from one theme to the next; Anna’s already faced her demons, and is waiting out her confinement. The appearance of two additional characters (played by the same actress) increases the sense of danger exuded by both characters, but by that time we already know what Anna’s capable of… so the focus falls on Johnny, as he slowly unravels.

Dee Easton’s direction is great, separating the two characters into their own little areas of desperation – with a bed crossing the divide between them; Johnny’s bunker is a mess of video tapes and papers, Anna’s is neat and orderly. Matt Crook is a joy to watch as Johnny: his mental disintegration is an uncomfortable joy to behold. Bianka Feo’s Anna is played a lot cooler, more distant, and it becomes a challenge to empathise with her.

As I mentioned above, I liked the setup to No Hello a lot… but the end result left me a bit perplexed. All the ingredients were there for me; in fact, the script seemed tailor made for me. Post-apocalyptic doom? Yep. Nutty guy slowly losing it? Check. Strong woman with physical scars over a brutalised conscience? Big tick. A script that contains eighties references and clever one-liners? Jackpot.

And yet I walked away not wanting to know more about these people. There was no real connection. And, whilst I remember alternating between contemplating and laughing in the theatre, I didn’t really take much of that out with me. Still, I’d hardly call it a blemish on Duende’s record…

The Six-Sided Man

Gavin Robertson & Nicholas Collett @ Higher Ground – Main Theatre

9:45pm, Mon 7 Mar 2011

Now, this is an interesting post for me to write.

(Not that the others aren’t, mind you, but… you know what I mean.)

Luke Rhinehart’s The Dice Man is a significant book in my life; I first read it after seeing a throwaway reference to it in my beloved Zzap!64 gaming magazine in my youth. It, quite frankly, titillated and shocked and thrilled and abhorred me; I found it to be illuminating and offensive in equal measure. I’ve always held it dear in my “important books” pile, along with Brave New World, the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series, The Canterbury Tales, and my T.S. Eliot, Shakespeare, and Calvin and Hobbes compendiums.

So when I spied a theatrical production inspired by the book, it was a lock. There was no way I was missing this show.

Gavin Robertson plays The Man, a guy who lives his life by the roll of the dice; if there’s a decision to be made, he’ll allow chance to make it for him (”If God can see a sparrow fall to the ground, surely he can see the dice fall to the table? Therefore by obeying the dice, we obey God. The Dice are God.”) Nicholas Collett’s Psychiatrist is attempting to keep an objective eye on The Man’s practices, but maintains a curious attraction to living by the die; there’s plenty of humour to be found in their banter as they semi-randomly move from one situation to the next, letting the dice dictate their actions. There’s also plenty of theoretical discussion, where the Psychiatrist probes the menacingly-pacing Man, questioning his actions and decisions (or lack thereof), and attempts to reconcile humanity with chance…

But unfortunately for me, the power of the book came from the challenges it made on the people who chose to live by the die; the strength of their convictions when faced with moral bankruptcy. The Six-Sided Man side-steps these quandaries in favour of this more academic discussion about the nature of chance and, as a result, removed the bits I loved the most. And whilst the core tenets of the book remain in this interpretation, that’s not enough to win me over… because I know what I’m missing.

I mentioned this to Robertson when I bumped into him at the Fringe Club one night; he (very politely) accepted my comments, talked of the evolution of the piece, and mentioned that Luke Rhinehart himself (well, that’s his nom de plume, but you know what I mean) himself thinks this is a great adaptation. I’d be hesitant to use that word myself, though, since it strays so far from what I consider core to the book; but it’s undoubtedly a quality theatrical experience, with both Robertson and Collett controlling the mood of the piece remarkably well (even if we do stay in the dark more than the light).

I’ve got a feeling, though, I’d have enjoyed it a whole lot more had I not actually read the book beforehand.

Nuclear Family

Yael Gezentsvey @ Nexus Gallery

8:00pm, Mon 7 Mar 2011

Remember, about a decade ago, when every second solo theatrical performance seemed to be based on the premise that the actor would show us their chops by portraying a plethora of characters? The Entire Contents of the Refrigerator? Virtual Solitaire? Good times.

Nuclear Family resurrects that Fringe-favourite trait, but casts it in a much more personal light. Yael Gezentsvey plays eleven connected Jewish immigrant characters in New Zealand; sure, they appreciate the freedoms of their new country, but – with large chunks of their families back in the Soviet Union and Venezuela – there’s still a pining for their homelands.

There’s an element of soap-operatics about the interactions of the characters in Nuclear Family, with the blossoming and fragility of relationships being central threads; but there’s a fair bit of sensitivity in the script, too, with the strength in the rituals of family and religion playing a significant part.

I got the feeling that this was an almost autobiographical script, which would explain the believable characters and diamonologue. Yael Gezentsvey plays all eleven characters – all eleven accents, all eleven mannerisms – with complete confidence, painting convincing pictures of them all in the audience’s mind. Sure, with the speed at which Desiree Gezentsvey’s (Yael’s mum!) script moves, it can be tricky to pick up all the characters (and their relationships!) at first… but by halfway through the performance they’re all familiar enough that the act of Yael stooping just a little takes you into Babushka’s home.

In all, Nuclear Family is a great little script performed admirably. And, better still, it takes the multi-character performance trope and makes it personal.

Being Winona Ryder

Mara B @ The Maid

6:45pm, Mon 7 Mar 2011

I’m at The Maid a bit early, and settle back to snicker at the ‘Tiser reviews over a beer. I’m feeling pretty good; into the final week of The Fringe, Dad’s on the mend, and I’m not feeling like a zombie. And I’m intrigued as to what Being Winona Ryder is going to be about; I’m attracted by Winona’s name and the short run of the show, but beyond that I know nothing about the show or it’s progenitor, Mara B.

I bump into Beth and we sit in the front row. She waxes lyrical about Mara B’s work, and how much effort she’s put into this show. My curiosity is further piqued.

A bad-quality voice comes over the speakers: “Members of the press, Miss Winona Ryder.” Mara B strolls out onto the stage and carefully takes a seat at the table that bears a Ryder nameplate. She hesitantly greets the press cordon… er, audience, and then launches into a series of short pieces loosely based around Winona’s little shoplifting incident.

And that’s an interesting premise, especially when Mara uses it to explore the pressure of the celebrity spotlight (and the role both the media and the public play in it); there’s plenty of opportunity to poke fun at pop culture’s relentless deifying of the celebrity. But it all falls apart because… well, Mara B just does not look prepared.

Constantly checking her lines off sheets of paper hidden behind the shabbily-concocted nameplate, there were pacing problems a-plenty; pauses where there should be none, run-ons when there should be a chance for the audience to reflect (and, too rarely, laugh). I honestly felt as if I was watching a reading of the material, rather than the show that should eventuate. The occasional voice-overs from her agent always seemed to be ill-timed… and Mara’s triggered response was often less-than-natural. And at thirty minutes, it’s a short show… but it still manages to feel like there’s too much filler (and the killer bits are very few and far between).

“A comedy about errors,” reads the Guide blurb. Quite.

The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church

Daniel Kitson @ Adelaide Town Hall – Auditorium

9:30pm, Sun 6 Mar 2011

Daniel Kitson is an incredibly easy comedian for me to love; he’s intelligent, he’s extremely articulate, and he doesn’t mind a good ol’ swear. I’ve been lucky enough to see his sterling stand-up sets three times now, but I’ve only caught one of his “story shows”: 2008’s The Ballad of Roger and Grace.

The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church, as it turns out, is somewhere in between those two modes of expression; where Roger and Grace had musical accompaniment, tonight Kitson stands alone onstage (in the wide and deep expanses of the Adelaide Town Hall) and tells a single story. There’s no props (other than a small stool), no pre-recorded material, no fancy lighting – just Kitson and his notebooks, which he refers to ever-so-occasionally.

The story, stemming from Kitson’s chance discovery of a box of letters in a house that he was looking at buying, focuses on Gregory Church, the previous owner of the house. Fuming at the ills of the world (and the people in it), Gregory had decided that he didn’t want to be any part of it: he was going to kill himself, right after he let the fifty-seven people with whom he had issues know what he thought of them. By writing them letters.

The letters took much longer to write than he anticipated; by the time they’d all been written, replies from the first posted had returned, warranting further reply. This cycle continues, stretching Gregory’s life out…

It is, as the Fringe Guide blurb so perfectly says, “the story of a death postponed by life.”

Look, I’ve probably already said too much about the plot – much of it probably wrong. But Kitson’s writing is, as usual, exemplary; his stutter almost absent over the hour-and-a-half show. And it really, truly, is a wonderful story; sure, he’s talking about a man contemplating taking his own life for much of the time, but he builds Gregory up as a sympathetic – albeit eccentric – character, and peppers the tale with hope and sadness and joy and curiosity – and a dash of pathos. It’s a wonderfully rich experience, and one that left me in a quandary; just how would I write a blog post about it?

European Man 2

European Man @ Arcade Lane – Regent One

8:30pm, Sun 6 Mar 2011

So – we’d heard that Daniel Kitson really doesn’t like latecomers to his shows… and, despite the fact that we didn’t have far to travel, we were still going to be cutting it close getting to Kitson in a timely manner – if European Man 2 started on-time.

Which it didn’t. European Man shambled into the spotlight fifteen minutes late, actually. At which stage my hands were mentally thrown up in the air in a “whatever… shit happens” kinda way.

You know what, though? Even if we had missed out on Kitson’s act, it would have been worth it… because European Man 2 was one of the discoveries of the Fringe.

Not because the European Man – presented by “The Continent of Europe” – has some stellar jokes, though – shit no, his content is diabolically awful. But the complete lack of self-awareness in the character makes his performance completely compelling.

A step back, first: European Man is from Europe, afflicted with a strong nonpartisan accent, and wears jeans and a suit jacket… and long greasy black hair. And a beard. He makes it quite clear that English is not his primary language – and you get the feeling that his jokes have suffered a lot in translation.

For instance: the Man goes on a long trek explaining how there’s more vitamin C in lemons, convincing his housemate Sally Carmichael (just the act of referring to everyone in firstname-lastname format is enough to crack the audience up) that she should consume them, despite the bitterness… when she does so, he breaks out a big shit-eating grin and yells “while I’m enjoying eating my delicious orange!” Joke delivered, he walks the width of the stage, smiling and nodding at the bemused audience in triumph.

That, essentially, is European Man’s humour in a nutshell.

Yes, there’s a bit about dinosaur (specifically, T-Rex) comedians. Yes, there’s a long and winding description of Space Chips. And yes, he talks about his cat (James Pietersen) a lot. And all his jokes are cringingly bad, but the Man’s misguided self-confidence is so powerful that it works.

But the other really memorable bit of the show? Four people sitting in the front row, directly in front of us. A couple of minutes in, they started whispering to each other, a hint of concern in their hisses. Fifteen minutes in, the whispers get more frequent and animated. Eventually, the European Man asks: is there a problem?

“Well… nah,” one bloke replied, “It’s just… when is the burlesque going to start?”

European Man stood stunned for a moment; eventually, a voice came from the back of the room: “the burlesque show’s next door.” Which European Man followed up with “I can strip for you if you like,” and took off his jacket. Which cracked up the entire audience (except the four people in the front row, naturally).

Just in writing this post, I re-lived a lot of European Man 2 in my mind – and had an absolute ball doing so. The European Man is a fantastic comedic character, and – whilst I think a full hour of his awful comedy might be too much (and, after all, this show started late and finished early) – I’d love to see another set soon.

As an extra special bonus, here’s the text from the back of his flyer, full of the precise (but hopelessly missing-the-mark) English that pervades his show:

Imagine if a man from Europe moved to Australia. Well, one did. That man is European Man.

Now he lives in Melbourne with his cat and Sally Carmichael. European Man has a job and catches the train to work!

Last year he did a Festival show. This year he is going to do one.

Brilliant.

Nice Work If You Can Get It

The Lost Rung @ Arcade Lane – Regent One

7:00pm, Sun 6 Mar 2011

Having seen The Lost Rung’s physically acrobatic style of theatre when the performed in conjunction with Vital Organs Collective in 2009 and 2010, I was really looking forward to seeing more of Josh Mitchell and Adam Jackson’s high-energy feats of strength and balance.

But, disappointingly, that’s not really what Nice Work If You Can Get It was about.

What it is about is a look at the stereotypical office space through the lens of physical theatre. It explores the inherent hierarchies, the day-to-day tedium, the abstraction from the real world that office drudgery typifies. And Mitchell & Jackson’s movements are well-realised, working with the subject matter to create a genuine sense of purpose in their actions.

The problem is that, compared to their earlier works, it all happens so slooooooowly.

Normally I’d err on the side of charitably calling it “contemplative”, but in this case it was just slow. Treacle-ish. And I understand that, when it comes to acrobatic displays of strength and balance, a lack of speed demonstrates a higher level of competence, but it also makes for a pretty ordinary audience experience (coupled with the fact that, when the boys did start performing some of the tricks I’d been expecting, the audience had been lulled into a sense of theatre – thus leading to some almost comically shy attempts at the clapping which has become de rigueur for circus performances these days).

The premise for Nice Work If You Can Get It – and even the content – was interesting; it’s just that the pacing was way off. If this had been performed in twenty minutes, rather than sixty, it would’ve worked a treat.

Subsidized Corn

Subsidized Corn @ Gluttony (Carry On Theatre)

5:00pm, Sun 6 Mar 2011

Subsidized Corn are a collection of improv performers hailing from Washington DC; if my memory serves me correctly, they just happened to be in Australia around Fringe-time for one of the members’ (they like to call themselves “Kernels”) wedding, and decided a little side-trip to Adelaide for a few gigs was in order.

The Carry On was maybe only a quarter-full this sticky afternoon, and it was not a pleasant tent to hang about it. A plethora of electric fans helped the air-flow through the tent, but had the unwanted side-effect of drowning out some of the softer voices of the Subsidized Corn crew. Worse still, the crowd that did turn up were pretty lethargic and uninvolved; when the Kernels sprang onto the stage, bouncing around and trying to fill the place with energy, they tried to get the audience involved by asking for the name of an object.

Stony silence.

Anxious to help them out – to not see that energy fall flat – I yelled out the first thing that came to mind:

“Potato.”

As soon as I said it, I regretted it. Potato? Seriously – I was well aware that my body was telling me a good carb-loading was required, but… what a fucking stupid thing to say.

But they ran with it. And sure, it wasn’t the funniest scene ever improvised, but there’s only so much you can do with crap source material… and it was certainly entertaining.

Luckily, later audience suggestions (yes, they did get involved eventually) proved to be better fodder – Julia Gillard and Bob Brown being thrown into a tryst – and the underlay for a lot of the scenes became inherently political… which is where I suspect Subsidized Corn are in their element.

An oddball “Pirates landing at Malibu” scene rounded out the performance, which seemed largely out-of-character with the rest of their work; they’d made a real effort to be locally relevant and topical, and that sketch just seemed to be a fallback to stuff they’d do back home. Still, it was performed with the same enthusiasm and quick-wittedness that was imbued in the rest of the show, leaving me in no doubt that Subsidized Corn are an enjoyable improv troupe.

After the show I bumped into a few of the Kernels outside on the Gluttony grass and, as I am wont to do, had a bit of a chat with Darnell Eaton (a lovely bloke). Despite my frothing raves about the bits that I’d really enjoyed, he admitted that they thought the gig wasn’t really up to snuff – not by their own (seemingly lofty) standards. The conversation ended soon after another woman came up to talk about the show… and wound up directing all her questions to me. Weird!

Heroes

Melbourne Dance Theatre @ Holden Street Theatres – The Studio

2:30pm, Sun 6 Mar 2011

So: I’m a teensy bit hungover, and more-than-a-teensy bit tired… not usually the best condition to be in a darkened room when it’s hot outside watching some modern dance pieces set to imagery that danced a fine line between confrontational and melancholic. But, to the Melbourne Dance Theatre’s credit, they managed to present a piece that managed to be both sobering and exciting… try and figure that out.

Mind you, Heroes did not get off to a promising start. While a projector overlaid video of all-too-familiar memories of September 11 over The Studio, the MDT’s group of dancers appeared to group together on the left-hand side of the space, as if the stage was too narrow for the physical expression they’d rehearsed.

But once past that troubled opening, the dance itself was a beautiful exercise in restraint. Largely an ensemble piece, movements were generally slow and sweeping, with the choreography appearing to steer well clear of physical limits – but, in keeping the majority of the dance at a slower pace, a sense of poignancy is evoked.

That poignancy is supported by the overlaid video, which effectively controlled the tone of the performance; slow-motion footage of people stumbling away from Ground Zero covered in dust tugs at the heart-string, and the footage of the Twin Tower impacts clearly signals that the performance is coming to a close. Some may say that the use of such iconic – and emotive – footage is gauche; but within the context of this piece, it lends such a sense of power and significance to the physical movement that it doesn’t feel like a trivialisation in any way.

Heroes was a really beautiful performance: sensitive without being sappy, powerful without being overbearing. The physical aspect was well refined, the video well used, and the soundtrack… well, that was great. A lot of Peter Gabriel’s Scratch My Back was in there (My Body Is A Cage, Heroes, but I can’t remember(!) whether it was Gabriel’s version of The Power of the Heart or the Lou Reed original), but there was some incredible industrial stuff in there too – the bit that followed Cage was amazing. But it was most certainly a sobering experience, and the experience of walking back outside into the blinding sunlight was a jarring one…

The Bertie Beatle Show

Rohan Harry and Upyabumproductions @ Worldsend Hotel (Beer Garden)

11:00pm, Sat 5 Mar 2011

“…a confessional night of singing, dancing, poetry and cheap jokes,” said the Guide.

“SOLD,” said I.

I’d completely forgotten that Soundwave was on this evening, and Hindley Street was throbbing with a sea of black t-shirts and hoarse yelling as I dodged my way into the Worldsend. Jenny is at the door dressed as a fairy, handing out Spider-Man showbags (glow-sticks and poppers and Bertie Beetles!) in exchange for the $2 entry fee ($1.95 for concession).

First to appear on-stage was a top-hatted guitarist; then came a gorilla, who perched behind the drums. Finally came Bertie Beatle himself: a pretty good facsimile of the beetle on the chocolate wrapper many were scoffing. And before we knew it, the trio had launched into a cover of A Hard Day’s Night, drums a-thumping, jangly guitar chords, and Bertie “singing”.

The trio were energetic and certainly into the music, and there was something about their stage presence that just screamed fun. Maybe it was Bertie’s extra arms, prosthetic attachments loosely attached to his torso. One of his extra hands fell off during the performance, resulting in one particularly jovial crowd member next to the stage waving it for the rest of the gig.

I’m ashamed to admit that I hadn’t noticed the spelling of “Beatle” in the show’s title, and it never crossed my mind that the band may simply be doing a bunch of Beatles covers. In fact, the penny didn’t drop until around three songs in – Love Me Do, I reckon – and it resulted in one of those eye-opening how-could-I-have-been-so-stupid oh-that’s-the-joke moments. Whilst I’d been having fun before, after the realisation I was grinning like a loon.

There were a couple of (very) short songs about insects thrown in, but Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and Imagine provided a mighty singalong finish. Despite not catching the early joke, Bertie Beatle provided heaps of fun and lots of jangly energy.

Accidents Are Prohibited On This Road

Russell McGilton @ Adelaide Casino – The Loft

9:30pm, Sat 5 Mar 2011

I’m a big fan of travel stories; a recent example was one of the first show I saw this year, Wanderlust. Martin Dockery created a thrilling tale of one man’s adventures on the road, and managed to be both poignant and riotously funny and sexy.

But this post isn’t about Wanderlust… it’s about Accidents Are Prohibited On This Road. Which is a shame, because I’ve got very little positive to say about that show.

Opening with a typically awful Snowtown pun, Russell McGilton attempts to create a sense of humorous wonder with his travel tales; the trials before getting on the plane, being relentlessly hunted for sex by a woman in a hotel, being charged by rhinos. But none of it really works that well, either as a travel (mis)adventure or comedy; the laughs are few and far between, and the content is less-than-thrilling.

To be fair, his description of being robbed in Uganda was a pretty decent bit, as were the details of the meditation retreat he went on… but McGilton’s uneven delivery, and awful audience interaction, robbed any goodwill that may have been generated.

In retrospect, maybe Accidents wasn’t really as bad as I remember feeling at the time; but during the Fringe there’s so much more on offer that is far, far more enjoyable than this blandness.

Peter Berner – Chicken Shop Loyalty

Peter Berner @ The Comedy Cellar

7:45pm, Sat 5 Mar 2011

I’ve been a fan of Peter Berner since I first saw the long-since-axed BackBerner (with gorgeous co-host Louise Siversen); on the basis of that content, I always had him pegged as a smart, politically savvy comedian – right up my alley. Despite his many trips to this neck of the woods, I’d never managed to see him perform stand-up live before… but this year, the stars aligned, and I found myself in The Comedy Cellar on a Saturday night.

Of course, the Cellar was chock full of patrons who’d already partaken in the food component of their dinner-and-comedy deal, so a seat way down the back of the room was the best I could manage. And when Berner appears, he’s very amiable – positively friendly, in fact.

It’s not long before he delves into his central thread for the evening – consumerism, and what companies will do to retain your loyalty. There’s a few jokes at the expense of frequent-buyer cards, a dig at how various corporations try to paint themselves in a favorable light by touting “environmentally friendly” slogans, and a superficial look at advertising and marketing.

But there’s nothing fulfilling, nothing really deep about Berner’s set. In fact, it’s the offhand comments that gave me the most cheer – how he has climate-change malaise, or his plans to send senior citizens into outer space as a means to avoiding aging population concerns. And, unlike most comedians with young children, he speaks in a refreshingly dismissive manner of his son.

Far from being biting, Berner’s cynicism seems almost warm and friendly – cuddly, even. And whilst that may be great for an after-dinner crowd, I was kinda hoping for a bit more snarl. After all these years, I guess the BackBerner memories have maintained an image of the man that doesn’t reflect where he is today; that’s understandable, I guess, but disappointing nonetheless.

The Deer Johns take on Life In The Early 80s

The Deer Johns @ Gluttony (Excess Theatre)

6:30pm, Sat 5 Mar 2011

The early eighties were my formative years, musically. The New Romantics, early British electro-pop, US pop-rock, pretty much anything… I love that music with a passion, and stupid amounts of my CD collection is devoted to collecting all those songs that I loved that only seem to be available on multi-disc compilations. And the remixes… don’t get me started. Unless you know where the find the phenomenal extended remix of Alphaville’s Sounds Like A Melody on CD, because I’d be willing to trade serious amounts of marketable body fluids for that.

…ahem.

The point is that when I saw The Deer Johns’ précis in the Guide, promising “Bridget Jones’ Diary meets The Wonder Years and turn it into a musical”, set to the music of 1980-1985… I was there.

Well, not quite. While I was faffing about trying to get The Schedule in order, all three of The Deer Johns’ shows at Gelatissimo sold out. Opportunity knocked, however, when I wandered down to pick up some tickets from The Garden one day and noticed a flyer advertising a new show at Gluttony. My ticket was bought then and there.

And so to the Excess Theatre tent at Gluttony, where the three members of The Deer Johns have ample room to move amongst their instruments – though I am still wondering how all their gear could possibly have fit in Gelatissimo. Singer/guitarist Andrew O’Callaghan narrates the story of three boys – John, Jonathon, and Jack – growing up in the early eighties, with the undulating nature of their friendship (drawn together by aspirations, pulled apart by reality… and the fairer sex) emphasised using snippets of songs from the era, triggered by a sentiment, or a phrase, or even just a single word from the story of the three boys.

And when I say “snippets”, I mean it – half-a-song is the most afforded to any one track, and sometimes it’s only a verse, a chorus, or just a couple of chords. But the fifty(!) tracks selected cover a fantastic array of music from the early-to-mid eighties: there’s Devo, Lennon, Bowie, Pink Floyd, Madness, Queen… and that’s just 1980! Early on, XTC’s Generals and Majors makes an appearance, and they’ve completely won my support; Ashes to Ashes only strengthens that support (and I’m usually the first to grumble when someone approaches Bowie’s classic).

In general, the instrumentation of The Deer Johns is faithful to the tone, whilst being wonderfully inventive – a virtual necessity, given that O’Callaghan’s guitar is accompanied only by Chris Marshall’s drums, with Jesse Cotton roving from keyboards to guitar to bass. Come Said The Boy, in particular, benefits from great production, and the boys coalesce some perfect Wham Rap falsetto harmonies. It’s not all good, though – a lot of the pure synth pop songs would have benefited from sparser arrangements, with the drums in particular overwhelming the original tracks in their additional complexity – What Is Love? suffers from this malady (a real shame, given my love for HoJo’s work… did you know you can buy a remastered 12″ Album now, complete with the stunning Megamamamix of Look Mama on CD? You really should.)

But at the end of the day, that shouldn’t really matter – because The Deer Johns facilitate a magical nostalgic journey. To be honest, the story of the three boys remains of secondary interest to the music… but, paradoxically, of primary importance, because the boys’ growing pains provide the impetus for the song selection… and that’s a really unique hook for a very enjoyable show.

Oleanna

The Centre for International Theatre @ Higher Ground – Main Theatre

2:30pm, Sat 5 Mar 2011

When I saw Oleanna in 2009, I had two (possibly linked) complaints: I couldn’t believe Joanne Hartstone’s Carol could evolve the anger required over the course of the play. But, more significantly, I thought she struggled to deal with the high vertical spaces of Queens Theatre. But with the same cast performing the piece again within the tighter confines of Higher Ground, I decided it was worth checking out… if only to verify my hypothesis.

And I’m so glad I did.

Despite the less-than-optimal seating position (which still afforded catch-ups with too-rarely-seen family friends), it was immediately apparent that both Guy Masterson (reprising his role as John, the professor) and Hartstone were more comfortable with the stage. The first Act, with Carol’s quiet consternation rising into anger, is wonderfully modulated and nuanced; the second Act, with escalating tempers and verbal dissection, executes its powerful twist with ease.

But it’s the third Act that makes the ticket price feel too cheap; Carol’s principled (and blinkered) bile is brilliantly delivered by Hartstone, and when the blood sprays across the stage… well, I’m completely sold. The psychological battery that the two characters inflict on each other is palpable; the menace and panic and fear and power shifts are there for all to see.

Masterson plays John with the same wonderful restraint I’d seen two years earlier, but Hartstone… well, words can’t express how impressed I was. She was a revelation in this space – and I remain a little bit stunned by how much difference the performance space made. The progression of both characters was superbly managed.

I always knew that Oleanna was a confronting and challenging work; this instantiation was bloody brilliant.

Mr Badger tells the story of The Wind in the Willows

Splash Theatre Company @ Santos Conservation Centre, Adelaide Zoo

1:00pm, Sat 5 Mar 2011

It’s my first time out to the Zoo in years, despite having wandered past it at least a thousand times as I walked into the city from my previous abode in North Adelaide. I’d certainly never been in the Conservation Centre there before, and managed to have a good stickybeak around the Nest Series visual art display that was there before a Mr Badger arrived.

Now, Mr Badger knows how to tell a story, and – once he’d settled the children, explained what a badger was, and painted the picture of a willowy riverbank – he launches into the story of The Wind in the Willows with a gentle earnestness and great animation in his face. Of course, the story is told from his perspective, so there’s a bit of a change-up for those familiar with the story, but otherwise it’s familiar material.

Clad in tweed and looking very English, the appropriately stout Mr Badger would occasionally open one of his accompanying suitcases to expose a simple diorama, into which he would place small figurines of the characters. That’s lovely and all, but not really beneficial in a setting such as this; it’s impossible to appreciate the fine detail of the sets and figures from afar.

Now – I don’t envy anyone who wants to perform in front of children – or certainly, these children. Attention spans that saw them shifting their gaze all over the increasingly sticky Conservation Centre function room would have driven me insane; parents fawning over the youngsters with juice boxes and biscuits didn’t really help. But Mr Badger (Chris John) stuck with it, keeping their interest up by getting them performing animal noises, and there were moments where the children genuinely got swept up in the tale… but disappointingly, there were many more moments where they didn’t give the performer the attention he warrants… or deserved.