Flight

Glyndebourne Festival Opera @ Festival Theatre

8:00pm, Tues 7 Mar 2006

Score: 9

Another Festival, another contemporary opera production. And this year, we’re blessed with a sterling piece of work in Flight. Based on the plight and interactions of a plethora of characters trapped overnight in a present-day airport terminal, Flight is a lavish spectacle that convinced me of the power of opera as a medium.

The first thing that strikes you are the gorgeous sets. And they are staggering – there’s a sense of real depth to them, and different facades raise and lower to create a different viewpoint to the same structure. The attention to detail is rich throughout – the windsock in the window of the terminal, the weatherman on the TV screen in the terminal, the transition of lighting in the terminal as time passes: from midday, to afternoon, to dusk, through night, to the dawn.

The characters themselves are works of art, too – the Refugee, stuck in the terminal waiting for his brother. The couple trying to re-ignite their relationship. The steward and stewardess, with their passion restricted to those few moments they share between flights. The older woman, waiting for her lover to arrive. The diplomat heading to Minsk; his pregnant wife reluctant to leave, and shocked at what her life has become – from silk and cashmere to nappies. And the glorious Controller, who cynically overlooks all that occurs in the terminal. All are wonderfully realised, but special mention must be made of the Controller; (a) she’s an absolute babe, and (2) her singing was incredible – soaring vocals from pleasantly low to impossibly high. Bless her.

Dodgy bits, preventing a perfect production? Well, yes, there are a few; despite the fantastic sets, there are still some bad sight-lines (I didn’t get to see the Stewardess’ position during coitus). The surtitles were displayed in a most inconsistent manner – spoken word dialogue was (sometimes) displayed, but high-pitched dialogue buried beneath soaring orchestrations were mostly not… they never seemed to have the information you wanted. And the third act dragged a bit; the overt sentimentality of the Refugee’s plight meanders too long.

These qualms aside, I have no problem admitting that I cried my eyes out – in joy – during this. I was utterly overwhelmed by the richness of the production – the wonderful performances, the fantastic melodies, the sets, and the emotions they all combined to create. It staggers me no end that people – even in the hellishly expensive Premium Reserve seating – would leave early (I lost both my neighbours during the course of the performance). No matter – I loved it; and that second act was incredible.

Overheard between two elderly ladies at the end of Act II, which closed with the suggestion of a little homosexual dalliance: “I don’t mind the music, but the plot’s a little seedy.” Hahahahaaaaa.

I Love PowerPoint

David Byrne @ Elder Hall

7:00pm, Sun 5 Mar 2006

Score: 4

This one-off performance was sold-out; Elder Hall is packed to the gills with an expectant throng. Quite what everyone was expecting is beyond me; I was there to see if David Byrne, of Talking Heads fame, had any deep or witty insights into the use of PowerPoint.

Short answer: no.

Byrne took to the stage and was immediately off-putting; his stumbling, bumbling presence at the podium, constantly fidgeting with his glasses, made him difficult to watch or listen to. He was aided by his prepared PowerPoint presentation – likewise, a cacophony of presentation wrongness.

Byrne loosely covers the history of PowerPoint, pokes fun at the included Clip Art (like that’s never been done before), and drops in some interesting factiods: 30 million PowerPoint presentations daily. Information revealing problems with the space shuttle’s O-Rings was buried – and ignored – deep in a PowerPoint presentation. Demonstrations of various laughable presentations. And that “crazy people make charts too”.

In truth, interest was only raised when he mentions the criticisms of PowerPoint by Edward R Tufte – how such presentations are, by necessity, low-resolution; charts presented using PowerPoint tend to lose much of the detail that could be embedded within them. And this is where I think Byrne starts losing his remaining credibility: Tufte’s comments were borne of an age of business presentation that is only now catching up with mainstream technology; crappy projection technology has made way for much better displays, capable of imaging information with much higher density. The dynamics of personal reaction to different aspects of presentations have themselves become a subject of scientific study, rather than inferred through a collection of premises. Tufte’s remarks, placed in an appropriate context, merely infer that PowerPoint is a presentation tool, not a content generator; the deliverable content is only as good as that which the presenter is prepared to create.

There’s comparison between a common business presentation and asian theatre – both performed front-on to the audience. This leads to the concept of “communication by PowerPoint”, using “presentational theatre”. Which is odd – I had always thought that PowerPoint was a business presentation tool which, by necessity, infers that it must aid in the communication of information to an audience. Byrne ups the “Duh!”-Factor by then advocating that PowerPoint be used for… gasp… presentations. No shit, Dave, you’re a fucking genius.

Another gem of information was that “facts are becoming the cornerstone of the presentation”… isn’t that the point? It seems that Byrne approached PowerPoint as an artistic tool, and is now coming to realise that it lacks the ability to make immediate emotional connections with the audience; that it maybe isn’t the ideal communications device. Byrne then goes on to label PowerPoint a meta-program, because you’re able to store media – video, music – within your PowerPoint presentations… and he’s lost an ally in me; he’s exposed himself as a technophobe. Or n00b, at least. Meta-program, my arse.

In short, whilst there were a few (and only a few) giggles to be had, no new information was imparted here. I don’t really know who the audience was supposed to be here – PowerPoint neophytes? Budding PowerPoint artists? It certainly couldn’t be anyone who’s ever used the tool – there was little, if anything, here that those people wouldn’t know. And the premise that PowerPoint could be used for populist art is absurd; sure, there will be the odd avant garde experiment with the form, but it will never become a mainstream “canvas” because it isn’t meant to be – it’s a business tool used to impart information. This presentation reeked of a technophobe encountering a new toy for the first time, of an artist looking forlornly for an abstract connection with a business tool.

Below-average content, poorly presented… but maybe that was the point.

At JavaOne in 2001, I was lucky enough to see a presentation by “amusement engineer” Don McMillan on the (unintentional) comedic use of PowerPoint. That was of far greater interest – and, by virtue of the finger-pointing nature of comedy, a far greater source of information – than this presentation. Check out Don’s website for more info; I’ll be ordering one of his DVDs soon.

Three Furies: Scenes from the Life of Francis Bacon

@ Dunstan Playhouse

5:00pm, Sun 5 Mar 2006

Score: 8

Although the cast list nominates the characters as “The Painter” and “The Model”, Three Furies is quite clearly a portrayal of Francis Bacon and his oft-painted model/lover, George. Bacon is portrayed as a headstrong and abrasive character, though internally conflicted by his feelings for George – oscillating between the desperate search for solace in another, and need to distance himself from one of lower standing. Despite this, Bacon comes through as essentially likable – certainly more so than the needy and greedy George, anyway.

Simon Burke is superb as Bacon, delivering the perfect blend of uppity and tenderness. Socratis Otto’s George, on a desperate search for validation, to become someone new and interesting, is suitable whiny in a cockney way. They are both upstaged, however, by Paul Capsis – appearing onstage to provide commentary by way of cabaret-style torch songs. He was, quite simply, superb, imbuing the production with the feelings that the characters couldn’t publicly display.

Despite the persistent rattling that permeated the theatre (from the air-conditioning unit?), the overall feel to Three Furies was that of an extremely lavish, though somewhat muted, production. The simple set – three doors in the back wall, a ladder, a bed, and the odd animal carcass – was accompanied by an extravagant chandelier. Actors wore headset mikes for the performance, but often stepped forward to acquire a handheld mike, delivering soliloquies in the manner of a spoken word performance. After Bacon’s most heartfelt pleas to George – “you’re a doorway, a portal for my vision” – the final scene, with George lying naked and dead in one of the doorways, blood creeping out over the stage, was beautifully restrained, haunting.

Look, I’ll be the first to admit that I knew nothing of Bacon’s life (or work) before walking into this performance, so there was no opportunity for any kind of more personal connection to the characters for me. But this was still fantastic theatre – a real credit to the Festival.

Stau

anoukvandijk dc @ The Space

6:00pm, Sat 4 Mar 2006

Score: 10

As soon as I read the description of Stau, I was sold. “Dissolves traditional theatrical boundaries to examine the relationship between audience and performer.” I loved the very idea, the image that was conjured in my mind… like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book, but arty.

Prior to entering The Space, the audience was required to remove their shoes, to check all their belongings into the cloak room. There’s hushed giggles from the audience; the sense of expectation is building. But I was disappointed to see that, upon entering The Space, there were three rows of seats arranged on each side of a square in the center of the Space. Bugger, I thought – this doesn’t look very interactive.

How wrong I was.

I sat in the front row, about 3 seats from the corner. After the crowd had assembled, Anouk van Dijk popped in to thank us for attending, and informed us that “Stau” translated as “traffic jam”… lovely. The house lights dropped to an inky blackness. A sound like record player static started repeating at a very slow tempo; some spotlights revealed two dancers in the centre of the square. Slowly – almost imperceptibly, at first – they begin swaying towards, then around each other. It’s the most beautiful, smooth movement; they never touch, and it’s distinctly sensual without being sexual. Suddenly they break out of their synchronised swaying and start dashing around the confines of their square; at intervals, they turn and leer towards the audience, coming face-to-face with the crowd, pausing, then swanning away. It’s mesmerising being so close to them as they perform, seeing the sweat roll down, seeing the strain on their faces.

Then they disappear, crawling underneath the crowd; the static noise loop stops. It’s dark again; faintly, we hear the noise of a mobile phone. One ring; two rings; the exasperation of the crowd grows, and then suddenly the lights are on – the mobile phone is part of the soundtrack. Then they’re back, one having removed her civilian clothing. Nude, she starts lifting her leg in a very balletic motion; there’s a breathless moment as the crowd contemplates the revelation if she extends the movement, but she stops, holding the pose… then disappears.

Suddenly, there’s a commotion behind us – theatre staff have invaded The Space and are removing the seating. Some patrons indignantly relinquish their seat; others leap up and help with the collection. Mere moments later, all trace of the seating and elevation are gone; we are standing in a big, empty room.

With four dancers.

Who are all wearing civvies.

A down-light is switched on from above; people scurry to see what it has illuminated. It’s one of the original dancers; a patron happened to be caught by the spotlight, and she dances around him. Another light comes on, then another, then another; wherever there is light, there is a dancer, and maybe an audience member; if the latter, they are held motionless and incorporated into the performance.

The dancers perform their dance, the light goes off and – they’re gone.

And then you realise why they’re wearing civvies, rather than a costume… they finish their dance, then run (either individually, or as a group) through the crowd to their next mark, their next spotlight. And the audience, themselves moving from place to place to follow the dancers, don’t notice another civvie-clad person moving through the crowd. But when all the lights are off… the audience is lost, unsure where to look, wandering aimlessly across The Space. A light comes on, a dancer illuminated: the crowd move in that direction. Another light goes on, maybe two dancers entwined: the crowd split. Indecision about with light to moth about. And then it hits me – we, the audience, are dancing. We are being nudged in the directions the troupe want us to go in. It’s not a four member troupe – it’s a hundred and twenty four members.

I start drifting outside the obvious lines that people seem to follow… it’s beautiful. Streams of people trotting from one point, to another, to another, few of them realising the patterns they’re helping make. A few others, like me, are breaking out of the pack… but we, too, seem to be congregating in the same points, gravitating to the same locations dictated by optimal sight-lines. We’re another little dance. Within a dance, within a dance.

At one stage, a single light comes on – and we discover the four dancers all wrapped around our esteemed Premier, Mike Rann. The audience cracks up; I later discover that the troupe had no idea why… Rann was just the person who happened to be near the next “mark”.

There’s another odd nude moment, then all dancers are up against the wall, pushing. They drag a quarter of the audience to help them out (whilst the previously nude dancer struggles to dress herself) – and suddenly the performance is over. The applause is rapturous; the hubbub as the audience recollect their shoes is crackling with energy. Smiles are everywhere.

To be honest, I grin like a loon just thinking about this performance. I love the performances which are participatory; it brings to mind First Night from FF2004, where the stage was in your head. But beside the personal involvement, this was so beautiful, so lush, so wonderful… but now I’m dribbling like a jubilant fanboy idiot. I’ll cut it short – this is easily one of the most exhilarating performances I’ve ever seen. Ever.

And I hate to dance.

Lontano Blu

Parallelo @ Scott Theatre

4:00pm, Sat 4 Mar 2006

Score: 2

At first, I was startled by the number of people who had gathered for this premiere of Lontano Blu; reading the program, I noticed that this Argentinian/Australian co-production had a big Italian connection. Ah. That’d explain the large numbers of Italians waiting for the performance to begin, then.

It begins with a wonderful bass piece of music, while the background screen cycles through many shades of blue. The bass piece ends, there’s an electronica construction (but was it necessary to perform this live?), and then the performance proper begins.

At first, I thought I’d read the Festival Guide incorrectly – it appeared to be a dance piece. A pretty shabby dance piece, at that. But then the story of a woman and her grandfather appears from nowhere, and the play lurches along as they delve into his lifetime of migration.

All the while, two dancers – the grandfather & his wife at a much earlier age – roam the stage; the bass and electronica performers interject at appropriate times; and various images pertaining to the grandfather’s lifetime are projected onto the screen… it’s very much a mixed media production.

But therein lies its faults – most of the time, there’s too much happening, and none of it (with the exception of the music) is much good. The audio levels were universally poor – music drowning out actors, samples overruling music. The acting performances were stilted; on-stage italian-to-english translations, being laggy, caused much of the audience to lose interest, lose connection with the piece. The dancing was restricted in movement, thoroughly uninteresting, and the movement distracted from the piffly story taking place.

And so you don’t feel like you’ve missed out, here’s the performances’ best line: “Smitten like salami”. Says it all, really.

Maybe Lontano Blu has something to offer; some patrons around me waxed lyrical about it “speaking truly of the migrant”. However, I’m a first-generation migrants son, and this performance completely failed to engage me on any level. A real disappointment.