[2013148] Cor

[2013148] Cor

Alexandra Knox @ Adelaide College of the Arts – Main Theatre

2:00pm, Sat 16 Mar 2013

After winning me over with last year’s Wyrd… with grace, Alexandra Knox is a name that gets immediately highlighted in the Fringe Guide; an early afternoon matinée seals the deal, and I end up nabbing a seat halfway up the seating bank in the ACA Main Theatre.

(Have I mentioned before how much I love the ACA Main Theatre as a dance venue? The steep raking of the seats mean that pretty much anyone above the second row has a glorious view of the wide open spaces of the stage. It’s lovely :)

The performance starts in the dark, with soft down-lights fading in and out, dotting the space; eventually, Rebecca Fletcher is picked out, and her movements drop into a heartbeat rhythm. Tae-li Andrew Haycroft enters the fray and, with red twine connected to Fletcher’s limbs, it’s almost as if she’s a marionette; human puppetry over, a more contemporary dance emerges: always fluid, always organic, always engaging.

Knox merely acts as choreographer for Cor, and it’s a compelling collection of pieces that she has assembled. Fletcher and Haycroft are wonderfully light in their movements, and their costumes are fantastic: with deep reds and browns, it’s almost as if Fletcher’s legs were exposing the flesh and muscle beneath the skin, and the flourishes provided by fabric drooping off the arms was hypnotic. So, too, was the lighting… and Tim Rodgers’ soundtrack, ranging from organic heartbeats to pounding industria (and back again), is also a treat.

Shifted from the XSpace into the Main Theatre at ACA, it’s hard to imagine the performance without the elevation that the Main Theatre provides; I really think it would’ve lost something with the audience at a lower level. But Cor proved to be a wonderful work of contemporary dance that always choreographically challenged this viewer… with lots of visual flourishes to keep the eyes entertained.

[2013147] MKA’s Unsex Me

[2013147] MKA’s Unsex Me

MKA: Theatre of New Writing @ The Tuxedo Cat – Green Room

11:30pm, Fri 15 Mar 2013

After I’d seen the other two shows produced by MKA (22 Short Plays and SOMA), I was delighted to see that an Artist-Friendly performance of Unsex Me was arranged for late-Friday night; whilst I would probably have seen it anyway, the opportunity to squeeze the show in and still see something else was too good to resist.

And so a motley band of performers and punters filed into the Green Room, with no attempt made to extract money from anyone in the crowd (the show was advertised as “free for artists”, but I was expecting to pay for a ticket). A recognisable cluster of TuxCat (and MKA) artists hung near the back of the ‘Room, but I parked in the second row… moments after I sat down, two muscle-bound blokes – in their tight-t-shirt best, with beers in hand – sat down next to me. I gave them a quick “Hello,” as I am wont to do, and attempted to engage them in chat… but it quickly became apparent that they weren’t here for this show, per se – they were here for “The Fringe”.

But more on them later.

Mark Wilson takes to the stage, bearded with a tartan dress allegedly made from a collection of kilts. He is an award-winning ballerina-come-actress, obsessed with her own media coverage, and preening herself for her upcoming role as Lady Macbeth, to be directed by her own much-lauded father. Presented as an media puff-piece, Wilson happily answers questions from her off-stage interviewer in a lightly effeminate manner, her bearded appearance in stark contrast to the content of her replies.

At this point, one of the lads next to me (let’s call him “Muscle Boy”) turns and speaks to me (note that I explicitly didn’t say ‘leaned over and whispered’): “Hey mate, this is pretty fucked up, right?” In reply, I offered my shut-up-I’m-trying-to-pay-attention hand gesture, so he turned and started discussing the perceived fucked-up-ness with his friend. Not loudly, but audible. First-row-head-turning audible. Actor-on-stage-glaring audible.

But Wilson continues the interview amidst the off-stage chatter, and the questions turn to her relationship with her lover, Guy. Wilson’s eyes sparkle, as she announces that Guy will be joining the interview; she walks into the audience and singles out Muscle Boy, a coldness taking over her gaze as she wordlessly makes it quite clear that it was time for him to put up or shut up.

“Aw yeah, alright,” Muscle Boy said, puffing his chest as he walked to the stage. Once seated, however, it was clear that he was out of his depth; Muscle Boy tried playing his few lines for laughs, but no-one was joining in. The scene generated a weird vibe… the atmosphere in the room became serious, tense. And after Wilson attempted to kiss Muscle Boy, he unceremoniously bolted from the stage, hand covering his mouth, laughing nervously… as he sat down, his mate was overtly careful not to touch him, and their conversation picked up again – “oh mate, this is fucking stupid.”

More turns, more glares.

Then Wilson reveals a condom, rolls it onto the microphone, and starts anally penetrating himself with it.

Just read the above line again, because I’ve tried write it as casually, as nonchalantly, as it actually happened.

And Muscle Boy and his mate… well. “What the fuck is he doing…?” was quickly followed by “Is he…?” and “This is fucked. You people are all fucking stupid” and a quick, chair-tumbling exit, accompanied by quiet chuckles from the remaining crowd.

Without the vocal distractions in the audience, the rest of the performance was a WTF-y treat, generating questions aplenty on media manipulation, sexuality, and gender identity. The denouement – a critical analysis of Lady Macbeth’s suicide, compared to the death of a child – is both coherent and bewildering… much like the rest of the performance, really.

Unsex Me is another one of those shows that makes me so glad of the performance opportunities that the Fringe provides… the fact that I went straight out and bought ticket for the Saturday night performance of the show (to give Mark & MKA some money for their work) should speak volumes.

[2013146] Beowulf – A Thousand Years of Baggage

[2013146] Beowulf – A Thousand Years of Baggage

BBB (Banana Bag & Bodice) @ The German Club

9:00pm, Fri 15 Mar 2013

The great thing about seeing a lot of shows solo is that you don’t face a lot of problems with general admission seating; as a result, I was able to leave a late-finishing Solaris, duck home for some coffee, and make it back to rapidly filling third floor of The German Club and still snag a beer and a great seat on a central table. Of course, as soon as I sat down my knees hit something under the table; I peeked beneath, but the obstruction was ensconced in the same material as the tablecloth. I shifted my orientation and paid it no further mind.

Performed as a “SongPlay” (as opposed to “musical”, perhaps?) by Brooklyn-based BBB, Beowulf kicks off with three academics contemplating the original Old English text; but suddenly, the play comes to life, with Beowulf appearing from within the audience, fighting the monster Grendel (and Grendel’s mother) to the death… all the while accompanied by a rollicking seven-piece band (including a horn section and extremely capable backing singers).

Beowulf, wonderfully played with comic gruffness by Jason Craig, gets the lion’s share of the modernised dialogue, and his songs are a treat: equal parts exposition and humorous interpretation, the lyrics are always confidently delivered. And whilst the band largely stays rooted to the stage, the performance roams the hall – the central table I was sitting at was the stage for one of the more intense fight scenes, and the object under the table (that I’d encountered earlier) turned out to be a bloodied stunt arm that was ripped from Grendel’s body.

I noticed that some reviews were very critical of Beowulf, attacking the dumbing-down of the subject matter and lack of (promised) audience participation. But for me, this was a bloody fantastic show: a rollicking rock-and-roll treatment of a classic story that feels utterly at home in a beer hall, performed with over-the-top cabaret sensibilities with tongue planted firmly in cheek. It could be argued that this was, perhaps, Fringe entertainment on a grand scale, but that’s just fine by me.

[2013145] Unsound Adelaide – Solaris

[2013145] Unsound Adelaide – Solaris

Ben Frost, Daníel Bjarnason, Adelaide Symphony Orchestra @ Adelaide Town Hall

7:30pm, Fri 15 Mar 2013

I loved the idea of Unsound Adelaide when it was announced; were it outside Festival season, I’d be going to as many of the Unsound performances as possible. But there’s too many other things to see and experience to limit oneself to one genre; hence, this production of Solaris was the only item on the Unsound programme that I managed to attend… and I chose it because of the promise of more ASO goodness, in conjunction with visual accompaniment by Brian Eno (and Nick Robertson).

Composed by Ben Frost and Daníel Bjarnason to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of Stanisław Lem‘s novel, Solaris owes more to ambient electronica than traditional orchestral compositions… and that’s a good thing. Beginning with soft, persistent notes, the piece gradually builds up (and up and up) to yield moments of absolutely breathtaking power before simmering down again, only to build to another crescendo.

Besides the ASO’s usual goodness, Frost applied de-tuned guitar texture to the performance, with Bjarnason metronomically hitting sparse notes on a treated piano; unfortunately, the much vaunted “film manipulations” by Eno and Robertson felt a little self-indulgent and wanky, and were of no attraction whatsoever to me – a shame, really, because I love a good visualisation.

I found Solaris to be a richly rewarding piece to listen to: each movement gave the listener a little bit of a mountain to climb to overcome the held notes, but the view after the ascension was well worth it. But what I could not understand was the fact that people (not just one or two people, mind you, more like thirty or forty) were still taking their seats fifteen minutes after the scheduled start time of the (one hour long) performance. Who the hell does that?

[2013144] My One and Only

[2013144] My One and Only

Acorn Productions @ Bakehouse Theatre – Main Stage

6:00pm, Fri 15 Mar 2013

Back into the Bakehouse (for the final time this Fringe) for a play that promised to tackle issues of intimacy and stalking, there was a fair old crowd in attendance; there’s a bit of word-of-mouth about My One and Only, and the AUSLAN interpreter seemed to have brought in a few people, too.

Layla (convincingly played by Tamara Bennetts) has ended her relationship with Ben, and starts dating Noah… she soon discovers that she still has obsessive feelings for Ben, and Noah becomes obsessed with her. So begins a bizarre stalker-triangle which – over the course of the play – throws forth plenty of twists, constantly prompting the audience to consider who to side with.

I loved the fact that no-one in My One and Only is whiter-than-white; everyone has flaws, with the play carefully controlling the extent to which these are played up… one moment you’re feeling pity for Noah, and the next you’re hating him. The other curious note around this performance was the fact that it featured an AUSLAN interpretation – I usually try to attend these where available, since the interpretation adds another little element of fascination to the mix for me. In this instance, though, some of the aurally challenged members of the audience didn’t really take into account the noise created by their actions, leading to a couple of incidents where there were audience members blowing their noses loudly (and I mean loudly) during a quiet, tense monologue… which kinda killed the atmosphere somewhat.

But the main problem with My One and Only is that it feels very unevenly paced; a lengthy and emotive soliloquy sets expectations early, but then there’s a couple of rapid-fire scenes before another thoughtful time dilation. The shifts never really allow the play to develop any real momentum, and – as a result – the denouement feels almost perfunctory… and certainly anti-climactic.

And that’s a massive shame, because the ideas in the show – and the manner in which the story is built up – are pretty clever… it’s just that the direction lets it down somewhat. It’d certainly be interesting to see a more balanced production of this play.

[2013143] Bane

[2013143] Bane

Whitebone Productions (Joe Bone & Ben Roe) @ The Tuxedo Cat – Green Room

9:45pm, Thu 14 Mar 2013

It’s fair to say that Bane was the recipient of a lot of crowd buzz around the tail end of the Fringe; many people had raved about the show to me, and this near-sellout Thursday night crowd was positively bubbling with anticipation in a hot & sticky Green Room.

And if the Green Room environment was unpleasant for the audience, spare a thought for writer / performer Joe Bone, who creates the hard-boiled titular detective whilst wearing a heavy trench-coat; that he could perform so well in such adverse (self-inflicted) conditions is impressive. The sole other presence onstage, Ben Roe, creates a lovely textured musical backdrop on guitar throughout, and looks far more comfortable than Bone.

But Bone’s performance is impressive as he creates a parody of the hard-boiled action hero. With gravelly voice and vocal sound effects and noir influences, he narrates a pulp detective novel chock full of dames, villains, twists, and violence. And it’s all brilliantly performed and cleverly written…

…but it’s all been done before. Hell, even Sound & Fury took a crack at noir – though, admittedly, their show was very much focussed on comedy, rather than noir. Bane has the opposite approach: it attempts to generate a noir feel first-and-foremost, and then wodge some incidental humour in there too.

But the big problem with Bane is that the parody of the subject matter’s cliches feels… well, cliched. Ironic, really: it’s a cliche of a cliche. And, for me, it never really establishes its own identity; and all the wonderful atmosphere and performance skills can’t help a script that seems unsure about what it’s trying to achieve. Sure, this was only one part of the Bane trilogy, and maybe it’s unfair to judge it out of context… but, on the basis of my experience here, I’d be unlikely to attend the other two episodes.

[2013142] Le Foulard

[2013142] Le Foulard

Lucy Hopkins @ The Tuxedo Cat – Red Room

8:30pm, Thu 14 Mar 2013

“I am… an Artist,” declares the spotlit Lucy Hopkins at the start of Le Foulard (“Art Show”)… and a knowing chuckle emerges from some in the audience. Others in the audience raised eyebrows and looked around, trying to figure out the laugh cues, or laugh nervously at the absurdity of the gangly black-clad figure before them.

Hopkins’ pretentious Artist roams the stage with awkward-looking, angular movements, before – with a flourish of her scarf – switching to another character, a silent and confused hunched woman. Another flourish, another character… and she maintains the three distinct personae throughout, each with their own physical traits, facial expressions, and (in two cases) accents. But it’s somewhat demonstrative of the headspace that I was in that the most endearing character – the character that triggered the arty parts of my brain – was the silent one; her constant confusion was a source of sheer delight, and her use as punctuation to the other two characters did wonders for the pacing of the show.

Le Foulard‘s monologues all revolve around the construction and consumption of Art; as a result, it becomes an exercise in meta-theatre. And it’s quite intelligent stuff, with a few oddball diversions (most notably the overly theatrical and haughty version of I Will Survive) along the way. But, even though I hang around theatres and arty types as much as I can, I started thinking that some of Hopkin’s text was a little too… inside baseball. It’s not meant for people like me to understand; rather, it’s almost a self-parody of the artistic process.

Don’t get me wrong, though; Le Foulard is an extremely polished Fringe show, with some cutting insights and quirky humour. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a show by An Artist, for other Artists to appreciate… and if the general public came along for the ride, well, that’s almost accidental.

[2013141] Specimens of Her

[2013141] Specimens of Her

Jascha Boyce @ The Birdcage

7:15pm, Thu 14 Mar 2013

I rave about Gravity & Other Myths at every opportunity, and I’ve vowed to follow that group of performers on whatever artistic path they choose to take. So when I see that Jascha Boyce – the nimble diminutive flyer of the group – had her own solo show, I was there in a heartbeat.

The stage was simple: a series of jars and vases, all different sizes, lined up in order of height. Behind them, to the right, a folding screen, backlit for seductive shadow-work. The performance, too, was short and to-the-point: a little juggling, a little tumbling, some hoop work, and a little bit of contortion work… all performed with the skill that is synonymous with GoM, though there were a few stumbles with her hoop routines (then again, Jascha’s recovery always included an apologetic smile to the audience that was so lovely that it almost made me hope for another mistake).

In between these short physical pieces, Jascha would take little scraps of paper from within (or on) the containers, reading the provocative snippets of text that they contain; the containers acted as a progress bar to the performance, and there was a bit of tension as she approached the jar that held a mousetrap, proffering it her tongue… a smile, a wink, and she avoids the confrontation. And, curiously, the manner in which she shrunk into the largest of the containers caused me to flash back to Bonsai Kitten (a very early internet meme).

I can’t recall a single woman in the small audience that assembled for this performance of Specimens of Her; I do recall wondering if that was a little… well, creepy, what with Ms Boyce being such an adorably cute young creature. But she totally owns the stage, and – whilst Specimens didn’t completely engage me for the entire performance – it contained enough quirks and nuances to convince me that there’s Something Different in the mind that created it… and that, as always, makes me feel happy.

[2013140] Alice in the Madhouse

[2013140] Alice in the Madhouse

Madhouse Circus @ The Birdcage

6:00pm, Thu 14 Mar 2013

Three years ago, Gravity & Other Myths proved that a young acrobatic act could still perform incredible feats, without the benefit of mature muscles and frames; they almost single-handedly encouraged me to keep attending circus performances put on by young troupes, always hoping that they could be the Next Big Thing.

And what Victoria-based Madhouse Circus lack in age, they make up for in vision: they present a series of acrobatic, dance, and physical performance pieces underpinned by the themes and characters of Alice in Wonderland. Their background music is superb, and a lot of the performances – balances, acrobatics, juggling – are quite polished in their delivery.

But…

At times, the show feels almost hampered by the narrative that has been forced around it; the Tweedledum & Tweedledee big ring exercise being the most egregious example, though the justifications given for other character pieces verged on the insulting. There’s an audience interaction segment that dragged the momentum of the entire performance to a screeching halt – and the end result (when it finally happened) was most certainly not worth the effort. Then again, it was a pretty crap audience: clearly inexperienced in the usual applaud-at-the-end-of-a-trick customs, most of the show was performed in the crowd’s silence.

But that may have been because of the tightly packed nature of Madhouse’s show; there were none of the customary pauses for applause, as trick rolled into trick rolled into trick and then offstage whilst another performer comes on. And, if that was a directorial choice, that kind of subversion of the established give-and-take of the audience is a pretty bold thing for a young company to do… on the other hand, maybe they were just nervous and ploughed through their set.

So – some decent performances by a promising bunch of youngsters, held back by ruthless direction and a desperate need for narrative. Whilst it wasn’t the best show I’ve seen, it certainly wasn’t the worst… and hey, at least someone loved it.

[2013139] Symphony of Strange

[2013139] Symphony of Strange

Gareth Hart @ The Tuxedo Cat

10:00am, Thu 14 Mar 2013

It’s getting towards the tail-end of the season, and matinées are like gold dust – and I’d heard that Gareth Hart’s latest work, Symphony of Strange, had an 10:00am session. I hit FringeTIX too late: “sold out”, it tells me, and I am shattered: I loved Ellipsis, and the Schedule already has other shows that would block Symphony… so, after bumping into Hart at the Fringe Club one evening, I asked if I could sneak into that session. “For sure,” he replied, before issuing a warning: “you will be seing the show with 33 school kids!”

So my Event Buddy and I turned up at the appropriate (early) hour and, as expected, were surrounded by schoolgirls. Once corralled, we’re all led through the labyrinthine lesser-seen parts of the Tuxedo Cat complex, up multiple sets of stairs until we reach a wide open space… there, we’re offered chilli chocolate (yum!) and a washcloth for our hands… as with Ellipsis, it appears Hart is aiming for an all-encompassing sensual experience.

There’s a circle on the ground, hazily determined by leaves and twigs, and Hart dances within it, moves fluid and elongated. A light rotates, occasionally catching Hart with its glare, and I think about how much more spectacular that would have appeared in an evening show, rather than in the mid-morning buried-urban murkiness. A collection of five musicians rhythmically crush items underfoot as they wind their way to a stage littered with everyday objects; once there, they start playing a (mostly percussive) composition scored by Edward Willoughby using jars, drums, fire extinguishers, and kitchen utensils.

All the while, Hart is exploring the floor of this abandoned building, lightly flitting between predetermined spaces defined by tea candles. I was immediately compelled to follow him as he begins to roam, but felt held back by the pack of schoolgirls; eventually I overcame the social pressure (“social pressure”? I’m over twice their age!) and pushed through, doing what I love to do in situations like this: finding the space. Framing the shot with my own eyes. Adding my visual filter to someone else’s presentation.

Flames become a common theme; the tea candles are everywhere, and there’s a sequence where Hart is “throwing” lit matches. But, with the dissipating shyness of the schoolgirls leading to their scattering around the space, he also takes the opportunity to duck back and dance amongst the crowd… nearby people freeze, looks of concern covering their faces, as they worry that they may inadvertently ruin the performance.

Suddenly, it’s over: there’s no real sense of climax in either the movement or the music (indeed, the latter softly peters out), it just stops. And I’m left with a sense of awe for the space that Hart has so fluidly skipped through, light as air… this empty space, hidden above the streets in my city. This empty space that so wonderfully filled with the noise of found instruments – the score was gorgeous. And I feel lucky to have managed to engage in this performance: hot weather be damned, I left TuxCat still nursing the taste of chilli chocolate in my mouth, and curious scrapes and rings in my ears, and flickering flames in my eyes, and I’m happy.

[2013138] Jacques Barrett is The Contrarian

[2013138] Jacques Barrett is The Contrarian

Jacques Barrett @ Rhino Room – Beer Garden

10:15pm, Wed 13 Mar 2013

Look – let’s not fuck around here. Prior to this show, Jacques Barrett was my favourite Australian comedian of the past few years; after the show, nothing had changed. In fact, my respect for his work may have actually gone up a notch.

And that’s not because he kept throwing jokes directly at me after he identified that I was the only paying punter in a half-full room of Artist Passes and freebie winners; it’s not just because of his world-wearied delivery of material that embodies disappointment, self-righteousness, and lazy anger. No – it’s his material.

Sure, some of it was familiar: the dolphin girls made an appearance. A dig at religion, using Westboro Baptist Church’s “Fags Cause Floods” campaign, leads to the idea of holding a Mardi Gras in drought areas. His recollection of an unintentional backhander threat at a violence-against-women benefit gig. It’s all still solid gold.

But then come the new jokes. Barrett compares a relationship breakup to quitting a job. There’s a circuitous Home Alone / pizza delivery story that takes an unexpected turn into pedophile territory, making it incredibly wrong… yet oh-so-right. And then there is one of the funniest bits I’ve heard in years – in tackling the poor image that Australian travellers have around the world, his blueberry-muffin-seeking mock-American had me weeping with laughter.

Despite the wealth of quality material, there’s still a tangible sense of self-doubt in Barrett’s presentation: he described his act as “hit and miss,” and then – recognising the number of fellow comedians in the room – started discussing the placement and effectiveness of his callback reveals (CBRs). But the crowd loved him regardless: he received a rousing cheer at the end of the show, and then tried to ad lib a bit more material… after he’d dug himself a deep hole, the audience clapped him out of it anyway!

And it warms my black little heart to see other people enjoying Jacques’ work, because he is one of the most insightful and clever wordsmiths out there… the way he structures a joke just totally works for me. But sweet jesus I want the man to have an audience… a massive, paying audience. Because he absolutely deserves it.

[2013137] Gravity Boots

[2013137] Gravity Boots

Gravity Boots @ Holden Street Theatres – The Arch

8:00pm, Wed 13 Mar 2013

Ever since I first caught sight of Gravity Boots, I’ve been a massive fan of their work – I really believe they are the Kings of Surrealist Sketch Comedy, which may sound like a niche market, but it really shouldn’t be. They’re also one of the few acts that I will shift my après-Fringe life around for… I’ve seen them many times during non-Mad-March, which is all-the-easier now that they’re producing a new hour of material every month.

But this show represents their first Fringe show under the direction of the utterly bizarre Paul Foot – and I’m insanely curious to see how his input has shaped the ‘Boots that I know and love. And I’m shattered when I check how many pre-paids there are for this show: “about five,” I’m told, and my heart sinks.

But the crowd gets into double figures, and there’s plenty of friendly faces and cheer in the audience, so there’s a genuine sense of anticipation when Austin Harrison-Bray hops onto the stage barefoot and starts strumming his guitar in ambient support. And when the ‘Boots take to the stage, it’s a fantastic selection of the best sketches they’d worked on in the months prior: the Antarctic expedition. The SoCal mermen playing tennis between their tanks. It’s exactly what I’d expect from The Boys, but better: surrealism has a way of invigorating expectations, doesn’t it?

As for Foot’s influence… well, the Antarctic expedition felt much tighter and focussed than in the preview show the previous November; and the sketch featuring panthers had some fierce writing that wasn’t completely typical of their work that I’d seen in the past. But other facets of the Gravity Boots persona – the recurrent long-johns, the weird collection of voices, and the absolutely world-class sense of storytelling – are still present, and they alone ensure that Gravity Boots remain the best (and most bizarre) sketch comedians at the Fringe.

[2013136] Breaker

[2013136] Breaker

Sodid Svid Theatre Company @ Holden Street Theatres – The Arch

6:30pm, Wed 13 Mar 2013

I don’t usually mention accents much when I write, because they typically don’t matter to me: hey, I’ve just spent a fortnight in South Korea (with a mere two native phrases under my belt) going to K-pop concerts where I understood absolutely nothing that was said (though I learnt that if someone says “감사합니다” in your general direction with a smile on their face, it’s usually a good thing). What I’m trying to explain is that I’m somewhat experienced in being a little lost in language.

But Breaker took me to a whole other level of confusion, because I knew that actors Hannah Donaldson and Finn den Hertog were speaking English… it’s just that the thick Scottish filter that the dialogue was pushed through left me straining for familiar hooks and cadences, struggling to identify with the content. Once I found my aural Rosetta Stone, all became (somewhat) clear… but up until that point, the accents were a real problem.

Back to Breaker‘s plot: Hertog plays Daniel, a young man visiting a remote island where his grandmother was raised, hoping to find a connection to her earlier life; whilst taking shelter from a storm, he encounters local teacher Sunna (Donaldson). After initial conflict, the two wind through an exploration of the issues unique to the island: children are, lemming-like, lured from the cliffs to the waters beneath by the Dark Lady of the Sea. It’s a bleak topic, but it somehow – almost unexpectedly – becomes a desperate tussle for human contact, for affection, for validation… for Daniel, for Sunna, for the remaining population of the island.

The set is simple – a large wooden box in the centre of the stage that Hertog and Donaldson constantly circle as they mentally pick at each other. Likewise, lighting is a simple affair… but the sound design is deeply unsettling, low tones and rumbles keeping me on edge. But the highlight for me was Donaldson’s performance: her appearance onstage was like a lightning bolt – bright, brilliant, and immediately engaging, I could not take my eyes off her. And her character of Sunna was sublime: desperate and intelligent, her psychoanalysis of newcomer Daniel, the picker of the scabs of her wounded community, was vicious.

Once past the language barrier, Breaker became an absolute gem… but not a gleaming gem. Not a gem that you show off. No – this is the dark, cloudy, secretive stone that shakes your foundations and leaves you nervous about putting one foot in front of the other. And I absolutely love the fact that a piece of theatre can give me that feeling.

[2013135] The Kreutzer Sonata

[2013135] The Kreutzer Sonata

State Theatre Company of South Australia @ State Theatre Workshop

11:00am, Wed 13 Mar 2013

It had been widely reported that Barry Otto – originally engaged to perform Kreutzer – pulled out of the production (on doctor’s advice) after two performances. His replacement, Renato Musolino, is a well-known (and well-regarded) local actor… and also taught me the Stanislavski Method during a couple of terms of introductory adult acting. So, walking into this performance, there was a maelstrom of expectations: Of a troubled production rebooted mid-season. Of the teacher who I looked up to. Of a flagship piece of theatre in the Festival’s programme.

First impressions are of awe: Geoff Cobham’s set is gorgeous, a multi-level industrial construction with catwalks and static spaces aplenty. To the side, a caged area that later contained the piano and violin accompanists; at the base of the construction, a pool of dyed water that reminds me of 20:50, a piece I once saw in the Saatchi Gallery (but without the olfactory texture of the oil). Cobham’s lighting design also allows subtle images to be projected onto the background, and the ambient murkiness – combined with spot lighting – generates a lovely atmosphere.

When Musolino appears – atop an elevated platform – he is immediately convincing; his Pozdnyshev is a violent misogynist, bewildered by his wife’s carnal wanderings, and rage and confusion can be found in almost all his actions. It was a fantastic performance: he completely owns the work, and it’s almost impossible – in retrospect – to imagine Otto in the role. And that final – desperate, whispered – line: “Forgive me”… wow. I still get chills from the memory of it. Fucking brilliant.

The permanent presence of the script in Renato’s grasp was completely unremarkable – after all, Pozdnyshev essentially narrates the events that have led him here. Walking away from the performance, I almost couldn’t imagine it being any other way. In fact, The Kreutzer Sonata comes across as an incredibly polished production… it really is hard to believe that it came from such adversity.

There’s other notes around this rendition of Kreutzer that warrant a mention: Renato’s reflection on acquiring the role is a surprising read, for example. And the MKA team were in attendance for this largely grey-haired matinée – Tobias saw me on the way in, high-fiving me as he walked past (to the annoyance of my vexed octogenarian neighbour), and the Q&A session at the end of the performance offered the opportunity for MKA to challenge the feminism – or lack thereof – in Sue Smith’s adaptation of Tolstoy’s original novella.

But none of that can distract from the triumph of this production; in terms of theatre, Kreutzer was only challenged by Brink’s Thursday in the Festival lineup.

[2013134] Kamp

[2013134] Kamp

Hotel Modern @ Space Theatre

8:30pm, Tue 12 Mar 2013

During the Festival Launch, Kamp piqued my interest, and it implanted itself into my memory. Tiny puppets, a reproduction of Auschwitz, promise of emotional battering… opening night tickets were a must.

My Event Buddy and I scored unbelievable seats: front row, nearly centre. In front of us lay (what we assumed was) a scale layout of Auschwitz, and – lifeless in its pre-performance state – it manages to convey a sense of coldness. Of desolation. Of hopelessness. Rows of little buildings and guard towers. Fences of barbed wire spanning the set. But it’s all so small… I start wondering how a performance will arise from this miniature set. I start wondering how much will be left to the imagination; how much is assumed knowledge. How much are we expected to fill in for ourselves.

The house lights drop; a screen behind the miniature camp lights up with the projection of a camera, as the performers of Hotel Modern scuttle around the set. Some control pinhole cameras, tracing them along paths for a first-person perspective on proceedings; others meticulously place figurines (single people, or boards of hundreds) into the camp. And then, accompanied by a soundtrack that tracks the time, they show us a Day in Auschwitz.

Morning: trains arrive. Thin rows of bedraggled and scared inmates leave the trains for the holding yards; the guards loom over them with derision. Existing prisoners are put to work in other parts of the camp whilst the new inmates are marched to their huts; one mis-performs his menial task and is shot dead. The day progresses, and there’s a cold and distant brutality on display; as night falls, this is contrasted with the forced joviality in the officers’ hut as the uniformed characters drink the terror away.

But there’s one scene that sticks with me more than all others. Not the cowering person beaten to death by the guards; not the camera tour through the gas chambers, crammed with lifeless fallen bodies. No – the scene which had the camera moving amongst a cluster of terrified, quivering beings in the shower blocks, looking up just in time to see a hatch open and gas canisters drop in… and the screen instantly cutting to black.

That left me stunned. Properly broken. I didn’t even notice my Event Buddy quietly weeping beside me; but my own tears wouldn’t flow. They were too shocked to leave my body.

That feeling – that hopelessness in the face of such barbarism – is not something that can be enjoyed. There’s no way that anyone could ever say that they “enjoyed” Kamp. And, when the house lights came up, it felt absolutely wrong to even consider applauding the performance… but the performers from Hotel Modern understand that.

My father hit his teens in the final years of World War II. In his pre-teens, he – as a German schoolchild – was subjected to the Nazi propaganda used to shape support for Hitler’s dictatorship… and yes, he was in Hitler Youth. It’s difficult to talk to him about those years, because he still harbours a deep shame for not seeing through the propaganda; he still feels ashamed and mournful for the actions of his country during that time. And I mention this because, even with this man in my life, desperate to correct the terrible sins of the past, I’d still forgotten how truly horrifying these events in our history were… and I think that, above all else, legitimises – if not necessitates – the existence of Kamp.