Man Covets Bird

Slingsby @ Space Theatre

7:00pm, Thu 4 Mar 2010

Slingsby’s logo carries a little by-line, a motto: “journey in wonder”. That’s a perfectly apt description for Man Covets Bird; it’s a beautifully produced meandering little coming-of-age tale from the point of view of a man leaving home, entering the big wide world, who seemingly forms a co-dependent relationship with a small bird. A friendship develops, emotional turmoil besets the Man, and…

Look – plot is not Man Covets Bird‘s strong point. Where it excels – really excels – is in production values. Direction is impeccable; the live music quiet and divine. The set, whilst simple enough, has an air of elegance about it, and there are park benches scattered about the audience… and a lawn has been bedded into The Space for us to sit on. Real grass.

Nathan O’Keefe’s Man is likeable enough: a bit naïve, maybe, but his simple and optimistic view towards life is inoffensive. But the whole production wallows in such a deep pool of melancholy that it feels like it should be seen through a sepia-tinted lens in soft focus. It’s an awfully gentle, twee production that feels like it’s pitched as a feel-good message-based play for schoolkids… but the production values suggest much more than that.

“Journey in wonder,” eh? Well, the journey was there, and it certainly was a delightful – if not wondrous – feast for the senses. But the lingering memory from this piece was the smell of the fresh grass in the air… that’s something you don’t get every Festival.

Le Grand Macabre

Théâtre Royal de la Monnaie / English National Opera / Gran Teatre de Liceu / Teatro dell’Opera @ Festival Theatre

7:00pm, Wed 3 Mar 2010

I don’t reckon I’m going to write much about Le Grand Macabre, because (a) it’s an opera, and I always flounder with opera, and (2) much has been written about it elsewhere.

So let’s focus on the emotional response:

Holy shit. What a spectacle!

The performance starts with a short film, projected onto the stage curtain; we’re witness to the last struggling seconds of a young woman’s life, and as she reaches out in anguish to the camera the curtain rises to reveal the massive setpiece of the woman (Claudia), completely supplanting the image from the movie. It’s an amazing transition, and the blank features of Claudia are constantly used as projection surfaces throughout the performance (the bones were fantastic as the set rotated), as well as providing much of the landscape for the production itself. At various stages of the performance, singers appear as twinkles in Claudia’s eyes; characters wave from her nipples.

The first two scenes are a feast for the eyes. The projections of flames and stars onto Claudia, her eyes turning to watch Amanda and Amando copulate onstage (my first thought being that my Dad would hate this brazen sexuality in an opera). Claudia’s tongue lolling about the stage, a piece of the furniture. The ASO doing their bit with the score, the State Opera Chorus supporting the principals well.

I could have left during the interval, having got my money’s worth of razzle-dazzle. Instead, I opted to read the synopsis.

Ah, that is what was going on! Suitably enlightened, I looked forward to the second half.

And it was completely bizarre. Absolutely batshit insane.

Claudia rotates so we can watch characters enter and leave the stage through her anus. Her buttocks are removed to reveal her intestines; the Security Guards for Prince Go-Go(!) are portrayed as pieces of poo. A nightclub scene occurs amidst the intestines, and a Thriller-esque group dance segment coalesces from seemingly nothing. There’s some brilliant comic relief in Prince Go-Go’s advisors, Venus is amazing, Nekrotzar the drunk devil is brilliant…

…See, this is why I didn’t want to write about Le Grand Macabre, because I’m reading back what I’ve written above, and none of it makes any sense… and I was there. I can only imagine how nonsensical it must appear to those completely lacking any context!

Regardless, it’s fair to say that Le Grand Macabre was an awesome spectacle. Was it good opera? I’ve no idea; but it sounded alright, and the sights were amazing.

The Life and Death of King John

The Eleventh Hour @ Queen’s Theatre

8:00pm, Tue 2 Mar 2010

There’s an odd collection of people waiting outside Queen’s Theatre when I arrive; the prim-and-proper elderly Friends of the Festival, resplendent in their theatre-going best, milled uncomfortably with the younger crowd, then squeezed uncomfortably into the hard plastic seats on the temporary scaffolding of the theatre. Just as I walk in, I bump into Guy Masterson spruiking for his shows at Higher Ground; “they’re more for this audience,” he said, gesticulating toward the Friends, “because it’s quality theatre. They just don’t know about it; they don’t want to take the risk,” he lamented.

He pointedly reminded me that I hadn’t yet seen any of his shows – a shameful oversight, I was forced to admit – and then I wandered into Queen’s.

Now – I love Queen’s Theatre. It’s a fantastically coarse space that sets my imagination alight; almost any production benefits from its wonderful ambience. And, in the case of The Life and Death of King John, the staging is brilliantly done; the rough-hewn walls of the Theatre are used to frame the barn in which the play-within-a-play pans out.

Set in the hours before the Armistice that ended the First World War, we’re privy to a small group of soldiers taking shelter from hostilities in a barn. To help distract their Captain from his injuries, they perform his favourite play – Shakespeare’s The Life and Death of King John – improvising costumes and making concessions to the script as they go. It’s a somewhat contrived conceit, but forgivable; it allows The Eleventh Hour to juxtapose the relationships within the factions of WWI against The Bard’s work.

Shakespeare’s work carries on as the noise of war surrounds the soldiers, and Acts are interspersed with characters emotional outbursts – sparring with each other in the tension of their situation, desperately trying to contact their command, or fussing over the Captain. As the play comes to a close, so does the War, leading to a wonderfully poignant exeunt.

Rarely performed in Australia, King John suffered significant cuts due to the lack of actors afforded by the meta-play; but, given the length of the original (and the fact that this production still weighed in at nearly three hours), that was fair enough. The performances are all great – though Michaela Cantwell’s accent proved both endearing and annoying – but the real standout here is the direction of Anne Thompson; the performance feels wonderfully self-aware and confident, and ends at just the right time in just the right way.

Two quality Shakespeares in the same year? bloody brilliant, I reckon.

Shanghai Beauty

Jin Xing Dance Theatre Shanghai @ Dunstan Playhouse

7:00pm, Mon 1 Mar 2010

My extremely slack planning this year saw me purchasing most of my tickets extremely late; after giving the Festival Guide a thorough read, I was desperate to go to this particular session of Shanghai Beauty because of the scheduled talk to be held by Jin Xing after the performance.

Much has been written elsewhere about Jin Xing – born of Korean immigrants in China, his ability in dance saw him enlisted in the People’s Liberation Army Song & Dance Academy (where he rose through the ranks to attain the rank of Colonel by age 17). Having served scholarships in the US, he returned to China and, at age 27, he undertook three sex reassignment operations… this fact, alone, would have made the above-mentioned talk worthwhile (after all, how often do you get to hear discussion of the creative process within conservative China from a transgender lauded dancer?)

As usual, the fact that I go to most of these performances alone paid off; I managed to get the very last seat available for the performance. And then I learnt that the after-show talk was cancelled.

Bugger.

Still, it was with great anticipation that I took my lucky seat… on the Balcony, Row D5. Christ, it’s almost nose-bleed territory up there; I’ll certainly see any bald spots, I mused while waiting for the show to start.

And, to be quite honest (and demonstrably ignorant, complete with broad stereotypes), Shanghai Beauty was everything I expected. The dance was choreographed in an almost regimented manner, with the troupe (nine women, five men) parting to allow the lead dancers’ solo pieces in an almost reverent manner. The high-energy parts of the performance were fantastic, swinging arms and spinning bodies generating real excitement; but these very modern segments were also blended with more sedate and considered (presumably) traditional pieces, which failed to engage me as much. Sure, the precision of movement on display was exemplary, but it just lacked impact; then again, maybe that was just my physical remoteness from the performers.

Jin Xing herself only appeared at the very end of the event, though there were projected video pieces interspersed throughout the rest of the performance that showed her preparation – her makeup, the assisted application of her livery. And what an appearance it was; wrapped in an incredibly elaborate and colourful costume (in stark contrast to the drab and perfunctory garb of her troupe), she almost acted as a gravitational centre for the rest of the piece, a gentle milling in the background as she lit the stage up with colour and grace. But her physical contribution was all too brief, and the performance was over just when it felt like it was just starting; and that’s a bit of a shame, really, because I get the feeling that the memorable highlights of Shanghai Beauty were but a snippet of the potential of this group.

En Masse

Arts House @ Space Theatre

7:00pm, Sun 28 Feb 2010

Walking from the Odeon in Norwood back to the Festival Centre certainly was interesting; first I had to negotiate the wobbling crowd on the Parade for the Food and Wine Festival, got inadvertently smacked in the face by an overly-enthusiastic rubbish collector, bumped into Lili La Scala (who told me to pull my blogging finger out – oops), and had a chat with someone whilst queuing for En Masse: “I saw you at Dr Brown the other night,” he said. “Oh?” I asked, trying to recollect where I’d seen this chap before, “were you on the door there?”

“No,” he said, “I remember seeing you onstage.”

That made me smile.

As the doors opened, we weren’t exactly let in, more corralled. Staff quite pointedly guided punters into the Space, eerily low-lit and murky. There’s a large circle of very flat… well, “chairs” gives the wrong idea; the intent is to have the audience essentially laying down, head slightly elevated, to observe a projection screen that lay above the centre of the circle. We remove our shoes and settle in; the performance starts, and the ambient lights slowly drop their already timid intensity as the projection screen slowly changes from black to mostly black, swirling organic shapes gradually becoming visible.

For five minutes I struggle against the quiet, organo-synthetic soundscapes that waft through the air; but I’ve been burning too many candles, and sleep deprivation has caught up with me. The soft noises, the gentle lulling light, all conspire to send me to the deepest, most restful sleep I’ve had in a fortnight. It was divine.

When I awoke, the Space was completely, inkily, black. I prop myself up to see if the performance had actually finished and I was alone here; I vaguely make out the shapes of my neighbours, lying restfully, and wonder if they’re asleep too. Through the darkness, a hint of movement: the sole human in the performance, Genevieve Lacey, slowly moves around the circle, playing various wind instruments (two flutes, maybe? I don’t really know) and making a few vocal effects. The projection screens, meanwhile, display images of birds flying, grouping, splitting… flocking.

Lacey slinks back into the darkness, the screens ease back into darkness, and the house lights – ever-so-gently – come up.

That’s it. That’s the entire show. People sit up, some with a look of confusion and bewilderment on their faces; others rub their eyes. Still others remain still on the floor, and partners gently nudge them awake with a shy look of shame. We file outside.

I check my watch – I must have only slept for ten minutes in that performance, but I felt remarkably refreshed. And that, unfortunately, was the highlight of En Masse for me; sure, it had all the hallmarks of a singular vision, carefully crafted… but in the end, it failed to engage me artistically, encouraging me only to switch off my brain and rest.

Vs Macbeth

The Border Project & Sydney Theatre Company @ Odeon Theatre

2:00pm, Sun 28 Feb 2010

Here’s an easy way to get me interested in a bit of theatre: make it Shakespeare. Better still, make it Hamlet or Macbeth, and I’ll be first in line for a ticket. So when I’m leafing through the Festival Guide, see “Macbeth”, and then notice the faux warning at the bottom of the page – “Occupational Health and Safety nightmare” – well, I’m there.

But then I notice that The Border Project are involved, and I hesitate a little. I really didn’t enjoy Trouble on Planet Earth a couple of years ago; while I certainly appreciated the concept and presentation, it wound up disappointing me no end. Countering that hesitation, though, was the presence of a Sunday matinee; thus, I would up wandering down The Parade towards the Odeon on a warm and sunny day, perfect for the teeming thousands gathered for the Norwood Food and Wine Festival.

And you know how I feel about crowds.

Still, after elbowing my way through the crowd, after consuming some sub-standard salt-and-pepper squid, and after bumping into an old family friend in the foyer, I took my seat in the dimly lit theatre. The stage was sparse, the air felt heavy and slightly foggy. And, as the play starts, it is evident that this is very much a modern production; the Witches are portrayed as lecherous friends (the gaudy bearded witch was ace), Fleance is a dummy, and Cameron Goodall’s Macbeth is casually dressed in jeans and a shirt. The live guitar lends a mysterious, murky ambience to proceedings; pre-recorded bass beats can be felt through the seats.

But what also becomes evident is that this is very much a meta-production. It’s not simply focussed on The Bard’s play; The Border Project have taken the superstitions that have surrounded (and tragedies that have befallen) The Scottish Play and made them a fundamental part of the production. Events that have affected other productions are reproduced here; fires start onstage, actors trip and fall, large beams fall from above, light fittings crash onto the stage. A ladder is leant against the back wall, actors wander underneath it and receive glares from their colleagues. There’s even a large square painted onstage that everyone tries to avoid stepping into, sometimes to exaggerated comic effect.

But these elements are superfluous, gimmicks, that periodically appear… they’re amusing diversions, and a delightful nod to the history of the play. They add little more than comic relief… The Bard’s work manages just fine by himself. Having said that, they don’t distract from the production… but add to the flavour of the performance.

The bulk of the delight for me, however, lay in the aforementioned modernity of the production. The plentiful murders in the script are enacted by a firing squad of paintball-riflemen, after a transparent mesh screen drops from the roof to protect the audience from stray pellets and splatters. The bright yellow splatters that accompany the shootings are sobering; the massacre of Macduff’s family almost disturbing. Then there are the amplified whispers of the assassins, the visit to the Witches played entirely in the dark (with the audience enlightened via the use of night-vision cameras displayed on TV screens either side of the stage). And there’s even a form of audience participation: the screens warned “Please prepare to play Chinese Whispers,” and play Chinese Whispers we did, rumours rippling down the rows of the audience.

Performances were all fine, and the production was superb – this really was an enjoyable show, though perhaps not one for the traditionalists. But more joy was to come for me; after the show, there was a chat between Anthony Steel and director Sam Haren (as well as King John‘s Anne Thompson and William Henderson). Haren confirmed that Vs Macbeth was centred on the mythology of the curse surrounding the play, but also mentioned that some of the accidents (most noticeably the case where one of the actors became entangled in the safety net) were indeed legitimate accidents! The two big takeaways for me, though, were the use of colours for blood (yellow for the paintball assassinations, red for the dagger scene), and the fact that the “accidents” were inserted when an interruption was required… most notably, where content was cut due to production concerns (or a lack of actors).

In short: this was great, and made retrospectively greater by the Q&A session.