Mother Courage and her Children by Bertolt Brecht. Moonlight directed by Jonathon Thomsen. ANU Arts Centre Drama Lab August 20 - 28 (Wed - Sat). Tickets at the door.
I can give an improvement award to this, the second in Moonlight's series of Brecht's plays. The whole cast now have a much better sense of Brecht's epic theatre style than when they performed The Caucasian Chalk Circle some months ago, and the design now includes to good effect projections of the descriptions of each upcoming scene, though not yet the words of the songs, which need to be read as well as heard for Brecht's messages to be clearly understood.
Though Moonlight has a very long way to go to reach even semi-professional standards, and though they may have taken some breach of copyright risks, they are now playing with the play rather than merely playing the play. Taking liberties means that they have achieved much more of the distancing effect that Brecht demands. The result is that the anti-war analysis is presented with considerable strength.
I suspect the cast have surprised themselves, and at times in unscripted moments they showed some self-consciousness. This, of course, is because they are graduates of Theatre Studies at ANU, which has not been developed into a proper professional training course to match Music and Visual Art. Dance at ANU has not even taken the first step. Without training in technique to complement their academic studies, even though these included some practical experience, Moonlighters are unlikely to reach higher standards of performance.
However, they are clearly improving, which I take to be their first objective, and have produced an instructive entertainment which is worth seeing, if only because it is not so often that we can see Brecht's work nowadays.
They face a challenge in presenting The Good Person of Szechwuan in November, a more subtle play than Mother Courage and one influenced by Brecht's brief exposure to the work of the famous Chinese actor Mei Lan-fang. The Chinese setting risks becoming, Brecht noted, a 'mere disguise'. This production will take even more courage, and I look forward to new developments in theatrical craft to build on Mother Courage and her Children.
© Frank McKone, Canberra
Saturday, 21 August 2004
Wednesday, 18 August 2004
2004: Shirley Valentine by Willy Russell
Shirley Valentine by Willy Russell. Performed by Sue Howell, directed by Michael Sutton. At Theatre 3, August 18 - 29. Bookings 6257 1950 (theatre) 6281 0250 (all hours).
The advertising calls Shirley Valentine a "smash hit comedy". A more academic reference calls the play "a witty monologue". Sue Howell, however, underplays the comedy and wit in favour of an underlying sadness in the character of Shirley Bradshaw (nee Valentine).
I rather liked this interpretation. It avoids raucous superficial laughter, invokes a quieter response, and allows us time to absorb Shirley's feelings about how her youthful self, Shirley Valentine, became lost in the "cribb'd, cabin'd and confin'd" English suburban life of wife and mother Shirley Bradshaw. Her observations about orgasms, men, feminists and English xenophobia are not merely witty, but are little illuminations in self-understanding.
Sue Howell's Shirley is not presented to shock or titillate. She makes herself available to us, for us to identify with, as she rediscovers the spontaneity of being Shirley Valentine at the age of 42. We know both the joy and the sadness she will feel in the end, when, as her husband walks past her table outside the taverna at the edge of the sea in Greece, and fails to recognise her, she will reveal herself to him. "I'm Shirley Valentine," she will say. "I'll never be Shirley Bradshaw again." He must go home to Liverpool alone.
Technical production was a little amiss on opening night - some extraneous noises off, some recording levels too high, cues too early and changes too abrupt. The sets are nicely done, with a fully operational kitchen in which Shirley cooks real eggs and chips. I'm a bit concerned that by August 29 Theatre 3 will be coated with a fine film of cooking oil, but this realism succeeds in establishing a rapport between Shirley and her ever-listening audience, the fourth wall, which never answers back.
Willy Russell's "talking head" device, so similar to Alan Bennett's work, is perhaps an English dramatic form, well suited to English culture and character. Howell faithfully creates the accents and intonations of not only Liverpudlian Shirley but of the various other English types that Shirley imitates. Centring the character in her own environment strengthens our understanding and makes this a successful production.
© Frank McKone, Canberra
The advertising calls Shirley Valentine a "smash hit comedy". A more academic reference calls the play "a witty monologue". Sue Howell, however, underplays the comedy and wit in favour of an underlying sadness in the character of Shirley Bradshaw (nee Valentine).
I rather liked this interpretation. It avoids raucous superficial laughter, invokes a quieter response, and allows us time to absorb Shirley's feelings about how her youthful self, Shirley Valentine, became lost in the "cribb'd, cabin'd and confin'd" English suburban life of wife and mother Shirley Bradshaw. Her observations about orgasms, men, feminists and English xenophobia are not merely witty, but are little illuminations in self-understanding.
Sue Howell's Shirley is not presented to shock or titillate. She makes herself available to us, for us to identify with, as she rediscovers the spontaneity of being Shirley Valentine at the age of 42. We know both the joy and the sadness she will feel in the end, when, as her husband walks past her table outside the taverna at the edge of the sea in Greece, and fails to recognise her, she will reveal herself to him. "I'm Shirley Valentine," she will say. "I'll never be Shirley Bradshaw again." He must go home to Liverpool alone.
Technical production was a little amiss on opening night - some extraneous noises off, some recording levels too high, cues too early and changes too abrupt. The sets are nicely done, with a fully operational kitchen in which Shirley cooks real eggs and chips. I'm a bit concerned that by August 29 Theatre 3 will be coated with a fine film of cooking oil, but this realism succeeds in establishing a rapport between Shirley and her ever-listening audience, the fourth wall, which never answers back.
Willy Russell's "talking head" device, so similar to Alan Bennett's work, is perhaps an English dramatic form, well suited to English culture and character. Howell faithfully creates the accents and intonations of not only Liverpudlian Shirley but of the various other English types that Shirley imitates. Centring the character in her own environment strengthens our understanding and makes this a successful production.
© Frank McKone, Canberra
Saturday, 7 August 2004
2004: A Local Man by Bob Ellis and Robin McLachlan
A Local Man by Bob Ellis and Robin McLachlan. Directed by Bill Blaikie. Presented by Bathurst Arts Council at the Ponton Theatre, Charles Sturt University, Bathurst Campus, August 6 - 15. Email: alocalman@bigpond.com .
Ben Chifley has just lost his second election to Bob Menzies. On June 9, 1951, he is writing his last speech for the next day's ALP Conference, knowing his heart disease is critical. Three days later he is dead.
What went through his mind on that freezing thunderous Saturday evening at 10 Busby Street, Bathurst? Is he the iconic revered Labor leader, symbol of honesty in politics which now seems to belong only to the distant past?
What can he tell us about the half-century - Federation, Gallipoli, Depression, the bombing of Darwin, Changi, Burma, Kokoda, the Welfare State, the Commonwealth Bank, the Snowy Mountains Scheme, even the opening of ANU - the stuff of the Australian legend, which constituted his adult lifetime?
What were his personal devils, clawing away at his sense of self-worth?
This collaboration between historian McLachlan and celebrated writer Bob Ellis gives us both the history and the man. In this simply subtitled "new play about Ben Chifley", his perceptiveness and his humour show us the reality of his time. His passing leaves us reflecting on today's political and personal world.
Though the script is a major achievement, welding art and accurate history, the performer, Tony Barry, was not properly prepared for opening night and needed a prompt far too often. A two-act monologue of this depth is a complex task, but Barry proposes to tour the play. It was disappointing that the first night audience were not given all that Ellis and McLachlan have created, but Barry portrays the character true to life and we saw the requisite acting skills in many segments. 10 more matinees and evenings in Bathurst will surely bring the whole performance up to expectations.
The set, sound track and photo projections have been meticulously researched and are cleverly constructed for touring. I trust that we may see A Local Man in Canberra, where there are many appropriate venues like the National Museum, Old Parliament House, Courtyard Studio and other small theatre spaces - or indeed new Parliament House, preferably before the next election. A light on the Hill, perhaps, or to quote from the play:
(The lights begin to flicker.) BEN: Hang on, the lights are going off .... Bloody Liberal government. Bunnerong and Bungeroff. (The lights go out.)
© Frank McKone, Canberra
Ben Chifley has just lost his second election to Bob Menzies. On June 9, 1951, he is writing his last speech for the next day's ALP Conference, knowing his heart disease is critical. Three days later he is dead.
What went through his mind on that freezing thunderous Saturday evening at 10 Busby Street, Bathurst? Is he the iconic revered Labor leader, symbol of honesty in politics which now seems to belong only to the distant past?
What can he tell us about the half-century - Federation, Gallipoli, Depression, the bombing of Darwin, Changi, Burma, Kokoda, the Welfare State, the Commonwealth Bank, the Snowy Mountains Scheme, even the opening of ANU - the stuff of the Australian legend, which constituted his adult lifetime?
What were his personal devils, clawing away at his sense of self-worth?
This collaboration between historian McLachlan and celebrated writer Bob Ellis gives us both the history and the man. In this simply subtitled "new play about Ben Chifley", his perceptiveness and his humour show us the reality of his time. His passing leaves us reflecting on today's political and personal world.
Though the script is a major achievement, welding art and accurate history, the performer, Tony Barry, was not properly prepared for opening night and needed a prompt far too often. A two-act monologue of this depth is a complex task, but Barry proposes to tour the play. It was disappointing that the first night audience were not given all that Ellis and McLachlan have created, but Barry portrays the character true to life and we saw the requisite acting skills in many segments. 10 more matinees and evenings in Bathurst will surely bring the whole performance up to expectations.
The set, sound track and photo projections have been meticulously researched and are cleverly constructed for touring. I trust that we may see A Local Man in Canberra, where there are many appropriate venues like the National Museum, Old Parliament House, Courtyard Studio and other small theatre spaces - or indeed new Parliament House, preferably before the next election. A light on the Hill, perhaps, or to quote from the play:
(The lights begin to flicker.) BEN: Hang on, the lights are going off .... Bloody Liberal government. Bunnerong and Bungeroff. (The lights go out.)
© Frank McKone, Canberra
Friday, 6 August 2004
2004: Amadeus by Peter Shaffer
Amadeus by Peter Shaffer, directed by Tessa Bremner for Free-Rain. Courtyard Studio, Canberra Theatre August 4 - August 21. Canberra Ticketing 6275 2700.
This is a show you should not miss, for several reasons.
Bremner's direction is tight, stylish and perfectly suited to Shaffer's intentions. In the intimate setting of the Courtyard, the 18th Century operatic characters come to life more than they might on a larger stage. Costumes and make-up are original, comic, pointedly satirical. Lighting highlights characters and mood on a set designed for smooth changes, uncluttered yet always interesting.
The acting is highly polished, easily as good as many fully professional productions, in a play which requires strong, clear resonant voices - including singing - as well as choreographed movement and even playing Salieri and Mozart on piano. The whole cast works as a well-trained ensemble whose excitement in performing spreads throughout the theatre, drawing you into this awful story of how Salieri destroyed Mozart.
The play itself is a reason to go. It is so much better than the film, balancing Mozart's sublime imagination expressed in his music against Salieri's desperate need to break free from the mediocrity he recognises in his own work. We see Salieri not simply as an evil figure against Mozart's perfection, but as a man who will survive, though to do so he must destroy the innocent.
On stage, the play breaks the bounds of the ordinary to show us the nature of life and art, just as Mozart did through his music. And it is a special achievement for a small company like Free-Rain that their production in this unpretentious little space could, by artful design, take my mind beyond the immediate cardboard, paint and bits of wire to a terrible feeling of loss as Mozart dies.
As in Mozart's Figaro and The Magic Flute, it is the clever use of humour which elicits the sense of tragedy. This is where Bremner has the right touch. A production which takes the work too seriously would become maudlin, but here a deftly timed movement, a visual joke, a tableau which becomes an orchestra for Mozart to conduct, a threatening look from Salieri's wife, in fact a constant array of humorous devices keeps us at just the right distance emotionally until the key moments when we both understand and feel the truth. This is what good theatre is all about.
© Frank McKone, Canberra
This is a show you should not miss, for several reasons.
Bremner's direction is tight, stylish and perfectly suited to Shaffer's intentions. In the intimate setting of the Courtyard, the 18th Century operatic characters come to life more than they might on a larger stage. Costumes and make-up are original, comic, pointedly satirical. Lighting highlights characters and mood on a set designed for smooth changes, uncluttered yet always interesting.
The acting is highly polished, easily as good as many fully professional productions, in a play which requires strong, clear resonant voices - including singing - as well as choreographed movement and even playing Salieri and Mozart on piano. The whole cast works as a well-trained ensemble whose excitement in performing spreads throughout the theatre, drawing you into this awful story of how Salieri destroyed Mozart.
The play itself is a reason to go. It is so much better than the film, balancing Mozart's sublime imagination expressed in his music against Salieri's desperate need to break free from the mediocrity he recognises in his own work. We see Salieri not simply as an evil figure against Mozart's perfection, but as a man who will survive, though to do so he must destroy the innocent.
On stage, the play breaks the bounds of the ordinary to show us the nature of life and art, just as Mozart did through his music. And it is a special achievement for a small company like Free-Rain that their production in this unpretentious little space could, by artful design, take my mind beyond the immediate cardboard, paint and bits of wire to a terrible feeling of loss as Mozart dies.
As in Mozart's Figaro and The Magic Flute, it is the clever use of humour which elicits the sense of tragedy. This is where Bremner has the right touch. A production which takes the work too seriously would become maudlin, but here a deftly timed movement, a visual joke, a tableau which becomes an orchestra for Mozart to conduct, a threatening look from Salieri's wife, in fact a constant array of humorous devices keeps us at just the right distance emotionally until the key moments when we both understand and feel the truth. This is what good theatre is all about.
© Frank McKone, Canberra
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