Thursday, 20 August 2015

2015: Betrayal by Harold Pinter








Alison Bell as Emma
with the tablecloth from Venice
on the table at Jerry and Emma's flat


 Betrayal by Harold Pinter.  State Theatre Company of South Australia: Directed by Geordie Brookman.  Lighting and Set Designer, Geoff Cobham; Sound Designer, Jason Sweeney; Costume Designer and Associate Designer, Ailsa Paterson.  At Canberra Theatre Centre, The Playhouse, August 19-22, 2015.

Cast: Alison Bell – Emma; Nathan O’Keefe – Jerry; Mark Saturno – Robert; John Maurice – Waiter

Reviewed by Frank McKone
August 19

How would you handle this situation?  You meet up with someone, on their invitation, with whom you have had an intimate relationship in the past.  You might say How’re you going, then?  We haven’t seen each other for a while, eh? and the other person hesitates a little, and then says No. It’s OK, I’m alright.

What do you think?  Do they know something I don’t know?  Why did they call me to meet up again after all this time?  Do they mean they really are OK, or are they just saying that?  If they aren’t really OK, what does that mean?  Do they want to tell me something because they think I should know whatever it is?  Or because they think I can help in some way?  And if they are really OK, then why did they call me?  Do they want to start up with me again?  Do I want to start up with them again?  If I do, should I say something?  Or should I just wait and see?  They haven’t said anything else, but it seems a bit ordinary just to say something like “That’s good, then”, considering how we were together before.  I’d better say something, I guess.  How long can we sit here?  Are they looking at me, waiting for me to say something?  Or are they just needing a quiet time, and don’t really want me to say anything?

As you read all these possible thoughts, try timing how long it takes, remembering that there will be gaps of time between thoughts, probably with changes in your expression (eyebrows, forehead, where your eyes turn, how your head moves, how your body relaxes or tightens up).  My timing suggests at least a full minute – which is a long pause on stage.

This a Pinter pause.  Some are much longer, maybe even up to three minutes, which ought to kill a drama stone dead – except that it doesn’t in a Pinter play.  It might if the actors were not skilled enough to give us the expressions which they will derive from their study of the play, the relationships between their characters, the history of their relationships, and the possible future of their relationships.

Pinter’s skill is to provide his actors with a back story, all put together in very ordinary language – in fact using words which in themselves are so ordinary they are more or less meaningless (Oh, for example).  Two productions of Betrayal will end up revealing to us the same basic story, but the picture we may have of the quality of the triangular relationship between Robert, Jerry and Emma will be different in its impact on us Peeping Toms according to each director’s and actors’ decisions in rehearsal and skills in performance.

If you’d like a detailed analysis of the nature of betrayal in Betrayal you could hardly do better than read Hanna Scolnicov’s 2008 essay available at http://revel.unice.fr/cycnos/?id=1228 .

My concern here is the quality of this production as a theatrical experience.  I have no complaints about the top-class professionalism of the actors or Geordie Brookman’s directing of them. 

I did find, though, that people with different sightlines had different responses to the need to see the subtle facial and bodily expressions of characters’ thoughts and feelings in those pauses.  I placed Nathan O’Keefe as having a stronger impact than the other actors, but in talking with other audience members, realised that from my seat (E6 – close to the stage-left proscenium wall) I had more consistently seen Jerry front on through several of the nine scenes, while Alison Bell’s Emma more often showed me a side-on or even partially rear view of her face.  From a stage-right position my viewpoint would have been reversed.  But then a friend who sat in the upper circle had not responded to the pauses’ intensity or detail merely because of her extra distance and higher angle of vision.  Opera glasses would have been an advantage, even in the Playhouse.

Our discussion led to wondering if the play would be better performed in a smaller theatre, perhaps preferably in-the-round, such as in the Ensemble, Belvoir Upstairs or Wharf 1 in Sydney.  Though Brookman made a point of praising Canberra’s Playhouse as a better venue than some others – unnamed – I wonder if its conventional fourth-wall proscenium design might not serve this play well.

This thinking led me to consider the stage, lighting and sound design for this production.  It’s a matter of big or small scale.  The set surrounds the stage in a big way between the scenes.  As it grinds its way around to reveal the next scene, the sound is raucous, aggressive and industrial in the earlier transitions (which are later in historical time) and become a little gentler as we approach the end of the play (which is the beginning of the story).  But the set visually remains big.

Yet each scene is small, often with only two characters, sometimes only one, and rarely with three.  Each scene has a single focal point (a bar, a restaurant table, the table in Jerry and Emma’s flat, Robert and Emma’s bed), and especially in those great pauses the action is minimal.  Between scenes, mysteriously half-hidden behind the semi-see-through set, the action is busy as furniture is moved into and out of the centre and actors change out of and into clothes hung on the stage side of the set.

I found myself unsure of the designers’ intention in making the scene changes visually large and audibly loud, sometimes with very bright floodlights in our eyes, while the scenes were lit to make them seem to take up only a small space on the stage, except for the final scene with Jerry, Emma and Robert in the bedroom – but even then the action was mainly restricted to a small area around the bed.  Perhaps there was a kind of Brechtian intention – that is to force us out of the assumption that we were seeing naturalistic scenes being played out for us to emotionally/sentimentally engage in.  The big scene changes made it clear we were watching a highly theatrical presentation. 

From a practical point view, there was a need to separate each scene and help us accept that time was going backwards and (once) forwards, which was done by adding big projected titles of the year, the location and the season of the next scene as the set spun around.  The costumes took us back to the fashion of each year, so perhaps the projected information was not entirely necessary, at least for those of us who recognise what the London literati wore in those years from 1968 to1977.  But at the end of the day I suspect that less giant and gimmicky scene changes might have given us a softer focus of attention on the words, silences and feelings in each scene.  Rather than having the sound effects between scenes seem to illustrate too obviously the bitterness of betrayal, perhaps romantic music might have better made the contrast between the conventional expectation and the reality of love.

So it’s a play and a production which should not be missed: for Pinter’s work and the quality of the acting.  But for me, less might have proved to be more, in the set and sound department.


Nathan O'Keefe as Jerry, Alison Bell as Emma
Meeting at the bar



Nathan O'Keefe as Jerry, Mark Saturno as Robert
Lunch at the restaurant


Nathan O'Keefe as Jerry, Mark Saturno as Robert
Publisher and Literary Agent

Nathan O'Keefe as Jerry
"Small" lighting in a "Big" set

Alison Bell as Emma
  © Frank McKone, Canberra



Thursday, 13 August 2015

2015: The Present by Andrew Upton, after Anton Chekhov



The Present by Andrew Upton, after Anton Chekhov’s Platanov.  Sydney Theatre Company, directed by John Crowley.  Designed by Alice Babidge; lighting by Nick Schlieper; composer and sound design by Stefan Gregory.  At Roslyn Packer Theatre, Sydney, August 8 - September 19, 2015

Reviewed by Frank McKone
August 12

The lengthy history of what appears to have been Chekhov’s first play, an extraordinary lengthy 300 pages which it seems he began drafting at the age of 18, is partly explained in Upton’s Message from the Artistic Director and fully developed in a five page essay in the Program.

However you really don’t need to read all this to appreciate a highly theatrical script and production, supported of course by top quality acting and direction.  The key roles of Anna and Mikhail are played by Cate Blanchett and Richard Roxburgh – and you get what you expect – but all of the other eleven actors never let the quality drop below the leads’ example.

So I won’t even begin to buy into the inevitable argument about whether we are watching Chekhov or Upton.  If Chekhov really did write this story of 40-year-olds riding the wild emotional surf of their second wave of sexuality, when he was still a teenager, he showed remarkable prescience if not precociousness.     This play is not Uncle Vanya or The Seagull  but the markers of their genetic history show up plainly here.

Perhaps to escape comparison, rather than setting The Present in its original period in the late 19th Century, Upton saw a parallel time in Russian history which also relates closely to what is still happening there and even here.  Australia and kangaroos get a token one liner.  Stalin died in 1953 and the reminiscences, interminable under the influence of being Russians constantly drinking vodka, make it clear that our present is 20 years later.  Glasnost is in, but characters who succeeded under Stalin still rule the roost.  They are the 60+ year-olds.

Even the environmental issues which showed up in Uncle Vanya poke their noses into concerns about profit-making in the new Russia from mines and gas fields.  Despite causing a small ripple of recognition as we think of NSW and Queensland, such concerns are entirely peripheral to what is largely a satirical comedy with surprising (and highly effective) explosions. 

Mikhail, obsessive womaniser, presages his death as the only solution to the impossible complexity of love and relationships.  However skilled Roxburgh is, though, it was difficult not to see his demise as not too dissimilar from that of Pyramus, though his several Thisbes surround him, or have left him, in anger or tears.

Watch especially for the four terrific set designs, and for the technique used in the transitions.  The opening set for Act 2 was especially evocative.  Mikhail himself wonders if he is seeing apparitions, in a set that had already made me wonder the same thing.

So, while the characters philosophise in the most annoying (and often very funny) ways, let’s not bother to do all that thinking.  Just let the theatricality of the moment become your present belief, and you’ll find yourself remembering those 40th Birthday parties in all their extremities of attraction and rejection (though you might wonder what you should be looking forward to, if you are still 18). 

There seems to be a theory behind the play – presumably in Chekhov’s imagination – that there is a sexual cycle which reaches some kind of pinnacle of excess every 20 years.  See The Present for a lifetime experience, and see what you think.

Nikolai and Anna
Toby Schmitz, Cate Blanchett

Nikolai, Mikhail, Sergei
Toby Schmitz, Richard Roxburgh, Chris Ryan

40th Birthday Party

My death is the only solution
Richard Roxburgh (Mikhail), Cate Blanchett (Anna)

Sergei and Sophia
Chris Ryan, Jacqueline McKenzie
 Complete Cast:
Anna Bamford - Maria                        Jacqueline McKenzie - Sophia
Cate Blanchett - Anna                         Marshall Napier - Ivan
Andrew Buchanan - Osip                    Susan Prior - Sasha
David Downer - Yegor                         Richard Roxburgh - Mikhail
Eamon Farren - Kirill                          Chris Ryan - Sergei
Martin Jacobs - Alexei                        Toby Schmitz - Nikolai
Brandon McClelland - Dimitri

© Frank McKone, Canberra

Wednesday, 12 August 2015

2015: Seventeen by Matthew Whittet.



Image by Julian Meagher

Seventeen by Matthew Whittet.  Presented by Belvoir.  Directed by Anne-Louise Sarks; designed by Robert Cousins; costumes by Mel Page; lighting by Paul Jackson; sound by Nate Edmondson; choreography by Sara Black; movement by Scott Witt.  At Belvoir Street Theatre, Sydney, August 5 - September 13, 2015.

Reviewed by Frank McKone
August 12

Actors:
Peter Carroll – Tom
Maggie Dence – Sue
John Gaden – Mike
Genevieve Lemon – Lizzy
Barry Otto – Ronny
Anna Volska – Edwina

It’s quite disturbing reviewing the work of a bunch of actors who are all around my age – 74½ – when they are playing 17-year-olds trying to celebrate their exit from high school.  The exception is Genevieve Lemon playing Mike’s 14-year-old sister.

Knowing my own physical incapacities I was amazed how well my confreres could still move in the wild ways that I can, just, remember from when I was 17.  It shows you what actor training can do for you.

The play is a hoot, as you might expect; but it’s not just a hoot.  Whittet has done his homework interviewing today’s 17-year-olds with these questions:

What matters to me right now is…
What or who do you want to be when you are older?
Can you imagine life at 70?  What might it be like?
The advice I would give to my older self would be…
What do you daydream about?
What does love mean to you?
Regrets – do you have any?  If you are happy to, can you share what these are?
The message I would send to the rest of the world right now is…


The value of the Program is that it includes the Writer’s and Director’s Notes and also the text of the play which has been a cooperative venture involving the author, the actors and director, the actor Judi Farr (who is not in the performance) and the dramaturg Anthea Williams.

This certainly is an original project, so what was Whittet hoping to achieve and has it worked?

Well the audience on this occasion certainly thought the show worked, responding in a very lively manner to every twist and turn in the relationships being played out at the all-night hang-out in the local children’s playground, the scene particularly of the first meeting of Mike and Tom when they were 11 and their friendship was established.  What happens as the night wears on turns from a naïve attempt at celebration into a bumping up against reality – both sad and encouraging for each character according to their personality, proclivities and social circumstances.  It’s not just a hoot to have no choice but face the prospect of growing suddenly into adulthood.

I still felt a bit uncomfortable with the author’s intention, though.  He has set the play now, not in 1956 when I finished Fifth Form, yet somehow it seemed to me that the characters were more childish than I remember being (though I’ll admit to some very weird behaviour), and more so than the many Year 12s I taught in the 1960s to the 1990s (many of whom turned 18 before finishing their sixth year of secondary schooling).

Whittet has written about the passion [that] is always there just under the surface.  Waiting to erupt like a volcano….So having said this, it’s been a very important decision to set the play now.  A now that is not concerning itself with the thorniness of Snapchat and Facebook, but more with the burning questions under the surface for these kids.  Questions that were asked yesterday, today and I think will be asked well into tomorrow.

At the same time he just seems to have been fascinated by the idea that I didn’t want these characters to be played by teenagers.  I wanted them to be played by actors in their 70s – theatre elders who would get a chance to do something that is rarely asked of them….[and] to get the chance to watch incredible actors like Peter Carroll, Maggie Dence, John Gaden, Barry Otto, Anna Volska and Genevieve Lemon … wrestle with the questions: What does it mean to be 17? How do I say goodbye to the people I love? How do I say goodbye to the person I was?How do I become the person I should be?…This to me is what makes it such a thrilling piece to be a part of.

I think these “incredible” actors did a highly creditable job of creating the characters that the dialogue and plot engendered for them to work on, and made a thoroughly enjoyable show, but in the end perhaps more time than 90 minutes is needed to invest all that depth of meaning into the drama.  And probably for a modern young adult audience more subtlety and emotional understanding would be achieved by young actors, many of whom are just about as “incredible” as their elders.

So I conclude that the show is a success and very worthwhile seeing for its original idea – and to see these actors at their credible best is wonderful – but to expect the deep and meaningful experience that the author wishes for is to expect more than the play actually offers.  In fact I suggest that Samson by Julia-Rose Lewis, even at only 75 minutes (reviewed on this blog on May 12, 2015), and played by young actors, more successfully satisfies this kind of expectation.

 All photos by Brett Boardman


Group Hug


Barry Otto as Ronny



Anna Volska as Edwina, Maggie Dence as Sue

John Gaden as Mike, Peter Carroll as Tom




Genevieve Lemon as Lizzie



Tom and Sue swing together
Peter Carroll and Maggie Dence
© Frank McKone, Canberra

Tuesday, 11 August 2015

2015: The Art of Shakespeare Exhibition




The Art of Shakespeare Exhibition of artworks in response to William Shakespeare’s dramatic works, presented by Bell Shakespeare.  Original concept: Gill Perkins.  Artists invited by John Bell.  Exhibition curated by Nick Vickers.

Previewed by Frank McKone
Utzon Room, Sydney Opera House
August 11, 2015.

Touring to
Melbourne
Sofitel Melbourne on Collins, September 2 – October 1
Canberra
Australian Parliament House, October 8 – 25
Sydney
Sydney Opera House, November 2 – 15

Artists:

Sophie Cape I Am In Blood Stepp’d In So Far (Olsen Irwin Gallery)
Lucy Culliton My Kingdom For A Horse (Reno) (The Hughes Gallery)
Tamara Dean A Midsummer Night’s Dreamscape (Olsen Irwin Gallery)
Ken Done A Woman Is A Dish For The Gods (Ken Done Gallery)
Joe Furlonger Unto These Yellow Sands (The Hughes Gallery)
Peter Godwin Where Be Your Gibes Now? (Defiance Gallery)
Nicholas Harding It’s The Same With Men (Wildflower, Cactus And Dogs) Olsen Irwin Gallery)
Alan Jones Leave The Rest To Me (Olsen Irwin Gallery)
Mathew Lynn Unmannerly Breech’d With Gore (Lady Macbeth) (Independent artist)
Euan Macleod Storm/King Lear Watters Gallery)
Luke Sciberras Bottom! (Olsen Irwin Gallery)
Wendy Sharpe The Witches (King Street Gallery on William)
Garry Shead Romeo And Juliet (Australian Galleries)
Ann Thomson La Sonnambula (Olsen Irwin Gallery)
©Wendy Sharpe The Witches






Art is about creation, intent, response and interpretation.  

As David Malouf writes in the Foreword to the exhibition catalogue What interests Shakespeare is the working of the mind, an inner state.  When, on the other hand, painters and illustrators turn to his characters, what they tend to present is their external attributes….  This exhibition presents artists working as Shakespeare himself does, in the realm of atmosphere and suggestion.

Each work is thus an original creation in its own right, in response to a moment – often just a line – chosen by the artist in answer to John Bell’s invitation.  As you would expect from artists of this quality, not one work is a simple illustration, even if some titles quote the quote.

As they create in response to Shakespeare, each with their own idea of his intent, and showing the viewer their interpretation, so I found myself facing their creations, wondering about their intentions, and interpreting the ideas and emotions I felt in response.

Nick Vickers has hung the works in such a way that some brashly stand out, others are more discreetly hidden for you to come upon them unexpectedly close up, while the three Lady Macbeths form a triptych which build from her personal horror in Lynn’s Unmannerly Breech’d, through the evil intent of Jones’ Leave The Rest To Me and culminating in an abstract explosion of feeling in Cape’s I Am In Blood Stepp’d In So Far.  And then you see Lady Macbeth’s final mental collapse in Thomson’s sleepwalking scene, La Sonnambula.

Then you realise that it is The Witches who you could not avoid as you entered the space.  The works begin to take on lives of their own, like characters in a bizarre drama.

It was at about this point that I thought I should test out my reactions, so I sought out the most expensive artist, Garry Shead, whose Romeo And Juliet I thought I understood.  Having explained that I saw the two families not just shocked by the sensuality of the kiss and bare breast, but that they simply were unable to understand, and certainly not accept, the natural sexuality of the attraction between Romeo and Juliet.

©Garry Shead Romeo And Juliet


Oh, no, explained the artist.  It was just the ballroom scene.  There’s only one family there, except for Romeo, and they are all horrified at his temerity at gatecrashing the ball, discovering Juliet and kissing her.  For Shead, it is a painting of one moment in one scene; I interpreted it as representing the core of the whole play.  We parted on highly amicable terms – that’s what art is all about.

I mentioned expense because all the works are for sale, with – through the goodwill of the artists and their respective galleries – a percentage being donated to Bell Shakespeare to support their outreach programs “looking for new ways to educate, collaborate and recreate”.

This exhibition, I believe, is an original approach, centred in artistic creation, to encourage philanthropy to support the arts.  It is also an Occasion – to mark the 25th Anniversary of the establishment by John Bell of the Bell Shakespeare Company, while it also could be said, to quote Malcolm concerning the traitorous Thane of Cawdor, that “Nothing in his [Bell Shakespeare] life became him like the leaving it”.

Whether that means we should see Peter Evans as an incarnation of Macbeth, who inherited the former thane’s title, I’ll leave to others’ interpretation.  As John Bell retires in the wake of directing the upcoming The Tempest (Sydney Opera House August 19 – September 18), maybe Prospero’s staff will receive more kindly treatment than in the play and be passed on to Evans without being broken.

The Art of Shakespeare will surely make a fitting farewell for the theatrical stalwart whose work I first saw in Henry V at the Adelaide Festival in 1964.  Though he may be leaving the tent – “just going outside and may be some time” – I suspect we’ll see more of John Bell before long, even if it’s only to present the next The Art of Shakespeare in a year’s time – I hope.

©Tamara Dean A Midsummer Night's Dreamscape

©Luke Sciberras Bottom!

©Nicholas Harding It's The Same With Men (Wildflower, Cactus And Dogs)
© Frank McKone, Canberra








Thursday, 30 July 2015

2015: Grease by Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey






Grease by Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey.  Presented by Queanbeyan City Council.  Directed by Stephen Pike; Music Director: Jenny Tabur; Choreography by Jordan Kelly; Set Designer: Brian Sudding; Lighting / Video by Hamish McConchie; Sound by Chris Neal.  At The Q, Queanbeyan Performing Arts Centre, July 29 – August 15, 2015.

Reviewed by Frank McKone
July 29

Cast:

Sandy Dumbrowski – Rosanna Boyd
Danny Zuko – Marcus Hurley





Pink Ladies:
Betty Rizzo – Vanessa de Jager
Marty – Amelia Juniper-Grey
Frenchy – Risa Craig
Jan – Sophie Hopkins






T-Birds:
Kenickie – Liam Downing
Roger – Dave Collins
Doody – Tristan Davies
Sonny Latierri – Lachlan Agett







Eugene Florczyk – Hayden Crossweller; Patty Simcox – Ashley Di Berardino; Miss Lynch – Sue Richards; Teen Angel – Nick Valois; Johnny Casino – John Kelly; Vince Fontained – Jonathan Garland; Cha-Cha Digregorio – Amy Campbell; Radio Voice – Maddison Lymn

Girls Ensemble: Isabel Burton, Peita Chappell, Riley Gill, Jasmine Henkel, Maddison Lymn, Silvana Moro, Grace Mulders, Lara Niven

Boys Ensemble: Nicholas Friffin, Sam Jeacle, Robbie Lawrence, David Santolin, John Skelton, Mathew Tallarida-Lyons, Cameron Taylor




Band: Jacon Schmidt (Saxophone 1), Hannah Richardson (Saxophone 2), Kirsten Nilsson (Saxophone 2 on 8-9 August), Vince Tee (Keyboard), Sean Ladlow (Guitar 1), Maxim Korolev (Guitar 2), Gary Scott (Bass Guitar), Jenna Hinton (Drums)

Photos by Lauren Sadow

I can judge this production of Grease in two completely different ways: on its immediacy on opening night in Queanbeyan in 2015; and on its place in the history of this musical, which began as a local community show for young people in Chicago in 1971 “in an old trolley barn (now the site of a hospital parking garage)” [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grease_%28musical%29] and went on to hold an amazing record in its day:  “At the time that it closed in 1980, Grease's 3,388-performance run was the longest yet in Broadway history....”

I simply had to list almost everybody involved here, because I’m sure that almost everybody had at least one family member in the audience.  The casting was terrific, the choreography and dance performances exciting, musically the band handled not only the 1950’s rock but all the other stylistic references in excellent fashion, the quality of all the singing matched the demands made by the show (including the very funny almost satirical high-pitched extenuating vocal flourishes by the men) – in other words Grease rocked along as it should.

There was no doubt about the enjoyment value on Wednesday’s opening night which will surely see Queanbeyan still rocking on August 15 for closing night.

I did find myself a little concerned about the balance between the singers’ voices and the band sound.  It was perhaps ironic that we critics had heard Chris Neal explain, when he spoke in our Canberra Critics’ Circle Conversation (Monday July 13, 2015), how difficult it is when everyone is miked individually to balance the sound across all the mikes while avoiding feedback.  I’m not sure how the band was miked on this occasion, but I’m sure even on Broadway, in the 1970s, microphones were fewer and farther between – and therefore easier to manage.

That was a segue to my other kind of question of judgement.  Rather than be critical of the show, this is a bit of critical writing about the show.  Whatever I say will not adversely affect your enjoyment, but may add something to the experience.

I was a bit surprised – not having been an aficionado of Grease – to see what seemed to be a switch from a light-hearted take, sometimes even a bit of a spoof, on conventional high-school romances into a not at all comfortable experience for Rizzo when it appears that she is pregnant and she can’t tell the would-be father, Kenickie.  The scene, leading as it does to Sandy becoming suddenly aware of the adult reality of sex, through Rizzo’s song “There Are Worse Things I Could Do”, is a turning point in the drama.  Sandy changes off-stage – mentally and literally – and reappears in sexy adult costume instead of the “litte girl” clothing she had worn up to this point.  What was happening here?

I wasn’t sure if the change in atmosphere was deliberate on the director’s part, in which case it seemed oddly out of place, something that couldn’t be avoided – since it was in the script – but could be quickly turned around back to the innocent fun of a whole company finale.  Somewhere in there I heard Rizzo say that it was a “false alarm”, so everything was now OK.  A bit of a cop-out, I wondered.

It was Wikipedia that sent me to http://www.newlinetheatre.com/greasechapter.html where I found an enormously useful essay, Inside Grease – background and analysis by Scott Miller (Copyright 2006. From Scott Miller's book, Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll, and Musical Theatre). 

I meant enormous – like, 20 pages, and so full of stuff.  I hadn’t understood that Grease was written in 1971, looking back to a specific year when this group of working-class young people were in their final high school year: 1958.  Miller calculated that this group were born just before the people we now call baby-boomers.  In fact they were born in 1942.  I was born in 1941.  And my final year at high school was 1957!

So now I get it!  Grease is about the working-class teenagers at the end of the fifties as rock’n’roll changed the world for them, setting them free from the middle-class conventions which were the dream of their parents.  Grease "is really the story of America’s tumultuous crossing over from the 50s to the 60s, throwing over repression and tradition for freedom and adventure (and a generous helping of cultural chaos), a time when the styles and culture of the disengaged and disenfranchised became overpowering symbols of teenage power and autonomy. Originally a rowdy, dangerous, over-sexed, and insightful piece of alternative theatre, Grease was inspired by the rule-busting success of Hair and shows like it, rejecting the trappings of other Broadway musicals for a more authentic, more visceral, more radical theatre experience that revealed great cultural truths about America," writes Scott Miller.

And indeed I saw Hair, the original Australian production which premiered in Sydney on June 6, 1969, though I never saw Grease on stage.  After reading Miller I understood the ironic references to Sandra Dee and Doris Day.  And I remember, too, looking back from 1972 during the “It’s Time” election to see how much we had changed since my first year (and the first member of my family) at uni in 1958.  I see myself as running half a decade behind the kids of Grease’s Rydell High, but maybe that was just a matter of living in Australia compared with USA.

I discovered, too, that Stephen Pike seems to have been influenced by the 1978 movie of Grease with Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta, but Miller complains that the film bowdlerised the original script – “Watered-down,” he called it – and goes on to castigate the “revival of Grease [which] opened on Broadway in May 1994, painfully misdirected and misunderstood by Tommy Tune’s protégé, director-choreographer Jeff Calhoun....” 

For example, in Act II, when Sandy leaves Danny at the drive-in, Miller notes: “The replacement song in the film, "Sandy," isn’t a bad song, but it doesn’t achieve half of what "Alone at a Drive-In Movie" does, textually, thematically, or musically.”  I checked this out on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLuN96-e6NQ where you can see and hear the 1972 performances, and you can understand what Miller meant.  And perhaps why the film version was “watered-down”.

Finally, Miller writes “Like all the best theatre songs, Sandy makes a decision in the "Sandra Dee" reprise, and the plot takes a turn toward its final destination. Sandy must decide who she is herself and what she values; she must embrace all of who she is, including her sexuality. She now realizes that only when she is true to herself can she be happy with Danny, and this final revelation will lead us to the show’s rowdy, playful finale "All Choked Up" (sadly replaced in the film by the less carnal disco number "You're the One That I Want").

So I think it’s fair to conclude that Queanbeyan isn’t what Chicago was in 1958, or even Broadway in 1972, nor should it be.  We don’t need to re-create the raw beginnings of Grease because – as I’m sure Olivia Newton-John herself would agree – the revolution in the lives of women and men is a long way further on now than it was then.  I guess the revolution is nowhere complete, either, but the thorough enjoyment in the audience of mixed ages and sexes watching Stephen Pike’s production, and clearly in the cast performing the show, is its own recommendation.  And it still rocks, even if a little less hard than it needed to be back then.



© Frank McKone, Canberra


Monday, 13 July 2015

2015: Ladies in Lavender by Shaun McKenna


Ladies in Lavender by Shaun McKenna, adapted from the screenplay by Charles Dance, based on the short story by William J Locke.  Ensemble Theatre, Sydney, directed by Nicole Buffoni; designed by Anna Gardiner; wardrobe by Margaret Gill; lighting by Nicholas Higgins; sound by Daryl Wallis.  At Ensemble Theatre July 3 – August 15, 2015.

Reviewed by Frank McKone
July 11

This is a beautifully done production of what has turned out, for me at least, to be an intriguing play, of a movie, of a short story.

The sound of Arthur Askey on the ‘wireless’ (unfortunately not an original His Master’s Voice, but still...)  took me back to my very early English childhood; in fact a year or three earlier, since I was born in 1941.  His jokes, and singing, were always awful but still sort-of funny, in a non-PC kind of way.

On the other hand, the live violin playing by Benjamin Hoetjes as Andrea Marowski was anything but awful: entirely professional, especially compared to the deliberately rank-amateur playing by Daniel Mitchell as Dr Mead.

As the spinster sisters Widdington, Penny Cook (Janet, the elder) and Sharon Flanagan (Ursula – and apparently never-been-kissed) established their almost as-if-married relationship within the time it took to fade the lights up, and immediately took off as the thunder rolled and the near-direct-hit lightning struck fear into us as much as into uncertain Ursula.  We were all brought to our good senses by the practical calm and good order maintained by Janet, of course.

Dorcas, as played by Gael Ballantyne, was a wonder to behold – the worst and best of English comedy servants; while Lisa Gormley’s Olga Danilov was exactly the kind of self-assured independent woman to keep Dr Mead firmly in his place – where he thoroughly deserved to be.

Finally the play was about the sadness, even through gentle laughter, of Ursula’s near-breakdown when the ‘Greek God’ Andrea leaves, without having time to explain to the sisters who rescued him and loved him, to be taken up by the violin maestro Boris Danilov, Olga’s brother, to begin a magnificent musical career.

To some it might seem weird that, despite my 74 years, I had never heard of Ladies in Lavender and knew nothing of the play, the film or the story before Saturday.  It was odd, then, that though the production was excellent in every way, from the finesse of the acting to the sisters’ father’s neck-to-knee swimming costume, I kept feeling there was something not quite right about the play.

When was it written, I wondered?  After World War II, looking back to just before the war broke out finally in 1939?  After all, Dr Mead seemed concerned that they might be entertaining spies in their remote Cornish fishing village, since Andrea, who was apparently Polish, spoke German to Olga, who was probably Russian.  Was the play, then, not essentially about Ursula and Janet’s rivalry for Andrea’s affections, but some kind of allegory about the beginning of the War.  Perhaps Andrea represented Poland who was about to be invaded by Germany (that man with the moustache was mentioned in disgust by Janet at one point).  Did Olga, speaking German, entice Andrea away, but would later turn on him as Russia did?  It all seemed so complicated!

Did it even go so far, perhaps, that it was really a play about the naivety of the English in failing to admit the danger of German invasion – the sisters’ kindness to the stranger on their shore might parallel the appeasement political process?  Ursula says something about whether there might be another war, and Janet, whose boyfriend was killed in World War I, replies that it was possible, though she hoped not.  And the women work out that Andrea was “so young”, and could barely have been born when Janet’s love was taken away.

So then I thought, aha!  This play is being presented now as part of the commemoration of World War I – a follow-up to the Ensemble’s recent The Anzac Project (reviewed on this blog April 9, 2015).

Yet times, dates and ages still seemed out of kilter.  How old are these sisters?  If they were teenagers falling in love in 1916 and now it is, say, 1938, Janet might now be about 40, at most 45.  On stage Penny Cook’s make-up appeared to me much older than that, and so did Sharon Flanagan’s.  More confusion – because her dominance and title as “Miss Widdington” suggested that Janet was the elder, yet Miss Ursula looked older rather than younger.  But then, as a mere male, my judgement could not be trusted on such matters.  So how could I sort this all out?

The World Wide Web came galloping to the rescue.  There I found not only the 2004 movie starring Judi Dench as Ursula, Maggie Smith as Janet and Miriam Margolyes as Dorcas, but also the original short story.  Now I know that in some ways Shaun McKenna’s play is better than the movie because it is more in tune with William John Locke’s original intention.

The movie was, of course, post-World War II and made it very clear from background radio sound effects that Germany was already in the process of making lebensraum outside its borders, and implying that Poland was next.  This explains Andrea being on a ship to America to escape ahead of the Nazi invasion, having been washed off the deck in the opening storm, naively trying to find a boatman to take him to New York, and accepting Olga’s offer to go to London to meet her famous brother.

But what a surprise when I found that the short story, in which the title Ladies in Lavender is explained, was published by Locke in a collection of his stories called Far-Away Stories – in 1919, and that Ladies in Lavender was first published in 1908!

Intriguing indeed!  Locke himself died in 1930 at the age of 67, after a long career publishing novels, short stories and plays.  In effect he was a contemporary of my favourite, and much more famous playwright, George Bernard Shaw.

Locke wrote Ladies in Lavender as a rather whimsical story of exciting goings on in an English village, where “To that little stone weatherbeaten house their father, the white-whiskered gentleman of the portrait, had brought them [his daughters] quite young when he had retired from the navy with a pension and a grievance – an ungrateful country had not made him an admiral – and there, after his death, they had continued to lead their remote and gentle lives, untouched by the happenings of the great world.”

Even so “It was by no means the first dead man cast up by the waves that they had stumbled upon during their long sojourn on this wild coast, where wrecks and founderings and loss of men’s lives at sea were commonplace happenings.  They were dealing with the sadly familiar....”  Locke does not write with the wit of Bernard Shaw, but in this story writes with a touch of another contemporary, the Irish playwright J M Synge.  Synge’s final play, Deirdre of the Sorrows, was unfinished when he died at the age of only 37 in 1909, and was completed by W B Yeats and Molly Allgood for its first performance at the Abbey Theatre in 1910.

Locke’s story where  “indeed there lay sprawling anyhow in catlike grace beneath them the most romantic figure of a youth that the sight of maiden ladies ever rested on” with his “long black hair, a perfectly chiselled face, a preposterously feminine mouth which, partly open, showed white young teeth, and the most delicate, long-fingered hands in the world” brings something of the mythic sensibility surrounding the power of the sea to raise the dead, and take life away.  Locke may keep a certain humorous eye on his maiden ladies, quite unlike Synge’s chilling quality, but the rescue and inevitable loss of Miss Ursula’s “young Greek god” places Locke in the writing culture of his time.

Though Charles Dance was happy to set this story firmly into “the happenings of the great world”, and thereby lost in his film the faery nature which is the key to Locke’s original, fortunately Shaun McKenna (just the right Irish name, surely) understood Locke’s intention when he added in the Hans Christian Andersen story of The Little Mermaid, and made it so significant in the relationship between Ursula Widdington and Andrea Marowsky.

The play, then, though a little distracted by Arthur Askey and Herr Hitler, is better than the film.  I even felt that the performances of Penny Cook and Sharon Flanagan were more satisfactory than those of Maggie Smith and Judi Dench – not because they are better actors but because the playscript gave them more emotional quality to work with than the film screenplay.

The play also ends better than the film.

The movie ends with Janet and Ursula accepting the situation after the concert in London as Andrea is carted off to talk to Sir Charles Mackerras.  They walk away from us down a long cold corridor, and then are walking on the beach where the Greek god first appeared. 

The play ends, after Ursula’s breakdown at the loss of Andrea, with her more than acceptance – indeed, a new understanding – as Andrea appears like a mirage playing his violin.  This staging is more poetic in impact than showing the two of them at the concert in London at the end of the film, while Dorcas has the radio on at their house for the villagers to listen to hear him play.

Though Locke can never match the strength of Synge’s writing:  
Deirdre (in a high and quiet tone) – I have put away sorrow like a shoe that is worn out and muddy, for it is I have had a life that will be envied by great companies....It was sorrows were foretold, but great joys were my share always; yet it is a cold place I must go to....
Ursula’s story ends:  “For all those years she had waited for the prince who never came; and he had come at last out of fairyland, cast up by the sea.  She had had with him her brief season of tremulous happiness.  If he had been carried on, against his will, by a strange woman into the unknown whence he had emerged, it was only the inevitable ending of such a fairytale.

“Thus wisdom came to her from sea and sky, and made her strong.  She smiled through her tears, and she, the weaker, went forth for the first time in her life to comfort and direct her sister.”

In updating Ladies in Lavender, the ethereal quality of the original story was lost, in the film especially, but McKenna’s playscript, performed on stage, captured more of Locke’s feeling for his two maiden ladies.  But never quite the feeling they had when they first realised Andrea had gone when “They were left alone unheeded in the dry lavender of their lives.”

And, by the way, William J Locke specifies that Miss Widdington was precisely 48 and her sister, Miss Ursula Widdington, three years younger.  “She could, therefore, smile indulgently at the impetuosity of youth”... but “as behoved one who has the charge of an orphaned younger sister, did not allow the sentimental to weaken the practical.”

Janet (Penny Cook) and Ursula (Sharon Flanagan)
As the lightning was about to strike












Andrea (Benjamin Hoetjes) and Ursula (Sharon Flanagan)
Ursula helps Andrea recover by reading The Little Mermaid and teaching him to read English words.





Dr Mead (Daniel Mitchell) shows off his "musicianship".





Andrea (Benjamin Hoetjes) displays his musicianship.





Olga Danilov (Lisa Gormley) overhears Andrea playing, and writes to her maestro brother.





Andrea offers his gratitude equally to Janet and Ursula
Penny Cook, Benjamin Hoetjes, Sharon Flanagan





Dorcas (Gael Ballantyne), Ursula (Sharon Flanagan), Janet (Penny Cook), Dr Mead (Daniel Mitchell)
Dr Mead is concerned about informing the authorities and the possibility of spies.





Ursula 'mothers' Andrea
Sharon Flanagan and Benjamin Hoetjes





Andrea is amazed to hear the positive response from Olga's brother, Boris Danilov.
Benjamin Hoetjes and Lisa Gormley





Dorcas puts Ursula to practical work.
Sharon Flanagan and Gael Ballantyne



Janet and Ursula "left alone unheeded in the dry lavender of their lives".
Penny Cook and Sharon Flanagan


All photos by Clare Hawley



© Frank McKone, Canberra





Friday, 10 July 2015

2015: LORE: I.B.I.S by Deborah Brown and Waangenga Blanco / SHEOAK by Frances Rings

LORE: I.B.I.S by Deborah Brown and Waangenga Blanco / SHEOAK by Frances Rings.  Bangarra Dance Theatre at Canberra Theatre Centre, July 9-11, 2015.

Reviewed by Frank McKone
July 9

After an opening season at Sydney Opera House, extended by public demand, Lore received rapturous applause for both dance works, each treating traditional lore underpinning modern life from different perspectives – geographical and emotional.

I.B.I.S is set in a fictional Island Board of Industry and Services supermarket, tiny by city expectations, on Mer, one of the smallest of the eastern Torres Strait islands.  Deborah Brown and Waangenga Blanco are descendants of the Meriam people, and their work entails Meriam Mer, Ka La Lagau Ya and Kir Kir Kaber dance styles and languages, spoken and sung.


I think I.B.I.S. must be the happiest and most triumphant dance story I can remember seeing on any stage, beginning in the morning (Debe Idim – Good Morning) with Elma Kris singing Ni Ngoe Dhe Goiga (You are my Sunshine) and concluding (Debe Ki – Good Night) with a magnificent full ensemble dance in traditional ceremonial costume and powerful singing in harmonies revealing the cultural connections of these islands with Polynesia, as well as with Papua and Australia.



Joy and a sense of wonderment accompanied us to Interval.  What success for Bangarra, whose dancers originate from such a multicultural mix, descended from Indigenous nations from all over Australia!

List the names and places in appreciation:

Nunukul, Munaldjali (Yugambeh) – artistic director Stephen Page, SE Queensland;
Kokatha / Germany – choreographer Frances Rings, Adelaide S.Australia;
Wakaid Clan, Badu (Meriam) / Scottish – choreographer Deborah Brown, Torres Strait;
Mer and Pajinka Wik – Waangenga Blanco, Cape York;
and dancers Elma Kris (Waiben, Thursday Island – Torres Strait);
Yolande Brown (Bidjara, Kunja nation – Central Queensland);
Tara Gower (Yawuru / Aboriginal, Filipino, Irish and Spanish – Broome, Western Australia);
Jasmin Sheppard (Tagalaka and Kurtijar / Irish, Chinese and Russian Jewish – Normanton, Gulf of Carpentaria);
Tara Robertson (Munaldjali – Logan River, Queensland);
Kaine Sultan-Babij (Arrente, Harts Range – Central Australia);
Luke Currie-Richardson (Kuku Yalanji, Djabugay, Munaldjali and Meriam – SE Queensland and Torres Strait);
Nicola Sabatino (Kaurareg and Meriam – Weipa, Cape York);
Beau Dean Riley Smith (Wiradjuri – Dubbo, Central New South Wales);
Rikki Mason (Kullili – Inverell, western NSW);
Yolanda Lowatta (Yam Island / Papua and Fiji);
Rika Hamaguchi (Yawrur, Bunaba, Bardi – Broome, WA);
Kyle Shilling (Widjubal, Bundjalung – Tweed Heads, north-east NSW);

then you understand the wonderment as Bangarra under Stephen Page’s direction, with his brother David Page (Head of Music), Steve Francis (Composer), Jacob Nash (Head Designer, Murri man from Brisbane), Jennifer Irwin (Costume Designer), Karen Norris (Lighting Designer) and Emily Amisano (Rehearsal Director) is able to bring together people of such a variety of backgrounds to perform a work so true to the culture of one small island off the far northern tip of Australia.

But that was just at Interval.  Then they take us to the dry inland of Australia, where Frances Rings’ story is about the sheoak tree:


Biological Name: Casuarina cristata
Common Name: Belah
Family: Casuarinaceae
Origin: Inland Australia
Exposure: Full Sun
Irrigation: Drought tolerant once established
Frost: Frost Tolerant 25F-18F (-8C)
Soil: Well-drained, alkaline, light to heavy
Flower Color: Red
Flower Time: Summer
Height: Variable 20-45'
Width: Variable



On stage we see only the bare timbers – no pine-type needle leaves, no seed cones for the black cockatoos, no red flowers.  This is not a story of joyous celebration, but of hope for the future despite the forces which have tried to destroy an ancient culture.  There are three parts, centred around the Keeper, danced by Elma Kris (from that place of water and sunshine, Thursday Island!) who began dancing with Bangarra in 1997, and won a Deadly Award for Dancer of the Year in 2007:


PLACE: The land of the old growth scar trees has fallen.  Its keeper mourns its loss.  The people must now adapt to a new way of life.

BODY: The seeds begin searching for new grounds.  A new generation faces the challenges of community life.  Restrictions to cultural practices create a cycle of dysfunction.

SPIRIT: The birth of a spirit as it embarks on its journey.  Its arrival brings hope for change and renewal.

To watch this work was not about toe-tapping to the rhythmic life of the islands in the sun.  Rings demands attention to the significance of the imagery.  She takes us to a dark place where the men almost literally fall apart as we watch, helpless to know what to do.  It is the woman, the keeper, who maintains the faith, engenders the spirit (Nicola Sabatino and Tara Robertson), and finally brings the community together in calling the ancestors.

In both works the people of today need to remember and learn from the past – this is the tradition, the Lore.  Though in Sheoak there is recognition of past failure, there is hope; from I.B.I.S. we see the success of hope – the joy of community achievement.

And Bangarra Dance Theatre itself shows how it can be done, for the joy and benefit of all of us.  The dancing, the sound, lighting and exciting costuming bring to life all our hopes and faith in the Spirit of Art.

Photos: Unknown

© Frank McKone, Canberra

Friday, 3 July 2015

2015: The National Program for Excellence in the Arts



DRAFT GUIDELINES: THE NATIONAL PROGRAM FOR EXCELLENCE IN THE ARTS
Australian Government Attorney-General's Department, Ministry for the Arts
To read the complete document, go to http://arts.gov.au/nationalexcellenceprogram

Commentary by Frank McKone
July 3, 2015

The Guidelines tell you what you need to do to ask for money. Like

 be an Australian organisation or entity
 have as its principal purpose the arts – this includes: the performing and visual arts, cross-artform and digital arts, arts training and collecting institutions whether at a national, regional or community level; (usually defined in the organisation’s Constitution or Articles of Association, and reflected in the Annual Report and Business Plans)
 have an active Australian Business Number (ABN)
 be registered for the Goods and Services Tax (GST), if required by the Australian Tax Office
 not have any outstanding reports, acquittals or serious breaches relating to any Australian Government funding

I think I fulfil these requirements.  So now I need to know who won’t get money:

What the Program will not fund:
 Business start-up costs
 Private tuition, training or study
 Work used for academic assessment
Projects by individuals [my emphasis]
 Competitions and eisteddfods
 Awards and prizes
 Film and television production
 Interactive games
 Built or natural heritage projects
 Projects or components of projects that are also funded by other programs administered by the Ministry for the Arts.

But I’m an individual!  I’m a Freelance Writer with an annual turnover so small that I’m not required to be registered for GST (but I can if I want) and the Australian Tax Office (ATO) classes me as a Special Professional.  That means if I’m an artist, a writer, a performer, a sportsperson or an inventor I keep simple business records, work out if I’ve made a profit or a loss.  Then I can simply add my profit – or subtract my loss – from whatever other personal income I have on my annual tax return. 

Peter Costello did this for us soon after the GST started, so small scale artists didn’t go round the bend.

But I can’t ask for money from the National Program for Excellence in the Arts.  What if I happen to be a new and as yet not well-known but “excellent” artist?  I’d be in the same sort of position as a first-time house buyer, in the negative-gearing market.  Unless you’re already big, you’re not going to get a look-in.

I guess I can still ask the Australia Council for the Arts, can’t I?  But now that they’ve lost about a third of their money, my chances are so much less.

I guess I don’t really mind if the Attorney-General / Arts Minister (in itself a very odd combination of portfolios, I think) wants to boost the profile of Australian arts overseas – which the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT) already does through its programs.  But what about the rest of his Objectives?

The Program will:
 Deliver a wide range of quality arts and cultural experiences that grow arts audiences, throughout Australia and internationally
 strengthen Australia’s reputation as a sophisticated and artistic nation with a confident, outward-focused arts sector
 encourage greater private sector support and partnership funding for the arts
 support collaborations to develop arts and culture initiatives including in specific regions or priority areas.

Sounds great.  Who wouldn’t want all this to happen?

But look at the process:

To achieve these objectives, the Program will offer funding for arts and cultural projects and initiatives through three streams:

1. Endowment Incentives
The endowment incentives stream will support organisations to realise medium to long term projects through financial partnerships and collaborations. Funding will be conditional on organisations leveraging funds from other sources to realise projects. Organisations will need to demonstrate evidence of financial, cash or in-kind support from sources other than the Australian Government. This stream will be open to a wide range of projects. Examples of the kind of activity which could be supported are:: co-investment through a Foundation or arts organisation to deliver a new initiative such as a fellowship program; a contribution to an infrastructure project that has other partners; and partnering in the development of new Australian works.

2. International and Cultural Diplomacy
The International and Cultural Diplomacy stream will support arts and cultural organisations to expand audiences for Australian artistic and creative works through international tours, exhibitions, partnerships and exchanges. It will also support Australian arts organisations to bring internationally significant art and artists to Australia, thus giving Australian audiences greater opportunities to experience the world’s finest performances and exhibitions.

3. Strategic Initiatives
The Strategic Initiatives stream will assist arts and cultural organisations to respond to new opportunities, challenges and issues. It will be flexible and responsive to enable organisations to maximise the potential outcomes of new opportunities. It will also support organisations to deliver outcomes against planned and developing priorities. It will support projects enabling regional and remote audiences, to have new opportunities for access to a wide range of art forms. It is from this stream that the Australian Government will directly fund appropriate major initiatives.

And how much money for all this?  $20 million “each financial year”!  WOW!

And what has happened to the just-developed 6-year funding program for which people already have on-going applications to the Arts Council?  Sorry, that’s all on hold.  After all you can’t expect any sympathy when the Arts Council knew nothing about losing $104 millions until the afternoon of Budget Day, even though Minister Brandis knew what programs were in train.

So, I say refund the Arts Council the untimely ripped off funds and tell it not to worry about the big established companies.  Just get on with the job of funding all the excellent individuals and small companies as judged by their peers and at arms length from political interference – as we have been doing for 40 years, but with the new 6-year funding program in place.  And add funding for start-ups, so the new artists can get a leg-up.

Then pay for the National Program for Excellence in the Arts - just call it the Great Australian Arts Support Program (GAASP) - from the Arts Ministry bucket, so that when artists and companies have proved themselves and grown through the Arts Council program, and become “established”, the Government of the day can claim all the kudos it wants by supporting them properly.

Then I would ask (because I’m a theatre reviewer) for what Julian Meyrick suggested a year or so ago: “An NTA [National Theatre of Australia] could base itself in Canberra and be federally funded, thereby avoiding the perception of Sydney/Melbourne bias and the fractious politicking that comes with variable state support.  It would unite three specialisms represented by three kinds of organisation.  It would be partly a playwright development agency, like Playwriting Australia or Playworks.  It would be partly a producing entity, like the state theatres and second-tier companies.  And it would be partly a touring intelligence, like Performing Lines and Playing Australia.  Again it would not supplant these bodies but add capacity as a partner organisation drawing on their separate spheres of operation.”

How about it, dear Minister?

© Frank McKone, Canberra