Tag Archives: Melbourne Theatre Company

Teen twists

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Seventeen (Melbourne Theatre Company)

Melbourne Theatre Company, Southbank Theatre

January 15 – February 17

“Bloody fantastic,” was the overheard and very accurate audience summation of experience of Melbourne Theatre Company’s “Seventeen”, Australian playwright Matthew Whittet’s 95-minute (no interval) exploration of adolescence and associated drama of growing up and letting go. The production is, indeed, quite the joy in its unconventional tell of six teenagers on the cusp of real-life beginnings, celebrating a shared rite of passage. The last day of school for Mike, girlfriend Jess, best mate Tom, Jess’s bestie Emelia and outsider Ronny is a time for end-of-an-era celebration and perhaps university anticipation, if Mike’s annoying little (almost 15-year-old) sister Lizzy would go away and leave them to their night of drinking in the children’s playground of their youth.

It seems like a straightforward snapshot-in-time narrative, however, the work operates on many levels as the 17-year-old protagonists are played by veteran actors decades older, even, in some cases, into their 70s.  Although their stories are told through the lens of this modern era’s TikTok dancing, a bangin’ Olivia Rodrigo and Big Bosse Vette type soundtrack and photos ‘for the ‘gram’, their old school lack of savvy, ‘best night ever’ drinking and pashing in the park and truth-or-dare type games, bring a sense of nostalgia of one’s own ‘pretty much almost an adult’ ‘no more school ever again’ era and attempt to remember how our own long-term circles of friends all first met and even became friends in the first place (“just lucky, I guess”).

This group of friends is comprised of a number of very different characters, all brought to vivid life by the ensemble cast of legendary stars of the stage and screen. Richard Piper, Pamela Rabe, Robert Menzies, Genevieve Picot, George Shevtsov and even Fiona Choi as little sister Lizzy, effectively capture the precarious balance between the excitement and apprehension of the precarious bridge between the comfort of childhood and anxiety of being an adult with only increased responsibility despite not always knowing what you want from life yet. We see this, particularly in Rabe’s finely tuned take on about-to-turn-eighteen Jess, who feels trapped by what she can seem coming in terms of familial obligations at the expense of her desire to travel.

Whittet’s cleverness comes from the duality that permeates so much of the script and Matt Edgerton’s direction is considered so as to allow space for this. Narrative elements that seem so natural to the scenario serve as bigger-picture provocations to the audience as the group discuss what they will miss the most and time travel to Year Seven letters to themselves contextualises things for characters and audience members alike in contemplation of the blink of time’s passage.

It’s not all nostalgia though; as each character’s story is pieced together, there is touch on social issues of masculinity, domestic violence, homelessness and alike, which, along with poignant late monologue reminder of everyone’s life passing by, adds light and shade to what could easily have been a story of just fluff and frivolity. Paul Jackson’s lighting design also serves this, supporting our quiet into monologues of honest vulnerability, particularly from the male characters, making the show’s contemplative and eventually allegorical dawn-break conclusion all the more moving. And the combination of a revolve stage and effective blocking of the action around the playground means that there is always somewhere to look, regardless of what might be happening centre-stage.

“Seventeen” is a charming, playful, evocative and ultimately poignant reminder of the inner teen and associated feeling of freedom within us all. It is filled with humour in the hyperbolic insults and ill-informed logic of youthful confidence, but also connection to its characters and their potential, leaving us yearning for a sequel to see how their futures unfold them and if Jess indeed ever makes it to South America.

Photos c/o – Pia Johnson

Puppet poignancy

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Storm Boy (Queensland Theatre and Melbourne Theatre Company in association with Dead Puppet Society)

QPAC, The Playhouse

July 29 – August 17

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Colin Thiele’s cherished 1964 novel “Storm Boy” is part of Australian folklore. The poignant story is of 11-year-old Mike, the titular Storm Boy (Conor Lowe), so named after being seen wandering the Coorong dunes during a dangerous storm, and his gruff reclusive hermit father, ‘Hideaway’ Tom (John Batchelor), whose lives are altered when Storm Boy befriends Fingerbone Bill (Tony Briggs) and adopts a family of orphaned-by-hunters pelicans. So sentimental is it to those of a certain vintage that there some opening night audience members wiping away anticipatory tears from even the very first appearance of the baby pelican trio, soon to be named Mr Proud, Mr Ponder and the iconic Mr Percival.

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The transfer of the classic story to stage comes with its limitations, none more so that of its animal characters. The puppetry (Puppet Designer and Associate Director David Morton) used for animals from cheeky fairy penguins to majestic full-flight pelicans is of the brilliance once has come to associate with Dead Puppet Society, however, their mechanical realisation makes engagement difficult ….. until the grown pelicans take flight (puppeteers Ellen Bailey, Emily Burton and Drew Wilson) From then, the story is enlivened. It’s engrossing to watch, which only adds weight the emotional wallop to follow in its later truly beautiful moments between the boy and his most beloved pelican, Mr Percival and his puppeteer.

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The visuals of the landmark 1976 film are recreated through cinematic video projections, which serve to capture the isolation of South Australia’s remote sea and wetland region, but they do slow things down in interruption to the story by the associated screen lowering and raising (and also set changes). Indeed, there is not a lot to the short children’s novella on which the work is based, meaning that its realisation even in only an 85-minute production feels like slow theatre, if slow theatre is a thing like slow television, only without the marathon time commitment, and a shorter running time like that of the 2013 Sydney Theatre Company production would have made for a tighter experience. The wild, windswept dunes, however, are given a nice intimacy in the beachside shack set, enhanced by Darrin Verhagen’s gentle sound design and compositions.

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Strong performances emerge despite the limited opportunities; these are men who live in isolation for a reason, unused to unnecessary talk, especially of the emotional sort. Conor Lowe effectively conveys a range of emotions as Storm Boy and is most impressive in the pathos he brings to the relationship between the boy and the pelicans.

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Queensland Theatre’s “Storm Boy” is a gentle heart-warming story, consistent in its tone which creates a thoughtful experience, punctuated by verbal and slapstick humour for young and older audience members alike. Cinematic extravagances aside, the production doesn’t take unnecessary liberties with the text, but rather embraces the opportunity to tell a humble tale well. As such, it offers a chance for nostalgic, emotional reconnection, but also introduction of the story to a new generation perhaps unused to a simple but powerful narrative told without resort to hyper-real realisation.

Photos c/o – Jeff Busby

Relationships in the round

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Cock (La Boite Theatre Company/Melbourne Theatre Company)

La Boite Theatre, Roundhouse Theatre

March 27 – April 12

Often the best stories in theatre are those that focus on just a few critical characters and their relationships, for relationships, in all their forms, can be fascinating, all-absorbing things. And relationships are what are at the core of the highly anticipated and provocatively titled play “Cock”, whose narrative fractures the most fundamental concepts of a love triangle.

20-something John (Tom Conroy) has been in a toxic relationship with his with his partner M (Eamon Flack) for several years, despite their fundamental differences (John is like cheese, while M is like whatever is the opposite of cheese). After another breakup, John falls in love with W (Sophie Ross), a free spirited, chaotic woman and from there the drama really begins.

John suggests a civilised dinner party, to which all are invited, including a surprise guest, M’s father, F (Tony Rickards). Dinner is awkward (who would have thought?) as M realises than W is not the horrible Labyrinth-like creature he anticipated. Before the meal is over, John is faced with making a choice as to his lover and his identify. As F calls it, “you need to work out who you are. That’s at the heart of all this…  It comes down to you. … Who are you really?”

As the drama unfolds, what follows are some moments of intense discomfort as John articulates his frustration of his indecision. M and W are just objects in his life, labeled without names (M for man, W for woman) in symbolism of what they represent to him. To the audience, there are multi-faced characters, with human faults and flaws and there are many identifiable aspects to their characters, albeit positive and negative. M is mean and controlling, W is ultimately manipulative towards her clichéd ideas regarding what women want in heterosexual relationships and John is selfish in in his uncertainty. F sprouts some wonderful platitudes about how the greatest happiness is to know that your child is happy, however, is also opinionated and overbearing. And by the end of the show, there is little left to like about any of them. It is not comfortable to watch, because we all either know people like this or we are these people.

Just as the protagonist is given a generic moniker and characters are known only by their letter names, the abstract nature of the play is also realised without use of props (although proximity and distance are played out naturalistically). Set design is also minimal; the stage is covered with over 200 white pillows, which add a textual element to the space. Like the characters playing around them, they are simultaneously comfortable and claustrophobic.

The play’s provocative title is reference to the idea of a rooster and in particular to cock-fighting. The dialogue is littered with fighting metaphors and motifs abound beyond just the physical staging, in lighting and movement. Through much of the action, the actors circle each other, as if ready for battle. And it is wonderful to see the show realised in complete theatre in the round, unlike its Melbourne season, but in keeping with the intent of its original premise both in script and on stage in London.

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Another of the play’s strengths is its insightful writing. The naturalistic dialogue is honest, engaging and hilarious in its use of analogies such as W’s observation to John that “some people might think you were scrawny, but I think you’re like a picture drawn with a pencil. I like it. You haven’t been coloured in”. Ultimately this is a story of relationships rather than sexuality. And with such a universal theme, it is a shame to have it set in place through its UK references to A levels, Blue Peter and pounds, which could easily have been altered. The appearance of F so late in Act Two, is also jarring, given that his character has not been referenced in any of the earlier dialogue and has little to do with the central conflict of the play.

Without scenery, sets or props, as distraction, the production rests on the skill of the actors and they do not fail to deliver, with precise performances that capture the script’s honesty. Eamon Flack is a standout as M, nasty and unlikeable, but fragile beneath his confident edifice. And Tom Conroy’s committed performance as John is perhaps not fully appreciated until the show’s final scenes. Not only is his physical investment in his character’s turmoil, heart-retching, but his decision speech is so impassioned that the audience cannot do anything but watch in silence, stunned beyond reaction.

“Cock” is an emotional play for audience members who empathise with John’s indecision/self-indulgence and the resonance of its dramatic moments is emphasised by the musical interludes composed by Missy Higgins, although ultimately they are not integral to its mood or momentum. Hopefully audiences will look beyond the production’s phallic title (and kudos to producers for using the original label and not the sanitised “The Cockfight Play”) for this touring production from Melbourne Theatre Company is one worth seeing, to witness some superb performances and experience its solid script.

Although the tedium of its protagonist’s indecision is frustrating almost to the point of disengagement, the play makes some important points about relationships, power, sexuality and conformity. In its journeyed exploration of the human condition, “Cock” examines some complex themes and offers some important conclusions about relationships, primarily that you fall in love with the person, not their gender, however, given the nature of most theatre-going audiences, it might well be a case of lecturing to the already-converted about how they should consider sexuality.