More than words
On
the coldest night in Sydney this winter, so far, with rain sprinkling
around me, after almost two weeks of every night out at some theatre
event, I had an uninspiring dinner grabbed between work and the
theatre and then walked to the SBW Stables Theatre, bought my
ticket and then climbed the stairs into that relatively uncomfortable
space. I had recently written a series of reviews which were never
entirely happy about what I had experienced. Most, lately, had
begun to be irritated about directors (both young and mature)
conceptualising a production of a play and relatively obliterating
the writer’s intentions. (e.g. Spring Awakening).
One reader had felt that I was maybe a little "mean"
in my complaints. I had to give myself pause.
I sat in the auditorium and saw the Stables’
tiny stage space further reduced by a raised set design (Adam
Gardner) of a glossy, black tiled bathroom muffled by an opaque,
plastic shower curtain. My heart sank. This maybe the fourth bathroom
set I had experienced in Sydney in the past few years, usually
a director and designer’s conceit, not set there for any
reason other than perhaps metaphor, never much clarifying the
play. The house lights pulsated momentarily from the dim state
to a bright state and then faded to black. A soundscape (Kelly
Ryall) that sounded like it was made of dragging paper over a
live microphone and other “modern” techniques of sound
alienation began to be uncomfortably broadcast (“Oh no!”,
I lamented) – the sound of a car on gravel and then the
footsteps on gravel. Two neon bars (very trendy!) at the top and
bottom of the mirror lit up and dimly I saw a man crawl out from
it (“Ohhh no!”). The shower curtain began to retreat
neatly and the lighting revealed a woman in a black petticoat
and a man in a tee shirt and jeans. He picked up a microphone
and karaoke style sings badly to ‘History Never Repeats’
by Split Enz. (“Oohhhh! Erhhhh!") The actors began
the text loudly in a stylized manner, I braced myself for what
the front-of-house had warned us was a seventy minute, no interval
journey.
The actors Anna-Lise Phillips and Jack Finsterer
began just a little uncertainly, feeling for their rhythm, warmed
to each other’s creative state, then having found that,
seemed to adjust to us like sensitive musicians, and then continued
their duet and gradually seduced me into the play – the
experience of real theatre. There was a circle of communication.
And although the set design had all the requisites of a bathroom
- tiles, grubby bath tub, filled with water; disgusting, rusting,
lidded toilet bowl and encrusted hand washing sink and washing
machine all of which were functional during the action of the
play – and even though most of the activation of function
was metaphoric rather than necessarily naturalistic, they were
never gratuitous. In fact they enhanced the meaning of the play.
Water flooded from the bath tub on cues that supported the textual
moment. The bath water was used as a cleansing agent to support
a later series of textual expositions. The soundscape was beautiful
and seemed to be detailed exquisitely to the mood of the dialogue.
The lighting (Paul Jackson) was atmospheric and a "character"
to the sensitivities of the text. It was all in concert; all as
one.
There are seven scenes in the play and later Brett
Stiller joins the orchestra of instruments and is thrilling in
his execution. In fact all three actors are a wonderful ensemble.
I did feel that the first scene with Ms Philips and Mr Stiller
was especially wonderful, as was her later solo. Mind you, as
I write, it occurs to me that the scene with Mr Finisterer and
Mr Stiller was also amazing. Maybe most of it was? Uh?! I had
a most satisfying night in the theatre. Not 10 out of 10 - maybe
the confined space did not facilitate easy staging choices for
all the moments in the play and I was prevented from sharing all
the information. Maybe the costuming was a trifle perfunctory
but something was not quite fulfilled.
This was directed by a young director Matthew Lutton.
The press palaver (spin) (The Sydney Morning Herald and The Australian)
I had read on the walls of the foyer whilst waiting to go upstairs
(Ummmm!). It naturally, in my then-state of a cynical regular
theatre goer, prejudiced me to my apprehension of the coming night.
However based on this one experience of his work, it might all
be justified.
This was wonderful, beautifully thought out work.
Even though the whole design concept was not demanded by the writer,
not one element was an imposition. It all served to clarify the
writing and not, as it has mostly done in my appraising of other
work of other directors, obliterated or obfuscated the play. Alleluia!
How I wish that I could have seen his Tartuffe in Melbourne; a
classic illuminated for a contemporary audience with a modern
artist.
The writer Tom Holloway has written a magnificently
taut play. The dramatic editing of his material and the organising
it and the style of communicating it are all excitingly challenging
for the audience. Its precision is admirable and certainly it
appears to be a script that actors want and will want to act.
It is no surprise to read the writer’s clue in the published
text that Don’t Say the Words was inspired by the
play Agamemnon by Aeschylus. The structure and dramatic
elements are strong and wonderfully expanded or diminished as
Mr Holloway’s inspiration needed. Tom Holloway has looted
but also respected his source. Many other writers have taken inspiration
from the Greeks. From The Oresteia, of which Agamemnon,
is the first of the trilogy, writers of the ilk of "Sophocles,
Euripides, Seneca, Racine, Eugene O’Neill, Gerhart Hauptmann,
and T.S. Eliot" have found inspiration. Mr Holloway has done
Aeschylus proud.
I have had some very good times at the Stables
Theatre this year; all of them, mind you, challenging. Two plays,
both Australian have been particularly exciting to witness: Colder
by Lachlan Philpott and now Don’t Say the Words
by Tom Holloway. I recommend a visit. I hope that the major companies
have had a look, and feel that a larger audience would be enriched
by another production. I urge you to go.
Kevin Jackson
To read more of Kevin Jackson's theatre reviews,
check out his blog at
Kevin Jackson's Theatre Reviews.
