Comments Off on The Chemistry of Theatre: The Effect is more than just a placebo
National University Theatre Society’s (NUTS) production of The Effect, silenced the audience both during and after the show with its breathtaking illustration of the human experience in heightened circumstances.
Lucy Prebble’s The Effect follows two protagonists entering a four-week clinical antidepressant drug trial. The pair grapple with the nature of the trial, wondering if their sudden desires are true love or merely a side-effect of the drug.
The decision by Director Paris Scharkie to open the NUTS season with this heart wrenching drama was an inspired choice. Staged as a theatre-in-the-round, the audience was truly immersed, experiencing the highs and lows alongside Connie and Tristan. The simplistic technical proficiency of the show left the audience with questions about the efficacy of drug trials and whether emotions can be manipulated by chemical compounds propagated by pharmaceutical companies.
With only four members of the cast, there was nowhere to hide — especially considering they were on stage the entire time. Fortunately, there was no need. Eli Powles’ fast-paced and sharp Tristan brought the lighter moments, making the contrast in his moments of crisis more poignant. Tash Lyall’s Connie drove the story, with the highs and lows of her character truly showing her incredible range. A testament to the creative team and the pair, their chemistry could not have been questioned by the audience.
Just as Lyall’s performance showed her range, so too did Amy Gottschalk’s Dr Lorna James. Her astute clinical professionalism contrasted with a deep psychological turmoil brought the character to life, with her Act Two monologue reinforcing Gottschalk’s versatility. Another monologue that demonstrated the talent of this cast was the Ted Talk-style monologue of Isaac Sewak’s Toby Sealey. The sudden shift in pace provided a shining moment for Sealey, who was otherwise under-utilised.
The highlight of the show for both of us came at the end of Act 1. Scharkie’s direction coupled with Kathleen Kershaw’s movement coaching narrated its own story of a couple in the early-stages of love. Individual freeze-frames mixed with effective lighting and the chemistry of Powles and Lyall illustrated through movement the small-moments in a developing relationship. Ending Act 1 with this masterpiece meant the intermission allowed audiences a chance to sit with the dopamine produced alongside the uncomfortable knowledge the play was about to intensify. The return of the freeze-frames in the medical episode was another piece of brilliant direction, portraying the chaos of what was occurring. Utilising this directorial style in a drastically different situation complemented the earlier scene.
Despite the simplicity of the set, the utilisation of innovative lighting and technology transformed the often-barren space of Kambri Theatre into an immersive clinical experience. Watching Marty Kelly and Charlotte Harris’ lighting design it was evident that unlike many other shows, this design had been well thought through, with a clear understanding of the script, a testament to the amount of work that must have gone into this part of the show. Not only were standard overhead lights utilised, but also LED lights surrounding the stage, multiple projectors, a glowing tablet and two light-boxes sitting on the stage. The sheer amount of coordination that was required and went off without a hitch on opening night was masterful.
The only improvement that could have been made to this show was the sound design. Reading the program and hearing there would be an original score sparked our interest. Unfortunately, we were left slightly disappointed and unsure where the original score was. What sound was utilised didn’t often lessen the atmosphere of the show, but paled in comparison to the proficiency of the rest of the production.
Similarly, the costuming was simplistic yet effective. It did not detract and fitted its purpose for this show, however was not of particular note. Regardless, costuming was not a crucial part of this play, allowing the audience to focus on the raw performances of the actors, however, played its role in ensuring the character’s ease of movement.
As a theatre-in-the-round show, the stage was raised in the centre reinforcing the immersive experience. Rather than a stand-alone set, the cast utilised white wooden cubes to create the scenes. The seamless transitions of the movement of the blocks by the cast was both well-directed and well-rehearsed. Whilst limited props, those used were instrumental, with a highlight being the jellified brain dripping with goo.
Another area of improvement was the hanging and centring of the projectors at either end. In comparison to the rest of the well-done set, it looked tacky and rushed. Nonetheless, the projectors added small touches – such as the counting down from intermission and dosage sizes – reinforcing how well thought through this play was.
Overall, this did not feel like a show that had been put on in seven weeks. The attention to detail and overall collaborative effort helmed by Scharkie made it seem as though she had been working on this show for years. We attended opening night, which was not packed, and hope more people had the opportunity to see this incredible show — we know we certainly raved about it to friends. If this is how NUTS is opening their 2024 season, we are very excited to see their upcoming shows.
Rating 4.8/5
Comments Off on ShakeSoc’s “Macbeth” Makes a Bloody Splash in Kambri
Before we start this review we want to preface by saying we are not professional critics, so please don’t try and track us down. We are merely loyal ANU theatre enthusiasts who go to more shows than are healthy. Because of this addiction we have decided to review all of the student shows put on this year — from NUTS, to ShakeSoc, to MTC and college productions. We can’t wait to highlight the amazing talents of all the people involved in these shows in the reviews.
Macbeth is arguably one of Shakespeare’s most famous works, centring on deceit, ambition, power with a fair share of blood and gore. Shakespeare Society’s (ShakeSoc) production of the Scottish play — although it appeared the cast were confused about geography with their accents — proved an exciting choice to a packed opening night crowd.
What this play certainly was not lacking was ambition. ShakeSoc’s decision to stage Macbeth without re-contextualisation in roughly a seven week period proved a brave choice for the society and first-time director Natasha Ludlow. The choice of Macbeth was a production guaranteed to fill seats due to its popularity…and the trauma of year nine English. However, as the first of the 2024 season, this production failed to make as much of a bloody splash as it may have hoped. Where credit should be attributed, is to the tenacity of the directorial and production team in organising this show so early in the year.
While with humorous intentions the stabbing reference made during the introduction about looking to your left and right wondering who may have a knife left the audience uncomfortable. The joke felt in poor taste before the production had even started.
Matthew Wooding as the titular lead (pictured above) provided a stand-out performance, not only furthering the plot but providing a nuanced portrayal of the complex and often fraught Macbeth. Where a stellar performance by Wooding captivated the audience, unfortunately for Lara her Lady Macbeth was outshined by her counterpart. Lady Macbeth is well-known as one of Shakespeare’s most difficult female roles, and with the added pressure of a seven-week rehearsal schedule, Lara’s portrayal at times felt one-dimensional. Ultimately the pair’s chemistry aided both their depictions, with the scenes focused on the couple providing a sense of intimacy to the violent background of the play.
A personal standout in the cast came from Ash Telford as Banquo, whose ghost at the end of Act One left the audience gasping. Despite blood drooling from the mouth, Telford remained in character, providing a chilling portrayal haunting Macbeth and the audience long after the scene had concluded. A surprising standout scene came in the Second Act. Marcelle Brosnan’s Lady MacDuff alongside Marlon Cayley as her son showcased a different side of Shakespeare’s work, with a touching vulnerability accompanied by a maternal passion that provided a much needed refreshment to the latter half.
A hallmark of Macbeth remains the trio of witches. The choice to double-cast this production, whilst not unusual for ShakeSoc, proved ill-advised, with the decision to double-cast Lady Macbeth with a lead witch serving to confuse rather than enchant. Suspension of disbelief can only go so far, and despite both of us having read, studied, and watched the play prior, we found ourselves having to check the script at the conclusion of Act One. Perhaps a costume change could have justified the directorial choice, as where a witch remained crowned and in an evening gown, the production failed to convey a change in character.
Despite costume changes needed to underpin character shifts, the costume team consisting of Archie Church, Isabel Moller, Alana Flesser and Georgia, provided a clean look to the large ensemble. Colour blocking different pairs and groups dependent on the character was a nice touch, showing the team’s attention to detail.
Technically, Ella Ragless’ sound design created an occasional atmospheric ambiance to slower scenes, with the cast’s voices easily projected across the small theatre. The simple yet effective lighting done by Charlotte Harris and assistant Elinor Hudson showed a contrast between battle scenes, dinner parties and emotional soliloquies, adding excitement to the lack-lustre black set.
Walking into the theatre, the only set on the stage was a few pieces of dirty cloth hung limply from the black curtains and unfortunately the stage design rarely became more advanced than that. Whilst a simple set can be effective, watching the cast walk between sides of the stage between scenes and the door to backstage occasionally visible to the audience was an unwanted distraction. The one attempt at a major set piece in the feast scene regrettably did not go to plan on opening night, with stage crew having issues with the tables.
Overall, despite Macbeth being one of Shakespeare’s shorter works, this production proved too lengthy. Potentially the inclusion of more action and gore in the latter half may have re-captivated audience attention. Ultimately, ShakeSoc’s production could have made a bigger and bloodier splash into the 2024 season with the overall disjointed and rapidly put together production falling short of our high expectations.
All in all, the play set the tone for a dramatic season for ShakeSoc. We look forward to their next show Then I’ll Be Brief in Week 10.
Rating: 2.5/5 stars
Comments Off on An Official Ranking of (most of) ANU’s Student Theatre
Before I start this ranking-slash-review, I want to establish two things. A list before the list.
First of all, I’m not a theatre critic. I don’t have any professional qualifications. I’m just a guy who’s been to a lot of ANU theatre productions, so if you don’t like my ranking you can tell yourself I’m wrong and dumb and just don’t get the sacred art of the stage. Or send Woroni some anthrax in the mail, whatever makes you feel better.
Second of all, every one of these theatre productions were worth seeing. While I enjoyed some more than others, I have an incredible amount of respect for everyone involved. As somebody who got a solid 60 in high school drama, I can’t imagine all the work that goes into making these performances actually good, and definitely couldn’t do it better.
But not all art is created equal, and it is with a sort-of-heavy heart that I must rank (most of) this year’s ANU theatre productions. (Apologies to the Musical Theatre Company, I’m sure Grease was great.)
Away
Michael Gow’s Away follows three sets of parents and their high-school-aged children (or lack thereof, in the case of grieving Coral and Ray) as they embark on their summer holidays. It’s mercifully set in Australia, and therefore none of the actors speak with American accents. As you’re about to learn, bad American accents are an inexplicably common pitfall for ANU student theatre.
Mothers Vic (India Kazakoff), Gwen (Genevieve Cox) and Coral (Grace Fletcher) are standouts, especially Gwen and husband Jim (Eli Narev). Cox and Narev work so well together you’d believe they really have been unhappily married for decades. Their troubled connection with daughter Meg (Chloe Tyrell) made for some of the play’s most dramatic and moving moments. The play deals with some heavy themes – classism, terminal illness, grief – and the actors are talented enough to handle these themes with care, even bringing humour and light to the darkness.
The costuming (Tess McClintock) and hair and makeup (Zara Faroque) were show-stealing: Coral’s blue dress and Leonie’s (Lily Wilmott) green look deserve their own special mention.
However, despite a strong cast and excellent costuming, the play was a little slow. While some scenes would have you laughing or on the edge of your seat, others dragged. No disrespect to Michael Gow, but directors Maeve Ireland-Jones and Ellie Shafir could have been more ruthless in cutting down the script.
Accent ranking: No complaints.
Then I’ll Be Brief
For those who aren’t as dedicated to ANU theatre as I am, Then I’ll Be Brief (TIBB) is an annual show made up of scenes from various Shakespeare plays adapted, reimagined and reprised in whichever way their director chooses. For example, this year I was treated to a bogan version of King Lear (how dare Cordelia go off to ANU), A Midsummer Night’s Bush Doof, and a skit delivered alongside a video of Subway Surfers gameplay, for the iPad babies in the audience.
It’s hard for a show of snippets and skits to stand on its own against the full-length plays on this list, but TIBB is quick and funny. It feels like a bunch of theatre kids (complementary) having fun, and the audience is drawn into that fun too. The atmosphere is mostly light and silly, with songs like Something Rotten’s ‘God I Hate Shakespeare’ breaking up scenes of fratboy Sir John Falstaff and modern-day Merry Wives.
I say mostly, because there were one or two surprises. Macbeth’s final speech was performed Shakespeare-accurate and serious, except for the fact that Luke Lourey’s Macbeth was dressed like a character from the Matrix and the scene was lit like Upstairs Moose, for reasons unknown. I spent half the scene waiting for a punchline, but that’s the fun of TIBB: you never know what you’re going to get.
Accent: Good and normal.
The Taming of the Shrew
The fact that this is fourth is a testimony to the quality of the shows above it, because ShakeSoc’s The Taming of the Shrew was probably the funniest play I saw this year. It’s inexplicably set in the Wild West, which just means that the actors wear cowboy hats, say they’re from Reno, Nevada, instead of Pisa, Italy, and speak with a Southern drawl (more on the accents later).
The thing that really brings the humour of this centuries-old comedy to 21st-century ANU is the performance of the actors. Adam Gottschalk’s Tranio is fine-tuned right down to the facial expressions, and Annabelle Howard’s Baptista incorporates some impressive cane choreography. My personal favourite, however, was Jarrah Palethorpe’s brief but inspired performance as the random merchant pretending to be concerned-father Vincentio. There’s no way I can really describe this, except for saying it was like watching an alien in a human suit. I mean that as positively as possible: it was hilarious.
Now, onto the accents. They have their moments – there is something inherently comedic about country-and-western soliloquies – but the play is long and sparsely edited. The accents hamper the already-unwieldy Shakespearian, and at some points it’s difficult to understand what a character is even talking about.
This is most apparent in the ending. I’ll admit, before this my exposure to The Taming of the Shrew had begun and ended with 10 Things I Hate About You (1999). But I’m pretty sure in the original Shakespeare, the shrew, doesn’t walk her new husband offstage with a gun.
Maybe it was meant to be a feminist twist, but somewhere between the accent and her assumedly ironic speech about why women suck, the ending gets lost, and you’re left with a confused ‘good for her?’
Accent ranking: High highs and low lows.
Mr Burns
Anne Washburn’s Mr Burns, directed by Lachlan Houen and Isiah Prichard, is split into three sections, and there was no point at which I knew what was coming next.
It opens on a world without electricity a year after some vague apocalypse, where strangers bond over their attempts to recall a particular Simpsons episode. The tragedy of this situation was accompanied by the tragedy of my realisation that, once again, they were all going to be speaking with American accents.
The first section was a little slow, as you’d expect from a scene that is just people talking around a campfire, but there were genuinely poignant, painful moments. You watch each character’s hopes rise as they encounter a newcomer, and fall as they are told no, they haven’t seen their loved ones. Seven years go by, and these same characters are struggling together as a troupe of actors. Colleen (Natasha Lyall) and Quincy (Tess McClintock) are excellent additions, and Gibson’s (India Kazakoff) breakdown as the pressure of their dog-eat-dog world gets to him is a heartbreaking watch. It’s almost immediately followed by a post-apocalyptic Pitch Perfect-esque mashup, thanks to musical directors Lachlan Moulds and Paris Scharkie. You really never know what’s coming next.
The third section goes completely off the rails. The original cast is abandoned. Now the actual Simpsons – credit to costume designers Malachi Bayley and Natasha Ludlow for an excellent Marge hairpiece – are escaping on a riverboat in the middle of a storm. They’re escaping the titular Mr Burns (Thomas Neil), only this time he’s been combined with Heath Ledger’s Joker to create a villain whose monologues are sometimes ironically overwrought and evil, sometimes just a bit too long. At one point he starts rapping. He and Bart (Annabelle Hansen), who has the pluck and earnestness of a Victorian orphan, duel on the deck of the riverboat as the storm rages around them.
While all the actors were excellent, a special commendation has to go to Eli Powles and Liah Naidoo as Itchy and Scratchy, Mr Burns’ violent animal henchmen. It’s very easy to sit in the audience and write a snarky review where you whinge about accents. It’s undoubtedly much harder to screech and leap and scrabble across the stage dressed as animals. Lesser actors (or cowards like me) wouldn’t have committed as hard as they did, and their resulting performance was both hilarious and more than a little terrifying.
Accent ranking: Eh.
macbitches
macbitches takes place almost entirely inside a dorm room, where five female theatre students celebrate and commiserate after the casting of Macbeth. It explores the complicated, love-hate-respect-devotion-envy ambition dynamics between theatre kids. Watching it, you can’t help but wonder if ShakeSoc is self-reporting.
Trapped in just the one set, the tension builds throughout the play until it’s almost unbearable. You want to look away, but you can’t. Anisha Mujib and Hana Sawal carry this tension with good performances – one feels especially bad for Mujib’s Cam, pathetically in love with a girl who doesn’t seem to care about her – but the eyes-wide, car-crash feel of the play reaches its fever pitch thanks to Natasha Lyall, Winsome Oglivie and Lillia Bank.
Playing new freshman Hailey, who’s snatched the role from the more senior Rachel (Natasha Lyall), Bank nails the grating combination of wide-eyed naivete and constant humble-bragging, but it’s Lyall who steals the show. She is terrifying, stalking the stage, closing in on oblivious Hailey until one can’t help but think of a panther closing in on its prey. I don’t think I breathed during her fight with partner-in-crime Alexis (Winsome Oglivie), who has a sickening scream fit for a slasher movie – sort of what the play devolves into by the end.
But despite its gory twist, this play works so well because it’s grounded in reality. The set design creates a realistic, lived-in college dorm, with dialogue and references that refreshingly reflect how young people actually talk – with the exception of the accents.
macbitches is set in the US, and rather than trust us to suspend our disbelief and accept that these students at a vaguely-American college say words like ‘sophomore’ with an Australian accent, the cast all adopt American accents. It hampers what are otherwise excellent performances – some are strongest when they slip out of the accent altogether.
I saw macbitches with a group, and after we left one of the guys asked us whether this was actually what female friendships were like. The answer was a resounding yes. It’s a warped but strikingly accurate depiction of female group dynamics, as powerful love wars with powerful resentment.
But macbitches goes further than that. Though it’s an all-female cast, it points to the man behind the curtain. Would these women have been pushed to this depravity at all if there were more roles for them, if the roles were better, if they weren’t beaten down by constant dismissal and mistreatment? As director Caitlin Baker puts it, macbitches asks ‘whether the violence lies in the hands of the women we see onstage – or the men off it.’
Accent ranking: Wish they hadn’t.
The Lieutenant of Inishmore
This delightfully gory dark comedy has everything you could want from a play: disembodied torsos covered in blood, Toby Griffiths covered in blood, a stage covered in blood, and Irish accents that are actually good.
Martin McDonagh’s The Lieutenant of Inishmore (not to be confused with The Banshees of Inisherin or The Cripple of Inishmaan), brings levity to The Troubles, and in her director’s note, Liat Granot writes that cast and crew wanted to ‘[toe] the delicate line between humour and trauma’. While this production falls far more on the former than the latter, it was still an exceptional performance.
If you’ve reached the end of this review you might think I harp on about the accents, but I think here they’re emblematic of why The Lieutenant of Inishmore was so good: its attention to detail. Set and props designers Marty Kelly, Tali Backmann and Jamie Cardillo decked the Kambri Drama Theatre out with all the trimming of a typical Irish home, complete with the essential photo of Queen Elizabeth II (rip) with her eyes scribbled out and ‘die bitch die’ scrawled across her face. The stagehands crept and rolled commando-style across the set in balaclavas, like they were planting bombs rather than moving chairs. Costume designers Eleanor Cooper and Natasha Ludlow blessed/cursed Davey (Wyatt Raynal) with a painfully 90s mullet-hair piece-thing. This was obviously a performance with a great amount of thought and care put into it, at every level, and it really paid off.
Of course, a script making light of such a dark time in Irish history couldn’t have been carried through without an incredible cast. Adam Gottschalk is, again, excellent and hilarious with his equally funny IRA (or ILA?) lackeys (Paris Scharkie and Anna Kelly). Jamie Gray’s Donny and Raynal’s Davey play off each other like a standup duo who have toured together for several years – which they should consider if theatre doesn’t work out.
If you didn’t see this, you missed out. Raise a glass to the cast, crew, and an Ireland free.
Accent ranking: Derry Girls!
An earlier version of this article did not credit Marty Kelly as set and props designer for The Lieutenant of Inishmore.
Comments Off on Women’s Revue: Everything, Everywhere, In 3 Hours
A review of a revue is a challenging thing, not only because it’s a mouthful to say. Watching students perform anything brings to mind my own anxiety of theatrical performance and a desire to know the regular lives of the actors who are probably more similar to me than either of us are to professionals. Add onto that the pressure of comedic performance which, because of the inherent awkwardness if it doesn’t land, makes you doubt the veracity of your own opinion, but it also leaves you wondering what to actually write about.
Sitting in the back row for the Friday night performance of the Women’s Revue, I gauged a lot of it from the audience reaction and so I think broadly it worked. This is to say, most skits received a plausible laugh and quite a few got a real cackle from groups. Only two sketches had anything questionable, but more on that later.
For the uninitiated, revues are put on by various extensions of student organisations, such as the Womens’ Revue, or the Law Revue. They are skit shows, and consist of a series of sketches which range, in this case, from the political, to the social, to the hyperlocal. The set itself is pared back out of necessity – it cannot change every five minutes – and props are limited to the essential wig, jacket or for this play, wand and rollerskates. Womens’ Revue, as acknowledged in the introductory song, is the first of the season, meaning this review must be taken with a grain of salt.
Revues are fun. They are the most fun if both the actors and audience lean into the kitchiness and the amateur aspects of it. Across the revue, the best performances were those where the actors were clearly enjoying the performance. As Directors Meg Dawkins (she/her) and Emma Tuckwell (she/her) put it, the “cast and writing team are the heart of the show” and I think this is what provides the eternal appeal of student theatre, that the audience, who can often relate to the cast, get to watch a group of people have fun for their entire performance. For instance, one overarching skit was that some regular skit was interrupted as soon as a character noticed any form of kilt or tartan pattern. The cast would then descend into chants of “For Scotland.” It’s the zany, wackiness that you find funniest only when you’re actually performing it, but the joy was contagious and it was this kind of kitchiness that I think the audience liked the most.
This revue had live music which is impressive for a number of reasons. Firstly, the trumpeter, Jess Hill (he/they) in the corner who also conducted the band must be commended. Having played the saxophone briefly in primary school, I can only imagine how difficult it is to both play an instrument and simultaneously coordinate the other musicians. Secondly, the live music underpinned a series of impressive and imaginative musical acts. Popular songs ranging from those famous on TikTok to the ‘Room Where It Happened’ from Hamilton were parodied successfully for several numbers. Not all were funny but I also don’t think they were intended to be, and the Directors were clear that aspects of the show are meant to be thought-provoking. Every one of them, though, worked, with lyrics to fit the tunes and no doubt there is some more musical theory to be unpacked there, but for the average watcher, I was thoroughly impressed. Apparently the songs were written collaboratively and thus are an achievement of the whole cast. Particular favourites was the sharehouse anthem to the tune of Frozen’s ‘Fixer Upper’ and ‘Can I Interest You in Centralism all of the Time?’
There is likely no perfect concoction of skits, but I noticed that those about the ANU prompted the most laughs. A Lighting McQueen skit about parking on campus, or about Mike who studies Computer Science replacing ChatGPT, did very well. Politics sketches will always be challenging, least of all because by the time a revue gets around to it, the ABC and social media will have thoroughly dissected the underlying material. However, a reference to Scomo shitting himself will probably never not be funny.
I would have enjoyed more jokes about the university experience, both because they were the funniest but also because this is the niche of a student comedic performance. Something about the unjustifiably confident bloke in a tutorial or Schmidt’s Tesla would not have gone awry. I imagine that there is pressure to always do something different from last year, but that was a year ago, and some audience members, like myself, are new to the scene. Oldies can still remain goldies.
The acting and singing were good. Comedy is always difficult to perform, as is an Irish accent which features in an early skit, and yet the cast did well at both. I did take a mild delight at deciding who clearly preferred the acting over the dancing and who was clearly there to sing, but being unable to personally do any of the three, I respect everyone’s commitment. Maddy McQuin (she/her) stood out to me as fully committing to each role and nailing the pantomime facial expressions as required.
At the most, I could only ever be consistently funny for five minutes or approximately 1,000 words. Three hours is a stretch for anyone, I feel, particularly if it starts at 7pm. I would baulk at a three hour play by professionals, and most stand-up routines go for around an hour and a half. It is, in short, probably too long.
I would like to make an aside about the quality of the audience. I yearn for the day we return to silent or near-silent viewing of films and plays. A group of people sitting next to us simply wouldn’t shut the fuck up. I don’t expect complete silence but one of them would, like a dog, loudly say “Ally” anytime a character said “Slay.” I’m as gay as the next doc-wearing, non-binary twink but Jesus did I want to hit a bitch. A similar thing happened when I saw Barbie recently and I believe it stems from being too saturated in social media’s incessant need for a joke every ten seconds.
In three hours of skits, there are bound to be some that don’t land perfectly. But, two skits wandered beyond the unsuccessful and towards the uncomfortable.
The revue had three skits about an ordinary person dating various Australian Prime Ministers after their time in office, which included Scott Morrison, Harold Holt and Julia Gillard. Gillard’s skit I fear became an odd moment of woman-bashing. She was characterised as a shrill, alcoholic woman and her famous misogyny speech was compared to a fight with what was implied to be an ex of sorts (bizarre, I know). The message was unclear to me, and fell into some deeply problematic tropes in the representation of Gillard, from her being an emotional, loud, complaining woman, to comparing Abbott to an annoying ex and not a misogynist who led the federal opposition and launched a campaign of vitriol and sexism that set female leaders back decades. Likewise, to liken Gillard to a stereotype about alcoholic middle-aged depressive women is both problematic and unjust. Gillard was no perfect leader and no perfect feminist, I am not defending her record here. But her misogyny speech was a groundbreaking moment in Australian politics and her success as Prime Minister was an important moment for feminism in Australia. That skit made all the wrong jokes. During the intermission, a stranger sitting next to us remarked unprompted about how the scene was simply “not it.”
I also think the revue would have benefitted with more Queer jokes, which is to say, it would have benefited from less of a focus on heterosexual issues and characters. One of my favourite skits was of two lesbian librarians using a series of literary double entendres to flirt, and the audience loved it too. Theatre has always been a Queer space, I believe both the cast and the audience would have found jokes about Queer dating funny and simple to write. Conversely, the skit in which two podcasting dude-bros confessed their homosexuality was confusing; a little more nuance would be needed to convince me that the joke was not the very fact that they are gay.
Comedy is challenging, and these two skits sit within dozens of others than landed well. It happens, and I would never attribute them to malice, but it must also be remarked upon. Overall, it was an amusing evening, with a clearly dedicated cast which the audience cannot help but enjoy.
A review of a revue is a challenging thing, not only because it’s a mouthful to say.
Comments Off on Ancient Greek Tragedy Ages like a Fine Wine: NUTS’ Bakkhai
I’m thinking it, you’re thinking it, let’s not mince words; Bakkhai is kind of a funny name for a play. But we needn’t be embarrassed to think so. Sitting down with director Kieran Knox just before opening night, the cast me-mi-ma-mo-mu-ing in the background, he told me it was precisely the funny spelling that initially drew him to the play. However, when he cracked it open, he found a sexy, blood-soaked gem and began a four-year odyssey culminating in the production we were about to see.
For context, Bakkhai is a modern translation by Anne Carson of a fifth-century BC Athenian play by Euripides. Maxine Eayrs (who plays Dionysus) cheekily described it as “the best thing since Homer”. The play centres on the coming of Dionysus, god of wine, theatre, and revelry, to Thebes, and her revenge against that city’s impious king Pentheus (Jamie Cardillo). All the while, the play weaves in a discussion of toxic pride, gender dynamics, and a queer narrative that became a central focus for NUTS’ rendition.
When discussing how the play was translated, both in language and production for a modern audience, Cardillo was visibly thrilled. Especially to talk about how the cast and crew explicitly worked to run their character Pentheus as a trans woman. And this decision makes for some great moments. After seeing Pentheus for who she is, Dionysus casually refers to the king of Thebes with she/her pronouns among her followers. This scene was an early delight, although the swapping of pronouns doesn’t always go down so smoothly. There are a few points late in the work where the decision caused some friction with the plot, but this was a small price to pay for what it added to other areas.
There’s a small scene near the midpoint where Dionysus dresses Pentheus in women’s clothes. In a different production, this might have been played for laughs – but because of the direction the cast took with it, it became the emotional centre of the production. Both Jamie and Maxine spoke about the importance of this moment. They also highlighted how their experience as trans people, and their memories of introduction into queer communities, helped shape the scene into a touching moment of self-realisation and mentorship.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised, given Bakkhai is about the god of theatre, but the blocking and set design render the play’s bloody antics in startling, visceral, and creative ways. In this fashion, Bakkhai punches well above the weight of a student production. While the abstract layout of the stage’s first iteration took time to wrap your head around, the lengthwise setup made Kambri Theatre feel bigger than any other production I’ve seen there. On the other hand, the post-interval stage setup, reminiscent of an amphitheatre, felt tense and claustrophobic – an excellent complement to the tragic finale. The choreography was also of exceptional quality, keeping a foot grounded in both storytelling and spectacle, and it didn’t spare an inch of theatre space. It is a credit to both the cast and Knox, the first BIPOC director NUTS has seen in years, whose inclusive and collaborative approach has been lauded by everyone I’ve spoken to. Overall, the production doesn’t just feel at home in Kambri Theatre; it feels like it was born and raised there.
Outside the physical set, Bakkhai is a tour de force for Jessica Luff’s now-famous lighting design. The gorgeous and dynamic setup for Dionysus’ opening monologue was a personal standout. And while the recorded sound was minimal, the chanting, stamping, and wailing of the cast members – both on and off stage – filled that space in an immediate and thrilling way. While perhaps not as tight as some other ANU productions, what the performances lacked in precision was often made up for in energy. With its poetic language and larger-than-life emotions, a play like Bakkhai is a tough ask for a performer. But when the cast lands the balance between subtlety and violence that the work requires, as they often but not uniformly did, the effect is spectacular. Outside of the duelling protagonists, standout performances included Darcy Hoyle’s Agave, whose blood-craved reverie was a joy to watch, and Marty Kelly’s Tiresias, who was an island of calm in a play that is anything but.
Finally, in speaking with Eayrs, I asked her to define what it meant to be Dionysian for her – and I’ll quote her in full:
“It’s something that is fake at its core, yet real in how it affects people. Its pure social construct – pure theatre. Theatre is a fake story, and nothing that’s happening on stage is really happening. And yet, at the end of the day, everyone goes home having learned something – or been affected in some way. It’s the pure social construct of pleasure and letting go that is, at once, completely empty but is made meaningful because of the emptiness it offers.”
Another word for emptiness is space. And I think that is at the core of this production, which is vacuous and sensational but creates space for its cast and crew to tell their stories and show off their experiences. Like the goddess herself, Bakkhai is all surface, which allowed this production to put its own heart into it.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on Mind the Crust: Canberran Comics Rise to the Occasion
Last night I had a dream. It was… strange. I was sitting in a packed-out theatre in Belconnen. There was some kind of comedy show on. They were singing a song about hay fever. And then another one about… erectile dysfunction? Then I was transported to a motivational seminar about how to do a little bit of white-collar crime. The last thing I remember was Mikhail Gorbachev trying to stop his alternate-universe neoliberal self, Reagan Gorbachev, from introducing the free market to the Soviet Union.
Imagine my surprise when I woke to realise that it wasn’t a dream at all. No, it was Bread Revue’s debut show, Mind the Crust. Developed by Synan Chohan, Rohan Pillutla, and Anna Coote, Mind the Crust was a one-night-only sketch comedy show at Belco Arts. A wacky and provocative performance of twenty-six sketches by eight local actors, it struck an impressive balance between esotericism and broad appeal.
For a highly wheaty title, there were hardly any bread references in the show. Producer Synan Chohan shared that the idea began with ‘an undeniably bad in-joke: to create a live sketch comedy show where every skit is bread-themed. However, our plan crumbled when we realised that, much like a carb-only diet, you can’t sustain a performance on bread-based jokes alone.’ So the bread-themed comedy was jammed into just one sketch. Two Mafia types discuss a hit on some poor victim, only to reveal that the ‘hit’ was more of a ‘kneading’ and the ‘dough’ they earnt was a golden loaf of bread, hot from the oven. There was some bread at the close of the show too: baguettes thrown onto the stage by well-prepared fans in lieu of flowers.
It was weirder than most things I’ve experienced recently, or maybe ever, but the team also knew when to pull in the reins. Quality acting was the talk of the post-show crowd, and every actor brought something different to the stage. Take the sketch with two wartime comrades meeting at a park bench in Tuscany, for example. One sits on the bench, face covered by a newspaper. The other, Lloyd, pontificates about the complexities of war, before the first drops the newspaper and reveals herself in a tux and a Cthulhu mask. Cthulhu speaks in garbled screams. ‘You were an idealist once, Cthulhu,’ Lloyd responds, understated and serious, ‘Don’t you believe anymore?’. It would have been slapstick, but the execution was spot on.
Most of the sketches felt like they were based on a ‘wouldn’t it be funny if…’ question taken to its humorous conclusion. Wouldn’t it be funny if Hamlet’s ‘to be or not to be’ was reimagined in an Australian pub (‘VB, or not VB’)? Wouldn’t it be funny if glass-ceiling-smashing feminism was used to get women into gambling? Wouldn’t it be funny if there was an army whose only weapons were sex toys? And for most of them – not including that uninspired last one – the answer was yes, it would be hilarious.
The sketch of the night would have to be the self-absorbed poet, played by Jack Foster. Lounging at Smith’s Alternative with Ulysses and a coconut water, he waxes lyrical to himself. “I’ve always said Canberra in the wintertime was like living in limbo. I never elaborate on that statement.”
A woman walks into the room. His thoughts continue, “I was frozen in her presence as she passed, perceiving me in my insecurities. Baby, I’m the most emasculated man alive! I’m all withered from your gaze, can’t you see?”. He takes to the stage with some nonsensical slam poetry and bathes in the resounding clicks of his audience. The woman, impressed, approaches him, but he’s too shy to talk to her. “Ugh,” she storms out, “I’m so done with poets!”. Back in comfortable solace, he returns to his asinine soliloquy: “Like parallel lines, we were two ships in the dark. Destined to converge but never interact.”
Interspersed among the performances were skilfully produced video sketches, giving both the actors and the audience a break from the live format. In one, reminiscent of La Moustache, a woman is driven to insanity when no one but her, not even Google, remembers the hit 1997 Robin Williams film Flubber. “Why does it matter so much?” her therapist asks. She gravely responds: “It doesn’t. It’s Flubber.”
Minimalistic sets provided only what was needed for the scene, combined with props and audio-visual elements where necessary to drive the jokes home. A bird-hating scientist in Broken Hill uses a microwave time machine to go back and extinguish the very first bird, butterfly effect be damned. The main street of Broken Hill on the projector suddenly changes to a futuristic utopia: Fixed Hill. Lloyd is forced to assassinate his friend Cthulhu, scattering a bag of polaroids across the stage. On screen, we see an animation of each polaroid floating to the ground, showing various shots of the two friends knocking around in their wartime heyday. Even the sex toy army sketch was somewhat enjoyable because of the magnificently crafted papier-mâché penis sword, with veins and dangling balls and all.
I feel obliged to discuss the Gorbachev sketch, but I’m not sure it’s possible to fully translate into words. In an Everything Everywhere All at Once-style multiverse mash-up, Mikhail Gorbachev – the last leader of the Soviet Union – puts an end to Reaganomics with a little help from his alternate selves: Skateboarder Gorbachev, Goku-chev, Gorba-Chef, Simpsons-head-in-a-jar-Gorbachev, and somehow several more variants, all with detailed costumes. Like the previous sentence, it was a little too much Gorbachev, and it dragged on a bit long. But as the second last sketch of the show, by that point the crowd was won over enough to appreciate the silliness.
The show was advertised with this description: ‘Mind The Crust is sure to be your night’s delight. Or, you may be left concerned why a group of twenty-somethings spent their own money into creating a live performance just to temporarily cope with the hollow ennui of their youth.’ I certainly experienced the former, with just a healthy pinch of the latter. While there was little to take away from the show except for a good time and some funny quotes, I felt like I had been witness to a momentous event to forever be inscribed in the history of Canberran twenty-somethings post-COVID comedy. It was certainly worth a bit of dough, especially with the profits donated to HelpingACT, and I look forward to seeing what they come up with next. I’ll be there, front and centre, armed with a bouquet of baguettes, bagels, and maybe even a croissant.
______
Mind The Crust was a one night show at Belco Arts Centre written and performed by Synan Chohan, Rohan Pillutla, Kayla Ciceran, Jack Foster, Alana Grimley, Lily McCarthy, Claire Noack and Jack Shanahan.
Writers: Lily Ievarsi, Eldon Huang, Elroy James, and Ella Serhan-Sharp
Production Manager: Anna Coote
Set and Costume Design: Roz Hall
Choreography: Gabi Izurieta
Marketing and Graphic Design + Backstage Crew: Jamie Leonard
Stage Manager and Lighting Designer: Evelyn Perry
Musical Directors: Kian Shayan
Assistant Musical Directors: Ryan Yu & Kahlil Perusco
Cinematography: Jeremy Tsuei Backstage
Crew: Anna Coote, Roz Hall, Jamie Leonard & Kahlil Perusco
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on Putting the Students back in Student Theatre: Wamburun and Burton & Garran’s An Ideal Husband
In going to see Wamburun and B&G’s production of an Oscar Wilde play there were a few things I expected to see. London High Society with all the flouncing, sulking, and pettiness that goes with it – check; a sardonic, witty bachelor dismissive of the rules of that society – check; using that bachelor to have a riot of a time poking fun at said London High Society – check. So far, so good. What I didn’t expect was the play’s villainous mastermind Mrs. Cheveley (Freya Brown) bathed in red light, cackling like a third-rate Bond villain (in the best way), while that one song from the Phantom Menace crescendos in the background…
So, not an entirely traditional adaptation then.
Perhaps the best way to describe this rendition of An Ideal Husband is as a production with all the dials set to ten (or eleven, or twelve). The cast’s posh-ish British-ish accents perfectly set the tone for a play that seems utterly incapable of approaching anything earnestly, and I love it. Chloe Tyrell’s physical comedy as Lord Cavesham steals every scene she’s in, and watching Sir Robert Chiltern (Oscar Mikic) winge, mope, and occasionally-chug-a-whole-can-of-seltzer-mid-scene his way into a position as a British cabinet minister is a joy. In a memorable scene, the play’s flamboyant bachelor Lord Arthur Goring (a perfectly ridiculous performance by de Mars) tells his father that, by order of his doctor, he is only serious on the first Tuesday of each month, between noon and three. I saw it late on a Saturday and am happy to attest that nothing remotely serious enough to concern Lord Goring’s doctor occured.
However, to deny the play’s seriousness is not to doubt its cleverness. The modest set of a few pieces of furniture and two free-standing doors is dressed well enough to sell the late 19th century, yet flexible enough to configure itself into the different houses where the play takes place. What sexism there is in the play is elegantly submerged in so many layers of ridicule and pomp that it doesn’t feel too jarring, and the lighting by Josh Abeler and Colin Loh is also a rousing success. Particularly the use, and then reuse, of spotlights to give a sense of Robert Chiltern’s egotism and to point out the gay subplot between him and Lord Goring which, given this is Oscar Wilde, is sometimes more text than subtext.
It is worth mentioning that, compared with other student theatre productions, An Ideal Husband is distinctly less professional. There were line stumbles, technical difficulties, and lighting and scene transitions weren’t always frictionless; however, I found it very hard to care. A different audience’s mileage may vary, but I found these little slip-ups deeply humanising. Each ad-libbed line to cover a dropped prop was a peak behind the curtain – which might have been a problem had what we saw behind it not been so much fun. In his Director’s Notes, Lachlan Houen places the enjoyment of the cast and crew on an equal level with the enjoyment of the audience, and that priority shows. Wamba and B&G’s production is unabashedly student theatre – and is as much for the students performing the work as those in the audience; but when everyone in the room is having as much fun as was had on Saturday night, I can’t call it anything other than a complete success.
Comments Off on Intergenerational Trauma with a Side of Fish Soup: NUTS’ When the Rain Stops Falling
Editor’s Note: This review contains spoilers.
When the Rain Stops Falling is a complicated play. By the close of the first minute there had already been umbrella art, a man had screamed into the audience, and a fish had fallen from the sky. The play becomes only marginally less strange after this point.
Despite this slightly absurd starting point, the opening monologue, delivered by Gabriel York (an impressive performance by Nic Mayrhofer) after he has finished screaming, and prompted by the aforementioned fish, brings the play a little closer to earth and deftly sets the tone going forward. The story of When the Rain Stops Falling is that of a family spanning four generations, with each being failed by the one before, then failing their children in the same ways. It is slow and melancholic, and the play’s 80-year span allows for a nuanced exploration of how the way we are raised shapes us, and how that goes on to influence the people around us. How family history repeats itself – over and over again.
A real understanding of this theme is what gives NUTS’ production its first laurel. Throughout the work, scenes, parts of scenes, and even turns of phrase are echoed – different characters in different places going through the same motions. The way these moments are staged in this production, with the same movements in the same positions only with different actors and context, evokes an appropriately eerie sense of déjà vu that is a credit to director Emily Austin.
These mirrored moments are not the only way the play works to show how past events trickle down to influence the present. Over the course of the play, scenes from different times occasionally ‘collapse’ in upon each other, providing a contrast between the two or showing the action in different lights. The technique is uncommonly abstract for the work and, as such, can take a little time to adjust to before the audience has time to become familiar with the whole complement of characters. The payoff, however, is tremendous, and sets up some genuinely heart-wrenching moments. Perhaps the highlight of its use is the moment in which a much older Gabrielle York (with two ‘l’s and an ‘e’; played by Angie Weckert) watches her younger self (Chloe Tyrell) during one of her few happy moments, leaving the viewer torn between the perspectives of the two characters.
Perhaps the only real disappointment with the story comes with the reveal of the play’s original absentee father Henry Law (Lachlan Houen) as a, probably murderous, paedophile. While certainly shocking, it never feels truly integrated with the rest of the work and thus, somewhat unearned. The reveal’s only real plot significance is as catalyst for Henry’s wife Elizabeth’s change from her young, frustrated intellectual iteration (a standout performance by Taylah Shiell) to the older, broken woman (Winnie Ogilvie) that we see through the eyes of her son, Isaiah Prichard’s Gabriel Law (one ‘l’, Law not York – I know). As it stands, the reveal ends up colouring the whole work with an unnecessary sense of gone-too-far which at times makes a touching and subtle story feel hostile and unapproachable.
The director’s note for the production thanks the crew for putting the ‘magic’ in magical realism, and Austen was right to say so. The lighting design works well to carve up the crowded and mostly unchanging set into distinct areas and feels natural enough that it rarely draws attention to itself. The sound design is a little more hit and miss but the hits are spectacular. While the sad piano covers of pop songs that underscore part of the play often distract from rather than add to their scene, the atmospheric sound – the hum of an engine or the ever-present rain – was reliably in the sweet spot of present but not obtrusive. This is not to say, however, that the sound design plays only a supporting role; the cavernous echoes that accompany some of the most important notes in the play are both a striking effect and draw attention to what that line means for the characters, present and otherwise.
While the feel of the production became distinctly messier during its latter half, that part also contained some of the best scenes and performances of the show. The dramatic irony of the scene in which Gabriel and Gabrielle declare their love for one another blissfully ignorant of the fact that they are about to wrap their car around a tree at 140 kph is enough to make you feel ill and the scene where Gabrielle tells Elizabeth Law of her son’s death in that accident would feel at home in any professional production.
All in all, NUTS’ production of When the Rain Stops Falling is a skilful execution of a complicated and extremely heavy work. While the scrappy, rough-around-the-edges feel common to student productions is absolutely present in this one, the powerful performances and clever design and direction of its best scenes make its flaws easy to forgive and can leave the audience reeling long after the curtain falls.
Comments Off on Broke Bitch Mountain: Magically Mediocre
The title is not a backhanded compliment. It is a front-handed compliment. The Women’s Revue is okay. It’s SO okay! The Women’s Revue is okay, but that’s not all it is. It is also very, very fun.
The show is a delightful celebration of mediocrity. If you’re looking for a Broadway production, you may want to look in Kambri instead for whatever large, acclaimed act it has managed to entice into its profit margin. Part of the reason why Broke Bitch Mountain is mediocre is simply because of its genre. It’s operated on the budget of a student organisation, and the entire production is written by members of the Revue, a massive and applaudable feat in itself.
I got exactly what I expected to see: people in handmade props and dollar store wigs performing their hearts out.
First, let’s talk about the band, who had their own stash of snacks. I am offered a sour worm upon approaching them to chat. I found out that some of them do this out of a love of performance. Others have been lovingly coerced into playing instead. The experience for them has been full of light and laughs. The band found different reasons for performing compared to the cast. There isn’t a single person in the band who considers themselves a new hand at this. For them, it’s about a chance to peacock a little (it’s hard to casually stumble upon a saxophone to show off your skills) and simply enjoy playing music with other people. It’s a group of people who find it more fun to play together. The band promises and delivers the most polished aspect of the entire performance.
There’s a genuine love in all these skits that comes throughout the Revue. They’ve been written from scratch by a large variety of the cast, directors, band and even those who have come to the writing workshops without being in the show. I dithered around the cast and crew of women’s revue for their tech and dress rehearsals like a colourful spectre haunting Kambri. There were nervous shuffles of feet and a colourful tale about the threat of a wet pillow as coercion to join the cast as I asked to take interviews. Soon after though, everyone relaxed more.
An autonomous space feels more comfortable and welcoming in many senses. It feels more relaxed. Critically, it allows people to try something new and be bad at it, like comedy writing. For many, this was their first experience in performing and writing comedy. Given how male-dominated the comedy space is, many echoed that it was more comfortable to pitch ideas and to let themselves feel funny in a group like the Women’s Revue. And many people told me with sincere warmth in eyes ringed with stage make-up – there’s no pressure to be good at being funny. It’s a collaborative process with a group of kind, non-judgemental and supportive people who are there to fall back on when you’re not so confident in your ideas.
One girl magics out a container of homemade brownies. It’s easy to see how you can grow out of the fear of mistake-making mediocrity into magical mediocrity-fuelled passion in an environment like this.
Now, it’s false advertising to say that the Women’s Revue delivered 100 percent on the supposition of being bad at their craft. Disappointingly, several musical parodies will indeed be stuck in my head. The yeast infection song will be with me for two years (watch the show, and you’ll get it. The reference, not the infection).
The show falls flat on its long-form comedic skits, which try to balance a political element and a humour element and delivers on neither. The actors deliver their lines with good comedic timing and appropriately dramatic expressions. However, it’s the writing that lets these skits down. I won’t point to specific examples because 1. My memory is Bad, and 2. The Women’s Revue writes collaboratively, and it’s fairer to share that critique equally.
The skits that don’t stick the landing share a common theme. They portray familiar, shitty situations in order to poke at the absurdity underlying them. The not-good ones are not absurd enough. They show a situation that settles into the uncanny valley of experiences. Where it’s ALMOST close enough to a real lived experience, but not QUITE close enough for it feels relatable. The Revue, however, in the pre-emptively defensive way that all people socialised as women are familiar with, is incredibly self-aware. They aptly have a skit centred around “let[ting] women be bad at things”, which resonated with me as someone whose academic transcript has more credits than a bank will ever give me.
I chat to the co-directors Brindha and Sian in the scant break they have between rehearsing Act 1 and Act 2. Brindha states, frank and honest, that there were issues they were uncomfortable making light of or simply didn’t know how to address in a light-hearted way. Sometimes, things just did not land, and there were constant revisions in the creative process to figure out how to keep things fun and joyous. They share a knowing look as Sian says, “when you’re writing a skit, you have to open to it not being good.” I assume that look communicates at least 203 scrapped ideas.
Broke Bitch Mountain is described by the directors as a political but not an activist show. It is about using joy to convey topics that are otherwise difficult to talk about. There’s something therapeutic about telling stories and creating comedy from experiences that would otherwise be unfunny. Sian sticks me with a gaze so intensified by the dramatic theatre lighting that I would’ve believed her even if she said that the sky was red. She tells me she thinks there’s a power in laughing about the Big Bad Issues. It doesn’t make them go away, but it lightens the burden in your heart about it.
I ask them why they’ve chosen to take the leap and take on the huge role of organising the Revue. The show first called for auditions in March, and it’s been a very long haul. Brindha ponders for a moment, telling me about the organisational skills that she’s gained, the experience of guiding a team, before laughing lightly and saying simply, “I like making people laugh. I like making people happy.”
I find myself smiling at her reply. Goal achieved, I think.
The Women’s Revue is okay, but that’s not all it is. There’s a liberty in being just okay at things but still doing it with all the love in your heart anyway. The songs, the skits, and the dances squeezed onto the small stage of Broke Bitch Mountain are infinitely enjoyable. The people up on the stage are students, doing this for the love of the performance, for a chance to try something new, and most importantly, for a chance to make you laugh.
Let’s go give them one.
Editor’s Note: This review was written after attending and watching the second half of a dress rehearsal, not a performance during the show’s full run.
Tickets available here.
Women’s Revue Program.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
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Comments Off on Arts Revue: Love Capital Review: An All-Round Bloody Good Time
I had the pleasure of attending the opening night of Arts Revue: Love Capital on Wednesday. In classic arts fashion, the show’s humour was endearingly self-deprecating in all the right ways, and the references were varied and original enough to keep the ball rolling. Some skits were all too real, with scathingly accurate depictions of Sydney private school privilege and Australian bro culture, just to name a few. At certain times the crowd was laughing out of pain, *cough* free labour and ‘stupol’ shoulder tapping *cough*. At others, it was pure Glee, which I was glad to see return in multiple iterations throughout, because who doesn’t love a throwback.
The cast were exceptionally engaging and great at keeping in character throughout. Even those less comfortable singing gave it a red-hot crack and delivered on enthusiastic projection. Some impressive vocal talent was on display, with old theatre hats like Sachini Poogoda leading the way. There were more than a few ghosts of productions past showing their best on stage, including Lewis Laverty-Wilson, who was back again with a variety of accents. But there were also some exciting new faces and dynamic talents in some kickass women performers.
A huge congratulations must go to one of the tightest musical ensembles I’ve ever heard at a revue, expertly led by Patrick Haesler, commanding a huge repertoire. Well-chosen tunes set the backdrop for extremely smooth transitions, and credit must go to Bec Emder who managed to enlist the cast as her stagehands. Props (haha) must go to the tech team, who, despite some fuzzy mikes at the beginning and end, helped create a seamless show with well-timed cues.
The skits blended political, humanities and general on-campus humour to appeal to a wide audience. This meant that the show was accessible to almost anyone, rather than typecasting a typical viewer as other productions have done in the past. The choice to keep the theme generic meant that individual moments could shine and didn’t seem repetitive. Some of my favourite skits made excellent use of wordplay to deliver sharp ‘ba doom chick’ moments.
The classic references to ANU culture in the opening and closing numbers, while perhaps overdone in revues, were like warm, satisfying embraces. All the concepts were great, and while some of the more finicky dialogue didn’t quite ‘land’, the ideas were clever and genuinely funny. Some skits didn’t shy away from edgier topics, which were delivered in a sensitive and intelligent manner. The ensemble showed that they had multiple angles, but shout-outs must go to Harry Power’s hilarious facial expressions and Jonah Lafferty’s diverse character range, with a distinct Biblical theme!
Special mention goes, of course, to the dynamic directing duo of Ella Serhan-Sharp and Elroy James. Their ‘El squared’ energy had me in stitches when they gave their own unexpected, yet cracking, rendition of a classic retro hit (no spoilers though!). Producers Penny Henderson and Zoe Ranganathan had sourced a great range of costumes, and the recurring theme of red was both strategic and relevant. The choreography was purposeful and clear, if sometimes very literal.
Arts Revue: Love Capital is perfect if you want a fun night to distract you from end-of-semester misery, and a reminder that our university is full of some really cool people doing awesome things. You’ll be guaranteed a wholly enjoyable and hilarious evening of entertainment. Also, who doesn’t love a revue that finishes when it says it will? Well done, team!