Curtain Call

Hello, my name is Carl Gregory. Curtain Call is an independent theatrical review blog for the Newcastle theatre community.

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REVIEW: Lord of the Flies

Presented By: Hunter Drama Season: March 23 – March 25 Venue: Hamilton Public School Booking: N/A Director: Charlotte De Wit Writer: Nigel Williams (adapted from the novel by William Golding)

Cast:

Alexandra Jensen as Ralph

Isabelle Clements as Jack

Evie Laurence as Piggy

Kate Wooden as Simon

Matilda Dickinson as Roger

Ruby McNamara as Erik

Hannah Hickey as Sam

Jessica Morgan as Maurice

Indigo Howland as Bill

Lucy Johnson as Percival

Bella Sykes as Henry

Synopsis: When a mid-wartime evacuation airplane crashes on a remote, uninhabited island in the South Pacific, a group of young schoolchildren are forced to establish their own society. While the group initially works hard toward survival and eventual rescue, fractures slowly start appearing amongst the children: soon, the simple will to endure is lost in a frenzied battle of power, freedom, and paranoia. Can these children outlast the maddening influence of the island and the fear of a hidden ‘beast’ long enough to make it back to the world they had once known?

Hunter Drama’s Lord of the Flies appropriately fought its own battle for survival when troublesome weather forced it from its original venue (the open grounds of Blackbutt’s Richley Reserve) to the hall of Hamilton Public School. Though the production has admirably rolled with the punches that forced it indoors, one can only help but wonder what the wooded surrounds of the reserve might have added to the final product. In its final state, Hunter Drama’s Lord of the Flies proves to be an intense and ambitious ensemble piece that revels in its violence - even if it comes at the expense of its overall balance.

Director Charlotte De Wit carves out some impressively impactful moments from the chaos of William Golding’s source material, using elements of her production design to greatly support. It’s seeing the ensemble slowly shed their uniforms, harsh white tops against deep blue light; it’s watching Jensen’s Ralph lose her rationality in the primitive call of a tribal dance, slathered in the blood of a kill; it’s the sudden hush before a ‘beast’ is beaten to death with bare fists. In these moments, De Wit’s Lord of the Flies is at its most base, beastly, brutal – and brilliant.

However, Lord of the Flies uniquely carries its clearest weaknesses within its greatest strengths, showcasing how the wonderful chaos that characterises the play can be a double-edged sword. The absence of an interval works well to build and sustain the show’s heavy atmosphere, but audiences may find themselves somewhat fatigued by the end of the 105-minute run time. De Witt makes imaginative use of representational staging to convey long distances across the island, but these established paths are inconsistently applied. Scenes of discussion between the whole ensemble are suitably chaotic by narrative design, but are also occasionally marred by early cues and arrhythmic exchanges; some cast interactions with pre-recorded materials are similarly cumbersome, which unfortunately lessens their impact. Despite all this, it’s the production’s high level intensity that proves both valuable and problematic – though rightly distressed by their situation, De Witt’s ensemble spends so much time screaming and shouting at the same intensity that the effect is largely diminished in moments where it’s needed most . These are minor hindrances, but their cumulative efforts do ultimately impact on Lord of the Flies’ effect.

Alexandra Jensen shines as the changeable and conflicted Ralph, shaping much of Lord of Flies through her considerable energy and focus. Much like her earlier efforts in Lindsay Street Players’ The Crucible, Jensen works hard to convincingly physicalize the ever-increasing madness that surrounds her as Ralph; her transformation from a flighty student to a desperate and disturbed survivor is shaped by a growing stillness, and an unsettling thousand-yard stare. Jensen’s journey as Ralph is admirably nuanced, and serves as one of the most engaging aspects of Lord of the Flies.

Isabelle Clements is well cast as Lord of the Flies’ primary antagonist Jack, and makes for a wonderful case study in contrast: her height gifts her an intimidating physical presence when set against the wider ensemble, and the actor is careful to ratchet up the intensity of her performance the more Jensen’s Ralph diminishes. By show’s end, Clements does well to capably portray Jack’s intense contempt for everything around her, leaving a memorable impression on the audience.

Matilda Dickinson capably supports as the equally contemptable Roger, and manages to mark an impactful performance with limited dialogue – her gleeful sadism and occasional verbal scuffles with Jack make for engaging moments. Evie Laurence works hard to showcase the more pitiable aspects of her put-upon Piggy, but struggles to engender audience sympathies with as much ease.

Lighting designer Beau Starkey had adapted well to the confines of Hunter Drama’s new setting, bathing Lord of the Flies in heavy colours reminiscent of Paper Cut Collective’s Hello Stranger. Here, the jungles and beaches of the play are awash in deep blues, harsh yellows, and solid pinks, which adds to the otherworldly atmosphere growing around the kids’ fracturing society. Starkey skilfully and subtly supports Lord of the Flies from start to finish, and deserves acknowledgement.

Hunter Drama’s Lord of the Flies is a ‘chaotic’ production in the very best and most difficult sense of the word: it skilfully revels in the passion and conflict that characterises Golding’s work, and manages to deliver some strong performances and deeply unsettling moments of violence.  Nevertheless, its greatest strengths are married to its most notable weaknesses – the production’s potent intensity diminishes the longer it continues, making for a somewhat blunted conclusion. Ultimately, Hunter Drama’s Lord of the Flies is an engaging (if cumbersome) ensemble piece, at its best when it’s absolutely beastly.

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REVIEW: Neighbourhood Watch

Presented By: Stooged Theatre Season: March 8 – March 18 Venue: The Civic Playhouse Booking: http://bit.ly/2mEz4He Director: Daniel Cottier Writer: Lally Katz

Cast:

Janet Gillam as Ana

Chloe Perrett as Catherine

Theo Rule as Ken

Megan Williams as Jovanka

Luke Yager as Martin

Claire Williams as Belinda

Tracey Gordon as Laura/Others

Lindsay McDonald as Chemist/Others

Synopsis: Aspiring actress Catherine is stuck in Australian suburbia, as well as her own doldrums: she’s broke, unemployed, and desperate to escape the unforgiving weight of her past. But when a chance encounter with her prickly Hungarian neighbour Ana blossoms into an unlikely friendship, Catherine (or Kitty-Kitty, as Ana likes to call her) finds herself transformed by the older woman’s tales of war, immigration, life, and love. Can Ana and Catherine learn from one another’s mistakes, and manage to escape the sombre silence of their lonely suburban lives?

Director Daniel Cottier exploded onto Newcastle’s theatre scene with Stooged Theatre’s Punk Rock in 2016, which blew audiences away with its crackling intensity and impressive ensemble. His latest effort – Stooged Theatre’s Neighbourhood Watch – isn’t aiming to replicate Punk Rock, nor should it: unrelenting intensity has been exchanged for contemplative domesticity, and an ensemble focus has given way to an-depth exploration of the relationship between two very different women. But despite an impressive central performance and some strong moments of levity and charm, Neighbourhood Watch languishes under a disparate pace and a squandered ensemble.

Writer Lally Katz based the central relationship of Neighbourhood Watch on her own friendship with an elderly neighbour, and it’s through the lens of the stoic and straight-forward Ana that Katz manages to skewer the humorous hypocrisies of suburbia – whether it’s being ‘too busy’ to get coffee with unwanted friends, trying to figure out who keeps leaving dirty nappies in the bin, or the deep regret that comes from promising donuts at the next neighbourhood watch meeting. Catherine may hold the narrative through-line of Neighbourhood Watch, but it is Ana’s story – replete with purposeful and paced flashback sequences – that gives Cottier’s production its lifeblood.

However, Neighbourhood Watch seems to lack the connective tissue between scenes that helps sustain and build its narrative flow: secondary characters appear and disappear abruptly, moments of inconsequential domesticity crowd around scenes of narrative significance, and the journey between centre stage and raised corner sets takes just a little too long to keep up pace. The cumulative effects of these moments of excess air are the unfortunate deflation of any scenes of real intensity: notable moments of violence or passionate exclamation don’t have the impact they should. This lack of cohesion continues to dog Neighbourhood Watch until its very end.

Janet Gillam’s portrayal of the frank and forthright Ana is undoubtedly the centrepiece of Neighbourhood Watch; her acerbic charm and sly quips quickly make her an audience favourite. The actor’s familiarity in embodying such prickly personality types (NTC’s Female of the Species, Stooged Theatre’s Blood Bank) helps lend immediate credibility and confidence to her performance – a fortunate outcome, as Ana almost always dictates the tone and tempo of any scene she’s in. Though Gillam’s Hungarian immigrant isn’t always as stoic and assured as she initially appears, the actor never plays for pity; indeed, Ana’s straight-faced explanation of her brutal experiences speaks louder and more realistically than any impassioned monologue could. Gillam capably takes control of Neighbourhood Watch from beginning to end, and rarely lets go.

Chloe Perrett does well to inhabit the insecurity and uneasiness of aspiring actress Catherine, and ironically appears most comfortable when the character is initially out of her depth. Unfortunately, Perrett isn’t nearly as convincing once Catherine starts to come out of her shell – scenes between her and Luke Yager’s Martin seem to lack the genuine chemistry expected, and while Perrett’s efforts to open up Catherine are undoubtedly sincere, they don’t ring with the truth of her earlier efforts. Sadly, this leaves Neighbourhood Watch’s ending feeling somewhat unearned.

The unfortunate by-product of Neighbourhood Watch’s tight focus on Catherine and Ana’s relationship comes in the wider ensemble’s inability to meaningfully impact on the production. Theo Rule’s Ken is so significantly underplayed that the actor leaves minimal impression on each appearance, which regrettably flattens the resolution of his character arc. Though Lindsay McDonald and Tracey Gordon have proven themselves considerable talents in previous productions, their efforts dissipate across multiple minor characters in Neighbourhood Watch, and ultimately leave little impact. Claire Williams meets a similar fate in brief appearances as troubled neighbour Belinda, and while Megan Williams is afforded more stage time as the hopefully persistent Jovanka, the actor is never afforded a chance to characterise beyond ‘nice.’

Lighting designer Elese Murray gently supports the domestic drama of Neighbourhood Watch, helping to fill in in the limitations of Cottier’s three main sets. Techniques as simple as establishing a tight frame around Ana’s living room when a scene transitions inside her house, or backlighting the playhouse space (and the cast) in cloudy sepia during Ana’s flashbacks work well in reinforcing setting without calling attention, which does Neighbourhood Watch no harm.

Despite the considerable talent involved in Stooged Theatre’s latest production, Neighbourhood Watch feels decidedly less than the sum of its parts. Its impressive wider ensemble sufficiently supports, but fails to make any real impact, and the production’s disparate rhythm does little to make the narrative conclusion as believable or as impactful as I believe Cottier intended it to be. Janet Gillam’s formidable Ana proves the crowning achievement of the production, and carries much of Neighbourhood Watch’s charm and levity within her performance. She’s a neighbour well worth visiting – but the rest of Stooged Theatre’s latest production is somewhat closer to pedestrian.

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REVIEW: Picnic

Presented By: Newcastle Theatre Company Season: March 4 – March 18 Venue: Newcastle Theatre Company (90 De Vitre St, Lambton) Booking: http://bit.ly/2lZm5ic Director: Julie Black Writer: William Inge

Cast:

Katy Carruthers as Helen Potts

Kris McCord as Hal Carter

Maxine Mueller as Millie Owens

John Thomas as Bomber

Sally Smith as Madge Owens

Leanne Guihot as Flo Owens

Alison Cox as Rosemary Sydney

Lachlan Fairhall as Alan Seymour

Joanne Andrew as Irma Kronkite

Bronwyn Kanitz as Christine Schoenwalder

Ben Martin as Howard Bevans

Synopsis: It’s 1953, and a small Kansas town is busy preparing for their neighbourhood Labour Day picnic – cakes are being baked, dresses are being sewed, and small-town life is flourishing. But when handsome drifter Hal Carter comes to town looking for work (and his old friend Alan Seymour), the lives of this small community are irrevocably changed. How does this mysterious wanderer unsettle this small community, and can things ever return to the way they once were?

I’ve made the mistake of underestimating a production due to its unassuming description before: the last time was 2016’s ANZAC drama The One Day of the Year, and its grounded, no-frills drama and formidable ensemble resulted in one of the most engaging evenings at the theatre I’ve ever had. Well, Newcastle Theatre Company’s latest production – William Inge’s Pulitzer Prize-winning Picnic – proves that I apparently still haven’t learned my lesson. Despite what some may see as a simple and straightforward premise, NTC’s Picnic is an utterly captivating drama, delivering impressive production design and a remarkably strong ensemble.

The magic behind much of Picnic lies in director Julie Black’s ability to find the deep-seeded feelings behind William Inge’s forceful script, and take the time to revel in them: it’s the silent bliss of couples slow-dancing on the back porch, swaying with eyes closed; it’s the rush of energy behind a sudden kiss, or the almost tangible weight of desperation hanging over a plaintive cry. Picnic is brimming with these moments – small, easily missable glimpses at the longing that hides at the edges of our minds. Longing to be young, to be beautiful, to hold on to what we think makes us happy. It’s powerful stuff, and it’s the glue that makes Picnic so potent.

Picnic’s greatest asset is undoubtedly its rock-solid ensemble, which boasts a refreshing mix of established performers and newer faces (to me, at least). Kris McCord is appropriately magnetic as handsome drifter Hal, endearing audiences with his easy charm and southern drawl. Fortunately, McCord carefully backloads his Hal with clear internal conflict and an engrossing intensity in Picnic’s later scenes, establishing a sympathetic ‘other’ that cannot be easily defined. He is well balanced in Sally Smith’s sensitive Madge Owens; though Smith sporadically contends with her Kansas accent, her performance doesn’t waver – her Madge is just as conflicted as Hal, and the actor skilfully nurses a gentle sadness underneath the pedestrian banter of her scenes.

Katie Carruthers and Maxine Mueller proved audience favourites on Picnic’s opening night; while Carruthers’ skittishly excitable Helen Potts wavers on overstatement in brief moments, she instils a quieter sense of longing in her later scenes, and balances out the performance well. Mueller wonderfully teases out Millie’s burgeoning desire to escape both her childhood and her small-town constraints, crafting a performance that is both lightly comedic and well considered.

However, Picnic’s most impactful performance by far is that of Alison Cox, whose unconventional schoolteacher Rosemary Sydney allows the actor to fully showcase her impressive ability. Cox’s Rosemary runs the full gamut of emotional responses – she can be confident and poised in one scene, and mindlessly blissful in the next; frighteningly furious in a moment, and then heartbreakingly pitiful later on. The actor’s ability to juggle these drastic shifts in tone while maintaining a grounded performance is simply incredible to watch, and Cox continues to prove herself as one of Newcastle’s most malleable and skilled performers. Kudos!

Set designer Matthew Lockyer deserves significant kudos for his efforts – Picnic’s set of back porches are wonderfully realised, and echo the impressive detail of NTC’s similarly domestic productions Proof and All My Sons. Though undoubtedly domineering the stage, the sacrifice in movement is a small concession when it is weighed against its considerable impression. Lockyer’s work, coupled with the subtle support of Andrew Moore’s lighting design and the impressive range of period costuming on display, establishes an impressive level of production design that goes a long way in settling the audience into the small-town world of 1950’s Kansas.

Maxine Mueller’s Millie says it herself: it’s not as much about the story, as it is the feeling you get when you read it. Newcastle Theatre Company’s Picnic is a whirlwind of emotional resonance, combining earnest drama with a wonderfully spirited sense of humour, all wrapped in that unspoken sense of longing that plagues many of us in our quietest moments. It’s a loving, well-crafted and well-rounded ensemble drama that makes its two hours feel like the blink of an eye, and marks the most welcome surprise of 2017’s theatre calendar. You’d best not miss this Picnic.

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REVIEW: One Man, Two Guvnors

Presented By: Hunter School of the Performing Arts Season: March 2 – March 4 Venue: The Hunter Theatre (Cameron St, Broadmeadow) Booking: N/A Director: Kath Leahy Writer: Richard Bean

Cast:

Nick Thoroughgood as Francis

Lucy Scott as Roscoe/Rachel

Sebastian Szeszeran as Stanley

Callum Barnes as Alan

Maisie Owens as Pauline

Alex Pitt as Harry

Amy McDonald as Dolly

Camden Aglio as Charlie

Theo Williams as Lloyd

Sunny Guest as Alfie

Nikki Eenink as Gertie/Others

Jasper Harvey as Policemen/Others

Ben Seymour, Jarod Newman, Lachlan Cox, and John Wallace as “The Loose Cats”

Synopsis: It’s 1963 in Brighton, and comic gadabout Francis Henshall finds himself working for gangster Roscoe Crabbe – that is, until he’s also employed by upper class twit Stanley Stubbers. Suddenly the servant of two masters, Francis must do everything he can to keep his employers from meeting – but little does he know that his new employers have their own secret schemes. Can Francis juggle an onslaught of mistaken identities, arranged marriages, and unwilling audience participants long enough to achieve his own lofty dreams of a sandwich and a Majorcan holiday?

Adapted from Carlo Goldoni’s 1746 comedy The Servant of Two Masters, Richard Bean’s One Man, Two Guvnors owes much of its comic potency to the early Italian practice of commedia dell’arte – translated as ‘comedy of the professional.’ This classic theatrical form utilises a stock set of recognisable characters (mostly servants, lovers, captains and old men) and heavily favours exaggerated, distorted, and improvisation performances to get laughs. I give this wider context so that when I say that Hunter School of the Performing Arts’ latest production is an utterly ridiculous affair, you can read it for the compliment that it is; boasting a wonderfully game comic ensemble, One Man, Two Guvnors is easily the most that I’ve laughed in a 2017 production.

Nick Thoroughgood is clearly having a grand old time as Francis Henshall, and greatly benefits from the looseness of One Man, Two Guvnors; the actor’s improvisational sensibilities are at full effect here and his impromptu exchanges with the audience mark some of the show’s best jokes. His Francis is a little more Bugs Bunny than well-intentioned village idiot, but Thoroughgood’s charm and keen sense of comic timing steer his performance well and prove an invaluable asset.

Lucy Scott balances comedy with a small amount of pathos as the disguised Rachel Crabbe, and makes for a sympathetically swooning gangster when she’s not playing tough as brother Roscoe. The most welcome surprise was Sebastian Szeszeran’s Stanley Stubbers (phew, say that five times fast!), who comes close to stealing the show out from under Thoroughgood’s Francis in their shared scenes. Szeszeran leans into the ridiculousness of the upper-class twit, and his swarthy confidence and clipped delivery made each of his joke an instant hit with the audience.

The rest of One Man, Two Guvnors’ sizeable ensemble capably match the ridiculousness of its leading parts, and each strike an admirably distinct silhouette from their fellow performer. Callum Barnes and Sunny Guest showcase strong physical comedy as the solemnly silly actor Alan and ancient bellhop Alfie, respectively – Barnes scores laughter from his pout alone. Maisie Owens’ hilariously ditzy Pauline is evenly matched by Amy McDonald’s sharp and sassy Dolly, who is eventually given more room to play as the production progresses. More than anything, the ensemble fully commit to the loose ridiculousness of their parts, and they hard work serves them all well.

Unfortunately, One Man, Two Guvnors’ looseness sometimes proves to be a double-edged sword; though this slack gives its ensemble plenty of chances to mine for more humour, much of the production’s potency comes from the pressure on Francis to balance his two master’s demands. While Thoroughgood is undeniably funny, he is rarely harried in his efforts (particularly in the show’s second half), and this lack of urgency leaves the ensemble feeling just a little too comfortable in their crises. It’s a tiny deficiency, but it does deflate One Man, Two Guvnors a tad.

Director Kathy Leahy clearly knows where the production’s bread is buttered, and pulls double duty in furnishing One Man, Two Guvnors’ set with just enough detail to support without distracting or delaying the shenanigans onstage: the effect is as simple and broad as the archetypes that inhabit it, but it works fine. The inclusion of house band “The Loose Cats” is a welcome addition -  the musicians work well together during their brief interludes, and capably reinforce the production’s setting – though I now wonder if I’ll ever get to see another production that boasts a washboard jam session.

Hunter School of the Performing Arts’ One Man, Two Guvnors is a deliciously sharp and cheeky affair, and while it can afford to pick up the pace, most people will be laughing too much to care. The production’s ensemble is admirably dedicated to the absurdity of their parts, and make for a formidably comical crew – they may be the audience’s servants, but they’re masterfully funny.

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REVIEW: Jasper Jones

Presented By: The Civic Theatre Season: March 1 – March 4 Venue: The Civic Theatre (375 Hunter St, Newcastle) Booking: N/A Director: Anne-Louise Sarks Writer: Kate Mulvaney (adapted from the novel by Craig Silvey)

Cast:

Tom Conroy as Charlie Bucktin

Guy Simon as Jasper Jones

Hoa Xuande as Jeffrey Lu

Matilda Ridgeway as Eliza Wishart

Kate Box as Mrs Bucktin/Warwick Trent/Others

Steve Le Marquand as Mad Jack Lionel/Others

Synopsis: It’s 1965, and bookish teenager Charlie Bucktin lives a quiet life in the rural Western Australian town of Corrigan – until the town’s indigenous ne’er-do-well Jasper Jones visits him in the middle of the night. Whisked into the bush, Charlie is brought to a grisly scene – the dead body of a young girl: bloody, bruised, and hung from a tree. Unable to rely on the prejudiced adults of Corrigan, Jasper begs Charlie to help him clear his name, and find the mysterious killer. But can the unlikely duo discover the truth before the small town of Corrigan tears itself apart?

Craig Silvey’s novel Jasper Jones has slowly been snowballing acclaim since its release in 2009, culminating in a major movie adaptation releasing this year (it’s in cinemas right now, in fact). The novel’s potent mix of coming-of-age experience, murderous intrigue, and examinations on Australia’s issue with underlying racial tensions have made it not only ripe for adaptation, but a prescient piece of art. And those of you who avoid the cinemas now have no excuse – The Civic Theatre have brought a sleek, swift, and staggering enjoyable version of Silvey’s story to their 2017 subscription season.

Kate Mulvaney’s adaptation (originally staged in 2014) is noticeably lighter in tone than is expected for such a morbid premise, and balances drama with an irreverent sense of humour. While Mulvaney gives fair consideration to the mystery at the heart of Jasper Jones, much of the production explores slice-of-life Australiana that audiences will immediately recognise from their own childhood: debates about superheroes, butting heads with parents and bullies, awkward teenage romances, and the all-important matter of getting your runs in at the cricket. Underneath these everyday occurrences, Silvey and Mulvaney work to highlight the racial tensions that plagued (and arguably continue to plague) Australia and the world. Mulvaney’s work is half To Kill a Mockingbird, and half Richard Tulloch’s The Book of Everything, and this isn’t a bad thing, though some viewers find the production to be somewhat overstuffed.

Thankfully, director Anne-Louise Sarks has prioritised expediency and pace in Jasper Jones, and makes the production’s mountain of material move with an enviable speed. This focus on pace has ingrained itself in many elements of the production: the set is sparing, but loving detailed and appropriately portable, and members of the cast distinctly embody multiple characters. Sarks and crew make up for these simplifications with robust and striking technical design, drenching the Civic space in the warm and earthy hues expected in any Western Australia town. The cumulative effect is a portrait far more detailed than the sum of its parts – Jasper Jones knows when to paint the picture, and when to let the audience fill in the blank spaces themselves.

Tom Conroy charms the shortie-pyjama pants off the audience as the earnest/awkward Charlie, whose overly verbose soliloquies and clumsy naiveté score some of Jasper Jones’ biggest laughs. Though undeniably comedic in the production’s early scenes, Conroy capably pivots his Charlie in the more contemplative second half, showcasing a considered and endearing performance. Charlie is well balanced against the altogether more desperate and raw energy of Guy Simon’s Jasper Jones, who faces the brutal realities of their situation much more directly. Though Jasper appears sparingly, Simon is careful to chip away at the characters ‘get brave quick’ attitude with each sighting; by show’s end, the actor absolutely shines in his raw and ragged emotional state.

The rest of Jasper Jones’ ensemble work skilfully to support these central performances, and almost uniformly balance broad comedy with moments of sincere drama. Matilda Ridgeway brings an invaluable ‘otherness’ to her stoic Eliza Wishart, and almost manages to out-odd Charlie, though her arc affords her a wonderful chance to further explore these vulnerabilities. Hoa Xuande proves an audience favourite as the cricket-obsessed Jeffrey – his childlike exuberance and blunt charm prove an invaluable asset to Jasper Jones; when coupled with Kate Box and Steve Le Marquand’s schoolyard bullies, the production breezes by on gales of laughter.

The Civic Theatre’s Jasper Jones is exemplary of the kind of well-polished, well-paced, and well-rounded professional theatre that audiences are dying to see, and balances a gruesome premise with a wonderful sense of humour, irreverence, and a keen examination of subtle prejudices. While some viewers may find the production to be overstuffed with disparate Australiana, the total impact of these inclusions is overwhelmingly positive, and elevates the production beyond its simple and sombre story. With an accomplished ensemble, breezy pace, and bucket loads of charm to spare, the only mystery surrounding Jasper Jones is why you haven’t been to see it yet.

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REVIEW: Strangers on a Train

Presented By: Maitland Repertory Theatre Season: February 15 – March 4 Venue: Maitland Repertory Theatre (244 High St, Maitland) Booking: http://bit.ly/2lUkfzK Director: Steve Ryan Writer: Craig Warner

Cast:

Eamonn O’Reilly as Charles Bruno

Peter Murray as Guy Haines

Aimée Cavanagh as Elsie Bruno

Bree Cunningham as Anne Faulkner

Jakob Campbell as Frank Myers

Robert Comber as Robert Treacher

Terry Allen as Arthur Gerard

Synopsis: When an uneventful train ride leads to a chance encounter between anxious architect Guy Haines and mysterious playboy Charles Bruno, the two share problems: Guy is hounded by his unfaithful wife, and Charles beset by his meddlesome stepfather. When Bruno suggests that each murder the other’s troublesome person, Guy doesn’t take him seriously – until Guy’s wife winds up dead. Having completed his ‘side’ of the bargain, Charles insists that Guy does the same or he will reveal everything to the police. Paralysed by fear and stalked by Charles, Guy’s life soon turns into a game of ‘do or die.’

Alfred Hitchcock (who directed the film adaptation of Strangers on a Train) once described the difference between ‘surprise’ and ‘suspense’ as two men sitting at a table. Two minutes into their discussion, a bomb explodes from beneath the table. Surprise – a once uninteresting talk between strangers has become an extraordinary scene of horror. Now restart the scene, and let the audience know there is a bomb hidden under the table – suddenly, the audience is invested in every word. What was innocuous has become utterly engrossing; the audience spends every second of those two minutes in suspense.

Maitland Repertory Theatre’s Strangers on a Train has the two men – and what occurs between them is absolutely thrilling to watch. However, when the bomb under their table goes off, it’s not with a surprising BANG, but with something closer to a whimper.

Peter Murray impresses as Guy Haines, showcasing a strong skill in physically expressing character – the actor wears Guy’s world-weariness with remarkable clarity. As the character’s troubles continue to mount, Murray convincingly deteriorates, and the stillness and consideration that had characterised his performance in the beginning is all but lost. This clear sense of progression – coupled with Murray’s earnestness – makes a believably pitiable protagonist, and an invaluable asset for Strangers on a Train.

Eamonn O’Reilly brings an unmatched intensity and manic enthusiasm to his Charles Bruno, with the actor’s genial charm (and Irish accent) doing much to garner audience favourability; from the start, we’re primed to find Charles as exciting as he finds himself. As Strangers on a Train proceeds, O’Reilly works diligently to let this geniality slide out of his performance, leaving a sharper and more caustic character than the one we’d met.

Interestingly, the energy and intensity that so endears viewers to O’Reilly’s character becomes something of a hindrance in the actor’s later scenes, where his Charles is left to threateningly shout the majority of his dialogue. Though yelling can be used effectively (as it is in O’Reilly’s early scenes with Murray’s Guy), its potency is dulled with overuse, and Strangers on a Train’s final confrontations lose some of their impact because of this.

The efforts of Strangers on a Train’s wider ensemble are equally sincere, but varied in their effectiveness. Bree Cunningham capably supports as the loving but suspicious Anne Faulkner, and shines in the production’s second half, where she is able to directly engage in the drama. Aimée Cavanagh is suitably doting as Charles’ mother Elsie, but is ultimately miscast – the actress is far too young to convincingly portray the part, which unfortunately distracted in her scenes. Robert Comber and Jakob Campbell give steady performances as Robert Treacher and Frank Myers respectively, while Terry Allen’s portrayal of the Bruno family P.I. Arthur Gerard is fittingly sceptical - though his slow and unassured delivery slightly grates against the rising pace of the play’s later scenes.

This unevenness among the whole ensemble is what leads Strangers on a Train astray – while Guy and Charles are very strong together, they’re less impactful when paired with other scene partners (Bree Cunningham excluded). In the brief instances where neither appears, the steady pace and tension they built together tends to lessen, or evaporate entirely; in a show as reliant on its atmosphere as Strangers is, that’s a significant issue.

Director Steve Ryan utilises his lighting design to great effect in Strangers on a Train, establishing tableau moments that are undoubtedly the play’s strongest tonal images; it’s the sight of Peter Murray’s tremulous Guy poised at the bottom of a stranger’s staircase, creeping into the darkness as an clock ominously strikes the hour; it’s Murray crumpled up in a heap, silhouetted in deep blue light as the unshakeable form of Charles Bruno leers over his shoulders. These instances, though brief, leave a lasting impression.

Maitland Repertory Theatre’s Strangers on a Train features a marvellous pair of performers at its heart, both capably delivering on the suspense that the title promises. Though some design decisions work well to reinforce their efforts, the ultimately uneven and arrhythmic production around them distracts from this substantial core, leaving audiences somewhat surprised by the journey, but not thrilled by the destination.

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REVIEW: Bed

Presented By: Pencil Case Productions Season: February 22 – February 26 Venue: The Royal Exchange (34 Bolton St, Newcastle) Booking: http://bit.ly/2kTndam Director: John Wood Writer: Brendan Cowell

Cast:

Michael Byrne as Phil

Katy Carruthers as Flo

Oliver MacFadyen as Kane

Pearl Nunn as Daisy

Linda Read as Grace

Benjamin Louttit as Drew

Synopsis: The emotionally caustic Phil journeys through the five most important sexual relationships of his life: his youthful entanglements with schoolmate Kane, the tumultuous infatuation of university student Daisy, the constant negotiations of his unwilling housewife Grace, the pointed teasing of his party-boy partner Drew, and the gentle support of sweet septuagenarian Flo. As Phil and his partners pillow talk, we see his views on masculinity, sexuality, family, friendship, and love being shaped by them all.

Director John Wood returns to The Royal Exchange after 2016’s brief and brutal S-27, replacing Orwellian despair with the modern struggles of sexual relationships and love. While the subject and tone is undeniably less grim, the dramatic techniques are similar – the show revolves around a character being visited (and revisited) by a wider ensemble, and production design is deliberately minimalized to better favour Bed’s performances. Where the two productions diverge is in examining their effects as a whole; though Bed features some knockout performances and a script that balances quick wit with honest drama, the production lacks the emphatic full stop that made S-27 such a sucker punch.

Michael Byrne has always shown clear strength in portraying emotionally compromised characters, and wonderfully realises the more ‘prickly’ parts of Bed’s pained protagonist. Though his Phil is often rebellious, self-aggrandising, and outright insincere, Byrne’s high-energy delivery and expressive physicality ensures that he is never dull to watch. These efforts crystallise in what is undoubtedly the actor’s best scene, where he is left to bitterly monologue in loops around the silent presence of his toy-boy partner Drew; here, Byrne’s indignity and ‘manic panic’ is fully realised, and proves utterly engrossing.

Interestingly enough, it is Byrne’s total believability as the emotionally unavailable Phil that proves to be Bed’s biggest hurdle: the actor so convincingly executes his character’s initial setup that his emotional transition in Bed’s later scenes rings comparatively false. Byrne simply doesn’t occupy Phil’s reflection, regret, and earnestness as comfortably and credibly as he showcased his flaws, which makes Bed feeling somewhat incomplete. 

Oliver MacFadyen displays an admirable sense of vulnerability as schoolboy Kane, easing into his scenes with a believable hesitance – his burgeoning understanding of what he and Phil are doing together is pitiably endearing. Pearl Nunn proved to be an audience favourite as the changeable and flirty student Daisy, displaying an obvious chemistry with Byrne that made their scenes together a pleasure to watch. 

Linda Read capably balances drama and comedy as the unfulfilled Grace (though her American accent often caused issues with projection and clarity), and I think I enjoyed Ben Louttit’s sardonically playful Drew almost as much as he did; his simpering back-and-forth scenes with the jaded Phil were thoroughly engaging, and a source of easy laughs.

However, it was Katy Carruthers’ turn as the sweetly supporting Flo that stole the show for me – such was the strength and conviction behind her performance. Though Carruthers’ character doesn’t have the same emotional peaks and troughs with Phil that the other partners have, she so convincingly occupies her character’s adoration that by the conclusion of Bed, she had me in tears. After such a strong showing in 2016’s Other Desert Cities, I’m glad to see Carruthers’ continuing to put in solid performances in 2017.

Though the limits of The Royal Exchange result in a relatively Spartan set (the titular bed is the only mainstay), Bed manages to gently reinforce character journeys through design and staging. Obvious decisions (slowly separating the bed’s halves, or placing them at literal odds with each other during partner conflict) work fine to keep the set novel, but what I most appreciated was the gradual build-up of partner belongings as Bed went on – by show’s end, Phil is literally surrounded by relics of his chequered past.

At the risk of sounding like a Nutri-Grain box, you’ll likely get out of Bed what you put in. The topics at the heart of Brendan Cowell’s script are so intensely personal and subjective that the broad spectrum presented will undoubtedly produce mixed results – no two people I’ve spoken to have ranked the show or its performers the same. Ultimately, Pencil Case Production’s Bed is an intimately transgressive look at love and relationships that boasts a strong ensemble, a sharp script, and a breezy run-time; while it doesn’t quite stick its landing, the production is definitely worth getting out of bed for.

[curtaincallwithcarlgregory]

REVIEW: Whose Wives Are They, Anyway?

Presented By: DAPA Theatre Season: February 11 – February 25 Venue: DAPA Theatre (145 Beaumont St, Hamilton) Booking: 0416 252 446 Director: David Murray Writer: Michael Parker

Cast:

Oliver Pink as David McGachen

Conagh Punch as John Baker

Maddy Lardner as Tina

Carol Hong as Mrs Carlson

Jennifer Dixon as D.L. Hutchison

Natalie Burg as Karly McGachen

Beth Traynor as Laura Baker

Rob Williams as Wilson

Synopsis: When cosmetic company executives John Baker and David McGrachen take a golfing weekend away in advance of meeting their new boss, they expect a few days of rest and relaxation. Imagine their surprise when their new boss is not only staying at the same hotel, but insists on meeting their wives! With John and David’s wives far away on a New York shopping spree, and their jobs seemingly on the line, the pair are forced to improvise – can the duo survive a weekend of cross-dressing, crossed wires, drunken receptionists, bedroom shenanigans, and snooping hoteliers with their careers intact?

In my review for DAPA’s last Michael Parker production (2016’s raucous Hotbed Hotel), I was careful to emphasise the difficulty in staging farces; despite their inherent popularity as a theatrical genre, they’re actually one of the most notoriously hard to execute, and require a breakneck pace, precision comic timing, and complete confidence. While the cast of Whose Wives Are They, Anyway? gamely mug through Parker’s comic scenarios, they are always in pursuit of this standard, and unfortunately never reach it.

Whose Wives Are They, Anyway? is most confident when it comes to its visual comedy: the sights of people in various states of dress, undress, and cross-dress elicits a number of easy laughs from the audience, as it should. Both the cast and the production shine in these moments, capably milking their misfortunes for all they’re worth – whether it’s Conagh Punch’s John attempting to casually pass off Maddy Lardner’s legs as his own, or the sight of Punch and Pink sitting shell-shocked in bed as their web of lies is unravelled.

Conagh Punch and Oliver Pink enthusiastically mug through the madness, and are pretty well balanced – where Punch focuses on his comic expressions and considered speech, Pink is quick to emphasise his physicality, and speaks in mile-a-minute fits. Big and little are a well-proven pairing in comedy, and Punch and Pink are no exception to the rule. Maddy Lardner gamely supports as ditzy receptionist-turned co-conspirator Tina, and blossoms in the show’s second half, where her infectious enthusiasm made her a crowd favourite. Carol Hong is similarly well cast as the morally righteous Mrs. Carlson, though her focus on maintaining her American accent did come at the cost of her projection.

Unfortunately, the cast prove uncomfortable delivering Parker’s script at the speed it requires: group scenes revolving around The Oakfield Golf and Country Club’s faulty phone system (and the mysterious people who keep calling) ultimately serve to slow down the proceedings, earning modest chuckles when audiences could be cracking up. Comic farces like Parker’s are so front-loaded with setting up conflicts, inconveniences, and distractions that significant pace is required to keep things lively; while some of the show’s ensemble can reach this pace, the lack of cohesion in the cast keep the production in first gear.

Credit where it is due, David Murray capably pulls triple-duty as the production’s set and lighter designer, and succeeds in stuffing DAPA’s stage with as much set as possible; the Oakfield Golf and Country Club is suitably realised, and – clearly benefiting from Murray’s experience with similar production designs – is laid out clearly and effectively.  While there are some concessions in detail, Murray’s set ably stands against the rough and rambunctious actions of his ensemble, which should be recognised as no small feat.

DAPA Theatre and the cast and crew of Whose Wives Are They, Anyway? deserve congratulations and acknowledgement for their efforts – in their spirited pursuit of the unrelenting standards of farce, they achieve some notable moments of physical comedy, and enthusiastically chase the ridiculousness of Michael Parker’s script. Unfortunately, the devil is in the details, and Whose Wives Are They, Anyway? sags under the weight of its unnecessary air, shaky line delivery, and all-around roughness. If they can smooth out the steps and pick up the pace, audiences will be clamouring to claim these wives.

[curtaincallwithcarlgregory]

REVIEW: The Crucible

Presented By: Lindsay Street Players, in association with Young People’s Theatre Season: February 4 – February 18 Venue: Young People’s Theatre (26 Lindsay St, Hamilton) Booking: http://bit.ly/1Q6DI69 Director: Nicholas Thoroughgood Writer: Arthur Miller

Cast:

Parisse Lattimore as Betty Parris

Malcolm Young as Reverend Parris

Arianna Karmaniolos as Tituba

Jordan Warner as Abigail Williams

Grace McLaughlin as Susanna Wallcot

Amy McDonald as Mrs Putnam

Jack Twelvetree as Thomas Putnam

Nicola Eenick as Mercy Lewis

Alexandra Jensen as Mary Warren

Mitchell Cox as John Proctor

Michelle Burnitt as Rebecca Nurse

Luke Power as Giles Corey

Harold Phipps as Reverend Hale

Anna Lambert as Elizabeth Proctor

Timothy Blundell as Francis Nurse

Lachlan Schotter as Ezekiel Cheever

Liam Waterman as Marshal Herrick

Michael Blaxland as Danforth

Synopsis: In 1692, the small town of Salem, Massachusetts is rocked by suspicions of witchcraft, after a supposedly innocent night of revelry leaves two of Salem’s youth comatose. Seeking to quell the rising panic, Rev. Parris invites witchcraft expert Rev. Hale to investigate the mysterious incident – but as hysteria sets in, the uneasy peace between Salem’s citizens starts to fracture. As the growing witch-hunt threatens to expose the secrets and sins of the townsfolk, their fight for innocence quickly turns into one of survival – and nobody seems safe.

First-time director Nicholas Thoroughgood clearly acknowledges his production’s fascination with “highlighting contrast” in the show’s program, and with good reason: Thoroughgood basically allows it to permeate just about every element of The Crucible. The costume and lighting design are a practice in black and white; the set design uses dual levels as a clear delineation between high and low status; saccharine songs of the 1950’s undercut the horrific events on stage, and performers balance explosive passions with stoic or stony silences. Thoroughgood leans into these extremes, and the ultimate result is an extremely divisive show – rarely have I seen such spirited debate amongst audience members as I did after The Crucible.

While some of these extremes serve to support and benefit The Crucible’s overall effect, others proved to be more contentious, such as Thoroughgood’s decision to mix the use of physical props with mime in select instances (one scene has a character rip up a piece of paper in frustration, only to mine the same action later in a separate, critical moment). Similarly, the production’s predominant use of natural, dramatic staging is later countered with a more emblematic style, as a scene between the witch-trial judging panel is delivered in static, outward presentation. These variances undoubtedly have artistic motivation behind them, but may distract or confuse.

Jordan Warner and Alexandra Jensen absolutely mesmerise as Abigail Williams and Mary Warren respectively, teasing out powerfully nuanced performances as the two girls caught at the centre of Salem’s witch-hunt. Warner reveals a keen sense of emotional control as the shrewd Abigail, and deserves praise for skilfully executing a multi-layered character – there are many facets to Warner’s Abigail, and each is executed with clear confidence and deft precision. Though behaviourally opposite, Jensen is equally dextrous as the incredibly anxious Mary Warren, and establishes a convincing portrayal of hysteria without ever coming across as false. Ironically enough, it is her conviction as a performer that so brilliantly brings her terror to light.

Mitchell Cox bears much of The Crucible’s brunt as the stoic farmer John Proctor, and establishes an admirably precise physical performance. Everything about his Proctor is deliberate and considered, and Cox’s deconstruction of the character’s stoicism and detachment in the later acts is well worth watching – his ‘death by a thousand cuts’ acquits his skill as a performer well. Anna Lambert passionately throws herself into the character of Elizabeth Proctor, and though her performance contains echoes of the overt theatricality that might suit her prior work better, her commitment to the emotional journey of Elizabeth ultimately steers her performance right.

Where The Crucible’s considerable ensemble struggles most is in their delivery of Miller’s material, particularly in the first and second acts. The sheer verbosity of Miller’s script, coupled with the passion and pace of his characters, result in a clear compromise in delivery, with many of the finer details of the dialogue getting lost in the execution. This can present a significant obstacle for any show, but a production as complex and layered as The Crucible lives and dies by its audience’s comprehension; I would advise getting as close to the stage as possible.

There’s a lot more to Lindsay Street Players’ The Crucible than I can discuss in this short review: the literal deconstruction of the set, the wider spectrum of the ensemble performances, and the wondrousness of Arthur Miller’s script, among them. What I can say is that The Crucible – despite some minor production inconsistencies and obstacles – capably held my attention for almost three hours, and made me want to go see it again. It’s undoubtedly divisive, but still manages to foster a passionate and heavy atmosphere that goes a long way in mitigating those flaws. If that’s not witchcraft, I don’t know what is.

[curtaincallwithcarlgregory]

REVIEW: Post

Presented By: Upstage Theatre

Season: February 8 – February 18

Venue: The Lock-Up (90 Hunter St, Newcastle NSW 2300)

Booking: http://bit.ly/2l1XLyw

Director: Ann Croger and Jerry Bowden

Writer: Ann Croger and Jerry Bowden

Cast:

Tim Moran as Tony Montabello

Jasmine Ashley as Nicole Montabello

Fyona Coulton as Natalie

Emily Daly as Jane Price

Phil McGrath as Davo

Tony Anthony as Janko/Mik

Mathew L. Heys as Keith/McNulty

Karen Lantry as Superintendent Joanne Williams/Kath

Matt Bailey as Will/Chapman

Will Parker as Alex/Pete/Jayden

Georgia Hicks-Jones as Abbie/Psychiatrist

Synopsis: When policeman Tony ‘Monty’ Montabello is forced to fire his gun in a tense stand-off with a knife-wielding teenager, his split-second decision has immediate and far-reaching consequences – for his family, his friends, and himself. Wracked with doubt over his choices and facing the intense scrutiny of the world around him, Montabello struggles to move on – and as the family and friends of the fallen teenager grapple with their own understanding of the sudden tragedy, many questions remain: who’s right, who’s wrong, and who’s to blame for it all?

It’s oddly appropriate that Upstage Theatre’s Post is being staged in The Lock-Up, which was Newcastle’s primary police station until the early 1980’s – the venue adds an oppressive and foreboding atmosphere to the show’s grim proceedings. Equally impactful is the audience’s positions on either end of the long, narrow performance space, flanking the action and reinforcing Post’s own interest with encroaching public opinion. It’s an inspired choice, though this ad-hoc theatre-in-the-round staging does force compromises in scenes and performances – some actors are forced to play to one side only, or plant themselves against the wall in between.

Post’s three central performances – that of Tim Moran’s traumatised Monty, Jasmine Ashley’s dutiful girlfriend Nicole, and Fyona Coulton’s mourning mother Natalie – are earnestly and passionately realised. Moran takes care to realistically match Monty’s intensity with the rising frustrations of his situation, while Ashley and Nicole’s developing vulnerabilities combine to create one of Post’s more memorable (and solemn) scenes. While all three performers gamely grapple with the heavy material, the initial results are a tightrope walk between grounded emotional drama and ‘presentational’ acting, where emotions are shown more than felt – a balancing act that’ll undoubtedly become less difficult as the show moves further into its season.

Some of Post’s supporting performers shine equally bright in their brief appearances – Emily Daly’s careful balance of sardonic humour and sincere vulnerability make each of Jane’s scenes quite captivating, while the larrikin antics of Phil McGrath’s Davo kept opening night’s audience in constant laughter (myself included). The most welcome surprise was Karen Lantry’s dual performances as Superintendent Williams and Kath – Lantry capably contrasts Williams’ steady matter-of-factness with a second act appearance as a distressed witness to the shooting, taking the audience through an equally humorous and engrossing account of the central event of Post.

Post’s script – the collaborative effort of Upstage Theatre’s Artistic Director Ann Croger and Detective Sergeant Jerry Bowden – clearly bisects its attention between the events before and after Montabello’s fatal confrontation with the teenager (similar to Gordon Graham’s The Boys).  It’s clear that Post has benefited from Bowden’s decades of experience as a policeman – the play is most comfortable when focusing on interactions at the police station, Moran’s Monty, and his professional and familial fallout from the shooting.

Conversely, Croger and Bowden’s attempts to examine the wider context surrounding the event – namely, scenes between the shooter’s teenage ‘friends,’ as well as moments of debate regarding the impact of social media – feel comparatively repetitive and disparate. One instance (in which Post seeks to highlight the role of ‘media spin’ in such tragedies) is stylised and heightened to a point where it is utterly unlike anything else in the production, and serves more as a distraction than a dissertation on media culture. While it’s admirable that Post is willing to tackle these wider thematic issues, their impact is notably lessened when cast against the play’s deep focus on Monty’s very real journey through this tragedy, which follows a much clearer and concise progression.

Some of Croger and Bowden’s best work comes through the words of Post’s women, who share in a wealth of monologues throughout the show’s brisk 100-minute runtime. Whether it’s gently undercutting the false bravado of Emily Daly’s Jane, exposing the raw grief of Fyona Coulton grieving mother Natalie, or Jasmine Ashley exposing the desperate frustration behind Nicole’s failing marriage, the material presented in these scenes is focused and effective, and it’s a refreshing sight to see such material being fairly distributed amongst the show’s cast.

Upstage Theatre’s Post is a welcome addition to the widening field of contemporary drama being produced in Newcastle, tackling its uncompromising subject matter with earnestness and gusto. Though Croger and Bowden’s ambitiously scattershot script has some trouble nailing its many targets, its heart is undoubtedly in the right place – and Post’s cast capably work to fill the space in between. If they can continue to ground the heightened drama, Post will be absolutely arresting.

[curtaincallwithcarlgregory]

REVIEW: High School Musical 2, Jr.

Presented By: Pantseat Performing Arts Season: January 19 – January 21 Venue: The Civic Playhouse Booking: http://bit.ly/2jhrpfs Director: Aretha Williams Writer: David Simpatico (Book), Peter Barsocchini

Cast:

Christopher Shanko as Troy Bolton

Lily Sanders as Gabriella Montex

Tashana Hardy as Sharpay Evans

Uen Cartledge as Ryan Evans

Zac McBeth as Chad Danforth

Bonnie McPeak as Taylor McKessie

Jordan Warner as Kelsi Nielson

Jacob Gamble as Mr Fulton

Theodore Williams as Jack Scott

Lissa Sculthorpe as Martha

Synopsis: Having united their East High schoolmates in song and dance during the school year, teenage sweethearts Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez are preparing themselves for summer vacation: sun, sports, and spending time together. But the deceptive diva Sharpay Evans has other plans, and will stop at nothing to win Troy for herself. Can Troy stop worrying about winning a college scholarship long enough to save the friendships he might lose over summer vacation? Will Sharpay’s villainous plan succeed? And who’s going to win the Midsummer’s Night Talent Show?

High School Musical 2, Jr. reunites the primary cast of last year’s High School Musical, Jr., creating a unique feeling of progression in both character and performer. Tashana Hardy continues to shine as the villainous Sharpay Evans, utilizing her strong stage presence and high-energy to great effect. Similarly, Uen Cartledge’s role as Ryan Evans is bolstered by an engaging showing in the number ‘I Don’t Dance,’ and although Lily Sanders has arguably less to do in High School Musical 2, Jr. than last year’s production, her Gabriella Montez is altogether more impactful, bringing a strong sense of earnestness and pathos that accredits both her and the production.

Last year’s High School Musical, Jr. faced a unique battle in attempting to comfortably fit Pantseat’s sizeable cast (and their elaborate choreography) into the limited Civic Playhouse space, with ultimately mixed results. High School Musical 2, Jr.’s crew seem to have benefited from this previous experience – when the stage is stuffed to the gills with singing and dancing, there is much less unfortunate clumping or concessions in movement. Whether that’s due to a revised effort in Keely Boyden’s choreography or more considered staging on the part of first-time director Aretha Williams, it hasn’t gone unnoticed, and helps keep numbers smooth.

It’s somewhat lamentable then that this level of comfort, energy, and focus isn’t necessarily shared in High School Musical 2, Jr.’s dialogue-driven scenes. Though the disparity isn’t vast, it is noticeable, with many scenes having too much or too little room for the performers to breathe. Character entrances are a little more harried in populated scenes (particularly when props are involved), and the pacing between dialogue-heavy performers can be comparatively loose-weave. With few exceptions, musicals are as much about what is being said as what is being sung, and the tighter the gap between tho two are, the stronger High School Musical 2, Jr. will be.

But credit where it is due – High School Musical 2, Jr. certainly lives up to the ‘musical’ part of its name, with some of the production’s best work done in song. Audiences will undoubtedly enjoy the ‘wall of sound’ effect the ensemble have in their full-cast songs, particularly towards the show’s conclusion – their enthusiasm in these moments are highly infectious. High-energy numbers like ‘What Time Is It?’ and ‘Work It Out’ are well-balanced against more sombre tunes ‘You Are the Music in Me’ and ‘Gotta Go My Own Way,’ and highlight the skill and dedication of Pantseat’s ensemble.

However, High School Musical 2, Jr.’s greatest obstacle is in its sound, with several issues threatening to topple the production’s easy charm. Many of the production’s high-energy musical numbers are plagued by performers’ microphones either turned down too low, or seemingly not on at all, leaving noticeable gaps that break much-needed momentum and lose audience focus. Full-cast numbers also face the unique battle of choreography noise threatening to overwhelm the singers, but this is a fairly infrequent problem; still, if High School Musical 2, Jr. wants to shine as bright as the logo that hangs over its stage, it’ll fix its sound issues as soon as they can.

Pantseat Performing Arts have started 2017’s theatrical year with a suitable swift and breezy summer production – a high-energy, low-barrier musical that should keep audience attention through its brief runtime. High School Musical 2, Jr. already boasts some memorable performances, infectious energy, and an eager ensemble; if it can conquer its sound issues and treat its dialogue as dear as its songs, Pantseat’s latest show will definitely be something to sing about.

[curtaincallwithcarlgregory]

REVIEW: S-27

Presented By: Two Tall Theatre

Season: June 22 – June 26

Venue: The Royal Exchange (34 Bolton Street, Newcastle)

Booking: http://bit.ly/28QFPQ2

Director: John Wood

Writer: Sarah Grochala

Cast:

• Amy Wilde as May • Patrick Campbell as Man • Emily Daily as Cousin • Kate Slowey as Girl • Mitchell Cox as Col • Britt Ferry as June • Zac Campbell as Boy • Allison Van Gaal as Mother

Synopsis: Based on prison records and interviews with survivors of Cambodia’s infamous Tuol Sleng prison, S-27 follows May, a photographer caught under the oppressive force of an Orwellian regime. Instructed to photograph, document, and process ‘traitors,’ May has hardened her heart to the brutality of her situation – until the subjects of her photos start talking back to her. How long can May’s resolve last when faced with unending processions of fear, desperation, and the threat of imminent death?

“Ordinary people, simply doing their jobs, and without any particular hostility on their part, can become agents in a terrible destructive process. Moreover, even when the destructive effects of their work become patently clear, and they are asked to carry out actions incompatible with fundamental standards of morality, relatively few people have the resources needed to resist authority.”

In June of 1961, Yale University psychologist Stanley Milgram began a series of social psychology experiments, designed to test the average person’s boundaries of ‘obedience to authority figures.’ In these tests, the participants (called Teachers) would be instructed by an authority figure (called Experimenters) to administer increasingly high voltage electric shocks to an unseen participant in another room (called Learners). With each shock, the unseen Learner’s reaction would increase: expressions of discomfort, complaints of a heart condition, all the way to screaming, begging for release, and physically banging on a shared wall. The worst shocks (at 450v) were met with silence. Of course, no one was really getting shocked – the Learners were all in on the experiment. But all 40 Teacher participants truly believed that they were inflicting pain.

Prior to his experiment, Milgram polled Yale psychology majors, his colleagues, and a sizeable pool of psychologists as to what percentage of participants would make it to and willingly administer the last 450v shock; estimates were low, varying from 0 to 3%.

In Milgram’s first set of experiments, the actual figure was 65%.

That’s not to say that the participants were glad to do so – all 40 expressed hesitation and resistance upon hearing their victim’s pleas. However, with enough prompting and encouragement from the present authority figure, more than 25 participants continued. The results of the now notable ‘Milgram experiments’ (which open this review) present a horrifying hypothesis – that many good people are capable of enacting terrible actions.

This is the world of Two Tall Theatre’s S-27, and be warned – it is not one for the faint hearted theatregoer. Despite its relatively short 65 minute running time, Sarah Grochala’s show manages to pack in more brutality, desperation, and degradation than you would think possible; such is the unfortunate potency of the play’s source materials. However, it is the ‘execution’ (pardon the poorly-timed pun) of all this misery that cements S-27 as both a harrowingly uncomfortable and hauntingly powerful production.

Director John Wood (Proof, Doubt) doubles down on his focus on confrontational, character-driven drama by taking it to its narrative extreme in S-27. Wood’s emphasis on theatrical naturalism serves him well here, as it goes a long way in mitigating some of the more Flowery aspects of Grochala’s script, without nullifying S-27’s scenes of horror.

Indeed, the crowning achievement of Two Tall Theatre’s S-27 is its overwhelmingly disquieting atmosphere, which has clearly been considered in all stages of the production. The use of The Royal Exchange’s limited space allows the audience very little room to escape the full intensity of the horrors being presented on stage – this forced intimacy (especially for those in the front row) almost establishes a sense of culpability in viewers.

If this wasn’t enough, Grochala’s script deliberately places audiences in a position of disorientation and helplessness – the play begins with little fanfare, and before we know anything, ‘traitors’ are already being processed; tears are shed, threats are made, photographs are taken, and lives are shunted through a red door. Much like the unfortunate victims of S-27, the audience are completely deprived of context behind the grim reality of May’s world, and any information that is uncovered is piecemeal at best.

One of the precious few constants in S-27 is Amy Wilde’s steely-gazed photographer May, who is burdened with processing the show’s grim spectrum of ‘traitors’. Wilde has proved herself more than capable at portraying wilful characters in the past (Age of Consent, The Boys), and employs similar skill in establishing May as S-27’s authoritarian; armed with her camera, Wilde’s May is assured in her position. Cold. Confidant. In control. Despite this, Wilde’s wider character journey is one of graded exposure, and affords the actress a prime opportunity to showcase her considerable range. By show’s end, one of the most captivating photos in S-27 is Wilde’s own snapshot of a woman under immense pressure.

Britt Ferry is afforded a similar breadth of character as May’s assistant June, though the ultimate effects of her transformation are altogether subtler. Throughout S-27, Ferry increasingly unsettles in a manner than escapes easy communication; it might be the way her arms don’t swing when she walks, or the dryness of her delivery, or the intensity behind her stare. Whatever it may be, Ferry possesses inescapable presence as an actress – the character of June (and consequently, S-27) greatly benefits from that.

Though S-27’s wider ensemble is relegated to individual scenes, the results are no less impactful on both the audience and the cumulative effect of the production as a whole. The six ensemble performers showcase a spectrum of grisly reactions to the threat of imminent death, but are ultimately united in two ways: the first is the uniform incidence of cuts, blood, bruises, and burns (impressively rendered by makeup artist Claire Thomas) and the palpable presence of immeasurable pain behind each performer’s eyes. That latter point may seem like exaggeration or flowery language, but for a show trying to sell the idea of imminent danger at all times, witnessing the terror in everyone’s faces is the fastest and best path to believability. Credit where it’s due – they utterly sold me.

While each of these wider ensemble members are deserving of praise for their efforts – with special mention going to Emily Daly’s desperate Cousin and Mitchell Cox’s tragically broken Col – I found myself singularly struck by the performance of Kate Slowey as Girl, who contrasted greatly as the slow, still, and measured ‘traitor.’ Amidst a whirlwind of desperation, indignation, and hopelessness, it was Slowey’s quiet resignation that truly disconcerted – her vacant stare, glassy eyes, and hushed tones screamed far louder to me than anyone else in S-27 could have possibly done. Kudos!

Unfortunately, there’s so much more about S-27 that I cannot mention in this review, for fear that I might unintentionally diminish the production’s impact on any first-timers. I’d love to detail specific moments that made me tear up in shock, talk about character arcs, or debate possible theories surrounding the wider context of Grochala’s narrative. I would like to, but I can’t – half of the fun of a production like this is revelling in the unknown.

Truly, Two Tall Theatre’s production of S-27 is not a pleasant evening out at the theatre. Short, sharp, and unflinchingly brutal, it reflects the very worst parts of humanity back at us, reminds us of horrors past and present, and threatens to bridge that gap should we ever forget. It’s disorientating, depressing, and even worse – it’s based on real events. But that is exactly what makes it such an impactful and impressive piece of theatre. Armed with a stellar ensemble, incredible atmosphere, and unforgettably raw drama, S-27 drags audiences kicking and screaming out of their comfort zones, and simply refuses to let go.

[curtaincallwithcarlgregory]

REVIEW: The One Day of the Year

Presented By: Newcastle Theatre Company

Season: April 16 – April 29

Venue: Newcastle Repertory Club (90 DeVitre St, Lambton)

Booking: http://www.trybooking.com/KOVR

Director: Cheryl Sovechles

Writer: Alan Seymour

Cast:

• Philip McGrath as Alf Cook • David Yarrow as Wacka Dawson • Jan Hunt as Dot Cook • Elissa Shand as Jan Castle • Jarrod Sansom as Hughie Cook

Synopsis: Set against the changing landscape of early 1960’s Australia, young Hughie Cook is struggling with Anzac Day, what it stands for, and how it is celebrated each year. His ex-serviceman father Alf defends the occasion with great reverence; his upper-crust girlfriend Jan thinks it’s a poor excuse for an all-out booze up; family friend and elder veteran Wacka won’t say anything about it, and mum Dot just wants to keep the peace. But when Hughie is prompted to contribute to an upcoming article criticising Anzac Day, he will be forced to confront his own convictions, and those of the people around him.

There’s an interesting trend that’s been developing over the past few years on the Internet – namely, the concept of ‘outrage culture.’ The basic idea is that a group of people are too busy being angry/offended at an oppositional idea or sensitive topic of discussion to actually engage with it. The concept of ‘having the right opinion’ is seen as more valuable that debating the merits of said opinion and, consequently, conversations about taboo subjects are plagued by ad-hominem point scoring or instances of Godwin’s Law.

Funnily enough, it seems that this isn’t a new idea; like any well-worn fashion trend or cultural reference point, people have been getting upset at different views since forever! And the more deviant the idea is, the more irrationally upset people will eventually get – take Alan Seymour, for example. Alan Seymour’s The One Day of the Year was initially inspired by an article published in the University of Sydney’s Honi Soit newspaper, which admonished the conduct of ex-servicemen at Anzac Day revelries. The subsequent play (published in July, 1960) was seen by many as an attack on both the day and the men who celebrated it, and found initial resistance from various sources – including theatre entities, the R.S.L., and the government. However, it’s eventual release and continued proliferation has since solidified it as an classic Australian play, which manages to critically examine Australia’s cultural values without giving in to outrage.

Like all great dramas, The One Day of the Year isn’t just about what’s written in the plot synopsis; while Alan Seymour’s domestic drama certainly busies itself with the differing views on Anzac Day, it also casts a lens over more universal themes. Issues such as familial, intergenerational, and social conflicts, as well as the valourisation of war and its effects on returned servicemen are all given ample room for exploration and discussion, and these wider concerns are what give Seymour’s script such a long-lasting impression.  

More than anything, The One Day of the Year is an examination on quintessential ‘Australian’ culture and values, and should heavily resonate with almost any audience; despite being set almost 60 years ago, I was quite alarmed at just how familiar Seymour’s Australia was to my own, right down to the familial dynamics and dialogue. This level of verisimilitude is quite invaluable, as it grounds the very few exaggerated or lofty elements of the production (period styles, or verbose exchanges) in a realistic view.

The One Day of the Year is director Cheryl Sovechles debut, having previously performed in a number of theatrical productions across Newcastle (and winning the CONDA for Best Non-Professional Actress in 2000 for NTC’s Can’t Pay? Won’t Pay!). Alan Seymour’s script certainly seems to have been the right choice for her first foray – not only is the production well-renowned, but it features relatively few theatrical flourishes to distract from all of the drama at hand (save for a handful of archival audio/visual elements).

The ultimate effect of this focus is a simple and direct drama that excels in its ambitions, and establishes NTC’s The One Day of the Year as a remarkably solid production of 2016.

Philip McGrath puts in an incredible performance as the passionate patriarch Alf Cook, and damn near steals The One Day of the Year whole. Though initially characterised as a  blustery, blue-collar Aussie bloke, McGrath layers his performance with impressive range; there’s a world of difference between Alf as a friend, father, husband and veteran, and each new dynamic adds depth to the talkative larrikin we’re initially introduced to. As the dominant personality of the play, McGrath’s Alf typically dictates the speed and intensity of any given scene, which would seem like a heavy burden for any performer – thankfully, McGrath wields this responsibility (like Alf’s convictions) with obvious skills.

Jarrod Sansom anchors The One Day of the Year as the contemplative Hughie, and does well to bring a comparatively quieter emotional journey to the forefront of his performance. Though his character is largely reactionary, Sansom instils his Hughie with an intensity and stage presence that remains even when he’s idle, which is no small feat. When finally pushed, Sansom’s performance exemplifies the sudden, unthinking fury and frustration that characterises him as a young man struggling against larger ideals. At all times, the actor maintains a sympathetic moral centre, and navigates the line between childish petulance and a youth exploring the limit of his convictions admirably.

Elissa Shand makes her return to NTC after leading their 2014 production of Heartbreak House, this time as the altogether more saccharine Jan Castle. As the driving force behind The One Day of the Year’s oppositional views to Anzac Day, Shand’s Jan is the closest thing to an antagonist, and runs the risk of coming across as exaggerated or simply unbelievable when set against the grounded domestic drama of the Cook family. Fortunately, Shand imbues Jan with believable conviction, and her earnestness when  attempting to cross the class gap between her and Hughie does well to alleviate the fear of comic exaggeration. Though flawed and cynical, Shand’s Jan is unmistakably sincere.

Jan Hunt and David Yarrow capably support as Alf’s wife and closest friend, respectively. Yarrow instils his Wacka with a solemn dignity, and shines in his quiet moments amidst the chaos that surrounds him. Regardless of the ideals contested in The One Day of the Year, both Alan Seymour and David Yarrow have a clear respect for the gentle remembrance of Wacka Dawson, and Yarrow’s earnestness is both resonant and skilful. Jan Hunt proves equally adept as Dot, attempting to balance the shaky temperaments of her family as Anzac Day approaches. Hunt has the enviable ability to shed any pretence  of ‘character’ in her performance, and simply comes as a living, breathing person – her gentle side-eyes of disbelief and moments of curt honesty certainly don’t go unnoticed.

Set Designer Robyn Greenwell works wonders in The One Day of the Year, breaking the Newcastle Theatre Company stage into three distinct sets: Hughie’s bedroom, the Cook family lounge room, and the kitchen. In creating the domestic setting of a working class family in the 1960’s, Greenwell and ‘Set Realiser’ Jim Milliss managed to actually trigger my own nostalgia for the homes of my older family members; the slightly weathered paint jobs, the metal-rimmed breakfast table, the side-tables stuffed with magazines – each design element of at once is startling familiar and extremely evocative of the time.

Newcastle Theatre Company’s The One Day of the Year is a shining example of no-frills, well-executed drama that earns its runtime and adeptly expresses its heady materials. Bolstered by a strong ensemble of performers and excellent set design, The One Day of the Year is an exemplary debut for director Cheryl Sovechles and a great day of theatre.

[curtaincallwithcarlgregory]

REVIEW: The 39 Steps

Presented By: Theatre on Brunker

Season: April 1 – April 23

Venue: St Stephen’s Hall, Brunker Rd, Adamstown

Bookings: 4956 1263

Director: Brian Lowe

Writer: Patrick Barlow

Cast:

• Derek Fisher as Richard Hannay • Alison Cox as Annabella Schmidt/ Pamela/ Margaret • Mark Spencer as Clown 1 • Peter Bird as Clown 2

Synopsis: When unsuspecting Englishman Richard Hannay’s evening at the theatre is interrupted by a flurry of gunshots, a chance encounter with the fraught and frightful spy Annabella Schmidt will propel him into a world of mystery, subterfuge, and murder. Framed for murder and tasked with discovering the truth behind the mysterious ‘39 Steps,’ Hannay embarks on a cross-country pursuit – but will he manage to evade the police long enough to prove his innocence, unveil a conspiracy, and escape with his life?

Whether you’re a fan of the man or not, Alfred Hitchcock’s legacy as ‘the master of suspense’ cannot be understated or disputed. In a career spanning over 50 years, the man behind such classics as Psycho, Vertigo, and North by Northwest has thrilled audiences with his ability to establish nail-biting tension, perverse horror, and total fear.

However, it’s fair to say that such material in another person’s hands might come off less as thrilling suspense and more akin to the exaggerated melodrama of the daytime soaps. Murderous birds, cross-dressing killers, and wheelchair-bound protagonists are just as ripe for laughs as they are for shrieks, right? Thankfully, playwright Patrick Barlow has turned ol’ Hitchcock on his head, adapting Alfred’s 1935 film The 39 Steps into a comedy.

Barlow’s The 39 Steps has a storied history, adapted in 2005 directly from the work of Simon Corble and Nobby Dimon, who conceived the comic production in the mid-1990’s. Based on the Alfred Hitchcock film (which, in turn, was adapted from the 1915 John Buchan novel of the same name), the production casts four performers in 100+ roles, and pokes fun at much of Alfred Hitchcock’s filmography, as well as thrillers in general.

This willingness to acknowledge and embrace the ridiculousness and limitations of the production is The 39 Steps’ greatest strength; not only does it foster a familiar and forgiving relationship with the audience (who laugh alongside the performers at the slap-dash design and simplified staging), but it also allows Theatre on Brunker’s latest show to get away with weakness other productions might be called on the carpet over.

Derek Fisher easily charms as the English gadabout-turned fugitive Richard Hannay, and alternately steel-gazes and smirks through the absurd melodrama that surrounds him. His ability to remain stoic in the face of increasing silliness is a great part of his appeal, especially when the actor joins in on the fun himself – I sincerely doubt that I’ll ever see someone escape from an armchair in a funnier fashion than Fisher’s distinct techniques.

Alison Cox capably supports as three separate women that Hannay encounters on his travels, with each role giving the actress enough distinct material to have fun with. Cox has proven herself an adept comic actor in past productions (Plaza Suite, Female of the Species), and reaffirms that stance in The 39 Steps, particularly as sultry agent Annabella Schmidt.

However, it’s her role as the proud and prickly Pamela where Cox does her best work, wrestling against the charms of Fisher’s Hannay as the unwilling partner in his pursuit. It’s a credit to the actor’s abilities that a momentary lapse in action in the show’s second half provides a genuine moment of emotional investment amidst all the ridiculousness – even in melodrama, Cox can’t help but give an endearing dramatic performance. Kudos!

Lastly (but certainly not least), Mark Spencer and Peter Bird work tirelessly as the two Clowns to round out the remainder of the 100+ roles present within The 39 Steps. Armed with minimal props and costumes to suggest character, Spencer and Bird’s scenes are understandably loose-weave, particularly when playing against one another. However, their efforts as the lynchpins behind much of The 39 Steps’ momentum can’t be understated or unappreciated – both men deserve congratulations on their labours.

Theatre on Brunker’s The 39 Steps has an understandably minimalistic use of prop and set design, allowing performers to both improvise and experiment with its application. In fact, some of the productions most memorable and humorous moments emerge from this symbolic interpretation of design; highlights include seeing Fisher’s Hannay flee across the roofs of multiple train cars (wooden boxes in actuality), or escaping a tense situation by grabbing an empty frame, and using it as a ‘rear window’ (!) to leap through.

When used in conjunction with Barry Renshaw’s lighting design, the effect is impressive and hilarious; the sight of Hannay slow-motion running across the Scottish highlands in the bruised purpled hues of the early night is a comical sight, and I’m sure audiences will be thoroughly tickled by this creative use of production design – it serves the show well.

As with many comedies, The 39 Steps largely breezes along on the skill and speed of its performers, and the production’s cast handle this responsibility well – for the most part. In truth, Theatre on Brunker’s latest show starts to lose its brisk pace in the second half, where some interactions are more hampered than helped by the limitations on the cast. However, loose-weave and scattered is essentially the name of The 39 Steps’ game, and minor criticisms such as this will more than likely be lost in the stream of chuckles, giggles, and guffaws the show gleefully elicits from the audience – my own included.

Those thinking of attending The 39 Steps would do well to think about their seating beforehand – Theatre on Brunker’s latest production occasionally suffers from clarity issues the further away you get from the stage. The effect is ultimately minimal, but some older audience members might lose some of the production’s finer details amidst the background sounds of fan overhead, passing traffic nearby, or audience atmosphere.

Theatre on Brunker’s The 39 Steps is an undeniably fun evening of community theatre; though there are a handful of minor quibbles I have in reflection, the reality is that I was enjoying myself far too much in the theatre to really worry about them. The production aims for unapologetic absurdity, and manages to hit the mark – any audiences looking for a light and cheery laugh should look no further than the steps of Theatre on Brunker.

[curtaincallwithcarlgregory]

REVIEW: Witness for the Prosecution

Presented By: DAPA Theatre

Season: March 30 – April 10

Venue: DAPA Theatre [145 Beaumont St, Hamilton]

Booking: 0416 252 446

Director: David Murray

Writer: Agatha Christie

Cast:

• Alastair Anderberg as Leonard Vole • Sandy Aldred as Romaine Vole • David Murray as Sir Wilfred Robards QC • David Gubbay as Carter/Mr Justice Wainwright • Beth Traynor as Greta • Bob Price as Mr Mayhew • Ian Lucas as Detective Inspector Hearne • Roger Wood as Mr Myers QC • Matthew Lockyer as Dr Wyatt • Judith Schofield as Janet Mackenzie • Phil Haywood as Court Usher • Lionel Gorrie as Plain Clothes Detective/Warner • Andrew Moore as Policeman • Oliver Pink as Barrister • Renee Thomas as Girl • Tony Gluck as Stand In

Synopsis: When wealthy widow Emily French is found murdered in her own home, police are quick to apprehend the young and impressionable Leonard Vole, who had been the object of the late lady’s affections. Down on his luck and possessing ample motive, Vole seems the likely culprit – but Leonard desperately protests his innocence. Thankfully, tenacious barrister Sir Wilfred Robards agrees to take up Vole’s dire case; but after an unusual meeting with his client's distant and calculating wife Romaine, Robards is thrust into a mysterious vortex of intrigue and circumstance. Can the bold barrister prove his client’s innocence, and how does Romaine Vole fit into the prosecution’s case?

I am very thankful to have lived my life without needing to see the inside of a courtroom – as defendant, juror, or otherwise. Like hospitals, police stations, and sites of nuclear detonation, it is safe to assume that the best-led lives are those who have no need of such locations, right? However, as the saying goes, “the best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry…” But don’t blame fate in this instance; blame the mind of dear old Agatha Christie.

Witness for the Prosecution is based on an Agatha Christie short story of the same name, and made notable by the significant changes and exemptions the author made when adapting the work for the stage.  The resulting play is undoubtedly Christie, and fans of her texts will certainly recognise several familiar elements – the murder that kicks off the proceedings, the requisite suspicious foreigner, the obtuse and plodding police/prosecution, the helpful sidekick to ask questions/speculate, and the cerebral investigative protagonist. However, Witness for the Prosecution largely eschews the usual colourful cast of suspects, instead favouring a narrower focus on Vole’s culpability. Reception to this streamlined Christie narrative will ultimately come down to personal preference; while I enjoyed the wider ensembles of suspects in productions like Christie’s Black Coffee or Spider’s Web (both staged in 2015), the journey of Sir Robards’ involvement in Vole’s case is undeniably clearer and easier for audiences to engage with.

Director David Murray makes an earnest attempt to shoulder the heavy burden of Sir Wilfred Robards, saddled as he is with the lion’s share of Agatha Christie’s dense script. Sadly, that responsibility appeared to pose a significant challenge to Murray, whose performance (and subsequently, the show) halted several times while the actor recalled his lines or appeared to source them from a nearby page. Regardless, Murray’s Robards is both genial and relatable, with the actor’s everyman quality shining through on stage.

Roger Wood provides a clear juxtaposition to the measured Robards as the verbose and theatrical crown prosecutor Mr Myers. In a performance that stirred up echoes of Brian Blessed, Wood bellows and bristles through Witness for the Prosecution’s courtroom scenes in equal measure, and made for a peculiar adversary to Murray’s role. Audiences may be divided on Wood’s efforts; on one hand, his peculiar countenance is undeniably memorable, and does lend some levity to the dour proceedings of the court. Alternately, some viewers may find his larger than life delivery jarring, or ill fitting in the wider context of Christie’s script. I still haven’t entirely decided where I land on this...

Alastair Anderberg makes for a sympathetic Leonard Vole, and fills the pitiable physicality of the accused man well – the sight of his slight figure hunched over with fear in the courtroom docks is a sombre visual, and casts fair doubt on the man’s culpability. Though Anderberg opens relatively solid in his early scenes, the actor is eventually faced with greater struggles in convincingly parsing the delivery of his dialogue, creating pauses and tonal shifts that ultimately come across as artificial. These moments (particularly in the productions final act) will hopefully smooth out as the season moves on.

Sandy Aldred gives a strong performance as Leonard’s calculating wife Romaine, and offers Witness for the Prosecution a welcome air of dangerousness and unpredictability. As the eponymous witness behind the production’s title, Aldred’s Romaine fills the Christie trope of ‘mysterious foreigner’ with unapologetic confidence and cold power, making for an engaging and intriguing figure. The actress is given enough latitude in later acts to showcase a wider set of skills than initially advertised, and Aldred executes these scenes with clear ability and strong stage presence – congratulations on the work.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned pursuit of forgotten or obscured lines became a notable and recurring feature amongst a number of performers in Witness for the Prosecution – particularly in the exposition-heavy scenes of the courtroom. As an actor, I have tremendous sympathy for performers caught in such a regrettable situation, and I wouldn’t normally discuss these issues in such detail. However, the regularity of this matter in DAPA’s latest production may pose a significant obstacle for audiences, who will undoubtedly catch the unexpected pauses and lingering side-eyes at hidden pages. With any luck, this issue will have all but disappeared in the production’s final weekend.

Witness for the Prosecution is bolstered by an impressive pair of sets, with proceedings jumping between the simple office of Sir Robards and the wooden austerity of the court. Through their work, set designers David Murray and Matthew Lockyer fully capture the feeling of intimidation and overwhelming dread in the courtroom set, which dominates the stage in much of the production’s second act – in contrast, the simple warmth and ample space of Robards’ office is a welcome respite to this, for both audience and actors. Murray and Lockyer should be very happy with their hard work. However, this trade-off establishes two notable obstacles for Witness for the Prosecution: the sacrifice of character mobility in the courtroom scenes (which makes for relatively stayed visuals) and the existence of a lengthy set change in the third and final act, (which forcibly halts the proceedings for a noticeable amount of time).

The unfortunate irony of DAPA Theatre’s Witness for the Prosecution is that it currently lacks the conviction and confidence that is required to carry the heavy material of Agatha Christie. With so much emphasis placed on the focused narrative and dialogue (and so little in the way of technical elements or changing scenery to hide behind), the ensemble faces a tremendous responsibility in carrying their details through in a clear and timely fashion. Though it features some capable performances and impressive set design, Witness for the Prosecution needs to sure up its pacing and delivery, or it won’t get its day in court.

[curtaincallwithcarlgregory]

REVIEW: Death and the Maiden

Presented By: Newcastle Theatre Company

Season: March 5 – March 19

Venue: Newcastle Repertory Club (90 DeVitre St, Lambton)

Booking: https://www.trybooking.com/Booking/BookingEventSummary.aspx?eid=177058

Director: Janet Nelson

Writer: Ariel Dorfman

Cast:

• Wendy Ratcliffe as Paulina Salas • Craig Barnes as Gerardo Escobar • Michael Byrne as Roberto Miranda

Synopsis: In a country struggling to find democracy in the wake of a brutal dictatorship, Paulina Salas is haunted by the memories of her time spent as a political prisoner. Sequestered in her seaside property with her patient husband (and rising lawyer) Gerardo Escobar, she fears imminent retribution from the newly crumbled dictatorship; until the unexpected arrival of helpful stranger Dr Roberto Miranda changes everything. Convinced of Miranda’s involvement in her traumatic captivity, Paulina aims to enact her retribution on the good doctor – but is he truly guilty of the crimes she has in mind?

The concept of justice is a difficult one to navigate: there’s the clinical justice of the judicial system, the frenzied emotionality of mob justice, and then there’s the Batman. I’m kidding about that last part – even the Batman’s vigilantism pales in the face of institutionalised dictatorships, and the personal horrors that they leave in their wake. But when in the face of such overwhelming injustice, what is the reasonable response? Is it the deaths of everyone involved? Is it incarceration? And who will dole this all out? Suffice to say, not everyone else shares the same sense of right and wrong that you hold.

Writer Ariel Dorfman is all too familiar with Death and the Maiden’s themes of justice and tyranny, having been exiled from his life in Chile amidst the Pinochet coup of 1973. The production has since become one of Dorfman’s crowning achievements and remains one of the best stage translations of the experience of governmental and civil oppression – an experience that Dorfman himself had confessed to struggling to express to viewers.

Sadly, Newcastle Theatre Company seems to share Dorfman’s difficulties – their production of Death and the Maiden ultimately fails to achieve the levels of tension and deep examination of morality that has made the play so notable. Despite featuring novel and inspired set design, NTC’s latest drama is weighed down by an uneven cast, distraction in technical design, and direction that leaves the show feeling rudderless.

Craig Barnes appears unequal to the task of portraying the judicious Gerardo Escobar. Though the actor’s performance comes from a place of clear earnestness, his execution of Gerardo’s dialogue rings largely hollow, undercutting the reality of his given scenes and leaving an obvious dearth of opposition to Ratcliffe’s conviction. In a cast size this small (particularly when one-third is usually gagged), the burden on the remaining performers is enormous, and has a definitive impact on the rest of Death and the Maiden. In Barnes’ case, both the production’s tone and tension significantly waver at his efforts.

As with her previous efforts in 2013’s Next to Normal (also by NTC), Ratcliffe has a clear ability to navigate her broken character with equal parts frailty and unparalleled frenzy. Her performance as the vengeful Paulina is serviceable, though at times threatens to dip into melodrama amidst her more heightened exchanges; the actress shows clearer strength in moments of caustic and contemptuous dialogue in Death and the Maiden. Ratcliffe had noticeable difficulty with her dialogue at opening night’s performance, though this is a qualm that will more than likely disappear over the production’s season.

Death and the Maiden hinges on Michael Byrne’s performance as the ‘hostage’ Miranda as the source of its tension and longevity beyond the walls of NTC: is he guilty or not? While opinions are mixed, I believe that Byrne straddles the line with reasonable skill. His Miranda is initially cordial and charming enough to make his sudden incarceration seem unwarranted; as Death and the Maiden proceeds, his anxious immediacy lends his victimhood some credibility. However, Byrne is careful to sow some seeds of doubt as well, giving his Miranda enough pauses and inconsistencies to jar audience sympathies. Though Miranda’s culpability remains in doubt, Byrne’s abilities as a performer are not.

(Coincidentally, in researching prior productions of Death and the Maiden, I found that Michael Byrne is the second of his name to play Roberto Miranda. What are the odds?)

Director Janet Nelson leaves far too much air within Death and the Maiden for any tension or momentum to build, keeping much of the production in proverbial ‘first gear.’ Moments like the initial detainment of Roberto Miranda are prolonged silences in which audiences are left to titter (nervously or otherwise) as Ratcliffe’s Paulina binds him up. Others – like the late appearance of mirrors aimed at the viewing audience – are bereft of any impact; whatever symbolism or meaning they were supposed to instil was annulled. Scenes follow one another with little flow and create a largely disjointed path of content – something that Death and the Maiden’s script cannot sustain, and is soon consumed by.

Graham Wilson blends a distinct style with pragmatism and visual novelty in Death and the Maiden’s set design, establishing a beachside home with clear echoes of a prison cell in deconstruction. The two main walls are mere frames – a practicality that allows audiences to see characters skulk behind them, and view the calm oceans further afield. This contrast in the set and its scenic view is the kind of macabre sight that gives Death and the Maiden a boost in tone, though its size does limit the actor’s outside movements.

However, this boost in tone is somewhat nullified by the production’s blunt sound and lighting design, which often threatened to overpower the scenes at hand. Beach atmosphere (waves, birds, etc.) comes close to active distraction in Death and the Maiden’s early moments, and the presence of dramatic audio cues to cap each scene create similar discord, rather than subtly support as I’m sure they’re intended to. The production’s lighting design has the potential to become a similar obstacle, as Death in the Maiden is bathed in substantial darkness – a relevant choice, considering the late night setting, but still a hurdle. Maybe some fine-tuning will lessen the impact of these elements.

Newcastle Theatre Company’s production of Death and the Maiden is spread far too wide and runs far too shallow to accurately occupy its themes of justice and violence in any substantial terms. Though the cast make significant effort to parse Dorfman’s script, they do so at different levels of success, creating an imbalance that can distracts viewers. I would like to give full credit to Newcastle Theatre Company and the Death and the Maiden team for their hard work – that is not in any doubt. But in attempting to do  Dorfman’s play justice, the final product leaves just as many doubts as Roberto Miranda.

[curtaincallwithcarlgregory]

REVIEW: Punk Rock

Presented by: Stooged Theatre

Season: March 2 – March 12

Venue: Civic Playhouse [375 Hunter Street, Newcastle, New South Wales 2300]

Booking: http://premier.ticketek.com.au/shows/show.aspx?sh=PUNKROCK16

Director: Daniel Cottier

Writer: Simon Stephens

Cast:

• Charlotte de Wit as Tanya Gleason • Scott Eveleigh as William Carlisle • Sarah Gordon as Cissy Franks • Georgia Hicks-Jones as Lilly Cahill • Lindsay McDonald as Chadwick Meade • Paul Predny as Nicholas Chatman • Jerry Ray as Bennett Francis • Emily Williams as Lucy Francis

Synopsis: Secluded in the upper school library of Stockport Grammar School, several sixth-form students prepare to take their mock A-Level exams. With the end of their scholastic careers close at hand, each student ruminates on the world beyond the walls, and the wild collection of experiences that have brought them to this point. But these contemptuous teens have a lot to contend with before they finish cramming; will they be able to deal their differences between now and the end of their grammar school studies?

Anyone who tells you that the best years of your life are in high school can’t be trusted; they’re either lying through their teeth, or were absolutely oblivious in their teen years. High school – as much fun as it may seem in memory – was an unforgiving battleground where the sudden whims of adolescent energy manifested in a million different fashions – some constructive, and others not so much. When the timeless hurdles of blunt-force social interaction, existential angst, and teenage rebelliousness coalesce, the results can be overwhelming. Throw in a frenetic punk soundtrack, and you have got a potent mix…

It should come as no surprise that Stooged Theatre’s Punk Rock is high-energy theatre; despite its grammar school setting, Simon Stephens’ script crackles with tumultuous teenage issues, a bevy of colourful personalities, and an utterly explosive soundtrack.  You’ve be forgiven if you broke a sweat just thinking about it! However, Stephens’ script curiously juxtaposes these moments of volatile energy with traditional tension building.

Director Daniel Cottier shows an almost prescient understanding of these odd cadences, and strikes an admirable balance between them. What shouldn’t work at all… just does. The overall effect of Punk Rock’s staccato rhythm is very reminiscent of a thunderstorm; though there are definite moments of stillness, they are almost always in service of the next sudden bolt of energy, or to contrast against the one that has just passed. Regardless, it succeeds in keeping the audience off-balance, anticipating the next ‘boom.’ Even it you can pick it, I guarantee that it’ll be much louder than you would ever expect.

Punk Rock marks the start of an interesting experiment for Stooged Theatre, who has eschewed its traditional ensemble of actors in favour of a suitably aged performer base. Considering the material at hand, it’s a reasonable decision – as anyone who has recently watched Grease can attest, there’s a firm roof on playing a convincing teenager. Imagine my pleasant surprise when Cottier and co. not only manage to find appropriate performers, but assemble one of the finest ensembles I have seen in the last few years…

Scott Eveleigh gives one of the finest performances of his young career as the contemplative William Carlisle, a sixth-form student burdened by his own expectations. Like the proverbial Ship of Theseus, Eveleigh’s performance is one of almost invisible substitutions, stripping pieces away and replacing them when the situation requires it. What was once geniality and charm can soon become a tempest of mounting aggression, and the actor weathers all these changes with a clear assurance and obvious ability. By Punk Rock’s close, Scott Eveleigh has achieved something wholly extraordinary, and must be congratulated for his sleight-of-hand – it’s a performance that cannot be missed.

Jerry Ray – who exploded onto my radar in 2015’s Age of Consent – returns in fine form as Punk Rock’s unapologetically malicious Bennett Francis. While many performers in Stooged Theatre’s latest production can boast significant stage presence, Ray’s Bennett is an altogether different beast, gleefully picking away at the insecurities of his ‘friends.’ It’s a testament to his performance that the rest of the show seems to fall away when Bennett has a target in sight; though his barbs and bullying are an indisputably uncomfortable situation to behold, Jerry Ray makes it an absolutely mesmerising affair.

This isn’t said to discount the efforts of the wider ensemble, which capably support these two performances with equal ability. Sarah Gordon effortlessly scored gales of laughter as the alternately prissy and prickly Cissy Franks, and was widely cited by the opening night post-show audience as an excellent performance. Paul Predny and Charlotte De Wit capably underscore their roles with a gentle sense of morality and clear discomfort at the discord that surrounds them, endearing them to their audiences.

Georgia Hicks-Jones plays Lilly close to the chest (an appropriate choice for an outsider) and provides a distinct contrast against the louder personalities of her classmates. Lindsay McDonald carves out a unique performance as the awkward loner Chadwick, who truly shines in his confrontations with the contemptuous Bennett. Insularity and pitifulness don’t always translate well on stage, but McDonald is a wonderful example of those elements executed with skill and clarity.

Of course, if there’s one potential bugbear to lay on the ensemble, it’s their accent work. Punk Rock’s roots in Stockport, England place a significant demand on the ability of its ensemble to convincingly execute the accent; while I was very satisfied with the vocal work of Cottier’s crew on opening night, there were some evident difficulties at the start. However, I am entirely aware that this potential issue might have been entirely erased from the production by now, and that not everyone has a strong ear for inconsistencies.

Set designers Stephanie Cunliffe-Jones, Joel Yager and Daniel Cottier have noticeably eschewed the typical ‘Spartan’ Stooged Theatre set direction, instead opting to cover the stage in enough detail to achieve an admirable level of verisimilitude: their school library is suitably adorned, and walks that fine line between professional set and that well-worn, hand-me-down feeling that all students will remember from school.

However, this level of detail does strike an interesting challenge when manoeuvring the sizeable ensemble, each of whom end up with their own ‘default position’ in the space.  When a character is required to advance the plot, they generally occupy the centre stage space – the only area left open for movement (literally ‘taking centre stage,’ as it were). These directorial decisions certainly aren’t an issue, except when they impede on believable character movement: in one example, dialogue between two performers is somewhat sidelined by the repeated movement of an actor, who continually rises from an armchair only to resume his seat multiple times, as if tethered to it by a rubber band.

Lighting designer Elese Murray establishes a conspicuously low ceiling over the action, with her design leaving the top half of the stage wall in darkness. Whether this was to denote the ceiling on the rooftop library, or to more metaphorically hang a threatening veil of darkness over Punk Rock’s team of teens, I don’t know – maybe I’m reading into it. Regardless, Murray does solid support work, occasionally flexing her skills in the more interpretive interstitial segues that occur between the main scenes, brief as they may be.

Similar kudos can be given to the sound design team of Stephanie Cunliffe-Jones and Daniel Cottier (geez, these guys again?). While the playlist of punk tunes presented can largely be attributed to the direct instruction of writer Simon Stephens, Cottier and co. manage to infuse an supplementary purpose for all the thrashing tunes: positioning it as the literal discord of a character’s mind. It’s a simple addition, but a largely effective one.

Stooged Theatre’s 2015 production of Equus marked an unsettling moment for the company; it was the first time that the controversial elements of a chosen play were deliberately curtailed – a move that seemed to butt against the headstrong and iron-will reputation that had previously made Stooged Theatre a Newcastle drama juggernaut. 2016’s Punk Rock goes a long way towards eliminating that doubt. Helmed by a steadfast director making his impressive debut, crewed by one of the best ensembles that I have seen in a long time, and packing the kind of merciless gut-punch that Stooged Theatre used to be known for, Punk Rock is a return to form; a raw and raucous look into the world of desperate adolescence, where every interaction can feel like life or death.

Rock on.