Sydney

“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth” is perhaps a slightly pretentious opening, but for this 90-minute absurdist extravaganza swinging a baseball bat at the time-honoured tradition of underpaying and disrespecting fast-food workers, I feel it deserved. Nestled between the Wharf theatres of STC and just above Bell Shakespeare, Canberra Youth Theatre have taken their eight person ensemble piece – Work, But This Time Like You Mean It, into ATYP’s Rebel Theatre for a mere three day sprint. And sprint it did.

From the moment you enter the theatre, what the piece is making fun of jumps out at you. The seven pre-set cast wear factory-cheap, McDonalds-esque polyester yellow, red, and black uniforms, already invoking that very all-too specific minimum-wage-job sweaty discomfort. These aesthetics continued to carry through the set; a curious set-up of a bright-red slope into a neon-yellow ballpit. One employee, Georgie Bianchini, sits deeply engrossed in the Employee Handbook, alone in her devotion to the rules and regulations of the world around her. The piece began with a jolt of movement, and truly did not stop moving until its final moments. In many ways, this was an incredibly strong ensemble piece because of this speed and movement. Bodies and voices came together to create the cacophony of stress necessary to accurately represent a job like this – although individually some struggled to fill the larger space.

The physicality was excellent across the board – Matthew Hogan and Sterling Notley being particularly shining examples, throwing themselves at the floor and each other with full conviction to create very fun moments of physical comedy. The ball pit came immediately into play, sailing across the stage worker to worker in an innovative reimagining of a production line, bringing a visual chaos that was usually very rewarding – although was distracting during the more intimate monologue sequences. The projector in the back was also used incredibly well, never stealing focus away from the performers or used as a crutch. Congratulations must go specifically to Kathleen Kershaw for her excellent aesthetic communication, Ethan Hamill on projection work and Patrick Haesler for a score that felt just as nervous to be there as we were.

With a piece that makes its argument so clearly visually, in some ways it allows the script and actors to give it some breathing room, and it was here I felt the piece struggled. Political theatre often entices us to have strong emotional moments, yet with an ensemble piece that moves this quickly, and is often almost incomprehensibly absurdist, these emotional moments jut out in a way that don’t quite make sense in the context of the show as a whole. In moments like the chicken dance sequence, or the work-place accident, the piece shows without telling us the sheer ridiculousness of what we ask young people to do without proper training or protection. This makes pull-away monologues that reiterate this point slightly redundant, and distracting from the larger flow of the show. This was more difficult when there was unclear separation from the wackier ensemble character, to the more personal monologue persona.

This being said, both Blue Hyslop and Quinn Goodwin succeeded in bridging the gap between absurdism and emotional reality. Hyslop delivered an almost Fight Club inspired monologue about his hallucinated happy place which although being farcical, was convincing because we felt his belief in every emotional point. Goodwin, in turn, took us through her plummeting mental health with well executed brimming neuroticism. I also enjoyed the staging of Goodwin’s private moments, the confession booth of the audience stairs elevated her vulnerability beautifully. Kathleen Dunkley and Emma Piva’s emotional moments are delivered as a duo, and whilst the two had great chemistry and created an interesting relationship, on a writing level, the scenes scraped just under the line of absurd, which made them feel out of place and underdeveloped by the ending.

I enjoyed their work through the chaos of the ending significantly more, as both were allowed to flex their comedic muscles as a duo whilst being better supported by the script. Georgie Bianchini served in some ways as the audience’s inside man to the chaos on stage, and held her own comedically throughout, even as her character was often pushed aside. Hannah Cornelia gave a similarly entertaining performance as the ever-frustrating customer, lack of self-awareness and all.

Work, But This Time Like You Mean It was an entertaining example of the ridiculous nature of the mundane, and was supported well through its blocking and ensemble work. Although I wished for more of a full-hearted commitment to absurdism, I enjoyed the argument being presented and the aesthetic framework it was presented inside. The performers worked incredibly well together, and many had very touching moments through their asides. Upon leaving, I was left with three things: that I didn’t miss hospitality, that I should probably go join my local union, and that the kids, at least in theatre, would be alright.

To book tickets to Work, But This Time Like You Mean It, please visit https://canberrayouththeatre.com.au/production/work-but/.

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