Arts Theatre Cronulla have had a fantastic year of shows; the ambition and attention to detail in their productions are always notable. Patrick Hamiltonâs âGaslightâ, playing until November 29, is a prime example of this - a tight and talented cast, great set design and an audience kept enthralled throughout. The choice of this particular show is a tribute to James Bruce, a founding member of the Arts Theatre who contributed as a set designer and builder, lighting designer and director over the course of 61 years. The director has said that Bruce loved this play, and in this production you can see why.
âGaslightâ is a thriller from the 1930âs, the story of a woman who thinks she is going mad like her mother before her. Her husband is reaching the end of his tether, until a visitor interrupts the balance of their little world. This production has moments that made the audience genuinely gasp out loud. Michael Gooley both acts and directs, and the directing choices make the tension in the room palpable. Gooley chose to build the set according to James Bruceâs design, and it works excellently; the flickering gaslights, the period-accurate furniture and other set details function almost like an escape room puzzle, drawing the audience to notice small changes, our eyes drawn to everything from paintings to desk drawers.
Margareta Moir is a revelation in the role of Bella Manningham. Bella is a character under serious stress, and the physicality of how Moir portrays this woman in crisis is at times frighteningly real; her storytelling goes beyond the dialogue. Bellaâs arc, in Moirâs hands, becomes the emotional thread that holds the story together, even as various mysteries unfold around her.
Gary Clark, playing Bellaâs husband Jack Manningham, makes excellent choices in this show. Jackâs tone is generally light and unaffected, which makes the moments where that demeanour shifts very striking. There is a moment where he enters at the end of the first act that was one of the dramatic high points of the show, with his stillness and raw energy drawing gasps. His performance builds a lot of the showâs tension, and his choices with how to present Jackâs light and shade are a thrill.
Ann Sayegh and Suzie Stipanovic play Elizabeth and Nancy, the two maids of the house who orbit one another and interact with their bosses in very different ways. The choices their characters make shape how you perceive both Jack and Bella, and both Sayegh and Stipanovic create depth and reveal power dynamics within the world of the house, underscoring the claustrophobia that Bella clearly feels.
Michael Gooley plays a blithe and unafraid Inspector Rough, a visitor to the home who turns Bellaâs world upside down. The tone of the whole show shifts when he enters, and Gooleyâs Rough remains a wildcard throughout, reacting in unpredictable ways to the unfolding revelations.
ATC continues, with this show, their pattern of a strong cast telling a story with conviction and wit, with good direction making for a really enjoyable (if nerve-wracking) night of theatre. From Craig Obergâs lighting design to the smooth stage-management by Michele Potter and Dahyla Oweichi, this is amateur theatre at its strongest: entertaining and artful. Jim Bruce would be proud.
I Swear (British Film Festival Media Preview) Rating
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Many people still think that Tourette Syndrome is all about swearing, not understanding the deeper complexity and impact of the condition. With education comes acceptance. That is the message at the heart of I Swear, a biopic about John Davidson, the Scottish activist who helped raise awareness of the syndrome after developing symptoms as a teenager. Written and directed by Kirk Jones, the film is a compassionate, beautifully told story that is both heart-warming and heart-wrenching, often at the same time.
While the plot was safe and highly predictable, it was the stunning performances that grabbed my attention and didnât let go. Robert Aramayo, from Rings of Power, plays an adult John so beautifully that all the physical ticks and outbursts feel natural and authentic. Thereâs such a warm humanity to John, and his rejections and setbacks are truly heart-breaking. The swearing, while tragic in their origin, are also timed and delivered so well you canât help but laugh, despite the dramatic consequences. Some lines are absolute classics, with John yelling at the police he has drugs on him, or the judge that heâs a âsee you en teaâ. Aramayo is supported by fantastic cast including Peter Mullan, Maxine Peake, and Shirley Henderson. There isnât a weak link in the chain.
The story begins when John first notices uncontrollable ticks when heâs only 13. Scott Ellis Watson is brilliant as the young John, convincingly playing a confused and scared young boy as the condition destroys what looks like a promising football career and leads to the break-up of his parentâs marriage. With the condition unrecognised and unaccepted, John is considered a trouble-maker, bullied and outcast not only by other school children but the broader community. Itâs devastating.
When John grows up, he lives with his mother who struggles to cope with his behaviour and insists that medication is the solution. When John meets Dottie, the mother of an old school friend, his life begins to change. By showing compassion and understanding, Dottie makes John feel accepted and safe. She tells him never to apologise for something that canât be helped. This acceptance empowers John to build a normal life for himself, eventually helping others with the condition and educating the community about Tourette Syndrome. There were a few moments where the drama became a little too forced, but I gave the authenticity the benefit of the doubt. It might actually have happened that way.
I Swear is not only moving and inspirational, but educational, turning misunderstanding into revelation. The entire theatre came out raving to each other about the power of the story. I canât recommend it enough.
I Swear is showing as part of the British Film Festival at Palace Cinemas Moore Park from November 5 to December 7, with a program full of the best of British Cinema.
The Appleton ladies potato race is Australiana at its very best! Set in a country town, that puts on an annual potato race, awash with old prejudices and an unwillingness to break tradition sets the scene. Penny the townâs doctor played by Courtney Farrow is fighting for equal prize money for the womenâs race. And so the battle begins on breaking decadeâs long traditions and the towns set in stone ideologies.
The all female cast led by the two matriarchs of the show Christine Greenough who plays Bev and Kate Mannix who plays Barb stole the show. Christineâs portrayal of Bev was nuanced and had emotional depth. Bev is a real salt of the earth type character and you will be laughing at some of the choice Australian profanity she uses. Kate Mannixâs Barb portrayal bounced off Bev so well that you believed that they were lifelong friends.
Ultimately this show has a lot of heart. Perfect for young and old, itâs a show that reminds you to fight for what you believe in. The set is simple but It doesnât need to be elaborate as the relationships in the show are what matter.
Sharni Ludowyk plays Nikki who is the townâs hairdresser and mum of four boys. The tension between Nikki and Penny the doctor create a great battle of wills and will make you question whose side you are on. Moja Band plays Rania who is a refugee brings soul to the show, and really highlights the themes of fitting in and still fighting for what you believe in.
Melanie Taitâs expertly written Appleton ladies potato race is filled with Australian language and relatable characters. The dialogue flows very easily and has themes of struggle, past burdens and humour sprinkled throughout. Alexandra Pelvin is the shows director, and honestly everything worked. A thoroughly enjoyable show.
The Zenith theatre is a great auditorium style theatre, its intimate and with the seats at different heights you will never not be able to see the action. Located in Chatswood and close to eateries you can make a night of it, grab some dinner and watch a show that will have you laughing and leave you with a smile as you walk out the door.
Mmmmmm⊠conceptual. Such was the tagline of Tommy Misaâs seventy-five minute exploration into grief and culture, Working Class Clown. And yet, what was immediately impressive about the piece, is that it wasnât. Not really. The show, although tackling conceptual ideas, used Samoan clowning and a deep and grounded connection to the mundanity of life to traverse those ideas with an empathetic intelligence and humour that made sure it never flew too unreachably high into cerebralism. In the towering industrial theatres of Carriageworks, a stage set with what upon first glance looks like nothing more than a pile of leaves and towering poles is nestled. Against the concrete backdrop, they seem almost out of place as natural objects, which, in many ways, becomes the point.
As the piece opened, Misaâs performance strengths became immediately obvious. Misa moved like a dancer, each micro-adjustment fluid and controlled; a charismatic performer with an easy sensuality that spoke to the argument of the piece. Every emotion, confusion, grief, excitement, happiness, sat firmly in his body as the narrator took us through one of the early Samoan myths of creation. As he joined us in the modern day, we were gifted with the stunningly effective costume design of Katie-Louise and Lilian Nicol-Ford, an oversized blue linen shirt and pants that effortlessly elevated Misaâs physical work on stage. This was accentuated once more by Amber Silkâs lighting design, done so well and concentrating each moment so deliciously that I am officially converted against the lights-up lights-down shows I once championed.
As we moved into the modern day, the piece took on its more grounded, honest edge. We joined Misa in line for Centrelink, and felt both their boredom and desperation as the system once again ignored them. Both we, the audience, and Tommy, the performer, coped with this ignoring of our needs through laughter. In front of our eyes, Tommy became the disinterested government worker, the eastern suburb white friend who can never truly understand what poverty feels like, and the teachers who turned their nose up instead of reaching out with understanding.
Each moment, when scratched just beyond the surface of humour relays a tragic institutional truth about our society, and yet, when faced with the reality of what little those of us who are ignored by the system can do about it, our only choice is to laugh. Laughter, in a sense, was the thesis of the piece. Can we decolonize ourselves through laughter? Can we use it to move through grief? Can we use it to heal?
Another significant throughline of the piece was language. Like many, growing up in primary and high school in Sydney, I was told that most indigenous languages in Australia and the Pacific were either dead, or mostly dead. The hidden underlying message of that wording being, thereâs no use bothering to try and save them. Working Class Clown disproved this with a grin and audience participation. As the sole performer on stage, the audience, in many ways, became the secondary character, and our interaction was done almost entirely within the framework of the Samoan language. Through the comedy of the text, and the mass of people learning at the same time, one thought came immediately to my mind: this isnât that hard. And so I return to comedy as a tool of decolonization.
Perhaps the tragedy of high school and university history classes had told me that imperialism was simply too great a power to ever contend with, but here, in this room of strangers, imperialism showed its delicate white underbelly and revealed to us its weakness of empathy. This also connected us intimately to the culture being explored on stage, and allowed us to almost grieve as a collective, and in turn, provide Misa with the safe space to be as vulnerable as he was.
As a performer, Misa continued to impress. His vocal work was deliberate, and controlled right down to the breath work, which we heard perhaps too much of at the level his mic was set at. Their comedic timing and character work remained a highlight of the show experience, and his subtle shifts into the emotional lowpoints of the script once again proved to me the power of the double-sided coin of comedy and tragedy. Further, the piece sat very culturally inside Sydney, which was a welcome change from the more conceptual shows on the market which are set more inside an âideaâ than a place. Towards Misaâs more emotional moments, he did briefly fall into rhythmic traps which leaned more demonstrative than legitimately emotive, however with the content being discussed, I couldnât truly fault them. It also didnât stop every emotional moment from giving me full body goosebumps, as we watched legitimate emotions sit just behind the emotional guard of performing.
Lighting also continued to show off, both with moments of individual spotlight, and particularly memorable moments of the lights coming up on us as the audience, forcing us to participate. Another highlight was the voice-message from Gussy, played by Imbi, which was performed beautifully, and gave Misa the break they needed to create the emotional high that would carry them for the rest of the show. However, I must admit my favourite moment, one that brought me fully to tears, was Misaâs retelling of a family in line for housing - which they donât get - and the gifting of a dandelion from the familyâs oldest son to his exhausted mother.
A one-man show is a challenge, it gives you no one to rely on but yourself, and it was here that one of the only two true weaknesses of the show appeared. At a smattering of points throughout the show, Misa began to say something and then rapidly changed direction, which left the sentence not quite making sense. This came to a head as a line drop, which although is not a crime in and of itself, did manifest as a drop in confidence which affected the later half of the show. This, however, I am empathetic about. It is difficult enough to learn a part in an ensemble piece, where there are people on stage that can bail you out. A one-man show is an entirely different beast, and this show was almost half an hour longer than the others Iâve seen this year.
A truly mammoth amount of content for a singular performer. The pieceâs second, and truly I believe only other flaw, was that although it made interesting points, the connective tissue between those points was often weak. This problem was much less noticeable in the first half of the piece, but towards the end, as the script tried to fit more and more ideas into itself in dwindling time, the jumps became more and more distinct - which caused confusing pivots between emotional states that didnât quite make sense. However, each individual idea on its own was well fleshed out and conceptually impressive, even as the larger cohesiveness of the argument began to warp.
Easily the most impressive portion of the show was watching Misa, and then Misa and some brave volunteers from the audience who werenât wearing wobbly heels like I was, build the world in front of us. This began with Misa building a puppet in real time out of paper, which was used beautifully to represent his child self. However, the second, and more impressive example, was the building of the home. The section began with one of the rawest displays of vulnerability Iâve ever seen on stage, as the lights came up on all of us whilst Misa honestly asked for help to lift the roof onto the poles heâd placed down.
As the home came together, the emotion hidden behind those guardrails of performance crept to the surface, and as the sunset behind the home was created, both Misa and their audience were left in a choked awe (and admittedly misty-eyed). Indeed, it became never-more clear than in that moment that we werenât just watching a character work through something, but Misa himself process his grief in front of us.
Working Class Clown functions spectacularly as an exploration of grief through comedy and culture, and although it trips on minor faults of performance and argument, as a cohesive experience, it was an incredibly impressive piece of theatre. Each element was well considered and equally well executed, and I left with both a true sense of emotional catharsis, and a deeper understanding of a culture that I hadnât had the chance to learn much about.
