Theatre, generally, falls into one of two traps. Either it makes an interesting point, but makes you feel nothing, or it makes you cry and laugh and clap your hands, but it doesnât actually mean anything. Lots of theatre does neither, and yet, Everything I Know About This Waterbottle is a rare case of finally nailing both. In a whip-smart fifty minute dissection of the absurdity of consumerism, writer Micheal Andrew Collins, director Violette Ayad and sole performer Ari Sgouros come together to produce something deeply thought-provoking whilst never letting up on the comedic reins. Indeed, the show is a masterclass in that old saying that comedy and tragedy are simply two sides of the same coin.
Old Fitz is already a miniscule theatre, and many of its productions peacock in this tiny space, forcing you to be a part of their world through sheer proximity. So I must admit I was initially rather perplexed at the showâs choice to literally cut the stage in half. Further, as a fan of diegetic light and sound, my eyes were drawn to the lighting controls and CD that both sat on stage, promising a further muddying of the lines between practitioner and character. Sound continued to impress through the ever-threatening build of rain in the background – Madeleine Picard blending the inner and outer world of the piece with flawless subtly. The canvas draped across the back wall gave the room a haphazard feeling, as if teetering on the edge of collapse. Needless to say, this feeling was replicated much beyond the set. The walls of the Old Fitz were decorated with fluffy clouds, and although this may not have been done specifically for the show on stage, it gave the room a rather avant garde feeling of the outdoors that I really enjoyed. Kudos in this aspect must go to lighting and set designer Morgan Moroney. As the lights dimmed, our sole performer joined us on stage, dropping off her raincoat (a lovely piece of foreshadowing) and leaning down to manually turn up the lights in the room. Sgouros then turned around with a direct address to the audience, setting the tone of the piece and introducing us to both our narrator, and our argument seamlessly.
A one man play is a significant undertaking, especially vocally, and especially for a piece like this that moves so quickly, so I was only the more impressed at Sgourosâs brilliant vocal performance. Her voice filled the space, constantly playing with rhythm, pitch, and tone in a way that allowed her to consistently make the most interesting choice – a valiant effort in a political piece that offers the trap of vocal patterns again and again. Indeed, the humour of the piece felt at least in the beginning as more of a stand up special than a play, which only speaks to the believability of Sgourosâs character work. Never was I convinced it was someone playing something, and not her on stage with us. The comedic work was once again improved by the crewâs careful consideration of comedic timing. In a theatrical landscape that relies so often on speed to create comedy and interest, finding a work not afraid to take their time is a joy. Also – I am an absolute sucker for prop comedy, which was sprinkled throughout the piece delightfully.
Once again I must return to a cardinal rule that defined this piece, comedy and tragedy being two sides of the same coin. The coin, in this piece, was focus. Sgouros was utterly and completely in the zone for her entire performance, and we as the audience couldnât help but be sucked in with her. It was then this focus that allowed her emotions to shift on a dime. Moment to moment the storytelling shaped her entire being, and not once did her bouts of stress or tragedy feel unearned, even as they were unearthed and satirized moments later. This was commendable again when she faced real-time technical problems, which she adapted to in the moment with seamless humour – and then solved! As a viewer, we felt her intensity in every moment, and we, with her, walked the knife edge between losing it (positively) and losing it (negatively).
Admittedly, I was a little cynical of the showâs premise. Much of climate change theatre boils down to âcapitalism is bad and so are boomers and so are youâ, leaving you with nothing but an unhelpful sense of guilt as you leave, and an odd, disjointed anger at âthe manâ. This, again, was batted away by this show team. Everything I Know About This Water Bottle reminds us that yes, we may recycle, and yes, we may reduce our plastic waste, but in matter of fact, the systems and companies around us are so large and so almost-untouchable, that no matter the moral high we may feel by thinking weâre helping, we never really are. In a truly horrifying way, the show reintroduced us to the nihilistic reality of modern day capitalism, and in doing so revealed its core thesis: âthe real cost of thingsâ. The real cost of things became a throughline that shaped everything in its path. The real human cost, the real environmental cost, the real emotional cost, the real financial cost. No matter where you looked, no one was telling you the truth about how much was not acknowledged, and then allowed to be ignored for the sake of consumerism. I particularly enjoyed the BP callout for their invention of the âcarbon footprintâ, and the unloading of climate responsibility onto the individual. This message of our lack of control was interwoven with tiny moments of overwhelm and discomfort, removing the carrot of comedy from us just long enough to recognise how bad it truly is, before giving it right back to keep us constantly, addictively hooked.
As the piece built to its final high, it was revealed to us that we are post-apocalyptic. The long-awaited, ever-warned-about climate disaster has finally stopped crushing people we pretend donât exist, and it has come for us. In this moment, the piece had one final decision to make, to recognise consumerism being bad, and leaving us with the flat-soda taste of holier-than-thou in our mouths, or to once again reconnect with reality. We got our answer in a deeply touching moment of our main character with an infant child they were asked to take care of, and in doing so, the recognition of the human instinct to protect and provide no matter what. The emotional core of climate change began to unfurl, we want things to change, but we feel useless. We want to be better, but we feel good when we get to have things and give them to others whenever we feel the instinct to. And through this final thread of the argument, the play finished on a gorgeous moment of connection between our main character and their older brother, and the conclusion that we will ultimately save each other, no matter the state of the world around us.
Everything I Know About This Water Bottle shines in every aspect, creating both an intelligent and sympathetic argument, and simultaneously creating emotional highs and lows that feel earned and respectful. Ari Sgouros takes us through the piece with masterful comedic and emotional technique, and the script does everything it can to support her. Truly, my only note is that when she walked too close to us in the audience, we didnât get quite as much light on her face as I wouldâve liked. From production to the stage, this piece is an A Plus example of not just political theatre, but theatre itself.
To book tickets to Everything I Know About This Water Bottle, please visit https://www.oldfitztheatre.com.au/everything-i-know-about-this-water-bottle.
Photographer: Phil Erbacher
