sydney

Upon entry to the theatre, the background music is teetering that edge of ambient and unsettling. There’s a child rocking on a horse downstage right. They are framed by large, open vertical blinds. Warm lights with an amber filter touch key points of the stage, which has the old school brown shag carpet. There’s late 80s school desk chairs to the right and left of an armchair in the middle, with a lit lamp and a red book. These nostalgic items, and the child’s rocking only pausing for the Welcome To Country recording, create atmospheric tension.

The cleaning crew enters the space in their blue jumpsuits. They get to work vacuuming, sweeping and dusting. Their movements are coordinated and choreographed. There’s a poetry to it.

One of the cleaners begins to touch the items in the middle. The actor, played by Monica Sayers, wraps a scarf around her neck and the ensemble cleaning crew, with Olivia Hall-Smith and Bayley Prendergast notice and respond.

The scarf wearer tells the story of a woman who is trapped in an unhappy marriage, taking and rejecting story prompts from the other two. At times forgetting (wilfully and not-so) the detail. An unhappy and unreliable narrator is created, not just by the storyteller, but by the contributions of the other two, as they explore the elements that are supposed to make couples happy in society, and the unlikely elements that make things worse instead of better.

We shift to a classroom setup and the fourth member (Clay Crighton) enters the space wearing a beige jumpsuit similar to the others, but for the colour. Bayley becomes the narrator of this story, with a harrowing classroom scene. Clay retreats to the side of the stage. Where they lean upon the wall in a quiet, but visceral changing state of agony and pain. Their fingers pulse as the anguish and torment is embodied. This is achieved with very little other movement, even of their facial features. Somehow they are able to portray magnitudes in the slightest ways. It’s powerful and heart-wrenching to observe.

As the intense story unfolds, Clay starts to contribute to the narrative despite the warnings of “Don’t help me!” from the central narrator. This account challenges the participating story-weavers to accept an “unsympathetic character”. It’s a tale of a monster who has what they deem to be society’s ideals; money, property, family; and nothing to cause them to commit the heinous acts we witness. The fourth narrator (Clay) then transforms this piece in a unique way, and it shifts into something unexpected.

The concluding story may be a culmination of the previous two, it is clearly connected to the first narrative, and makes sense of some of the discrepancies. The use of shadow has been a compelling device throughout the piece, and is taken to a peak in this final act. The ensemble work brings the play to a cataclysmic crescendo before the abrupt blacking out. Then they shift to curtain call, which is noticeably agonising for the incredibly talented Clay to adjust into. The rawness is still there as they try and return to reality.

This is an epic masterpiece of creative collaboration and exceptional talent. It’s clearly the result of challenging and complex ensemble work which has paid off spectacularly.

I admit I don’t have the technical language to give credence to the importance of the lighting and sound effects, which are vital elements to the hard-hitting impact of this piece of work. Izzy Morrisey has created a lighting design where every change is crucial, every State is meaningful, and the team executed this beautifully.

Director, Harry Reid, is an ungoverned genius. There are so many elements of Fewer Emergencies that I have not managed to put to words and, in a way, I’m grateful for that as it is something that truly needs to be witnessed. It’s a remarkable piece of theatre and I am going to be contemplating it for a long time to come.

To book tickets to Fewer Emergencies, please visit https://www.oldfitztheatre.com.au/fewer-emergencies.

Photographer: Robert Miniter

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