In late-August, warm nights are a distant memory for Canberrans. Thermals, layers and beanies during the day means that by the evenings, few locals are willing to brave the chill and leave their homes.
Luckily there are events like The Slice Is Right to warm us up. The premise is straightforward: each table makes three pizzas. The method of construction of each pizza will be made according to a kind of political system. The idea behind the event? To get us seriously thinking about different political systems and their pros and cons in a setting which is fun and engaging.
When we sat down at our table we weren’t really sure what to expect, and neither were our team members (a common reason for attending was ‘I saw the word pizza on the event promo’), but we were soon launched into the game.
Mikey Weinkove led the evening with a contagious sense of fun and enthusiasm and guided us through the first round. One member from the table picks a political system card, the table makes the pizza following instructions on the card. Making the pizza involved six stations: base, sauce, cheese, meat, vegetables, extras.
Sounds simple? Not quite. Although some cards (‘Autocratic: The shortest player makes all the decisions’) streamlined the pizza-making process, other cards (‘Dynamic Consensus: All players must agree on each ingredient’) made the process longer. Our table got very hungry when we drew the Bureaucracy card which involved submitting double-sided forms not unlike the ACT grant forms which were then passed on to a panel of experts to review before they decided on the pizza which was to be made. The winner? The proposal which had us singing as a group during the entire pizza-creating and pizza-consuming process.
The pizza, wine and comfortable atmosphere of the Street Theatre venue was accompanied by a room full of friendly people who were there to have fun and make new friends. What made the event so exciting was that the players really got into the game. Our table, upon drawing the Colonial card (the Autocratic leader decides the ingredients which will go on the pizza, a slice of the pizza is delivered to the leader) became fed up when the leader declared her slice of pizza be adorned with gourmet ingredients, whilst ours be ‘economically’ sprinkled with pepperoni, and announced a revolution.
At the end of the night, we were asked to consider what would a utopian pizza look like. One audience member used this moment to shockingly confess she doesn’t actually like pizza. Others in the room seemed quite set on self-determination of toppings, which, although not necessarily a step towards a new, utopian political system, might be a more radical acceptance of those who choose to include pineapple on their pizza.
Bring: That first date you’ve scored and a sense of enthusiasm.
Comments Off on 1984’s Dystopia Made Chillingly Tangible
$45 student tickets | 101 minute runtime, no interval | closing night 29th July
Warning: this play contains very loud noises (including gun shots), bright and flashing lights, and simulated violence. Some audience members may find scenes distressing. The play is unsuitable for any viewers suffering PTSD or epilepsy.
1984 is a brutal, mesmerising production. Robert Icke and Duncan Macmillan have created a tightly choreographed masterpiece of an adaption. They conjure the deeply unnerving essence of Orwell’s dystopic vision without getting bogged down in the details of an exact reproduction. Through disconcerting repetition and fleeting figures in the wings, the audience joins in Winston’s maddening sensation of self-doubt. Meanwhile, abstract visions of the future derail the familiar narrative of the novel, displaying a contemporary relevance to our hyperconnected online society.
The play is an incredibly visceral experience. Curtains rise on a claustrophobic room eclipsed by an enormous screen, and the scene framed by a menacing metal lattice of lights and speakers. Winston – and the audience – are painfully pulled from scene to scene by blaring tannoys and blinding lights. More than simple shock, however, the play excels in building tension and suspicion until the inevitable climax. Winston’s torture in Room 101 is chilling, and the psychological abuse is heightened by what is not shown in moments of terrifying blackness. Terence Crawford excels as the all-powerful O’Brien in this traumatising sequence, and Tom Conroy’s breakdown as Winston is uncomfortably real. Indeed, the entire Australian cast of nine is excellent throughout the play.
The most gripping element of 1984 is its metatheatrical experimentation. Slowly, and with mounting horror, the audience realises the invasive nature of their voyeurism. We are the faceless party: under O’Brien’s watchful eye, Winston dies loving the audience. ‘Thank you,’ he utters, and curtains drop to thunderous applause.
The audience is Big Brother. And, together, they are totally consuming the life of a dissident as a night of entertainment. People laugh at the jokes that Winston and Julia make under the false assumption that they are finally free of observation. People ignore Winston’s harrowing plea for help at the height of his torture – ‘Someone stand up! Do something! Don’t just sit there, help me!’ We peer and pry into every facet of this thought-criminal’s life and we cheer when he is finally reformed.
1984 closes on the nauseating realisation that the audience is collectively responsible for the normalisation of insidious and dehumanising corporate powers. Beyond anything else, Winston’s graphic torture emphasises the uncomfortable implication that we have wilfully transmuted the authoritarian surveillance state into something sleek and palatable. You leave the theatre with an acute awareness that Big Brother is not only watching you, but that you are encouraging him.
Jack Foster
War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength. Literature is theatre.
Recent political controversies over freedom of speech and government surveillance makes George Orwell’s 1984 feel frighteningly relevant. It’s no wonder, then, that sales of his magnum opus have hit record heights.
This all hit home to me watching the State Theatre Company’s adaptation of 1984 at the Canberra Theatre Centre – a production which, I feel, could not have come at a better time.
The play is as stirring as you would expect. When I entered the theatre on opening night, I was warned by surrounding screens to expect graphic content, bright lights, pyrotechnics and sudden noises. I was not disappointed – at least not in these effects.
The play relies heavily on the audience having read the book before stepping into the theatre. A recurring gimmick involves the running commentary of a book group debating Winston’s position as fact or fiction – a distinction underlined by Orwell’s initial story. On one hand, this is a clever approach. The book so cleverly blurs the line between fact and fiction, so why shouldn’t the theatrical adaptation think outside the box? The result, although effective, does make the plot very difficult to follow for someone unfamiliar with the story.
Central elements of the novel are dulled down in the play. The impossibility of conveying an inner monologue without a voiceover means that these defining aspects like the power of ‘doublespeak’ are not given justice onstage. These themes are sacrificed for an eerie motif of looping scenes that create a sense of déjà vu and abrupt scene changes to disorientate the viewer. Winston Smith lives in a continuous present where everything is repeated and nothing is concrete or lasting, this is so well captured to the point that it almost feels nightmarish.
The play is nothing if not a multi-sensory experience. Sounds, pulsing lights and camera angles play to the audience throughout the production. I found this insistence to be so repetitive that the blinding lights and deafening noises stopped being jarring and, personally, just ended up being annoying. Still, the production proved to be admirably restrained in depicting violence, preferring to rely on imagination rather than gore.
As someone who worshipped this book and thought it should remain untouched, I was always going to be difficult to please. I would consider this play to be an extension of Orwell’s masterpiece rather than a version of it – a study in what is permanent and what can be swept under the rug. Rather than chronicling the story itself, Icke and MacMillan explore the sensory aspects of time, truth and madness. It is disorienting, confronting, fascinating and, yet, completely worthwhile. Is it enjoyable? Not in the common sense of the word. But, it is an experience unlike any other, and one I would highly recommend.
Alex Elgue
$35 student tickets | 80 minutes runtime, no interval | closing night 29 July 2017
The Street Theatre’s production of Nick Payne’s Constellations sets an incredibly high bar for itself. It promises ‘an unmissable, universe shifting show that will challenge how you see life, and change how you live it.’
Unfortunately, Payne himself does not reach these lofty heights. His script is an ultimately disappointing subversion of the rom-com, in which contrived twists and shallow punts at profundity mar any attempt at providing perspective on life’s choices. Yet, under the able direction of Caroline Stacey, The Street makes diamonds out of coal. Through excellent performances and outstanding technical work, Stacey transforms an average script into an engaging night at the theatre.
A surreal sensorial experience engulfs the audience from the moment they take their seats. Lights twinkle behind an abstract, multileveled set – all acute angles and enormous flat planes. The alien surface is bathed in a shifting grid of harsh lights, evoking the whirring innards of a computer and the urban grime of a subway station. It is ingenious lighting design, creating an immersive journey through to the final backlight winking out of existence.
The play itself is less inspiring. Payne structures his work around a series of significant moments in the universal boy-meets-girl story. Each of these scenes – the couple meeting, their first fight, the proposal – is iterated before the audience’s eyes as the play explores the possible consequences of every choice to our voyeuristic delight. The premise is dripping with potential. Each vignette becomes clear through an intertextual awareness of genre with the audience’s perceptions informed by the tropes they expect. Yet, what could have been a metatheatrical exploration of free will and existentialism – couched within an infinite multiverse – is often painfully contrived. While there are several nice moments, with the play’s dark themes well balanced by timely humour, Payne’s point is undermined by a lazy twist. Ultimately, Constellations tries too hard to be profound.
However, this is almost irrelevant to the enjoyment of the evening. Constellations’ cast of two is nothing less than exemplary, presenting the audience with effortless yet elegant performances. With the same moments played out, again and again, the play could easily devolve into an awkward audition tape of alternate readings. Instead, Lexi Sekuless shines as the quantum physicist Marianne. She deftly leaps between infinite permutations of identity, from charmingly innocent to world weary, to cold and antisocial. Kristian Jenkins keeps pace as the down to earth beekeeper Roland, complementing the energetic Marianne with more subtle shifts in behaviour. Together, the two delicately tread their way through a recurring script while constantly keeping the audience engaged. It is a testament to their abilities that the two-hander performance never becomes boring.
Inspired production carries these strong performances. Kyle Sheedy constructs an elaborate, layered soundscape to compliment the performances of the two leads, and emphasise Payne’s musings. The central conceit of the play – ‘imagine rolling the dice 6,000 times’ – is used as an auditory motif, the rattle of dice at once thunder, the clink of glasses, a projector flicking through slides, each signalling a shift between possibilities. Equally, Owen Horton’s lighting design provides a vivid, surreal vehicle for the director’s vision. Abstract under lighting supports stylistic blocks hanging above the set, which serves as everything from storm clouds to fluorescent hospital lighting. If Payne’s message feels tired, at least every aspect of the production work is fresh and exciting.
Don’t watch Constellations for its script. It takes late night reflections on the meaning of life and puts them through the rom-com wringer in the hope that something beautiful will emerge – hope that is unfortunately dashed by a contrived twist. Like Marianne, Payne struggles to enunciate the ideas he explores and squanders the metatheatrical opportunities of his premise. However, weak writing does not detract from a solid night of entertainment. Watch Constellations for the incredible performances of Lexi Sekuless and Kristian Jenkins, who present a masterclass on precise, subtle, effortless acting. Watch it for Imogen Keen’s phenomenal set design, and the sensory visions conjured by Kyle Sheedy and Owen Horton. The quality of The Street’s production lifts an underwhelming script towards something truly stellar.
Comments Off on Finding Dignity: An Exploration of Mental Illness Through Bharathanatyam
Back in October 2015, I remember sitting with my mother at a table in a hawker centre enjoying some fabulous local Singaporean food when she mentioned an idea that she had; she wanted to create her own dance production. My mother has been dancing Bharathanatyam – a major Indian classical dance that originated in Tamil Nadu – since the age of 12. But she didn’t want to follow the traditional, Hindu religious and spiritual themes that typically characterise Bharathanatyam. Instead, she wanted to capitalise on what she saw as the art form’s potential in raising awareness about mental illness among the Indian community in Singapore where stigma surrounding mental health is prevalent. My mother, Lalitha Venketasubramanian, got in touch with psychiatrists and mental health organisations, as well as choreographers, musicians and dancers to make this happen. Ten months later, her vision finally became a reality.
I had the privilege of catching a 6.30am flight to Singapore on Saturday, 22 October 2016 to witness the final result of months of planning, back-and-forth e-mails and rehearsals. I caught the train from Changi Airport to the School of the Arts Theatre Studio and arrived right on time for the first show at 7.30pm, and left for the airport once the second show ended the next evening. It was a hectic weekend – not to mention the assignment I had due in the middle of it – but it was worth every second.
Finding Dignity focuses on the relationship between a mother and her daughter, who has schizophrenia. Over six scenes, titled, ‘Normal’, ‘Descent’, ‘Denial’, ‘Stigma’, ‘Conversation’ and ‘A New Normal’ respectively, the production follows the growth of the young girl as she navigates the effects of the illness on her life and relationships, and grapples with experiences of helplessness, isolation and ostracisation by friends.
The depth of emotion conveyed through dance brought tears to my eyes. One scene which depicted figures with dark cloths running around the girl as a reflection of her confusion and terror stands out in my mind as being particularly confronting to watch.
The performance is an hour and fifteen minutes in length and was followed on both days by a discussion with psychiatrists and panellists from mental health organisations such as the Singapore Association for Mental Health (SAMH) and Institute of Mental Health (IMH). The audience was given the opportunity to pose questions to the experts about how to support loved ones and provided a platform for common misunderstandings about mental health and illness to be dispelled. I was thrilled to see some familiar faces among the 220-strong crowd, and it was very well-received by those who attended it.
While a success, the performance was not without its issues. In choosing to explore mental illness through Bharathanatyam, the creative team was met with the challenge of maintaining the traditional form of dance as far as possible, without compromising the integrity of the story and message of the production. For example, the depiction of the symptoms of schizophrenia by a woman-identifying character through an art form which portrays women in very specific roles was difficult – but nonetheless navigated well through excellent choreography and creative narration. According to the creator and producer (of both the production, as well as myself), Lalitha: ‘When I came up with the storyline, I was already aware of the nature of Bharathanatyam having performed it for so many years. It came together well because we approached it such that the story flows seamlessly using the vocabulary of the dance form.’
Finding Dignity brings a taboo topic to a specific group of people whom may not have previously considered the importance of mental health and fighting stigma associated with it. While recognising that Bharathanatyam isn’t universal among Indians in Singapore, reaching out to even a small part of society is valuable to the broadening of the mental health discourse and destigmatisation of mental illness. It would also have sparked dance enthusiasts’ interest to the potential of their art in advocacy and making important messages palatable to a crowd which may not engage in protests, which are illegal in Singapore.
The production inspired Lalitha to contribute to efforts to destigmatise mental illness. She is currently working with a group of medical professionals and others to set up a mental wellness organisation catering to the Indian community in Singapore. She would still like to bring Finding Dignity to new audiences and to spread the beauty and versatility of Bharathanatyam while raising awareness of important issues.
Any questions, concerns or ideas about ‘Finding Dignity: An Exploration of Mental Illness Through Bharathanatyam’ can be directed to Sumithri Venketasubramanian (that’s me!) at sumithri.rv@gmail.com.
You would think that if you run with a big, bold story and chuck in an outrageously ambitious set with technically accomplished lighting, that you’d get away with a lot.
On stage, though, you don’t.
Shake + Stir’s Dracula, which is touring nationally after first premiering in Queensland in 2015, is bloody and boring. The script continuously falls flat and there’s little sense that, as a story, it matters.
This is narrative theatre. Bram Stoker’s gothic tale of Dracula, the Transylvanian vampire looking to expand his London property portfolio, transposed into an almost bizarre, post-modern Victorian world.
Sadly, it doesn’t quite work. Dracula plays out in all its Victorian glory: of grand, pressing and urgent concern for the impending threat of immorality descending amongst us. And in doing so, they have produced an old-fashioned performance of entrances and exits, of lines being recited and of plot and action.
No intrigue, no sustained message, no subtlety.
Josh McIntosh’s set with a rotating inner component is very clever and Jason Glenwright’s lighting shows great awareness for the story, and almost makes up for the subtlety the play lacks in its careful approach.
Everyone gives a strong performance, a credit to director Michael Futcher. But the adaptation of Stoker’s novel by Nelle Lee and Nick Skubij, who also appear in the show, is stilted.
In 2013, Shake + Stir brought an adaptation of George Orwell’s Animal Farm to Canberra. In 2014, it was 1984’s turn. Those adaptations – produced by largely the same team – were intelligent, timely and never boring.
In contrast, it seems Dracula is a shift away from that highly physical, highly political, deftly intelligent theatre.
The team has taken on an irrelevant old classic and shown that it’s just that: irrelevant.
Last week Woroni caught up with Caitlin Overton and Felicity (Flick) Anderson – the director and dramaturg of NUTS’ upcoming play ‘The Tempest’ – to ask them a few questions about the upcoming production. The performance will be held at the Black Mountain Peninsula on 12 – 15th of October.
Why The Tempest?
F: The Tempest is one of my favourite Shakespeare plays. Last year Caitlin and I were just discussing ‘plays we wanted to direct one day’ and we began discussing experimenting with plays staged outdoors. I think I just suggested doing The Tempest outside, and Caitlin jumped on board and we started throwing around ideas. I knew N.U.T.S were taking director applications for 2016 and we applied on a whim. N.U.T.S took a chance on us, and now something that was a ‘it would be so cool if’ is now a reality!
C: I’ve always been fascinated by the potential to reinvent Shakespeare for modern audiences, however, The Tempest is a particularly exciting challenge. The Tempest likely represents Shakespeare’s final celebration of the capacity for language to control and mystify as the magic power of words, that inspire one moment and disparage the next, keep this play – as the title hints – in a constant state of flux! The Tempest pushes the limits of theatrical convention, as characters flit rapidly between emotions; cavorting spirits appearing to blur the boundary between the real and imagined, waking and dreaming. No amount of SFX can ultimately compare to the magic of a few words, passed between curious new actors, 400 years since their writing, conjured in the faint sunset on the shores of Lake Burley Griffin. What is magical and ephemeral is embodied by the raw and corporeal, and as such, Shakespeare’s fleeting farewell lives on in permanence.
The performance is outside, how do you tackle this extra element?
F: Lots and lots of preparation, OH&S considerations, and endless site visits trudging around in gumboots.
C: With the help and dedication of a wonderful executive team, led by Producer Kat Carrington, who has cross-checked everything from rain contingencies and the likelihood of blue-green algae outbreaks, to show interruptions by angry wildlife.
As a director, how did you go about uniting the cast?
C: It was honestly a daunting task uniting an oddball band of castaways scattered on different parts of the island for most of the play – but it has been a dream from start to finish. I think it’s important to confront head-on any preconceptions your cast may have regarding the ‘typical’ mode of a Shakespearean actor – you know the sort: melodic voice, flailing gestures of the arms and lots of muttering to skulls – and to establish early in rehearsals a greater scope for negotiation with the text, and an eager openness for any new interpretation the cast members bring. I believe this put us in good stead to create a re-telling that is both vital and unpredictable – as all good theatre should be.
Can we expect a traditional portrayal of The Tempest?
C: Short story – no. Long story – we have opted for a modernised staging of the play that hopes to complement the natural beauty of the site, while highlighting the fragility of our outdoor setting on an unusual stage that features both sand and shallow water. In the play disparate worlds collide, alliances are broken as quickly as they are formed, and perceptions shift mercurially. As the light moves from dusk to nightfall, we hope to blur the edges of the audience’s reality as both characters and audience, reconciling past hate and finding joy in the gloom, leave the island changed. We have experimented with surround sound in the outdoors and engaged in shadow play beyond the aureole of the lights, in order to recreate the iconic storm of the play’s first scenes, let loose disembodied spirits, and conjure frightening illusions. The energy and enthusiasm brought by the whole cast is important, but in particular, the unlikely pairing of the extraordinarily talented Georgia-Cate and Samuel in their portrayal of Caliban, has also allowed us to interrogate both the colonial and gendered aspects of the play with a new vigor.
Why do you think theatre is important?
C: I think theatre represents the expression of a basic human need to mimic, to project stories onto ourselves and others, and to create meaning through narrative. Theatre brings people together, in a collaborative meeting of storyteller and listener, as both play witness to an electric exchange that is never quite the same in each re-telling. From the child mapping farfetched tales in the playground to their grandfather telling long-winded anecdotes at dinner, theatre matters – in essence – because we can’t help it.
F: Theatre is a medium that is too often overlooked as modern life allows us to live life through screens of various shapes and sizes. I don’t deny accessibility to art has increased in capacity since technology, but there’s something magical about being able to appreciate a story performed live. Unlike screen acting, theatre has intense rehearsals – not to replicate the delivery of lines but to build and explore relationships. This means, if you’ve got a dedicated cast and director, things like dialogue come secondary to the organic reliving of the story with each show. No show will be the same as the next, and with this, the audience has this experience of watching something never seen before, and never to be seen again. If that’s not magic I don’t know what is.
Is this your first production as director and dramaturg? How did you find your experience?
F: This was my first chance to act as a dramaturg, despite being interested in the role as a concept for a while (but purely by accident!) Originally we were co-directing, but a family emergency prompted a necessary interstate move and so it was originally a way to keep me involved as I could only be on location up until rehearsals started, and then at the very end. Being a part of the conceptualisation of such an experimental and raw show was constantly humbling as I worked alongside the incredible Caitlin Overton. Being able to focus on the context of Shakespeare and ideas for the show, and letting someone you know is incredibly talented change those imaginings into a tangible show, are both very exciting! I think trust was a huge part of me feeling safe leaving my ‘baby’, and of Caitlin feeling like she had that support when suddenly faced with heading the project solo.
C: This was my third directing venture, but the first time trying my hand at a Shakespearean play in its entirety – so I was naturally petrified. Honestly, I cannot overstate how wonderful it has been to have not only the benefit of Flick’s unending talent and natural curiosity, but her generous support while working on this project, both as Co-Director and now Dramaturg.
What would you like the audience to take away front the performance?
F: I think all too often Shakespeare is pushed aside and underestimated when people are presented with his texts and performances in school settings. I really feel like this production was the product of Caitlin and I’s love of everything Shakespeare’s work is at the core, and everything it has the potential to become. Too often the higher language, or unfamiliar settings, can intimidate those who have certain ideas about the playwright, but one thing that brings me back to Shakespeare time and time again is the people and the stories. When you bring theatre right back to its core, it’s a storytelling mechanism. If people can walk away from this performance having enjoyed a story, then I think we’ve done our job.
Why should we go and watch?
F: If you love Shakespeare, the cast and crew of The Tempest have created a refreshing and compelling take on a classic Shakespeare piece. If you hate Shakespeare, the cast and crew of The Tempest just might change your mind. The outside setting, the honesty and integrity of the acting, and the direction of this play makes it one not to miss.
An annual highlight of ANU’s arts calendar – the Arts Revue for 2016 – went into the arena with the title FUN NATION, responding to the meteoric rise on the political stage of that ginger sheila Pauline Hanson (again). Appropriately, she has been the star of much of the show’s brilliant marketing and has her very own recurring segment in the show. Perhaps the writers and directors – double act Matt Barton and Matt Rogers – should have spent more time thinking about someone else during production, as FUN NATION is a bit too similar to the bogan human torch herself: outrageous, odd (funny) and offensive certainly, but in need of some refinement all the same.
For those unfamiliar with the concept of the Revue, it is essentially a bone-and-flesh Robot Chicken, with some university-specific jokes and musical numbers that parody recent news stories, public figures and the general absurdity of modern life. The main symptoms of many revues (and skit shows in general – such as The Wedge) are of course the problems that arise due to the lack of overarching cohesion across the show. Some witty and well-acted skits are interspersed with dross, and nothing much links them together. This is a problem that FUN NATION possessed, though with a greater strike rate than most revues, as I for one wished for a greater sense of structure. The end result was a waterslide of meme-ish bits that passed by quickly, producing some amusement but lacking in deep impression – which might be just the thing some people were looking for. Perhaps a more apt title would have been FRUS TRATION.
The show’s great strength was in the energy of the cast – there were standouts, with plenty of natural comic timing and some kickass accents, as well as the mostly witty writing. The skit involving the unusual life of the mind of Kevin Rudd during the U.N. General Secretary lark was brilliantly and cheekily conceived, as were the reliably funny digs at the various ANU colleges (poor Griffin) and the merits of studying Law. Some skits, however, either went on past their use-by date or were never edible to begin with, as a meta-moment involving the racial casting of the show was just uncomfortable at best, and some of the staging of the musical numbers was uninspired, though well sung by the cast.
Nonetheless, I can say that FUN NATION did make you chuckle some. Admittedly, seeing a Revue in a packed audience is a whole heap of fun, involving laughing along with your mates to the absurdities on stage, which I am certain occurred over the duration of the Revue’s performances
ANU has a long and storied history of presenting revues. What is it about the format that makes revues so popular (and so fun)?
Matt Rogers: I think it’s the variety in revues; a bit of singing, dancing and acting, all with the smattering of comedy make them really delightful.
Matt Barton: I think the best thing about the revue is the fact that it is student written and performed. It means you get to see what some of the funniest minds on campus can come up with in a couple of months. What makes a revue exciting and fun is the fact that the audience have no idea what to expect. They have no idea what the tenor of the humor will be, what the cast will make fun of, and whether or not they will be forcibly removed from their seat by a nude cast member.
On a similar note, do you feel a sense of competition with ANU’s other revues?
Matt R: I’ve been involved in Arts Revue for the past three years and there have always been feelings of both camaraderie and friendly competition with the other revues. Competing perhaps, over who gets dibs on a particular song to parody, or idea for a joke.
Matt B: Well, to feel competitive would imply that we actually have competition in the first place. *Tips fedora and sips third dirty glass of $6 sauvignon blanc.*
2016 has bordered on the ridiculous at times, from Harambe to Trump. Are there any special moments that stand out for you?
Matt R: I think Shinzo Abe dressed up as Mario for the closing ceremony at Rio was a real highlight of the year.
Matt B: This is a really tough question. I would say that the most special moment for me in 2016 was the time I managed to hand in a philosophy essay before it was due. This is closely followed by a dream where I had a $2.50 basic from UniPub and it didn’t taste like methylated spirits potent enough to cause you to get in a fight with a belligerent man called Cory from Woden, and make out with a third cousin.
How do you turn these moments into comedy gold? What’s the writing process for the Arts Revue?
Matt R: It’s hard to lay down a formula really. Typically, we’ll throw ideas around the room and try to make each other laugh. If we remember to write it down. Bam. Comedy gold (your words not mine).
Matt B: According to no clinical research whatsoever, alcohol and illicit drugs are perfect stimulants for the satirical writing involved in an Arts Revue. For a lot of skits with dear Pauline, we didn’t need to do much writing at all because she already has so many crackers. Australia under threat from being swamped by Asians and Muslims? What a comedian!
You’ve set your sights firmly on Pauline Hanson this year, a representative of some very serious issues in society. Are there any topics that are off-limits in the show?
Matt R: We talked a lot about what would be considered ‘too far’. This year pushes more of those buttons than any revue I have been in previously, but the aim is never to be ‘controversial’ for its own sake. People have already said to me that they aren’t sure One Nation should be used as comedy material because of these serious issues. I respect that view. At the same time, however, part of what makes comedy a great outlet is that it can be a little confronting at times, and I celebrate that.
Matt B: In a nutshell, no – but Taylor Swift and Tom Hiddlestone’s relationship does come pretty close to being off-limits. The Hiddleswift ought never be touched by a revue.
Lastly, when can I see the show?
Matt R: The show is playing each night from Wednesday the 21st (September) to Saturday the 24th. It kicks off at 8pm at the ANU Arts Centre. Tickets are available online from http://anuartsrevue.getqpay.com/ and at the door. Online ticket sales close an hour before the show starts. Tickets are $15 for students and $20 for non-students.
With the Interhall Theatresports Competition on the horizon, I find that now is one of the better times to look back on my background of improvisation (or improv) and reminisce.
I have been in Australia longer than I have been anywhere else in the world, so obviously much of who I am today has been shaped while in this country. When I think specifically of what has made me who I am, improvisation is always one of the first things that springs to mind, because I feel I would be a lesser person if I had never chosen to pursue improv. I would even go so far as to say that I may have been a totally different person – it has coloured that much of my personality.
In 2008 I moved to Australia. As a result of my dad’s military background I had lived in a number of countries previously, and while Australia promised to be a more permanent arrangement, the process of settling was still very unnerving.
It was during my first year in Australia, in Year 6, that my entire cohort was given a lecture on public speaking. I can’t remember much of what was discussed, but I do remember that the lecturer asked for any willing students to come to the stage and speak on any topic of their choosing. Effectively, she was asking us to improvise a speech. I found this a terribly exciting idea, so I immediately put my hand up. Once I was standing in front of the entire year group, however, I choked. I could not think of anything to say, so I ended up asking the audience a silly rhetorical question before shuffling off the stage.
Whilst I have been able to laugh about this in hindsight (the best retelling of the story featured a standing ovation and a spontaneous appearance from John Howard who gave me the key to the city), this experience was utterly devastating for me at the time. For the remainder of the year, and for some time after, I was regularly teased about my slip-up. Considering that this was my first year in a new country, where I was still desperately trying to find my feet, this had a profoundly negative effect on my confidence.
Suddenly, I became a very shy and introverted person, constantly concerned about other people’s opinions of me. I would take every personal criticism extremely seriously, regardless of how minor or light-hearted it was. In those early days, my brilliant master plan was to effectively rewrite my entire personality to better please those I had somehow upset. So when I entered senior school, I went in with a ridiculous mission statement: I wanted nobody to have a single negative opinion about me.
This was, of course, a silly plan – it’s impossible to please everybody, but I refused to accept this. The result was unsurprising; I became so concerned with what others thought of me that I never exhibited much of my own personality. I was so frightened of making any mistakes that I likely came across as a nice, likely forgettable character. I hardly spoke to anyone, and the prospect of approaching someone who wasn’t an immediate friend of mine was terrifying.
It is at this point that improv came in.
I had always been passionate about drama, so I was quick to sign up, but from that moment on, it would hold a newfound significance in my life. Improv, by nature, encourages people to take risks. Playing it too safely can produce tedious performances, and it is often the bold, daring and brave decisions that stick in people’s minds the most. Improv was initially an extremely intimidating prospect to me – not only would I have to operate without a script, leaving me with little more than my wits and instincts, but I was also expected to be genuinely entertaining to people. Since my last experience on stage in front of my peers had resulted in me shying away, I initially struggled, afraid that I’d be ridiculed again. Try making someone laugh when you’re vulnerable and introverted – it was a tough gig.
Gradually, however, with each passing year, I found myself growing in confidence. Improv classes effectively became a sanctuary for me – one where I could express myself without restraint. It was a release that I had in no other area of my life. The most important thing was that it provided a safe environment in which I was free from the judgment of the usual sceptical eye. I was not condemned for trying to do something bold and risky, regardless of how bizarre and outlandish it may have been. Even when I made mistakes, I found none of the scathing criticisms I had programmed myself to expect.
In fact, I was encouraged and praised for trying to think creatively and for coming up with less conventional solutions. This was extraordinarily reviving and liberating, and I was awakened to the limitless potential of improv and the endless stream of invention that it could lead to. I met people who inspired me with the vibrancy of their personalities, while the kindness of my mentors gave me the courage to go to places I had never dreamed I would venture into.
I like to think it was around Year 10 that I really began to come into my own. By this point, I was a decent drama student, and the confidence that I had steadily forged allowed me to bring much more of myself to my performances, which also allowed my own long-hidden quirks to shine through in their own way. It was by this point that I was no longer intimidated to perform in front of my peers. In fact, it was something I began to really enjoy.
My journey reached a new high when I was invited to join an improv ensemble that played three shows at the Sydney Comedy Festival in 2014. It was here that I performed alongside talents who I would have never dreamed of working with in previous years, and for the first time I became consciously aware that, just by being myself on stage, people were laughing with me and not at me.
That was such an extraordinary realisation.
For me, improv has been more than just an outlet to rebuild confidence, or a hobby, it has been a journey of renewal, and perhaps most importantly, rediscovery.
Mary-Grace Bunker (Director), Gia Damp (Producer) and Joseph Murphy (Victor Le Pewe) discuss the John XXIII Dramatic Society’s upcoming production of Drop Dead.
Why do you think that theatre is important?
MGB: There’s nothing else like it. It’s the most ancient form of storytelling we have, and in my opinion the most powerful. I think it’s the fact that every element of theatre must work together, in perfect harmony, in real time, in front of an audience. It’s the difference between reading Hamlet in an English class and seeing it come to life. It’s being in an audience next to complete strangers, and sharing the same series of emotions and thoughts in the dark. Seeing a fantastic movie is memorable, but seeing a very good play can stay with you for a lifetime.
I understand that you are looking to market the production beyond just the Johns XXIII community this year, what prompted this endeavor and why do you think it is important?
GD: When I took on the role of producer I said to MG, “I want this to be bigger than Johns.” Every year the Colleges put on amazing productions and a lot of the time, only their own residents attend. We really want to encourage everyone to ‘get around the play’ by offering $10 student tickets for our Thursday performance. We have been liaising with other colleges to see if they are interested in coming to our performance, and having us at theirs. But there are challenges – it is difficult to know who to get in contact with as there are no clear channels of communication. To be honest, I just try everything I can, because I really believe that it is important for everyone to start ‘getting around’ all the fantastic productions on offer.
Without giving too much away, can you tell me a little about the plot?
GD: It is about a group of washed up actors trying to revive their careers, and a megalomaniac “wonder child” director (Victor Le Pewe) who is trying to prove he’s still got it. Essentially, it is a play about a play. And more specifically, it is a murder mystery, about a murder mystery.
Given the amount of murder in the play, can we expect anything gruesome at all?
GD: Of course! In any good murder mystery there should be some blood and guts. The audience won’t be getting their money’s worth without it. Only kidding, no gruesomeness – all the blood spilled will be for comedic purposes.
I gather that the set is fairly minimalistic, does this place any extra pressure on the actors themselves?
MGB: The best thing about the set this year is that it is almost a character in itself. (The other best thing is that it’s truly ‘budget’!) So many gimmicks revolve around the construction of the set in the play itself, which gives the actors hilarious little opportunities to interact with it in different ways. So I suppose rather than adding pressure, it actually offers the actors cool moments of comedy.
As a Director, how did you go about uniting the cast, some of whom likely did not know each other that well before rehearsals began?
MGB: My biggest fear was that the cast wouldn’t gel as well as it had done in previous years. We have three first years in the cast of ten, which is far better than I’d hoped, considering auditions are dauntingly early in the year. The combination of old-hands and newcomers just worked from day one, without the need for me to do anything. Within a week we were playing board games together. I actually can’t get them to shut up, I wish they didn’t like each other that much.
How did you develop your character and come to be able to take on Victor’s personality? Do you ever have trouble turning your character ‘on and off’?
JM: Victor Le Pewe is a character with one purpose, to perform. He has obsessive compulsive disorder when it comes to directing broadway productions, and as such it gives him a number of unique quirks, in some ways, Victor resembles the quirks of my own personality. The nail biting, the anxious hand movements, and especially the obsessive and addictive nature we share. To develop him, I looked at my own mannerisms and trivialities, embellishing them until they bordered near psychotic levels. I love playing Victor because he really gets my endorphins going no matter my mood. So yeah, I do sometimes struggle to turn him off. Not because ‘I’ve become Victor Le Pewe’, but because his passion and conviction is exciting to be a part of.
What reaction would you like to get out of the audience?
JM: I’m not too sure what I expect Le Pewe to do to the audience. I don’t want him to shock them, or scare them, but I think his purpose in the play is to make the audience pay attention to the struggle of working with a company of actors with A.D.D. Don’t get me wrong, his purpose isn’t one of metaphoric symbolism, as he consistently manages to provide comic relief in the form of self-indulgence and a stereotypically theatrical fervor. Nonetheless, Le Pewe is one of the most wacky yet wonderful characters on stage… keep your eyes peeled.
As members of the audience, will we be left guessing up until the final moments?
MGB: I hope so! We’ve tried to make everyone a suspect. That’s all I’ll say.