Getting to the heart of history

The Normal Heart (Ad Astra)

Ad Astra

November 3 – 27

The Queensland premiere production of Larry Kramer’s “The Normal Heart” begins upon audience entry into the versatile Ad Astra theatre space; the ‘I Feel Love’ rave through which we are led to our seats is infectiously joyous, however, it is a jubilance in juxtaposition to where journey of the landmark, largely autobiographical play will lead, as hinted to by the backdrop pop of pride flag graffiti that is are weeping from the walls.

It is 1982 and the start of yet to be named ‘gay cancer” AIDS epidemic in its New York epicentre. Many gay men are still in the closet when purple lesions begin appearing on their skin. Physician Dr. Emma Brookner (Janelle Bailey, in a role shared with Madeleine Little) is fearful of the insidious disease she believes may be rampaging, but nobody important cares because of who is being affected. Time is not on their side.

Emma wants Jewish-American writer, and the story’s protagonist, Ned Weeks (Gregory J Wilken) to use his big mouth to rally his community. Being well known in the gay world is one thing, however, rousing to action a culture without real leaders is another. Weeks founds a non-profit, volunteer-supported HIV advocacy group, the real-life GMCH (formerly Gay Men’s Health Crisis). While the group begins its quest for equality, it’s all about political perceptions as its leaders find themselves battling against a city and a nation in denial.

Bailey is brilliant as the determined Emma. In particular, her response to refusal of a research funding support request, although essentially delivered to a contemporary, empathetic audience, is shared with such a resounding passion as to both shock and shame us as humans knowing that this once happened in our worlds. It is often said that the first step of successful character development is to find their walk. And Wilken inhabits his character through this, as well as his gesture, head tilts and turns, and eyes wide in astonished emphasis at the preposterousness of Emma’s first request that he tell gay men to stop having sex. It is a detailed, authentic and absorbing performance of a reluctant leader but furious activist. Later his vitriolic ‘how dare you’ advocacy and determination to yell louder and apply more pressure in a meeting with a representative of New York Mayor Ed Koch’s administration is palpable in its fiery frustration as the organisation grows, still without acknowledgement of there being a problem despite the increasing percentage of New York deaths in the USA’s statistics.

On an often-quieter note, the scenes showcasing the strained relationship between Ned and his older, more conservative lawyer bother Ben (Luke O’Neill), have a natural rhythm as the two character each say what they think they should, but still have it not be enough. So often the play’s conflicts come from attempted communication between characters who never really hear each other. In this way, the story shines an insightful light upon multifaceted relationships within and surrounding the community, including the tensions between the provocative Ned and preppie good cop activist, former Green Beret Bruce Niles (Sam Hocking). And through its clashes about what the organisation’s primary focus should be, deliberation is also given to if personal belief systems need to always be imbued throughout every aspect of one’s life.

As things continue, we also bear witness to each stage of the relationship between Ned and his partner, New York Times journalist Felix Turner (Felix Jarvis). Their centrepiece romance plays out in all of its unfiltered vulnerability, raw anger, complex beauty and undeniable love (as much due to intimacy coach Michelle Miall, as it is Wilken and Jarvis’ performances). All of the story’s relationships are ones in which to believe, thanks to Michelle Carey and Anna Loren’s balanced direction of the talented cast, which also includes Tom Harwood and Liam Wallis. Mathew Alec Costin makes Mickey Marcus’ preference for conciliation in contrast to Ned’s loud-mouthed confrontation, endearing, which means seeing him broken by the cycle of perpetual bereavement all the more devastating. And Jarvis’s portrayal of Ned’s great love Felix is particularly poignant without wallow.

Bringing together such a ragtag group of characters of such different personalities allows opportunity for humour to break the play’s dramatic tensions. Rad Valance’s Tommy Boatwright ensures there is some Act One levity to lighten the emotional load. There is humour, too, in Ned’s self-sacrificing nervous first date interaction with Felix. Songs are also effectively used to punctuate things, capturing the sentiment of scenes and the era of the story’s settings.

Like “Holding The Man”, “The Normal Heart” tells the story of people, but also the politics that are such a very real part of their day to day lives when, as the death toll increases to the status of epidemic, the media continuous to remain largely silent on the issue. As much as it serves as an indictment against ignorance, however, “The Normal Heart” is a heartfelt story of love and compassion. Act Two is filled with powerful monologues, including a particular a gut-wrenching recall from Hocking as Bruce, of his lover’s last days and the appalling treatment received. This is just one of many deeply moving moments that will sit with you long after the show’s deserving curtain call ovation.

While very much of its time, this is also a story of universal themes around love, loyalty and foreboding fear. “I know something is wrong,” are the first words of dialogue uttered in the play. Something was very wrong indeed and “The Normal Heart” also serves as contemplation of the effect of this in terms of all the potential works of art lost by the demise of a generation of creatives. It also offers us a reminder of how far the world has come in its acceptance that love is love, reinforced by the work’s outdated attitudes and shocking slurs reflective of the time of its setting. Such moments are particularly deplorable, I imagine, to those without any experience of the Grim Reaper Ad Campaign era or appreciation for just how marginalised this group was in society. Many of those born after the time perhaps have little understanding of just how brutal the AIDS crisis was, and the play’s unrestrained share of this is to be applauded. It is a reminder too of the courageous medical practitioner pioneers of AIDS care, operating against institutional and professional resistance to caring for patients with the virus and instead living by the messaging of the work’s opening monologue mantra that we must love one another or die.

While it may be a harrowing true story, in Ad Astra’s hands the drama of “The Normal Heart” is gripping and also inspirational. The play is a long one, but it is absolutely absorbing throughout as it presents us with several sides of its issues. Its unflinching look at a horrific time in our history will wring you out and leave you battered in way only live theatre can. For all of its narrative impact, however, the biggest emotional wallop perhaps comes as part of the dedication announcement at the outset of the play, reminding us that 45 million people have lost their lives due to the AIDS virus.

Symphony of selves

Toy Symphony (Ad Astra)

Ad Astra

April 21 – May 14

Experience has proven that Ad Astra is not only to be commended for its interesting production choices, but its often inventive staging of these, especially given the company’s intimate performance space. Michael Gow’s critically-acclaimed “Toy Symphony” (the play was awarded Best New Australian Work at the 2008 Helpmann Awards), stands as testament to both of these truths.

Blackboarded walls featuring graffitied quotes, allow audience members the satisfaction of seeing how they are woven into the essential fabric of the story, while trunks and suitcases stack about the stage to become a range of set pieces. They provide appropriate imagery for these is a lot to unpack in the story of playwright Roland Henning (played to perfection by Gregory J Wilken), a character who appeared in Gow’s earlier play “Furious”.

The play’s central protagonist is a complex character who, like Gow himself, knows how to use language. Indeed, he is, by all intents, a representation of the playwright himself (Gow has publicly acknowledged the somewhat autobiographical nature of the work). And through his tale, the play considers not only the nature of language and theatre, but essential elements of the human experience, such as the power of formative experiences to shape our later selves.

Following a legal victory in response to accusations of plagiarism, at the encouragement of an unseen friend, Roland reluctantly begins psychoanalysis. While he assures psychiatrist Nina (Caitlin Hill) that he does not have writers block, and therefore does not need therapy, he is clearly in denial about something and their session soon leads to a self-reflective journey through his troubled past in search for the writer he once was. Within his ensuing therapy sessions, Roland recalls real and imagined characters from his childhood, including his compassionate Year 5 teacher Mrs Walkham (Bernadette Pryde), at whose urging he funnelled his fertile imagination into a play called “Toy Symphony”.

Things momentum along through a combination of real-time and flashback storytelling, thanks to the inclusion of magical realism and larger-than-life representations in illustration of Roland’s imagination of historical figures such as Alexander the Great and alike, alongside his 1960s classmates, school bully (Sam Webb), the sweet t Mrs Walkham, intimidating school principal (Greg Scurr) and his personal champion, Nick. Although details of his childhood home in the southern Sydney suburb of Como are explored in lengthy classroom scenes, overall, these sections serve well to highlight the versatility of the dynamic cast who transition seamlessly between characters. Indeed, Act One is textured with a colorful set of characters, which the ensemble cast bring to glorious life. Hill, in particular, is excellent as both capable therapist Nina and an excitable Year 5 student, while Pryde is simply wonderful in anchor of everything as the doting Mrs Walkham, always offering warmth and assurance to Roland.

Act Two takes a turn as Rowland, now a successful playwright, faces the consequences of his past along with the loss of his parents, the combination of which spirals him into the writer’s block that prompted his therapy. From being a bullied youngster, he has now become an intimidating oppressor himself and it is uncomfortable to watch his evisceration of university student and wannabe actor Daniel (Jonathan Weir), such is power of Wilken’s performance. At times intense, and others turmoiled, he evokes both psychological depth and emotional range in his realisation of all of Roland’s selves, from his schoolboy energy to the despair of a layered man who is at his rock bottom. And his one-sided phone conversation soliloquy serves as a magnificent celebration the play’s language and its show of the human of humanity.

“Toy Symphony” shows that there is more to Australian playwright and director Michael Gow that his most famed 1986 work “Away”. The stylistically-distinctive work may touch upon similar tones in its 1960s setting, but its discussion of the merit of theatre over other art forms and attempt to understand creativity. elevate it as a clever, challenging and entertaining look at the world of the imagination. It is also very funny at times, particularly through Scurr’s Act One appearances as Rowland’s Latvian childhood friend Nick, whose hyperbolic declarations of love of beautiful women are matched only by his profane exclamations of excitement.  

While it may be a neglected work, the play’s themes and inherent theatricality will hopefully ensure its longevity. Magical elements, along with Gow’s poetic writing and trademark classical allusions make “Toy Symphony” an entertaining, albeit underrated Australian play, and under Michelle Carey’s direction, Ad Astra has presented audiences with a very fine production of it.

Keeping up with the Joneses

The Realistic Joneses

Ad Astra

March 26 – April 17

Will Eno’s “The Realistic Joneses” begins with American suburbanites Bob (Gregory J Wilken) and Jennifer Jones (Jacqueline Kerr) sharing a drink and discussing possibly painting their house over the summer. They will only have to do it again sometime in the future after that, but ‘that’s what people do’, they decide. The other thing people do is small talk… other people maybe, but not Bob whose still waters run deep. Understandably then, the couple’s new neighbour, the animated and talkative John (Robert Wainwright) is not going to be Bob’s cup of tea (or glass of wine).

Bob is not so much stoic, but in a kind of denial we learn as details of his degenerative neurological disease are revealed by Jennifer’s confides with John, which occur unbeknownst to John’s wife Pony (Claire Argente). As the two couples’ lives intertwine, John’s behaviour becomes increasingly erratic itself, and it becomes apparent that Jennifer and Pony share some challenges, notably how to communicate with men unaccustomed to being open on anything but their own terms.

Far from being bleak, however, the show is quite lively and very funny, thanks mostly to Wilken’s Bob. From his first scene response to his new neighbours’ drop-in introduction, we learn so much of his malaised and temperament approach to life through his non-verbals of crossed arm reactions, shrugged shoulders of disapproval and eye-roll responses to John’s enthusiastically clichéd contributions. Indeed, John has a response-for-everything way of offering assurance (even later as a haiku), meaning that when the two come together as ‘just a couple of fellas’ at the start of Act One, it is not only unexpected in its tenderness but appreciated for the vulnerability that is only briefly seen, due to the work’s lack of resolution. This scene also serves to empathise Wilken’s range, because easy laughs obviously take a lot of work and in later scenes particularly, while Bob is in ‘one of his moods’ he provides a lot the play’s humour through his wide-eyed wonderment and earnest, emphatic declarations with deadpan delivery.

Kerr and Wilken perfectly capture the nuances of a long relationship’s journey in their portrayals of Jennifer and Bob, bringing a genuine warmth to their characters that encourages audience affection, even when they are disagreeing with each other. Kerr makes Jennifer the most rational of the characters, meaning that we both feel her frustration and recognise the strength behind her sad eyes. In contrast, Argente’s Pony is the most contentious of the four, hyperbolic in her emotional reactions and scatological, often incomplete explanations, and while it is exhausting trying to figure the character out, Argente’s energy in making her so, cannot be denied. And Wainwright brings a decisiveness to John’s words and actions, that reveals exactly why the couple is such a good match.

Really, not a lot happens during the two hour (including interval) play as the bulk of it relies on idiosyncratic and sometimes witty (but also frustratingly encircling) dialogue between characters trying to keep up with each other in the depths of small talk. Things start very strongly as the two couples initially meet and intact with nervous chatter, choreographically dancing around each other and differing spots of Bob and Jennifer’s outdoor dining setting, although some slower scene transitions drag momentum a little in latter scenes.

The generic nature of the couples, who share the surname of Jones and the repeated positioning of their concerns against the bigger described imagery of the sky above and wildlife sounds around them work to convey the text’s message about the life’s banalities. “They discuss their lives, giving an inside look at the people who live next door, the truths we think we know and the secrets we never imagined we all might share”; this is how the show’s blurb sums up its focus. Though in realisation, “The Realistic Joneses” may not unfold with the expected ‘everyday-ness’ to its narrative, its revelation of the similar secrets being kept in its characters’ suburban lives, delivers some worthwhile messages about the importance of what is left unsaid as much as what is shared and of the need to not just listen more, but to listen better to each other.

Characters, comedy and contemplation

Six Characters in Search of an Author (heartBeast Theatre)

Spring Hill Reservoirs

April 15 – 29

Spring Hill’s underground reservoir is the perfect venue for an intimate theatrical production. In the case of heartBeast’s “Six Characters in Search of an Author” it is an intimacy initially disrupted by the sounds of steps on the scaffolded stair entry to the almost 150 year old venue. This is, in actuality, entirely suited to the show’s deliberately haphazard introduction, which sees The Director, (Jaqueline Kerr), for characters are known by roles rather than names, attempting to rally her cast for a rehearsal of a Pirandello play.

Before the rehearsal has begun in any real way, the group is unexpectedly interrupted by the arrival of six grim, mysterious figures, members of one dysfunctional family demanding that their tragic story needs to be heard and told as a play, as if to provide it with completion. They are not people as such but rather characters, cast off of an unknown author’s imagination left to linger as theatrical ghosts and as they skulk towards the stage in a huddle of mourning black, the effect is quite frightful, particularly for those audience members beside whom they silently appear.

What follows in Italian Nobel Prize winner Luigi Pirandello’s seminal theatrical work is a confusing and disturbing story that hinges on The Father’s (Gregory J Wilken)  and Mother’s (Eleonora Ginardi) separation and his, as he proclaims, unwitting, seduction many years later of The Stepdaughter (Jane Schon) before realisation from The Mother. More than just complicated story, however, the absurdist play is an exploration of the world of theatre and contemplation of the nature of drama (is it about words or actions?) Indeed, Act One, in particular is filled with philosophical proclamations, primarily from The Father, in consideration of the relationship between authors, their characters and audience members.

The action increases ahead of the final act’s abrupt ending as the company of actors attempt to bring the character’s tale to theatrical life. There are many satisfying comic moments, often coming from the fourth wall breaks to share the frustrations from within the tension; the fiction figures are not at all happy to be told that their story doesn’t suit ‘drama’ and are resentful of the actors’ interpretation of their never-changing, always-agonising story.

Like a narrator of sorts, Wilken plays The Father with an engaging authority. Part passionate self, part pontificator, he delivers bold statements for contemplation about words and illusions, presenting the audience with many interesting analogies upon which to ponder (such as truth being like a sack). As complement, Schon plays the feisty The Stepdaughter to perfection and Ginardi shows subtlety and nuance in her portrayal of The Mother’s guilt and grief.

Lighting is at times luscious but also often conspicuous in its transitions.  And although the use of mirrors in the corners of the small, square stage area allows for expanded exposure, better blocking during initial scenes could ensure exploitation of all the possibilities created, so that the crowding caused by superfluous characters does not serve as audience distraction.

“Six Characters in Search of an Author” is a dark examination of the differences between reality and illusion. Its meta-theatrical nature makes its material challenging but also rewarding, if audiences are willing to go along with its slow burn approach.