This
review was originally written for artsHub.
Billed as “the
gayest one-man show ever!”, Nick Coyle’s Blue Wizard is
like nothing you’ve seen before. Presented by Belvoir
as part of the Mardi Gras festival,
it’s the story of a cosmic wizard who crashes to earth in a comet, and sings
and dances in an effort to return home. First presented by PACT centre for emerging artists in 2013, Blue Wizard is a show that doesn’t
apologise for being itself. Playing in Belvoir’s Downstairs theatre, Coyle’s
wizard cavorts and dances, shimmies struts and frets amongst piles of junk and
detritus set atop a mirrored floor. Lasers flash and strobe, smoke creeps along
the floor, and the blue wizard must care for an egg which hatches
uncharacteristically early.
This is the third
Tennessee Williams production I’ve seen inside of five months, following Eamon
Flack’s lyrical and haunting production of The
Glass Menagerie for Belvoir, and the NTLive presentation of Benedict
Andrews’ A
Streetcar Named Desire for the Young Vic. Rather than saturating the
theatrical landscape, these plays have a way of opening up and revealing a
personal system of inner refraction in Tennessee Williams’ work, an
autobiographical repertory company of characters who shift and morph from play
to play but are always present. In Suddenly
Last Summer, directed by Kip
Williams for the Sydney Theatre
Company, we see many echoes with The
Glass Menagerie and shades of A Streetcar Named Desire, but here they
are shaped into a new and compelling play which premiered in 1958.
Richard III is one
of Shakespeare’s most enduring villains. The famous crook-backed king straddles
two worlds – that of the tumultuous past of warring roses, and the ever-present
now of his opening speech – and his character amplifies this duality in his
mannerisms, behaviour and language, seeming “a saint, when most [he plays]
the devil.” Simply
titled Richard, this SUDS production – staged in their tiny Cellar
Theatre – not only gives us the villain who’ll “set the murderous Machiavel to school,” but we also get the
backstory of this “crook-backed prodigy,” the story of how he came to be caught
up in history’s machinations and how his downfall was ensured years before he
became king.
Nakkiah
Lui’s Kill the Messenger
is the barest, most simple form of theatre you can imagine. Five people on a
stage, telling one story. Or, more specifically, one person telling their story
and the others are dramatic components to – in – the story. In its most pared
down essence, it is pure autobiography: Lui wrote the play because two people
died in what were preventable circumstances; in wanting to tell the truth about
them, and in trying to understand what happened and why, she knew she had to
start with herself. Thus Kill the Messenger
was born – a play written by Lui about her own life, starring Lui as herself.
In the early
twentieth century Yasukichi Murakami, a successful Japanese photographer and
entrepreneur, lived and worked in Broome and Darwin. Following the outbreak of
World War Two, he and his family were interned as enemy aliens, and his
extensive photographic collection was lost. Presented by Griffin Theatre Company and Performance 4a, Yasukichi
Murakami: Through A Distant Lens brings Murakami’s life and work come
alive with the help of projections, sound, video, and is a poignant and moving
exploration of what matters to us, what we value as important, and how we can
be remembered once we pass away.
I remember reading
Treasure Island when I was younger,
shivering in excitement as Long John Silver swept the crew of the Hispaniola into his murky plans. I remember Captain Flint
(Silver’s parrot), Jim Hawkins the cabin-boy, the blind man tap-tapping his
cane in the darkness, the dreaded black spot, finding the wild man Ben Gunn on
the island… But strangely enough, I don’t really remember the story at all.
More recently, I read Andrew Motion’s Silver,
the 'return to Treasure Island', but that felt more like seeing something
familiar refracted through an endless mirror and trying to piece it all back
together. But here, in this production by London’s
National Theatre, Treasure Island
springs into full-blooded thrilling life, and is much darker and far more
mercurial than I ever remember it.
First produced in
2000, a year and a half after playwright Sarah Kane’s death, 4.48
Psychosis is a mesmerising and harrowing portrait of a mind at war with
itself, whilst encompassing ideas about love, dependency, isolation, depression,
and mental stability. In Kane’s own words, it is about “a psychotic breakdown
and what happens
to a person’s mind when the barriers which distinguish between reality… and
imagination completely disappear.” Produced here by SUDS in their tiny Cellar Theatre, Kane’s play
is an experiment in form, breaking down existing boundaries whilst making new
ones which only stop where words do.
Rapid-response
theatre flies in the face of theatrical tradition, but it shouldn’t always be
like that. The average play takes approximately two years to reach the stage,
by which time any topicality it may have had initially has long-since passed.
Enter rapid-response theatre, where plays appear on stage mere weeks after
being pitched or commissioned. You might remember Hollywood
Ending at Griffin
in November 2012; where that project took nine weeks to journey from concept to
the stage, Asylum – a twenty-four-play
cyclical response to the federal government’s Operation Sovereign Borders – appears
approximately four weeks after pitching. The plays here are raw, unsentimental,
unflinching; visceral. Under the artistic direction of Dino
Dimitriadis, Apocalypse
Theatre Company hosts 97 artists in a fearless and challenging exploration
of what it means to seek asylum, what it means to come to Australia by
boat, how it affects us – personally, as a community.