Small towns don't feel small when you grow up there. That comes later. The world as you know it seems wide. You feel close to it, the smells, the seasons, the secret places. But slowly, imperceptibly, like childhood itself, that comfortable, familiar, reassuring world starts to slip away.
– Noel Mengel, RPM
Julia-Rose Lewis’
assured first play Samson is a one of
those coming-of-age stories which dot the landscape of the Australian psyche.
Set in a small country town, the play follows the lives of Essie, Beth, Sid,
and Rabbit, as they collide, love, fight, dream, and burn burn burn. Co-produced
by Belvoir and Brisbane ’s
La Boite theatre, Samson arrives in Sydney after a
two-week run in Brisbane
Lewis’ four kids live
in a small town at the arse end of the earth. While their days seem to consist
of nothing more than drinking, playing truth-or-dare, swimming in the creek,
and hanging around the place, it takes the death of one of their friends (the
titular Samson) to put a wedge between them and make them take stock of who,
what, where, and why they are. The magic in Lewis’ play comes not just from the
story, but from the way the kids open up about their fears and dreams, their
loves and heartbreaks, the way they try to get themselves out of the rut of
existence.
Directed by Kristine
Landon-Smith, Samson unfolds on a
wooden set which fills the Downstairs space almost to the edge of the seats.
Designed by Michael Hili, it is a large misshapen mound, reminiscent of rocks
or the earth, a rough-hewn place the kids can call their own, a place away from
the eyes and ears of adults. Indeed, there is not an adult to be seen or heard
in this play. Landon-Smith directs with a clear eye and keeps the play moving,
despite some quirks in the staging. Perhaps as a result of playing in the round
at La Boite, some scenes are blocked so that half the audience cannot see a
character in a key speech, and some moments are staged up in the back corner,
again alienating half the audience. It is a shame, because the production and
direction is otherwise clear and considered, even if the criss-crossing of the
space to signify a journey is used twice too many times. A lot of Lewis’
dialogue is in short bursts, staccato phrases delivered in a faltering manner;
when a character speaks more than two or three lines in a row, the flow of the
moment is broken and fractured, diminished somewhat by the jagged flow; I’m
curious as to whether it is a textual thing on Lewis’ part, or a directorial,
actorly decision suggested by Landon-Smith and embellished upon by the actors.
While I understand the intention in giving the production a rawness and a kind
of verisimilitude to the haltering speech patterns often used by teenagers, it
doesn’t differentiate any of the four characters’ big speeches from each other,
and – aside from accents and inflections – they all sound rather homogenous,
which I’m not sure was the intention.
Quibbles about the delivery
aside, the cast – all young actors at the beginning of their careers – are
strong. Belinda Jombwe’s Beth is forthright and cheeky, challenged by the death
of their friend as she was, perhaps, the closest to him. Charles Wu’s Sid is
quite violent and confrontational; even though there is a tender side to him,
it is more often underscored by a fierceness and an unpredictability which adds
a further layer of dimension to his character. Ashleigh Cummings’ Essie is a
bit of a firebrand, all fire and brimstone initially, but as the layers are
pulled back we see she is just as scared and shaken as the rest of them, and
she too is trying to make sense of all of it before it is lost, before it is
too late. Benjamin Creek’s Rabbit is endearing in a goofy kind of way, eager to
please Essie, make a good impression, and there is a tenderness to him which is
beautiful; while some of his lines are lost, he makes up for it in spirit and
bigheartedness, and his scene with Essie on the full-moon is tender and
fragile.
There are many lovely little
moments in Samson to savour, from the
tender scenes between Rabbit and Essie, to the kids’ rough charm, the opening
salvo of questions; the little moments, glances, touches, exchanges between
characters. At its heart is the big question every one of us is searching for,
the question of grace and understanding, of what does it all mean, and the
search for answers to the unfathomable immensities of life. It asks us to set
aside our differences in an attempt to foster compassion and finding the common
ground on which we stand. The play’s end, while losing some its full impact in
the staging, makes you smile, and hints at the understanding and kindred-spiritedness
which Lewis believes in. It might not be ground-breaking or life-changing, but as
a first play from a new voice, I reckon Samson
is beautiful.
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