Alone on a Berlin
Over the course of
the play, we meet the Price family (the name is significant, I think) – father
Bob, mother Fran, and the (now adult) children Pip, Mark, Ben, and Rosie – who
live on a property in Hallett Cove. As we get to know the family and their
relationships with each other, so too their backyard grows – from the fence, to
the paddocks and trees, the flower beds, rose bushes, and the ubiquitous shed –
and something ordinary is created in front of our eyes in sometimes beautiful
and extraordinary ways. Directed by Geordie
Brookman and Scott Graham, Things
I Know To Be True is the latest play from acclaimed playwright Andrew
Bovell, and marks the first international co-production by State Theatre Company of South
Australia, in this case with UK-based movement company Frantic Assembly. It’s a story
about a family, about loving and letting go; about growing and discovering
yourself, finding out who you are; about grieving and saying goodbye; about the
very particular and universal rhythms of family, and how one family grows over the
course of a year.
It’s a neat
conceit, at times at little too neat on Bovell’s part, but there is heart here,
sometimes buried beneath the surface of the text like the roots of the rose
bushes, and sometimes worn on its very sleeve like Rosie’s emotions, but it
never feels gratuitous or overstayed. And while some will argue that the scope
of the play is nowhere near as broad or fascinating as Bovell’s other work
(like When The Rain Stops Falling,
Holy Day, or Speaking In Tongues),
I would argue that whereas in those plays he was looking outwards, at the
effects actions and thoughts have on others in society as well as within the
family unit, here Bovell is specifically looking within the family, is looking
inward at how family’s work, at the way secrets and lies, truths and
half-truths shift and change within a family, at the way families love and keep
going, how they survive during times of crisis and stress. And some might argue
it isn’t as rewarding as his other works, this is a play which benefits from
going into the theatre with open arms, an open mind, and an open heart, and letting
it work itself out within you. Bovell himself has said on
a number of occasions in the lead-up to the play’s premiere that it is very
much inspired by events in his own life, although he is very clear to say it is
in no way autobiography, and it shows.
There is a very
tangible sense of who these characters are, regardless of whether you like them
or not, and they feel real, if a little exaggerated (though sometimes not
always in the best way). The cast, the six members of the Price family, find
integrity in their roles and give their characters dignity, though I’m not sure
if they’re all as pitch-perfect as the play needs. Paul Blackwell as Bob, the
head of the family, is avuncular and warm, the rock around which the family
gravitates, and his warmth, patience, and tolerance permeates most crises the
family finds themselves in, even if he doesn’t quite understand them in their
entirety. It’s a touching counterpoint to Eugenia Fragos’ Fran, who seems too
shrill, too cruel, too tough on her family, especially Pip the eldest. We later
discover this is in part because she loves them, because Pip reminds her of
herself but with more passion, but it’s not quite enough to warrant the ending
when it comes, which comes out of nowhere (as those events always do) and
doesn’t quite affect us as it should. It feels as if Fragos is in a slightly
different play to the rest of the family, a harsher, meaner one where
tough-love is dispensed like water, and it is in part her performance but also
Bovell’s writing for and about her, that doesn’t quite sit within the rest of
the world he has created.
Pip, the eldest
child, played by Georgia Adamson, bears the brunt of Fran’s disdain, but it
perhaps isn’t always intended to hurt as much as it does – to Pip, and to us,
the audience. Adamson’s performance is filled with steel and determination,
passion for a career that will take her away from her (young) family, and there
is something fierce in her defence of her actions which is affecting, even if
Fran doesn’t quite allow us to quite feel its full power. Tim
Walter’s Mark, the eldest son, is touching in his search for identity, for
somewhere to fit in, his struggle and anguish in living as someone who he is
not, and lying to himself and his family, the people he loves. There’s also
something moving in his relationship with his younger sister Rosie, and we
watch this grow in a number of instances, and it is perhaps Rosie who sees
through the physical shell of his being and sees him for who he is, when no one
else in the family can; their exchange of watches is beautifully executed, and
the story of their trip to the airport is gentle and fierce, and hints at something
deeper which Bovell’s play doesn’t quite articulate. Nathan
O’Keefe’s Ben is something of the rebel, desperately wanting to fit in with
people in a vastly different world to him; but there is also something tender
to his character which we get glimpses of, glimpses which hint at someone who
is still not comfortable with the life he leads, someone who really is just a
scared little kid when you peel away the veneer of the high-flying playboy, and
it is Rosie who once again bears witness to this. Rosie, played by Tilda
Cobham-Hervey is the youngest child, apparently ‘un-planned,’ but she is also
the lens through which we see much of the play, the one who brings the whole
play into being by her abrupt and all-too-soon return from overseas. There’s a
youthfulness to Cobham-Hervey’s Rosie, as well as a maturity beyond her years,
but she is again at once neither a child nor an adult but somewhere in between,
and as the play grows so too does Rosie until she is ready to spread her wings
and leave the family nest and venture into the world on her own. Her emotions
are our own, and her eagerness and heartbreaking emotional rawness are
beguiling.
Brookman and
Graham’s production is handsome, and is directed with clearness and verve.
Graham’s sensibility with Frantic Assembly is not imposed upon Bovell’s text,
but instead finds spaces within it to open out and bring an elegance, a
fluidity that is deceptively simple and more than a little bit magical. Bodies
are lifted, turned, tumbled; hands caress and hold, brush past others; gestures
and actions are hinted at, and furniture is pushed across the stage with
astonishing accuracy – chairs and tables hurtle across the stage to arrive
beneath their occupant at precisely the right moment – and it is thrilling. Geoff
Cobham’s set goes someway to enhancing this fluidity, this magic, and his
design is perhaps influenced by Gregory Crewdson’s
work, minutely detailed scenarios which hint at something extraordinary within
the mundane, and Cobham creates a backyard out of its essential elements, a
garden which is at once specific and recognisable, a garden which becomes a
house, a world, a private universe. Cobham’s lighting amplifies his set with
angular spotlights, hundreds of floating lights suspended above the stage, rich
golds and thin blues, purples and greens, which add texture, warmth, and depth
to the otherwise abstracted staging. Ailsa Paterson’s costumes are acutely
tuned to the family’s characteristics, to the world that is being created, and add
nuance to the ordinariness of the Price family. The music, all existing
compositions by German composer Nils Frahm,
ripple and sparkle through the space, cascading rhythmically like time moving,
days weeks passing, shifting but propelled at a constant pace, and when coupled
with Graham’s wordless movement sequences there is a beautiful eloquence which
is achieved, of bodies in space in motion, of words and emotions writ large
within the space.
Despite all the
magic of this production, Bovell’s play feels overwritten at times, as though
he is ticking boxes of topical issues, that these issues do not intrinsically
spring from the world he has created but rather seem to be foisted upon it.
‘Issues’ such as Pip’s marital fidelity early in the first half form a mirror
with Fran’s revelations late in the second half, but there is also a lack of
nuance and understanding on Fran’s part when it comes to her daughter’s
situation and feelings; Fran’s reaction feels too loud, too harsh, too
malicious this early in the play, even if you can understand where she is
coming from. Other issues, like Mark’s transitioning to Mia, and Ben’s
embezzlement of others’ money don’t quite feel natural to these characters, to
Bovell’s world, and although they are explored with heart and relative compassion,
they still feel clunky, as though they are present to fulfil the conceit of
four children, four seasons, four crises. The thing that carries us through, as
with the rest of the play, is how Rosie reacts to these situations, but as
important as this is, I don’t feel like this is explored enough – if Rosie is the lens through which the play is
focused, the one who kicks it off and through whom we see the family’s
struggles, why do we not really get much of her growth until the very end, why
does she stay mostly silent throughout her siblings’ Big Scenes? Why does she
not play more of an active role in the play rather than being a largely-silent
witness?
Rosie’s reaction
to Mark’s revelation that his is transgender is shock, she doesn’t know what to
say, but their parents – rather than trying to understand Mark’s feelings, his
own personal crisis – blunder on through it, offending him and putting more
than their foot in it on more than one occasion; while this is recognisable as
something parents do, and do well, there is still a lack of nuance here.
Bob and Fran’s
private crises, of life fulfilment and finding meaning as everything changes,
are well handled and form a searching counterpoint amongst the chaos of the
family’s year. It is also mirrored in Rosie’s own journey, her maturation and
growing in confidence, in her spreading her wings, and it forms a kind of
grace-note towards the end of the play. Part of the Bovell’s exploration is
also the generational differences between parents and their children, particularly
the baby-boomer generation and Generations X and Y. It’s about decisions which
may be black and white, but which are shaded with nuances in every gradation of
grey in between; it is about changing values and expectations, about
acknowledging this and understanding this, about accepting change and growing
from it, but I don’t think it is quite explored enough. We get more than enough
of Fran bemoaning her children’s lack of consideration for the others around
them, but she herself doesn’t take her own advice and causes rifts in
relationships which aren’t mended (or at least not in what we see on stage).
And it is here that the ending feels unearned, like it isn’t quite as moving as
it could (and should) be; I don’t feel like we are able to love Fran enough –
based on what we see and hear, and what we are told of her – in order for the
ending to be truly affecting. (And by the time we get to the end, of Bob
suspended in the black void of 3 a.m., I wonder if it isn’t a full-circle play
– that the phone call we open with is actually that which we hear at the end;
that Rosie’s return isn’t a full twelve months before that phone call…)
And as much as I
try to fathom the play’s neatness, the almost too-perfect conceit of Bovell’s
structure, I cannot help but admire the play, admire the bigness of it, the
stagecraft of the production, and the ideas it tackles however successfully. It
feels, in many ways, like what The
Great Fire at Belvoir was trying to be – a family, one house, four
children, generational conflict, working out how to go on when everything
around you changes – but I don’t think this play is quite there yet. It feels
as though there are two or three things being juggled, rather than the single
one which will keep us focused, which will maintain our focus through the story
with clarity. And part of this, I think, comes down to whose story is being
told in the first place: is it Bob’s, and his search for meaning and
fulfilment? Is it Fran’s, and her desire for her children to be better people
than she and Bob were, for them to be more than they could be? Is it Pip’s, and
her search for something more than what she has, something that will make her
happy? Or is it Rosie’s, and her journey from child to adult, from heartbroken
and alone to a mature young woman trying to find her niche in the world; a
young woman who watches her family shift and change around her, and in doing so
finds herself and her own strength to be herself? There can be more than one
subplot to the play, but only one central plot – and I don’t know if this play
has quite got them in the right configuration, the right balance yet.
As a co-production
between State Theatre Company of South Australia
and Frantic Assembly, once this production closes in Adelaide ,
Brookman and Graham will remount the production with an entirely British cast
on a UK
regional tour from September to December. And while I won’t be able to see
that incarnation of the production, it will be interesting to see how a
different cast and a different country, how different audiences, will change
the play and the production. And indeed it will be interesting, in years to
come, to see a different production – new director, new team, new cast – and
how a new approach changes and/or tackles, makes sense of the play in their own
way, how it would work. Would it
work?
At its core, Things I Know To Be True is about love,
families, and continuing. How do we love in the twenty-first century? Do we not
love enough? Do we love too much? How do we show it (or not)? How do we say the
things that need to be said without truly hurting those around us? How do we
say goodbye if we’re not ready to do so, if it comes all too soon? What price do
we pay for following our hearts, our dreams, our desires, and how do we live
with that? How do we settle for the things that might be true and right, but
which might not be the things we truly want or desire? How do we know what
matters to us, truly, deeply? How do we know ourselves when everything around
us is in flux, in doubt? How do we Be – ourselves, the best we can be, the
people we need to be to the people who need us most? Simply, how do we love,
and at what price does that come?
It’s not an easy question, but it’s one
worth asking. This is one thing I know to be true.
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