Sometimes you encounter
a piece of theatre which seems to shine with its own light, theatre which
reaches out into the darkness of the auditorium and gently holds you, slips its
fingers under your skin and doesn’t let go for a very long time afterwards. It
was March 2012, and Rita Kalnejais’ Babyteeth was
playing in Belvoir’s Upstairs theatre; billed as “a
mad, gorgeous, bittersweet comedy about how good it is not to be dead yet,” it
was filled with a warmth, a big-heartedness, and an almost-visible hum, and was
– still is – one of the most beautiful new plays I’ve ever seen.
Babyteeth was directed by Eamon Flack,
Belvoir’s Associate Director – New Projects. I don’t make a secret of being a
strong admirer of his work as a director, in particular his work at Belvoir. Following
his recent appointment as Belvoir’s new artistic director from 2016, I sat down
with Flack at the beginning of the year for what became an in-depth discussion
about the classics, dramatic and historical context, his intentions as incoming
artistic director, and about the need for compassion.
“The greatest of all epics about nation, is finally an epic about our
nation,” proclaims the promotional material for Sydney Festival’s presentation
of The
Shadow King, and there is much in this production to recognise, in both
the Aboriginal nation and in the ‘white’ Australia. The first thing you
notice when you enter the space at Carriageworks, is the red earth, a vivid
orange only amplified by the lights. To one side sit a rock band – guitars,
Hammond organ, didgeridoo – while the middle of the space is dominated by a
marvellous overbearing metal evocation of a gargantuan mining truck which turns
and slides forward, mechanised and invasive; violating the red sacred earth.
Directed by
Michael Kantor from an idea by himself and Tom E. Lewis (who plays Lear), it
follows much the same progression as Shakespeare’s text. It too is about
familial conflict, power, land and entitlement; about learning humility,
learning how to see when you are blind. Originally
presented by Melbourne’s
Malthouse Theatre in 2013, we
are introduced at the outset to the Fool (Kamahi Djordon King), who serves as a
framing device for the telling of the story, all at once part of it and outside
of it, a bit like a spiritual songman, drawing past present and future
together. Eschewing Shakespeare’s iambic pentameter in favour of a contemporary
translation workshopped by the cast in several local Aboriginal languages, the
core of the story is never lost in translation, nor do you need subtitles; the
language is just as expressive and direct as Shakespeare’s, and when spoken
from the red earth, it breathes with a new life and vitality.
