Rhonda Voo with the Croo
Exhibition /Installation/ Performance / Residue
Entrepot gallery, Hunter St, Hobart.
9-5 daily until May 20th
By Gai Anderson
If you have a chance this week, get down to the Entrepot Gallery where a group of artists continue to play together responding to the word ‘Rendezvous’ through performance and live art. They aim to keep the space “alive” and inhabited by changing artists on a daily basis. Following the “live “ creation in the gallery, a trace or residue of the work is left to accumulate over the weeks of the exhibition, leaving tantalising, exciting, and sometimes oblique traces of what has happened here.
WriteResponse; An arts reviewing site with a collection of Tasmanian writers contributing and reflecting on creative endeavour.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
ArtRage 2009
Tasmanian School of Art, Centre for the Arts, Hobart
Friday 7th May 2010
By Anneliese Milk
When the work of eighty secondary school art students from across the state is brought together under the one roof, you can expect the atmosphere to be diverse and electric, with the occasional nuance of teen-angst. Presented by the Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery, ArtRage 2009 encapsulates all of that and more. It is an engaging and sprawling exhibition representing every possible medium, theme, colour and emotion.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
XYZ Poetry #1
On a ‘school’ night, the likelihood of finding the time to listen to a Bach concerto, have a glass of red, and write some poetry is, for me, very slight. Admittedly, time isn’t really the issue, but rather the lack of energy and inspiration. Yet when Fullers’ reading and cultural community XYZ announced its inaugural writing event, Poetry #1, I began to see how it just might be possible to indulge in the aforementioned activities while still only three-quarters through my working week.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Art at the Brisbane
The Nook and Cranny Gallery @ The Brisbane Hotel, Hobart
Tuesday 4th May 2010
By Anneliese Milk
The Brisbane Hotel’s take on exhibiting artwork is as refreshing as a cold pint of cider. At the Nook and Cranny Gallery, there are no pretensions, and there are no rules. Requesting only your enthusiasm and the desire to have your work seen, Art at the Brisbane is an open invitation to all members of the community to make some art and put it out there. With a new show launched on the first Tuesday of every month, Art at the Brisbane is a constantly evolving, community-rich project.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
TAS BLOGGER WINS INTERNATIONAL GIG
WriteResponse co-founder and blogger, Kylie Eastley is one of two bloggers, the other from North America, who has been selected by the Huffington Post to cover the World Social Enterprise Conference in San Francisco.
Monday, April 19, 2010
A city needs a composer
Dean Stevenson and the Arco Set
Friday April 16
Peacock Theatre
Presented by the Salamanca Arts Centre and Dean Stevenson
by Stephenie Cahalan
A city needs a composer to write its story in music. Be it the story of a suburban kitchen or a streetscape, a composer writes stories with music, like a photographer tells a story using light. They are like the playwrights that make work for local actors; the tailors that bespoke clothes of a place, era and climate or poets who capture the colours that cross their path.
From the perspective of a non-musician, the thing that seems to mark a composer is that they think beyond the instrument they are playing , to the layers of a composition that provide a platform for the talents of other musicians.
Dean Stevenson achieved this with the Arco Set, a group of young, skilled, local musicians who played on Friday night at the Peacock Theatre. The evening offered a repertoire of works written for both Stevenson as solo performer, the band and the Cloud Suite written for the small orchestra. There was something about the Peacock's intimate setting and the collection of strings that took me back ten years to a show by My Friend the Chocolate Cake. Like David Bridie, Stevenson neatly combined casual guitar with conventional orchestral arrangements to make music that was utterly original and captivating to the audience.
Friday April 16
Peacock Theatre
Presented by the Salamanca Arts Centre and Dean Stevenson
by Stephenie Cahalan
A city needs a composer to write its story in music. Be it the story of a suburban kitchen or a streetscape, a composer writes stories with music, like a photographer tells a story using light. They are like the playwrights that make work for local actors; the tailors that bespoke clothes of a place, era and climate or poets who capture the colours that cross their path.
From the perspective of a non-musician, the thing that seems to mark a composer is that they think beyond the instrument they are playing , to the layers of a composition that provide a platform for the talents of other musicians.
Dean Stevenson achieved this with the Arco Set, a group of young, skilled, local musicians who played on Friday night at the Peacock Theatre. The evening offered a repertoire of works written for both Stevenson as solo performer, the band and the Cloud Suite written for the small orchestra. There was something about the Peacock's intimate setting and the collection of strings that took me back ten years to a show by My Friend the Chocolate Cake. Like David Bridie, Stevenson neatly combined casual guitar with conventional orchestral arrangements to make music that was utterly original and captivating to the audience.
Friday, February 12, 2010
The Perfect Circle
by Stephenie Cahalan
Studio Theatre, Mt Nelson
On the whole musicals are not sexy. Not exactly ‘now’ multi-media, not classical, yet not avant garde. Often, the lure of a musical lies in its rehashing of a favorite story, a stellar cast or phenomenal staging and effects accommodated by a monster budget.
And so, it is a tribute to the talent and determination of contemporary artists that they choose to work with a medium that does not always loom as the first choice of theatre- goers. The Perfect Circle – A New Musical is directed by Nicholas King, Charlea Edwards and Craig M Wood, who has also directed the music. As with all musicals, it manages to take the full spectrum of emotions and give them a place on the stage in a fashion that is so clearly not reality in its method (how many of us break into song mid-conversation?), but so evocative of the reality of life, love, loss… the whole deal.
Studio Theatre, Mt Nelson
On the whole musicals are not sexy. Not exactly ‘now’ multi-media, not classical, yet not avant garde. Often, the lure of a musical lies in its rehashing of a favorite story, a stellar cast or phenomenal staging and effects accommodated by a monster budget.
And so, it is a tribute to the talent and determination of contemporary artists that they choose to work with a medium that does not always loom as the first choice of theatre- goers. The Perfect Circle – A New Musical is directed by Nicholas King, Charlea Edwards and Craig M Wood, who has also directed the music. As with all musicals, it manages to take the full spectrum of emotions and give them a place on the stage in a fashion that is so clearly not reality in its method (how many of us break into song mid-conversation?), but so evocative of the reality of life, love, loss… the whole deal.
The Perfect Circle
Preview: Studio Theatre, Mount Nelson
10 February 2010
by Janet Upcher
What is it that humans yearn for? What drives us on and what completes us?
This innovative musical drama, a thought-provoking series of interwoven narratives linked by the music and lyrics of Craig M. Wood and Nicholas King, suggests we’re all involved in a constant quest for the perfect relationship and a sense of eternity. Love seems a circular, often frustrating dance where misunderstandings and rejections occur and time mocks us with our own transience and separateness.
10 February 2010
by Janet Upcher
What is it that humans yearn for? What drives us on and what completes us?
This innovative musical drama, a thought-provoking series of interwoven narratives linked by the music and lyrics of Craig M. Wood and Nicholas King, suggests we’re all involved in a constant quest for the perfect relationship and a sense of eternity. Love seems a circular, often frustrating dance where misunderstandings and rejections occur and time mocks us with our own transience and separateness.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
MONA FOMA
Eight Hands: Variations on the Theme ‘Piano’
John Cale, Paul Grabowsky, Andrew Legg, Gabriella Smart
MONA FOMA
Theatre Royal
January 22, 2010
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
Despite the show’s title, there were never more than two hands on the piano at any one time – each artist performed solo. Although if you had your eyes closed, you could have been forgiven for assuming that there was more than one musician playing; such was the energy, musical intelligence and pure scope of notes.
Andrew Legg indulged his love of, and expertise in, American gospel music. His discussion between pieces was enlightening, though when he recited lyrics it did undermine his assertion that the music ‘speaks’ without vocals. Certainly the music was rich, full, and powerful, but we are so accustomed to gospel as a physically uplifting vocal experience, that listening from our formal theatre seats to those songs distilled into an instrumental essence felt odd. Fantastic, but leaving you aching a bit to hear Aretha.
Gabriella Smart presented a delicate collection of works by 20th and 21st century composers, including Alvin Curran’s ‘For Cornelius’ – a highlight of the evening. The second section of this work, an epic Philip-Glass-esque experience, is a sustained, repetitive, pulsing collection of very close chords which (under Smart’s sensitive performance) was simultaneously meditative, tense, agitated, mesmerising, exhilarating, and yet incredibly still. Smart’s performance embodied a desperation for release and resolution, and at the same time as a desire to be fully and eternally suspended in that sound.
After interval, we were treated to Bach’s Goldberg Variations, Ã la Grabowsky. Parts were beautiful; parts were surprising; parts were jarring and quite hard work for an audience; all was focussed and intense. It was as though someone had swallowed Bach whole – along with plenty of alcohol – then hiccupped some back up after dinner; had a long sleep filled with nightmares about the meal; woke with a strange aftertaste in the morning; then went out for a Sunday brunch and recounted the whole story to a dear friend in the warm autumn sun. Perplexing, challenging, and quite remarkable.
Finally, Cale performed two short improvised works which echoed the repetitive and hypnotic second half of the Curran. Both works were warm, melodic, strong, quite peaceful and somehow magnanimous as an end to the evening. A gorgeous parting gift.
Just as there were only two hands at a time, so there was only one piano – but under each pair of hands it became a completely different instrument (in Cale’s case, literally, as an electronic echo/delay was added to the standard amplification). The variety of relationships between performer and instrument was apparent not just in musical style but in physicality – Legg and the piano worked as a team; Smart’s body curved around the piano as though it were fragile; Grabowsky sometimes treated the instrument as a hazard; and Cale spoke through the piano as clearly as if it were a voice.
With no printed program, each pianist gave their own introduction to their pieces (Legg and Smart offered extensive historical backgrounds, Cale simply announced titles, and Grabowsky didn’t speak at all – though Brian Ritchie was on hand to offer an introduction). This added to the sense that the evening was a chance to eavesdrop on each musician’s individual relationship with their work and with the instrument: variations on the theme of ‘pianist’.
John Cale, Paul Grabowsky, Andrew Legg, Gabriella Smart
MONA FOMA
Theatre Royal
January 22, 2010
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
Despite the show’s title, there were never more than two hands on the piano at any one time – each artist performed solo. Although if you had your eyes closed, you could have been forgiven for assuming that there was more than one musician playing; such was the energy, musical intelligence and pure scope of notes.
Andrew Legg indulged his love of, and expertise in, American gospel music. His discussion between pieces was enlightening, though when he recited lyrics it did undermine his assertion that the music ‘speaks’ without vocals. Certainly the music was rich, full, and powerful, but we are so accustomed to gospel as a physically uplifting vocal experience, that listening from our formal theatre seats to those songs distilled into an instrumental essence felt odd. Fantastic, but leaving you aching a bit to hear Aretha.
Gabriella Smart presented a delicate collection of works by 20th and 21st century composers, including Alvin Curran’s ‘For Cornelius’ – a highlight of the evening. The second section of this work, an epic Philip-Glass-esque experience, is a sustained, repetitive, pulsing collection of very close chords which (under Smart’s sensitive performance) was simultaneously meditative, tense, agitated, mesmerising, exhilarating, and yet incredibly still. Smart’s performance embodied a desperation for release and resolution, and at the same time as a desire to be fully and eternally suspended in that sound.
After interval, we were treated to Bach’s Goldberg Variations, Ã la Grabowsky. Parts were beautiful; parts were surprising; parts were jarring and quite hard work for an audience; all was focussed and intense. It was as though someone had swallowed Bach whole – along with plenty of alcohol – then hiccupped some back up after dinner; had a long sleep filled with nightmares about the meal; woke with a strange aftertaste in the morning; then went out for a Sunday brunch and recounted the whole story to a dear friend in the warm autumn sun. Perplexing, challenging, and quite remarkable.
Finally, Cale performed two short improvised works which echoed the repetitive and hypnotic second half of the Curran. Both works were warm, melodic, strong, quite peaceful and somehow magnanimous as an end to the evening. A gorgeous parting gift.
Just as there were only two hands at a time, so there was only one piano – but under each pair of hands it became a completely different instrument (in Cale’s case, literally, as an electronic echo/delay was added to the standard amplification). The variety of relationships between performer and instrument was apparent not just in musical style but in physicality – Legg and the piano worked as a team; Smart’s body curved around the piano as though it were fragile; Grabowsky sometimes treated the instrument as a hazard; and Cale spoke through the piano as clearly as if it were a voice.
With no printed program, each pianist gave their own introduction to their pieces (Legg and Smart offered extensive historical backgrounds, Cale simply announced titles, and Grabowsky didn’t speak at all – though Brian Ritchie was on hand to offer an introduction). This added to the sense that the evening was a chance to eavesdrop on each musician’s individual relationship with their work and with the instrument: variations on the theme of ‘pianist’.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Grand Master Flash
Acumen Feat DJ Grotesque, Seth Sentry, Jack Viney
21 January 2010
Princes Wharf 1 Hobart
By Keith Churchill
An amateur sociological analysis from yours truly (MC Write Response) would hazard a guess that around 70% of those attending Grand Master Flash et al. would not have been conceived before the commercial release of “The Adventures of Grand Master Flash on The Wheels of Steel” in 1981. Given this “fact”, the healthy-sized crowd is testament to the legend and reputation that proceeds the man who (and he reminds us more than once) turned the turntable and vinyl record into an “instrument”.
The support act DJ Grotesque, with crew Acumen, illustrated just how far this musical genre has evolved from purpose built analogue mixing desks and diamond needles on vinyl records to mp3 music files on decks and laptops, scratching, mashing and mixing tunes set to a stunning video track on the big screen with some fine v-jay work. Eclectic would be an understatement when describing their source material ranging from prog-rock to pop to metal to soul including a nod to the festival curator in a Violent Femmes tune. Matching “Son of a preacher man” to a reggae beat was simply wrong but it worked!
Prior to Grand Master Flash’s arrival on stage a mini-documentary testified to his pioneering mixing skills providing a detailed description of his revolutionary handling of a vinyl record.
Initially Flash’s side-kick did some DJ work whilst Flash forcefully explained the three rules of the hip hop party that the audience were to abide by in order to have a good time. These included: 1. Make a noise when told to (generally roar), 2. Put your mother f@#*ing hands in the air when told to, and 3. Sing the song when told.
After Flash’s commandments had been handed down he and his side kick reversed roles and GM Flash launched us into that old chestnut “We Will Rock You”, with the bass-heavy mix literally vibrating my internal organs (thanks for the free earplugs MoFo).
Being a long term disciple of the punk rock genre, I was seriously concerned about my ability to deliver on commandments one to three, particularly as I have an aversion to anyone commanding me to do anything. However the seething mass around me up front were more than compliant for the next one and a half hours, moving like a single organism as Flash, with his signature old school scratching techniques, served up tunes that anyone having lived in an English speaking part of the planet with access to a radio over the last thirty years would know, including his signature tune “the Message”.
When reflecting on the night there is no doubt that Grand Master Flash’s reputation for being able to fire up and work a crowd is well deserved, but I can't help but see him as a museum piece trotting out the same old call and response routine (insert city name here…) over the same old tracks as though stuck in some sort of musical cul-de sac while the other DJs continue to evolve the art.
21 January 2010
Princes Wharf 1 Hobart
By Keith Churchill
An amateur sociological analysis from yours truly (MC Write Response) would hazard a guess that around 70% of those attending Grand Master Flash et al. would not have been conceived before the commercial release of “The Adventures of Grand Master Flash on The Wheels of Steel” in 1981. Given this “fact”, the healthy-sized crowd is testament to the legend and reputation that proceeds the man who (and he reminds us more than once) turned the turntable and vinyl record into an “instrument”.
The support act DJ Grotesque, with crew Acumen, illustrated just how far this musical genre has evolved from purpose built analogue mixing desks and diamond needles on vinyl records to mp3 music files on decks and laptops, scratching, mashing and mixing tunes set to a stunning video track on the big screen with some fine v-jay work. Eclectic would be an understatement when describing their source material ranging from prog-rock to pop to metal to soul including a nod to the festival curator in a Violent Femmes tune. Matching “Son of a preacher man” to a reggae beat was simply wrong but it worked!
Prior to Grand Master Flash’s arrival on stage a mini-documentary testified to his pioneering mixing skills providing a detailed description of his revolutionary handling of a vinyl record.
Initially Flash’s side-kick did some DJ work whilst Flash forcefully explained the three rules of the hip hop party that the audience were to abide by in order to have a good time. These included: 1. Make a noise when told to (generally roar), 2. Put your mother f@#*ing hands in the air when told to, and 3. Sing the song when told.
After Flash’s commandments had been handed down he and his side kick reversed roles and GM Flash launched us into that old chestnut “We Will Rock You”, with the bass-heavy mix literally vibrating my internal organs (thanks for the free earplugs MoFo).
Being a long term disciple of the punk rock genre, I was seriously concerned about my ability to deliver on commandments one to three, particularly as I have an aversion to anyone commanding me to do anything. However the seething mass around me up front were more than compliant for the next one and a half hours, moving like a single organism as Flash, with his signature old school scratching techniques, served up tunes that anyone having lived in an English speaking part of the planet with access to a radio over the last thirty years would know, including his signature tune “the Message”.
When reflecting on the night there is no doubt that Grand Master Flash’s reputation for being able to fire up and work a crowd is well deserved, but I can't help but see him as a museum piece trotting out the same old call and response routine (insert city name here…) over the same old tracks as though stuck in some sort of musical cul-de sac while the other DJs continue to evolve the art.
Friday, January 22, 2010
King Cale
John Cale and Band
Wednesday, January 20 2009
Hobart Town Hall
By Janet Upcher
Hobart’s sedate Town Hall was never so animated as on Wednesday evening, January 20, when John Cale – legendary classical and rock musician – and his band comprising guitar, percussion and bass, galvanised a capacity audience with a stunning performance.
Cale’s musicianship and virtuosity shone more brilliantly with every number and just as impressive were his energy and passion. Unlike many ageing former rock stars, he made no attempt at a trendy youthful image: he didn’t need to. Quite simply, John Cale is timeless, ageless and oh-so assured. The technical competence and genius of his accompanying musicians reflects the exacting nature of their maestro. The electronic acoustic effects produced powerful volume and, mostly, a good balance,although occasionally over-amplified.
Tentative for the first few minutes, the show subsequently never lost pace, with Cale moving seamlessly from piano to keyboard, from acoustic to electric guitar, all the while proving his amazing versatility, changing tempo and mood with each piece. His extensive vocal range sometimes evoked Leonard Cohen, sometimes Neil Young and beneath it all was the resonance of his Welsh voice and the backing of a great band.
For ninety minutes, they created an uninterrupted musical feast, entertaining fans aged from 17 to 70, all devotees of Cale’s unique brand of experimentation and innovation. From favourites like ‘Dying on the Vine’, ‘Style It Takes’, and the dreamy mood of ‘Buffalo Ballet’, he ventured into more surreal nightmarish distortions in ‘Heartbreak Hotel’, before culminating in Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’, bringing cheers from the audience. Even this rather popularised piece seemed re-invented by Cale’s voice, enhanced by a great instrumental arrangement. After his exit, the entire audience stood clapping, clamouring for more – the reward was a stirring encore: ‘Paris 1919’.
After four decades of creativity across many genres, maybe the only predictable thing about John Cale is that he will never grow stale.
Wednesday, January 20 2009
Hobart Town Hall
By Janet Upcher
Hobart’s sedate Town Hall was never so animated as on Wednesday evening, January 20, when John Cale – legendary classical and rock musician – and his band comprising guitar, percussion and bass, galvanised a capacity audience with a stunning performance.
Cale’s musicianship and virtuosity shone more brilliantly with every number and just as impressive were his energy and passion. Unlike many ageing former rock stars, he made no attempt at a trendy youthful image: he didn’t need to. Quite simply, John Cale is timeless, ageless and oh-so assured. The technical competence and genius of his accompanying musicians reflects the exacting nature of their maestro. The electronic acoustic effects produced powerful volume and, mostly, a good balance,although occasionally over-amplified.
Tentative for the first few minutes, the show subsequently never lost pace, with Cale moving seamlessly from piano to keyboard, from acoustic to electric guitar, all the while proving his amazing versatility, changing tempo and mood with each piece. His extensive vocal range sometimes evoked Leonard Cohen, sometimes Neil Young and beneath it all was the resonance of his Welsh voice and the backing of a great band.
For ninety minutes, they created an uninterrupted musical feast, entertaining fans aged from 17 to 70, all devotees of Cale’s unique brand of experimentation and innovation. From favourites like ‘Dying on the Vine’, ‘Style It Takes’, and the dreamy mood of ‘Buffalo Ballet’, he ventured into more surreal nightmarish distortions in ‘Heartbreak Hotel’, before culminating in Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’, bringing cheers from the audience. Even this rather popularised piece seemed re-invented by Cale’s voice, enhanced by a great instrumental arrangement. After his exit, the entire audience stood clapping, clamouring for more – the reward was a stirring encore: ‘Paris 1919’.
After four decades of creativity across many genres, maybe the only predictable thing about John Cale is that he will never grow stale.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Eclectic is the word!
MONA FOMA Festival
Thursday nights offerings
By Gai Anderson
48 FUGES FOR FRANK ZAPPA
The Bond Store at the Museum and Art Gallery, is an ancient Four - floored building of stone and hand hewn beams. The smell of the earth rises up from the lower ground to meet the furious piano sounds of Keiran Harveys “48 Fuges For Frank” - a musical homage to the life and work of Frank Zappa. Four different keyboards are played on four different levels during the performance, set amongst the varied and entertaining art and poetry of a group of local artist / Zappaphiles, as curated by Leigh Hobba.
As Harvey moves between the floors, the audience, seated by the grand piano, is linked to the performance by video screens.
Harveys intriguing and intense compositions were mostly performed on the grand piano, and played with amazing dexterity and focus. His hands furiously running back and forth across the keyboard were stunning. But I found the moments on the other keyboards the most interesting musically, an old pump organ, a portative pipe organ, and a Kawai electronic keyboard , (my personal favourite) ,- and to be honest most reminiscent of the earlier phases of doowop / rock / jazz inspired Zappa music that I love.
I must admit I am not conversant with the later works which inspired this concert, and so I found it a bit hard to penetrate, and wanting for some of the humour that is such a mark of Zappa . But perhaps I just don’t know how to read the musical jokes in this?
I would have loved Harvey to dance up and down the stairs between instruments but hey I did leave laughing at the “Hot Rats” of Matt Wards sculpture scurrying about on the top floor.
I then rushed off the Princess Wharf 1, which has been transformed again with an astro turfed front lawn, and is pumping with (mostly)youngsters lounging on bean bags watching the video wall.
I found some delicious South American Inspired food , before I run back up to the Town Hall for …
PAVEL KAHOUT and NATSHA KALOUS
The chandeliered Town Hall was filled to the max with yet another sort of crowd – mostly older – the symphony crowd I guess - all here for a pipe organ and oboe concert. The virtuosic performers present a variety of classical and more modern pieces .
I was totally transported by the combination of these two beautiful voices, the oboe looped around the room with such clarity above the more grounded sounds of the huge organ pipes, set into the back wall of this incredibly opulent space.
I realised how demanding an instrument can be as I watched the great effort of Kalous filling her lungs at the behest of her oboe, and the intense focus of Kahout at his multi voiced keyboard.
The crowd cheered and after a standing ovation and encore I rushed off with my head still full of divine sounds back to PW1 …
… to catch the very end of Helmet Head, and with just enough time to get a drink and watch the video wall for a moment...It was busy now, young and old together, filling up the bean bags in front of the stage waiting for the next band.
THE CUMBIA COSMONAUTS
A group of young Melbourne musicians in space suits, who were instantly infectious. The crowd was up and dancing, whilst science fiction and jungle images flashed across the giant screen behind them. What a way to end the night!
Go MOFO !
It’s a great PARTY , wonderful music , fantastic performers, all sorts of great ART .
There is something for everyone and just about all of it is
FREE !
So get into it – no excuses.
Gai Anderson is a Cygnet based writer and performer .
Thursday nights offerings
By Gai Anderson
48 FUGES FOR FRANK ZAPPA
The Bond Store at the Museum and Art Gallery, is an ancient Four - floored building of stone and hand hewn beams. The smell of the earth rises up from the lower ground to meet the furious piano sounds of Keiran Harveys “48 Fuges For Frank” - a musical homage to the life and work of Frank Zappa. Four different keyboards are played on four different levels during the performance, set amongst the varied and entertaining art and poetry of a group of local artist / Zappaphiles, as curated by Leigh Hobba.
As Harvey moves between the floors, the audience, seated by the grand piano, is linked to the performance by video screens.
Harveys intriguing and intense compositions were mostly performed on the grand piano, and played with amazing dexterity and focus. His hands furiously running back and forth across the keyboard were stunning. But I found the moments on the other keyboards the most interesting musically, an old pump organ, a portative pipe organ, and a Kawai electronic keyboard , (my personal favourite) ,- and to be honest most reminiscent of the earlier phases of doowop / rock / jazz inspired Zappa music that I love.
I must admit I am not conversant with the later works which inspired this concert, and so I found it a bit hard to penetrate, and wanting for some of the humour that is such a mark of Zappa . But perhaps I just don’t know how to read the musical jokes in this?
I would have loved Harvey to dance up and down the stairs between instruments but hey I did leave laughing at the “Hot Rats” of Matt Wards sculpture scurrying about on the top floor.
I then rushed off the Princess Wharf 1, which has been transformed again with an astro turfed front lawn, and is pumping with (mostly)youngsters lounging on bean bags watching the video wall.
I found some delicious South American Inspired food , before I run back up to the Town Hall for …
PAVEL KAHOUT and NATSHA KALOUS
The chandeliered Town Hall was filled to the max with yet another sort of crowd – mostly older – the symphony crowd I guess - all here for a pipe organ and oboe concert. The virtuosic performers present a variety of classical and more modern pieces .
I was totally transported by the combination of these two beautiful voices, the oboe looped around the room with such clarity above the more grounded sounds of the huge organ pipes, set into the back wall of this incredibly opulent space.
I realised how demanding an instrument can be as I watched the great effort of Kalous filling her lungs at the behest of her oboe, and the intense focus of Kahout at his multi voiced keyboard.
The crowd cheered and after a standing ovation and encore I rushed off with my head still full of divine sounds back to PW1 …
… to catch the very end of Helmet Head, and with just enough time to get a drink and watch the video wall for a moment...It was busy now, young and old together, filling up the bean bags in front of the stage waiting for the next band.
THE CUMBIA COSMONAUTS
A group of young Melbourne musicians in space suits, who were instantly infectious. The crowd was up and dancing, whilst science fiction and jungle images flashed across the giant screen behind them. What a way to end the night!
Go MOFO !
It’s a great PARTY , wonderful music , fantastic performers, all sorts of great ART .
There is something for everyone and just about all of it is
FREE !
So get into it – no excuses.
Gai Anderson is a Cygnet based writer and performer .
TIMEART
by Kylie Elizabeth Eastley
Sometimes the best thing is not to question or analyse, but to experience. TIMEART provided the perfect opportunity to do this as the four musicians captured the audience in a 30 minute performance at the Peacock Theatre.
On the darkened stage with only dim spotlights, artists from Germany, France and Norway improvised sounds amidst linear shards of light and scratchings projected onto the players and stage.
Described as the ‘the International Ensemble for Intermedial Improvisation’, the group are part of a larger collection of more than 30 musicians who perform in smaller groups at various festivals and events.
For MOFO audiences TIMEART provided an audio and visual indulgence.
A slide trombone, oboe, guitars combined with an array of other noise makers and electronic effects to create organised chaos.
With eyes closed, it could have been a singing kettle or the sounds of urban life. It was a case of shut your eyes and hear the world.
This was another exhilarating, witty and thoroughly enjoyable moment in a packed program. A great experience.
www.mofo.net.au
Sometimes the best thing is not to question or analyse, but to experience. TIMEART provided the perfect opportunity to do this as the four musicians captured the audience in a 30 minute performance at the Peacock Theatre.
On the darkened stage with only dim spotlights, artists from Germany, France and Norway improvised sounds amidst linear shards of light and scratchings projected onto the players and stage.
Described as the ‘the International Ensemble for Intermedial Improvisation’, the group are part of a larger collection of more than 30 musicians who perform in smaller groups at various festivals and events.
For MOFO audiences TIMEART provided an audio and visual indulgence.
A slide trombone, oboe, guitars combined with an array of other noise makers and electronic effects to create organised chaos.
With eyes closed, it could have been a singing kettle or the sounds of urban life. It was a case of shut your eyes and hear the world.
This was another exhilarating, witty and thoroughly enjoyable moment in a packed program. A great experience.
www.mofo.net.au
Saturday, January 16, 2010
DRIVE WEST TODAY
By Kylie Elizabeth Eastley
MOFO 2010
Peacock Theatre
Wednesday 13th & Sunday 17th January
Throughout the MONA FOMA 2010 program there is a selection of tiny morsels that are accessible, interesting and challenging. DRIVE WEST TODAY is a collaboration between Hobart based musician and sound artist, Josh Santospirito and Melbourne audiovisual performer Anthony Magen that is well worth experiencing.
Individually, they improvise a range of unique sounds and images that collectively create a sense of harmony, rhythm and tranquility. The small audience who gathered in the Peacock Theatre to experience this collaboration was transfixed by Magen’s images projected onto the quarry rock face that is the backdrop of the intimate theatre.
Using a video camera affectionately known as ‘Elmo’, Magen projects fragile and intriguing images with the use of such ordinary objects as tea candles and beer glasses. Reminiscent of tadpoles, fish eggs or microscopic organisms they wriggle and twitch.
Santospirito responds to the images, improvising with his two electric guitars and a selection of effects pedals to loop, layer and mesh the pluckings, strums and sounds he draws from his instruments.
Never having worked or performed together the pair meld beautifully. Organic images and sounds emerged from both artists who linked musicianship with technology to create a strong cohesive piece of work.
The pair performs together in six shows, with the last three shows on Sunday 17th January.
Anthony Magen also appears alongside performing artist Rod Cooper in HELMETHEAD in a series of shows at the Peacock Theatre.
www.mofo.net.au
MOFO 2010
Peacock Theatre
Wednesday 13th & Sunday 17th January
Throughout the MONA FOMA 2010 program there is a selection of tiny morsels that are accessible, interesting and challenging. DRIVE WEST TODAY is a collaboration between Hobart based musician and sound artist, Josh Santospirito and Melbourne audiovisual performer Anthony Magen that is well worth experiencing.
Individually, they improvise a range of unique sounds and images that collectively create a sense of harmony, rhythm and tranquility. The small audience who gathered in the Peacock Theatre to experience this collaboration was transfixed by Magen’s images projected onto the quarry rock face that is the backdrop of the intimate theatre.
Using a video camera affectionately known as ‘Elmo’, Magen projects fragile and intriguing images with the use of such ordinary objects as tea candles and beer glasses. Reminiscent of tadpoles, fish eggs or microscopic organisms they wriggle and twitch.
Santospirito responds to the images, improvising with his two electric guitars and a selection of effects pedals to loop, layer and mesh the pluckings, strums and sounds he draws from his instruments.
Never having worked or performed together the pair meld beautifully. Organic images and sounds emerged from both artists who linked musicianship with technology to create a strong cohesive piece of work.
The pair performs together in six shows, with the last three shows on Sunday 17th January.
Anthony Magen also appears alongside performing artist Rod Cooper in HELMETHEAD in a series of shows at the Peacock Theatre.
www.mofo.net.au
This festival is living up to its acronym
MOFO Wednesday night
PW1
by Stephenie Cahalan
MOFO has to be the festival of music, art and acronyms. At this event there is so much going on none of us have time to enunciate the first shortening of the name (MONA FOMA: for the Museum of Old and New Art Festival of Music and Art), hence the need for an even shorter one! Even the good old Princes Wharf has been glossed up and turned into PW1.
MOFO is the sum of its parts and each element alone is good, bad, excellent or rubbish according to who is watching. A bit like all beauty. And this is a festival of art and music that prompts comment traversing a broad spectrum of opinion.
I have decided that the festival is good in bite-sized pieces, but it is even better if you commit a chunk of time and just throw yourself in for the whole experience.
On Wednesday night, for example, I watched a ‘Pixel Pirate’ video that, like most on-screen colour and movement, offered great images and snippets of meaning for those with a short attention span.
Following that, I sat a few metres away from two artists who have occupied the stages and attention of members of the music community who, to many of our age and location, are purely the stuff of music documentaries. To say it is very cool to be within coo-ee of John Cale on the Hobart docks is a profound understatement. To discuss his role in modern music history is the stuff of PhD theses, for which this blog is not the place. And I don’t know why Brian Ritchie chose to make Hobart his home but I, for one, am reaping the benefits of his presence.
Watching ‘Dyddiau Du’ (‘Dark Days’) was a transformative 45 minutes reminding me that John Cale, Andy Warhol and the Velvet Underground pioneered what we know as multimedia. Decades on, the simplicity and sophistication of this five-screen video and music experience is the product of an old hand and master practitioner.
Outside the Cale exhibition, in a circle of cymbals, the performance ‘Shine on You Crazy Diamond’ left me unsure of its link to its namesake, but it was a interesting experience in sound, tone and cadence. I then had my heartbeat recorded for twenty seconds by Mary (not a doctor, as the white coast would suggest, but the MONA librarian) to be added to Christian Boltanski’s collection of 200,000 others to make into… music, history? It doesn’t matter… the waiting room was so much more pleasant than my GP’s.
If you don’t make it into Cale’s exhibitions, get to have a little dance to the Cumbia Cosmonauts or snooze in the beanbags (as one shirty man told me he was doing as I lounged against his beanbag. I mean really darling, it’s a festival for God’s sake!), then check out Ana Prvacki’s truly lovely Ananatural Production. Being an election junkie I was instantly drawn to the AEC cardboard polling booths, but this is an election with a difference. Check it out and don’t forget to vote!
There is so much going on at MOFO there will be something for everyone to like AND hate. But that’s good – it makes us talk, think and hang out with each other. I reckon that’s a worthy use of the Tasmanian (and sweet sponsors’) dollar.
PW1
by Stephenie Cahalan
MOFO has to be the festival of music, art and acronyms. At this event there is so much going on none of us have time to enunciate the first shortening of the name (MONA FOMA: for the Museum of Old and New Art Festival of Music and Art), hence the need for an even shorter one! Even the good old Princes Wharf has been glossed up and turned into PW1.
MOFO is the sum of its parts and each element alone is good, bad, excellent or rubbish according to who is watching. A bit like all beauty. And this is a festival of art and music that prompts comment traversing a broad spectrum of opinion.
I have decided that the festival is good in bite-sized pieces, but it is even better if you commit a chunk of time and just throw yourself in for the whole experience.
On Wednesday night, for example, I watched a ‘Pixel Pirate’ video that, like most on-screen colour and movement, offered great images and snippets of meaning for those with a short attention span.
Following that, I sat a few metres away from two artists who have occupied the stages and attention of members of the music community who, to many of our age and location, are purely the stuff of music documentaries. To say it is very cool to be within coo-ee of John Cale on the Hobart docks is a profound understatement. To discuss his role in modern music history is the stuff of PhD theses, for which this blog is not the place. And I don’t know why Brian Ritchie chose to make Hobart his home but I, for one, am reaping the benefits of his presence.
Watching ‘Dyddiau Du’ (‘Dark Days’) was a transformative 45 minutes reminding me that John Cale, Andy Warhol and the Velvet Underground pioneered what we know as multimedia. Decades on, the simplicity and sophistication of this five-screen video and music experience is the product of an old hand and master practitioner.
Outside the Cale exhibition, in a circle of cymbals, the performance ‘Shine on You Crazy Diamond’ left me unsure of its link to its namesake, but it was a interesting experience in sound, tone and cadence. I then had my heartbeat recorded for twenty seconds by Mary (not a doctor, as the white coast would suggest, but the MONA librarian) to be added to Christian Boltanski’s collection of 200,000 others to make into… music, history? It doesn’t matter… the waiting room was so much more pleasant than my GP’s.
If you don’t make it into Cale’s exhibitions, get to have a little dance to the Cumbia Cosmonauts or snooze in the beanbags (as one shirty man told me he was doing as I lounged against his beanbag. I mean really darling, it’s a festival for God’s sake!), then check out Ana Prvacki’s truly lovely Ananatural Production. Being an election junkie I was instantly drawn to the AEC cardboard polling booths, but this is an election with a difference. Check it out and don’t forget to vote!
There is so much going on at MOFO there will be something for everyone to like AND hate. But that’s good – it makes us talk, think and hang out with each other. I reckon that’s a worthy use of the Tasmanian (and sweet sponsors’) dollar.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
PURSUIT
This is definitely NOT the Taste !
Mona Foma.
Sat night Princess Warf Shed (PW1)
Any ghosts of lingering commercial mundanity or residual chip frying odours were certainly expelled from the Princess Wharf Shed on Saturday night. Once again it became the vessel for what promises to be another series of wild, weird and exhilarating MONA FOMA festival performances over the next 2 weeks .
PURSUIT – a spectacle of sound, speed and light, is the baby of sound artist Robin Fox, composer John Rose, and makers Rod Cooper and Paul Bryant , who have been workshopping with community members all week towards this performance.
The large murmuring crowd swells and mills in the semi darkness, wandering in front of the giant screens or lazing upon hot pink bean bags before the stage decked with what appears to be an array of bicycle / instrument mutants. The skeleton of the shed hangs above like some giant reptilian bird waiting to be released.
A simple request comes from the stage to be silent ….to listen!
And so the ritual begins as the first lone rider moves off around the figure-eight track to loop through the audience, his electronic horn squealing into life like some wild baby creature crying out in the darkness. He is soon followed by another slower rider, its guitar sound more subdued, a small wheel turning to scrape its strings. And then another rider, and another; all bicycles alive with sound- making, looming out of the darkness, slower or faster. Guitars singing, self - playing drums beating, spinning and clunking ; a violin screeches ;a metal kitchen sink clatters past; children’s toys tinkle; balloons burst; chains and metal bars clank and click; garbage can lids become wheels upon wheels to scrape across more strings; human voices moan; a lone bagpiper on a trishaw howls into the night and a rider balances with one hand and plays his trumpet with the other.
The sound moves around you, past you. You can hear it coming over there, and then it’s here, moving through you, as the faces of the riders loom out of the darkness. All are focussed, driving forward to disappear again.
They come singly, in clutches, then whole flocks - their machines are alive, calling to you, to each other, looming, ever circling and its seems that I have stumbled into the migratory path of some surreal mechanical animals, an insane orchestra of bicycle beings.
And all the while on stage, composer John Rose and sound - artist Robin Fox, feed their complex compositions of string, piano and wind into the mix – layering and building the sound scape. Sometimes they twiddle knobs on black boxes or ride their own bicycle instrument contraptions while videos flash and flicker on the giant screens behind. Close-ups of individuals on wheeled instruments mingle with live black and white footage from the bike-camera that speeds around the track, like some 1960s floodlit speedway or Twighlight Zone Tour De France.
After an hour it reduces to the lone bicycle again, the sound of rubber wheels on concrete, and the ritual is complete.
We sit in silence, I’m not really sure what I just experienced and that’s fine.
Thank you Mona Foma, I realise I have been waiting with bated breath since last year , and now I’m breathing in the sheer joy ,lunacy and excitement of it all again.
Great! Still 12 days to go.
Gai Anderson is a writer and performer based near Cygnet.
Mona Foma.
Sat night Princess Warf Shed (PW1)
Any ghosts of lingering commercial mundanity or residual chip frying odours were certainly expelled from the Princess Wharf Shed on Saturday night. Once again it became the vessel for what promises to be another series of wild, weird and exhilarating MONA FOMA festival performances over the next 2 weeks .
PURSUIT – a spectacle of sound, speed and light, is the baby of sound artist Robin Fox, composer John Rose, and makers Rod Cooper and Paul Bryant , who have been workshopping with community members all week towards this performance.
The large murmuring crowd swells and mills in the semi darkness, wandering in front of the giant screens or lazing upon hot pink bean bags before the stage decked with what appears to be an array of bicycle / instrument mutants. The skeleton of the shed hangs above like some giant reptilian bird waiting to be released.
A simple request comes from the stage to be silent ….to listen!
And so the ritual begins as the first lone rider moves off around the figure-eight track to loop through the audience, his electronic horn squealing into life like some wild baby creature crying out in the darkness. He is soon followed by another slower rider, its guitar sound more subdued, a small wheel turning to scrape its strings. And then another rider, and another; all bicycles alive with sound- making, looming out of the darkness, slower or faster. Guitars singing, self - playing drums beating, spinning and clunking ; a violin screeches ;a metal kitchen sink clatters past; children’s toys tinkle; balloons burst; chains and metal bars clank and click; garbage can lids become wheels upon wheels to scrape across more strings; human voices moan; a lone bagpiper on a trishaw howls into the night and a rider balances with one hand and plays his trumpet with the other.
The sound moves around you, past you. You can hear it coming over there, and then it’s here, moving through you, as the faces of the riders loom out of the darkness. All are focussed, driving forward to disappear again.
They come singly, in clutches, then whole flocks - their machines are alive, calling to you, to each other, looming, ever circling and its seems that I have stumbled into the migratory path of some surreal mechanical animals, an insane orchestra of bicycle beings.
And all the while on stage, composer John Rose and sound - artist Robin Fox, feed their complex compositions of string, piano and wind into the mix – layering and building the sound scape. Sometimes they twiddle knobs on black boxes or ride their own bicycle instrument contraptions while videos flash and flicker on the giant screens behind. Close-ups of individuals on wheeled instruments mingle with live black and white footage from the bike-camera that speeds around the track, like some 1960s floodlit speedway or Twighlight Zone Tour De France.
After an hour it reduces to the lone bicycle again, the sound of rubber wheels on concrete, and the ritual is complete.
We sit in silence, I’m not really sure what I just experienced and that’s fine.
Thank you Mona Foma, I realise I have been waiting with bated breath since last year , and now I’m breathing in the sheer joy ,lunacy and excitement of it all again.
Great! Still 12 days to go.
Gai Anderson is a writer and performer based near Cygnet.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
MONA FOMA opening night
Salamanca Place, Friday January 8 2010
by Stephenie Cahalan
It’s on! Another MOFO giving Hobartians a great excuse to get out and get into a big line-up of cool, cosmopolitan or downright quirky artists.
MOFO was blessed to be launching on an immaculate summer evening so that Salamanca was full of locals and visitors blissing out on great weather and company. And with the street closed to cars to allow for the opening event staging, it lent a little air of Barcelona’s Las Ramblas (on a tiny scale, that is).
Mountain Mocha Kilamanjaro gave us every reason to dance — a bunch of Japanese guys in natty three-piece suits making some very cool music, including a cover of a Led Zeppelin classic. As they wrapped up with solos by an exceptional bass player, true jazz trumpeter and keyboard wizz, the band politely asked the crowd to please buy one of their Australian tour t-shirts at the merchandise tent. How could you not do so after such a pleasant request from such spot-on musicians?
As an intro to a festival whose content is hard to summarise in a one-liner, the opening night gave us a good taste of what’s on offer over the next few weeks. Contemporary improvisation to make us think outside our usual musical mindset, and some fantastic, funky music to dance to. And lets face it, Hobartians love to dance, especially in the street. But some music will not be everyone’s cup of tea as many of the acts on the bill are possibly designed to make you listen, think and feel more than tap your toes. Some will be challenged by what is presented.
The knee-high members of my party forced my departure before Kim Myhr, Jim Denley, Mani Neumier and Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears. But the word on my street was that everyone kept dancing long after dark. Yay… sixteen more days to go!
by Stephenie Cahalan
It’s on! Another MOFO giving Hobartians a great excuse to get out and get into a big line-up of cool, cosmopolitan or downright quirky artists.
MOFO was blessed to be launching on an immaculate summer evening so that Salamanca was full of locals and visitors blissing out on great weather and company. And with the street closed to cars to allow for the opening event staging, it lent a little air of Barcelona’s Las Ramblas (on a tiny scale, that is).
Mountain Mocha Kilamanjaro gave us every reason to dance — a bunch of Japanese guys in natty three-piece suits making some very cool music, including a cover of a Led Zeppelin classic. As they wrapped up with solos by an exceptional bass player, true jazz trumpeter and keyboard wizz, the band politely asked the crowd to please buy one of their Australian tour t-shirts at the merchandise tent. How could you not do so after such a pleasant request from such spot-on musicians?
As an intro to a festival whose content is hard to summarise in a one-liner, the opening night gave us a good taste of what’s on offer over the next few weeks. Contemporary improvisation to make us think outside our usual musical mindset, and some fantastic, funky music to dance to. And lets face it, Hobartians love to dance, especially in the street. But some music will not be everyone’s cup of tea as many of the acts on the bill are possibly designed to make you listen, think and feel more than tap your toes. Some will be challenged by what is presented.
The knee-high members of my party forced my departure before Kim Myhr, Jim Denley, Mani Neumier and Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears. But the word on my street was that everyone kept dancing long after dark. Yay… sixteen more days to go!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
POWER HIP HOP
By Gai Anderson
Rhythmn plus poetry equals RAP…
Take a group of young Hobart Rap musicians, mix them together with two fine composer/mentors over a year of development, to compose, orchestrate and score tmusic for a 12 piece TSO orchestra, and what you get is POWER HIP HOP -
A stunning life-filled, live performance that packed out the Peacock Theatre last Friday and Saturday nights.
Totally transfixing right from the start, these exciting new voices cut across genre, race, class, tradition and stereotype to perform up stage-front of the tuxedoed and be-pearled TSO, all in their best Rapper baggy jeans and T-shirts.
The music was beautiful, powerful, rythmic, never faltering, and as I sat there tapping my feet and listening in awe at the eloquence, focus and energy of these young performers, I wondered if I had ever really listened to the lyrics of Rap music before - Is it always so personal, political and heart felt?
And if the words were a treat, the orchestration, which ranged from subtle to scintillating , took the music to a whole other realm. Layer apon layer of strings, brass, wind and percussion combined to build on the simple rhythmns of the Rap to become filmic in intensity, and never distracting or detracting from the wired young stars so focussed up front.
The themes and styles of performance were as varied and fascinating as each individual, coming from a great diversity of racial and social backgrounds and traditions.
The Sudanese/Ethiopian/Kenyan performances were visually stunning and celebratory in feel whilst strongly based in the rhythmns of their dance moves. From the words of Guyot Guyot and Makueis Makue -“We dance our tradition till we see a dust storm. “ - to Lawrence Ginos and Steve Letikos’ -“ You and I stand up together “, their lyrics clearly expressed the need for freedom, tradition and respect.
In contrast, there was a definite angst-driven edge to the minor keyed songs of the Caucasians in the group, which were darker and defiant. But the subtlety of rhyme and placement of words within the bed of the music was often breathtaking and always inspired. From Lonergans “You rock the boat then the boat rocks back. “- to Burgess’ “ I despise those who discourage critical thought.” and Bladels’ “How can you ignore the globe going extinct?” - their messages were strong and clear and performances brooding and exciting.
Overall it’s a shame there weren’t more young women onstage but Yai Mario-Ring and Nyaandeng Guot, as the all dancing and singing assistants as part of Guyot and Makues’ Young Survivors, were spectacular exceptions.
POWER HIP HOP is the long nurtured and well-honed baby of Jami Bladel and Kickstart Arts. It is the fifth part of a six- year series of arts projects working with young people in southern Tasmania, which so far has including theatre, film and multi media. Kickstart Arts are a ground breaking Hobart-based Performing Arts Company who specialize in Community Cultural Development. They create transformative and empowering arts projects with integrity, which are socially inclusive and nurturing, celebrating difference whilst creating connections and opportunities for all participants.
Kickstart Arts as well as mentor/composers Don Bate and Simon Reid should be loudly clapped and cheered for spring boarding these new young talents into the world of professional music with a project such as this, but also for giving audiences such a great and inspiring night of entertainment. With only 3 performances I felt really privileged to see this show, so give us some more, soon, please!
Gai Anderson is a Cygnet based writer and performer.
Rhythmn plus poetry equals RAP…
Take a group of young Hobart Rap musicians, mix them together with two fine composer/mentors over a year of development, to compose, orchestrate and score tmusic for a 12 piece TSO orchestra, and what you get is POWER HIP HOP -
A stunning life-filled, live performance that packed out the Peacock Theatre last Friday and Saturday nights.
Totally transfixing right from the start, these exciting new voices cut across genre, race, class, tradition and stereotype to perform up stage-front of the tuxedoed and be-pearled TSO, all in their best Rapper baggy jeans and T-shirts.
The music was beautiful, powerful, rythmic, never faltering, and as I sat there tapping my feet and listening in awe at the eloquence, focus and energy of these young performers, I wondered if I had ever really listened to the lyrics of Rap music before - Is it always so personal, political and heart felt?
And if the words were a treat, the orchestration, which ranged from subtle to scintillating , took the music to a whole other realm. Layer apon layer of strings, brass, wind and percussion combined to build on the simple rhythmns of the Rap to become filmic in intensity, and never distracting or detracting from the wired young stars so focussed up front.
The themes and styles of performance were as varied and fascinating as each individual, coming from a great diversity of racial and social backgrounds and traditions.
The Sudanese/Ethiopian/Kenyan performances were visually stunning and celebratory in feel whilst strongly based in the rhythmns of their dance moves. From the words of Guyot Guyot and Makueis Makue -“We dance our tradition till we see a dust storm. “ - to Lawrence Ginos and Steve Letikos’ -“ You and I stand up together “, their lyrics clearly expressed the need for freedom, tradition and respect.
In contrast, there was a definite angst-driven edge to the minor keyed songs of the Caucasians in the group, which were darker and defiant. But the subtlety of rhyme and placement of words within the bed of the music was often breathtaking and always inspired. From Lonergans “You rock the boat then the boat rocks back. “- to Burgess’ “ I despise those who discourage critical thought.” and Bladels’ “How can you ignore the globe going extinct?” - their messages were strong and clear and performances brooding and exciting.
Overall it’s a shame there weren’t more young women onstage but Yai Mario-Ring and Nyaandeng Guot, as the all dancing and singing assistants as part of Guyot and Makues’ Young Survivors, were spectacular exceptions.
POWER HIP HOP is the long nurtured and well-honed baby of Jami Bladel and Kickstart Arts. It is the fifth part of a six- year series of arts projects working with young people in southern Tasmania, which so far has including theatre, film and multi media. Kickstart Arts are a ground breaking Hobart-based Performing Arts Company who specialize in Community Cultural Development. They create transformative and empowering arts projects with integrity, which are socially inclusive and nurturing, celebrating difference whilst creating connections and opportunities for all participants.
Kickstart Arts as well as mentor/composers Don Bate and Simon Reid should be loudly clapped and cheered for spring boarding these new young talents into the world of professional music with a project such as this, but also for giving audiences such a great and inspiring night of entertainment. With only 3 performances I felt really privileged to see this show, so give us some more, soon, please!
Gai Anderson is a Cygnet based writer and performer.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Burning Daylight
Marrageku
Presented by Salamanca Arts Centre and Mobile State
Hobart, November 26–27 2009
by Stephenie Cahalan
It says much about the quality of a story that is so firmly of a place, that it can be told anywhere and lose none of its impact. Burning Daylight — a story of prejudice, cultural mistrust and love’s subsequent suffering — resonated strongly in Hobart, despite being so drastically distant from Broome in every way.
This production tells a truly sad story of the wrongs done to people decades ago, and the depth of sadness that has pervaded subsequent generations. Set in Broome on one of those long booze-sodden nights, Burning Daylight mixes contemporary dance rooted in Aboriginal traditions, Japanese Butoh, film, rap and karaoke pop/love songs. Live guitar, haunting harmonica juxtaposed with caricatured karaoke, classic key-word rap and a really great bass to pull it all together made for a very cool musical experience.
Dalisa Pigram is pivotal to the production, as co-conceiver, choreographer, and performer. Pigram is fortunate to have Patrick Dodson as her grandfather to consult on the diplomacy of telling old stories without upsetting the protocols of the elders of the region. And Dodson, must feel pretty lucky to have this skilled, articulate performer as his granddaughter, linking generations of storytellers and audiences via the modern means available and necessary to reach Australians, Indigenous and otherwise.
Like the recent release of the biography of Ronnie Summers, (the Cape Barren Island elder and musician) and the enormous success of Samson and Delilah, Burning Daylight is another powerful means of educating all Australians about the way life is and was for people that have got the very short end of the historical stick, be they be the original Australians or newer members of the community, such as the Japanese and Malay characters we meet. Stories have been the essence of cultural exchange, social cohesion and daily education for Indigenous folk before and since white occupation, so it is no surprise — but no less of a thrill — to see storytellers such as these in action. With a director like Rachel Swain, whose pre-Olympics production of Mimi stirred the spirits lurking in its Centennial Park ‘venue’ in Sydney, and the stage prowess of Trevor Jamieson, Burning Daylight was bound to leave an imprint. Hobart musician Matther Fargher, who recently contributed to the Tasmanian play in development Origins, is once again displaying his talent for mixing cultural ingredients and I have yet to see anything by set-designer Joey Riogrok Van Der Werven that I haven’t loved.
So in this nation, troubled by a parlous inequality between Indigenous and other Australians, Burning Daylight has given me a tiny clue of what I can do. I can make sure I hear and see the stories that are now so accessible — in bookstores, on radio, in theatres everywhere. I am not so naïve to think that plays and music are going to alleviate the consequences of entrenched despair that too many people are living, but surely with education comes understanding, and with that comes action. And with the creativity and intelligence of artists such as these, the solutions will unfold with the trickle-down effect of success and empowerment.
There is no happy ending in Burning Daylight, but the vibrancy of the performers and their impact makes it a tale of power and survival. The audience is left with hope that is not written into the script, but purely in the telling of the story.
Presented by Salamanca Arts Centre and Mobile State
Hobart, November 26–27 2009
by Stephenie Cahalan
It says much about the quality of a story that is so firmly of a place, that it can be told anywhere and lose none of its impact. Burning Daylight — a story of prejudice, cultural mistrust and love’s subsequent suffering — resonated strongly in Hobart, despite being so drastically distant from Broome in every way.
This production tells a truly sad story of the wrongs done to people decades ago, and the depth of sadness that has pervaded subsequent generations. Set in Broome on one of those long booze-sodden nights, Burning Daylight mixes contemporary dance rooted in Aboriginal traditions, Japanese Butoh, film, rap and karaoke pop/love songs. Live guitar, haunting harmonica juxtaposed with caricatured karaoke, classic key-word rap and a really great bass to pull it all together made for a very cool musical experience.
Dalisa Pigram is pivotal to the production, as co-conceiver, choreographer, and performer. Pigram is fortunate to have Patrick Dodson as her grandfather to consult on the diplomacy of telling old stories without upsetting the protocols of the elders of the region. And Dodson, must feel pretty lucky to have this skilled, articulate performer as his granddaughter, linking generations of storytellers and audiences via the modern means available and necessary to reach Australians, Indigenous and otherwise.
Like the recent release of the biography of Ronnie Summers, (the Cape Barren Island elder and musician) and the enormous success of Samson and Delilah, Burning Daylight is another powerful means of educating all Australians about the way life is and was for people that have got the very short end of the historical stick, be they be the original Australians or newer members of the community, such as the Japanese and Malay characters we meet. Stories have been the essence of cultural exchange, social cohesion and daily education for Indigenous folk before and since white occupation, so it is no surprise — but no less of a thrill — to see storytellers such as these in action. With a director like Rachel Swain, whose pre-Olympics production of Mimi stirred the spirits lurking in its Centennial Park ‘venue’ in Sydney, and the stage prowess of Trevor Jamieson, Burning Daylight was bound to leave an imprint. Hobart musician Matther Fargher, who recently contributed to the Tasmanian play in development Origins, is once again displaying his talent for mixing cultural ingredients and I have yet to see anything by set-designer Joey Riogrok Van Der Werven that I haven’t loved.
So in this nation, troubled by a parlous inequality between Indigenous and other Australians, Burning Daylight has given me a tiny clue of what I can do. I can make sure I hear and see the stories that are now so accessible — in bookstores, on radio, in theatres everywhere. I am not so naïve to think that plays and music are going to alleviate the consequences of entrenched despair that too many people are living, but surely with education comes understanding, and with that comes action. And with the creativity and intelligence of artists such as these, the solutions will unfold with the trickle-down effect of success and empowerment.
There is no happy ending in Burning Daylight, but the vibrancy of the performers and their impact makes it a tale of power and survival. The audience is left with hope that is not written into the script, but purely in the telling of the story.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Burning Daylight
by Kylie Elizabeth Eastley
Burning Daylight is the latest work from Marrugeku, a contemporary intercultural performance company based in Broome, and is inspired by descriptions of Broome's bar life in the late 1800's.
Burning Daylight reflects the tension and chaos of multicultural life in Broome where inter-racial relationships were illegal, the town was brimming with exotic influences from the Far East and the traditional owners of the land were homeless.
Conceivers of Burning Daylight, Rachel Swain and Dalisa Pigram have developed an honest and engaging work that provides glimpses into the humorous and tragic life of cultures affected by government policy, segregation and the search for wealth in the form of pearls.
In an incongruous meeting of rock musical, rap and cheesy spaghetti western the combination of original live music, film and culturally-fused dance creates a mysterious place foreign to most of us. Clever stage production, direction, costuming and props draw the audience into a world that connects with all our senses. Anyone who has lived or travelled to Northern Australia will feel the warm air and smell the frangipani in this production that evokes such feeling from a Tasmanian audience that couldn't be further away culturally and geographically from the inspiration for this work.
I loved this show for many reasons, but mostly because it was Australian culture presented with great honesty and humour. There were many highlights with outstanding performances by all the cast, especially the charismatic Trevor Jamieson and Dalisa Pigram.
But there must be mention of the original and live soundtrack. Music is a fantastic vehicle for story-telling and along with the dynamic dancing, combined to make Burning Daylight a very successful production. The integrity and depth of the music gave the production greater resonance in its depiction of a confused, chaotic and juxtaposed community struggling between the new and the old school.
We need more Australian stories and I look forward to experiencing future works from this company. Complex and flawed as they are, it is so refreshing to see our own stories in live performances. Hobart's Princess Wharf No. 1 succeeded as a venue for this production, allowing the set to extend and enhanced the arid environment of North West Australia.
Burning Daylight was presented by Salamanca Arts Centre and performed three shows in Hobart, the final leg of a national tour. For more information go to www.marrugeku.com.au
Burning Daylight is the latest work from Marrugeku, a contemporary intercultural performance company based in Broome, and is inspired by descriptions of Broome's bar life in the late 1800's.
Burning Daylight reflects the tension and chaos of multicultural life in Broome where inter-racial relationships were illegal, the town was brimming with exotic influences from the Far East and the traditional owners of the land were homeless.
Conceivers of Burning Daylight, Rachel Swain and Dalisa Pigram have developed an honest and engaging work that provides glimpses into the humorous and tragic life of cultures affected by government policy, segregation and the search for wealth in the form of pearls.
In an incongruous meeting of rock musical, rap and cheesy spaghetti western the combination of original live music, film and culturally-fused dance creates a mysterious place foreign to most of us. Clever stage production, direction, costuming and props draw the audience into a world that connects with all our senses. Anyone who has lived or travelled to Northern Australia will feel the warm air and smell the frangipani in this production that evokes such feeling from a Tasmanian audience that couldn't be further away culturally and geographically from the inspiration for this work.
I loved this show for many reasons, but mostly because it was Australian culture presented with great honesty and humour. There were many highlights with outstanding performances by all the cast, especially the charismatic Trevor Jamieson and Dalisa Pigram.
But there must be mention of the original and live soundtrack. Music is a fantastic vehicle for story-telling and along with the dynamic dancing, combined to make Burning Daylight a very successful production. The integrity and depth of the music gave the production greater resonance in its depiction of a confused, chaotic and juxtaposed community struggling between the new and the old school.
We need more Australian stories and I look forward to experiencing future works from this company. Complex and flawed as they are, it is so refreshing to see our own stories in live performances. Hobart's Princess Wharf No. 1 succeeded as a venue for this production, allowing the set to extend and enhanced the arid environment of North West Australia.
Burning Daylight was presented by Salamanca Arts Centre and performed three shows in Hobart, the final leg of a national tour. For more information go to www.marrugeku.com.au
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Messiah
Tasmanian Theatre Company
Backspace Theatre, Hobart
By Kylie Elizabeth Eastley
The Messiah is a great parody of every megalomaniac in the theatre world who has ever wanted to re-enact Ben Hur on their local stage, with a props list including a Hessian toga, a ball of twine and a bottle of Clag glue.
Desmond Olivier Dingle, played by Iain Lang, proudly bursts forth as the artistic director of the National Theatre of Tranmere (NTT) to share his personal spiritual journey. In his 70’s-inspired beige suit, and rouge covered cheeks, (I suspect they do their own makeup) Lang beautifully portrays this character, invoking our cringes, dislike and even a little bit of pity at times.
Lang plays the straight man and is joined by Guy Hooper as Raymond Box, the inept but enthusiast second string of the NTT. Together they ambitiously recreate the Christmas story with the two actors playing the entire cast including Mary, Joseph, God, Herod…you get the picture.
To raise the calibre of the production Dingle employs Mrs Le Mottee, played by Noreen Le Mottee, to sing highlights from The Messiah by Handel. Her random interjections along with the chaos of Dingle and Box as they flip between enacting the play and disagreeing on acting ability create a hilarious ride for the audience.
Hooper is fantastic as he mispronounces words and physically does just about everything you can do on a small stage including a version of the military tattoo. There were many highlights, but the depiction of Michelangelo’s fresco Creation of Adam by the two actor’s sticks in my mind, as does the mime sequence by Hooper in the second half of the show. Perhaps there could have been some tightening up in the second half during the shepherd scene as this did drag and didn’t seem to be vital for the narrative.
Credit should be given to designer, John Bowling who provided clever tinker toy props that added to the sense of amateur. I particularly like the excerpt from The Secret Diaries of Desmond Olivier Dingle included in the program.
The Messiah is great fun, not just for the audience but for the players. This production must have been a relief to undertake in light of the turbulent year for the Tasmanian Theatre Company. Audiences should get to this show and immerse themselves in the world of Dingle and Box as it is something extraordinary.
The Messiah continues its season every Thursday & Saturday 8.15pm till the end of November with a family matinee on Saturday 21st at 2.15pm.
Backspace Theatre, Hobart
By Kylie Elizabeth Eastley
The Messiah is a great parody of every megalomaniac in the theatre world who has ever wanted to re-enact Ben Hur on their local stage, with a props list including a Hessian toga, a ball of twine and a bottle of Clag glue.
Desmond Olivier Dingle, played by Iain Lang, proudly bursts forth as the artistic director of the National Theatre of Tranmere (NTT) to share his personal spiritual journey. In his 70’s-inspired beige suit, and rouge covered cheeks, (I suspect they do their own makeup) Lang beautifully portrays this character, invoking our cringes, dislike and even a little bit of pity at times.
Lang plays the straight man and is joined by Guy Hooper as Raymond Box, the inept but enthusiast second string of the NTT. Together they ambitiously recreate the Christmas story with the two actors playing the entire cast including Mary, Joseph, God, Herod…you get the picture.
To raise the calibre of the production Dingle employs Mrs Le Mottee, played by Noreen Le Mottee, to sing highlights from The Messiah by Handel. Her random interjections along with the chaos of Dingle and Box as they flip between enacting the play and disagreeing on acting ability create a hilarious ride for the audience.
Hooper is fantastic as he mispronounces words and physically does just about everything you can do on a small stage including a version of the military tattoo. There were many highlights, but the depiction of Michelangelo’s fresco Creation of Adam by the two actor’s sticks in my mind, as does the mime sequence by Hooper in the second half of the show. Perhaps there could have been some tightening up in the second half during the shepherd scene as this did drag and didn’t seem to be vital for the narrative.
Credit should be given to designer, John Bowling who provided clever tinker toy props that added to the sense of amateur. I particularly like the excerpt from The Secret Diaries of Desmond Olivier Dingle included in the program.
The Messiah is great fun, not just for the audience but for the players. This production must have been a relief to undertake in light of the turbulent year for the Tasmanian Theatre Company. Audiences should get to this show and immerse themselves in the world of Dingle and Box as it is something extraordinary.
The Messiah continues its season every Thursday & Saturday 8.15pm till the end of November with a family matinee on Saturday 21st at 2.15pm.
Monday, November 9, 2009
The Messiah
Tasmanian Theatre Company
Backspace Theatre
Every Thur - Sat during November
8.15pm (Special Family Matinee on Sat 21 at 2.15pm)
by Stephenie Cahalan
Not since Floating and the great Hugh Hughes experience (Ten Days on the Island 2009) have I left a theatre with aching cheeks from smiling so much. Full of clowning, miming and ridiculous slapstick humour, The Messiah had the audience hooting with laughter.
Iain Lang and Guy Hooper are the National Theatre of Tranmere’s ensemble of Desmond Dingle and Raymond Box. Joined by (NTT fixture) grand dame Mrs Le Mottee, played by the perfectly cast Noreen Le Mottee, the three put on a Christmas spectacle like no other. Where else can you seen two actors playing the roles of Mary, Joseph, God, Archangel Gabriel, the three wise men, Herod, shepherds, souk-salesmen and more.
Rough-hewn sets and rough-hewn costumes in the rough-hewn Backspace Theatre provide the necessary additions to the story, but it was Lang and Hooper’s performances that were a true delight. In the tradition of the classic comedy routine, Lang played the insufferable straight man to Hooper’s buffoon. They appeared to have fun in what were highly physical performances. Written by Patrick Barlow, The Messiah has been adapted to suit the Tasmanian context and it works well. Our audience, a good representation of ages 12 and up, was more than happy to get drawn into the fun of the production.
The Messiah is so worth seeing, even just for Hooper’s mime sequence and the touching homage to Digger, the highly-decorated 127 year-old Kelpie. It is the perfect primer for Christmas-mania that is bearing down upon us. I will invoke it during dreaded long-wait-at-the-till experiences, and use the memory of Mrs Le Mottee’s Bizet to block out the ubiquitous Christmas muzac.
While Desmond’s diva dummy-spit in the second half of the show is amusing, a little trimming to shorten the second act would not go astray as those extra ten minutes did not add substantially to the story.
If you have been thinking that you should get to the theatre and that you should patronise our local company then The Messiah is the answer. The Tasmanian Theatre Company deserves our support and this production, especially with the long season, will allow you to perfectly satisfy all those ‘shoulds’ before the end of year, leaving no excuses to miss out.
Backspace Theatre
Every Thur - Sat during November
8.15pm (Special Family Matinee on Sat 21 at 2.15pm)
by Stephenie Cahalan
Not since Floating and the great Hugh Hughes experience (Ten Days on the Island 2009) have I left a theatre with aching cheeks from smiling so much. Full of clowning, miming and ridiculous slapstick humour, The Messiah had the audience hooting with laughter.
Iain Lang and Guy Hooper are the National Theatre of Tranmere’s ensemble of Desmond Dingle and Raymond Box. Joined by (NTT fixture) grand dame Mrs Le Mottee, played by the perfectly cast Noreen Le Mottee, the three put on a Christmas spectacle like no other. Where else can you seen two actors playing the roles of Mary, Joseph, God, Archangel Gabriel, the three wise men, Herod, shepherds, souk-salesmen and more.
Rough-hewn sets and rough-hewn costumes in the rough-hewn Backspace Theatre provide the necessary additions to the story, but it was Lang and Hooper’s performances that were a true delight. In the tradition of the classic comedy routine, Lang played the insufferable straight man to Hooper’s buffoon. They appeared to have fun in what were highly physical performances. Written by Patrick Barlow, The Messiah has been adapted to suit the Tasmanian context and it works well. Our audience, a good representation of ages 12 and up, was more than happy to get drawn into the fun of the production.
The Messiah is so worth seeing, even just for Hooper’s mime sequence and the touching homage to Digger, the highly-decorated 127 year-old Kelpie. It is the perfect primer for Christmas-mania that is bearing down upon us. I will invoke it during dreaded long-wait-at-the-till experiences, and use the memory of Mrs Le Mottee’s Bizet to block out the ubiquitous Christmas muzac.
While Desmond’s diva dummy-spit in the second half of the show is amusing, a little trimming to shorten the second act would not go astray as those extra ten minutes did not add substantially to the story.
If you have been thinking that you should get to the theatre and that you should patronise our local company then The Messiah is the answer. The Tasmanian Theatre Company deserves our support and this production, especially with the long season, will allow you to perfectly satisfy all those ‘shoulds’ before the end of year, leaving no excuses to miss out.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
IDENTITY
Tasdance
Theatre Royal
October 30, 2009
In a thrilling double bill, Tasdance served its Hobart audience another chance to dine on the shiningly expressive technical skills of its talented troupe of six dancers. Artistic Director Annie Greig invited renowned Indigenous choreographer Frances Rings and choreographer, dancer and filmmaker Anton to collaborate with these talented dancers and choreograph a suite that sheds light on our day-to-day quest for authenticity.
Feeling as if, at times I live on the brink of my own sanity in a modern world, I personally responded to Anton’s The Blur. One might say that his response to our contemporary plight was a bit too literal. The dancers moved fiercely on either side of large, flexible Perspex slabs (symbolising the myriad technologies ruling our lives), their referred body movement building to the point of sensory overload and exhaustion, then back again. Nevertheless I was entranced (as I can be by any glowing screen) by the choreography — both combative and submissive — and the dancers’ empathetic response to the reality of a globalised lifestyle. The perspex was not suspended independently but always held or bent by one or two dancers to epitomize our situation. Technology connects us, but we are also slaves to it.
Amidst the hypnotic haze there were memorable moments such as a lull in the throbbing soundtrack when you could hear the frenzied sound of the dancers catching their breath—a brutal instant of relief after a prolonged segment of what looked like electrocution. Or Trisha Dunn and Sofie Burgoyne hunkered down, deformed and distorted under their flexi-plastic fields. I particularly loved the Pyramus and Thisbe-esque movement of Floeur Alder and Malcolm McMillan as they yearned to find each other on either side of the translucent screen, never to be united. You could liken this to a game of mobile phone tag, but I’d prefer to err on the side of romanticism in this day and age.
Though the movement, music, lighting and use of plastic was scintillating, the cheap fabric of the costumes in this number did disservice to the dancers. Reminiscent of the terry-toweling jumpsuits we wore in the 80’s the women’s costumes were uncomfortably distracting on their beautiful physiques. Sarah Fiddamen’s lithe limbs, in a brown costume beside her counterparts’ of green, blue and pink, were nearly invisible in the blur. Was that the choreographer’s intention, or the only other colour available?
By the time Remembered of Us began I was emotionally exhausted and rattled by The Blur and its terrible jumpsuits, so I could not settle into Frances Rings more lyrical, expansive and distinctly feminine thematic. I wish I could have seen it first. I suspect, too, that the dancers’ bodies still held the memory of The Blur—how could they not after all that gyrating? But they were all exquisite nonetheless.
The incorporation of the dancers’ narratives at the beginning of the piece was a beautiful inclusion and left me wanting more as its lyrical intertwining of bodies reached a crescendo. The set concept was exquisite in its matriarchal glory, but unresolved as it attempted to convey too many messages. The gorgeous life-sized loom through which dancers wove themselves became a little too literal and superfluous while acting as projection screen bearing images of double helixes. The large crocheted net of red satin cord was once again a beautiful idea, but would have been more effective were it carried through in its unravelling and interplay with the dancers.
If you weren’t there, I am tempted to refer you to watch SBS’s latest series of Who Do You Think You Are? to get the gravity of what Rings wanted us to grapple with. What are the building blocks of your individuality? But sitting at home in front of your glowing screen is a far inferior experience to making your way into our quaint Hobart CBD to see contemporary dance at this level. I can’t wait for our next opportunity. They are too few and far between!
Sara Wright
Theatre Royal
October 30, 2009
In a thrilling double bill, Tasdance served its Hobart audience another chance to dine on the shiningly expressive technical skills of its talented troupe of six dancers. Artistic Director Annie Greig invited renowned Indigenous choreographer Frances Rings and choreographer, dancer and filmmaker Anton to collaborate with these talented dancers and choreograph a suite that sheds light on our day-to-day quest for authenticity.
Feeling as if, at times I live on the brink of my own sanity in a modern world, I personally responded to Anton’s The Blur. One might say that his response to our contemporary plight was a bit too literal. The dancers moved fiercely on either side of large, flexible Perspex slabs (symbolising the myriad technologies ruling our lives), their referred body movement building to the point of sensory overload and exhaustion, then back again. Nevertheless I was entranced (as I can be by any glowing screen) by the choreography — both combative and submissive — and the dancers’ empathetic response to the reality of a globalised lifestyle. The perspex was not suspended independently but always held or bent by one or two dancers to epitomize our situation. Technology connects us, but we are also slaves to it.
Amidst the hypnotic haze there were memorable moments such as a lull in the throbbing soundtrack when you could hear the frenzied sound of the dancers catching their breath—a brutal instant of relief after a prolonged segment of what looked like electrocution. Or Trisha Dunn and Sofie Burgoyne hunkered down, deformed and distorted under their flexi-plastic fields. I particularly loved the Pyramus and Thisbe-esque movement of Floeur Alder and Malcolm McMillan as they yearned to find each other on either side of the translucent screen, never to be united. You could liken this to a game of mobile phone tag, but I’d prefer to err on the side of romanticism in this day and age.
Though the movement, music, lighting and use of plastic was scintillating, the cheap fabric of the costumes in this number did disservice to the dancers. Reminiscent of the terry-toweling jumpsuits we wore in the 80’s the women’s costumes were uncomfortably distracting on their beautiful physiques. Sarah Fiddamen’s lithe limbs, in a brown costume beside her counterparts’ of green, blue and pink, were nearly invisible in the blur. Was that the choreographer’s intention, or the only other colour available?
By the time Remembered of Us began I was emotionally exhausted and rattled by The Blur and its terrible jumpsuits, so I could not settle into Frances Rings more lyrical, expansive and distinctly feminine thematic. I wish I could have seen it first. I suspect, too, that the dancers’ bodies still held the memory of The Blur—how could they not after all that gyrating? But they were all exquisite nonetheless.
The incorporation of the dancers’ narratives at the beginning of the piece was a beautiful inclusion and left me wanting more as its lyrical intertwining of bodies reached a crescendo. The set concept was exquisite in its matriarchal glory, but unresolved as it attempted to convey too many messages. The gorgeous life-sized loom through which dancers wove themselves became a little too literal and superfluous while acting as projection screen bearing images of double helixes. The large crocheted net of red satin cord was once again a beautiful idea, but would have been more effective were it carried through in its unravelling and interplay with the dancers.
If you weren’t there, I am tempted to refer you to watch SBS’s latest series of Who Do You Think You Are? to get the gravity of what Rings wanted us to grapple with. What are the building blocks of your individuality? But sitting at home in front of your glowing screen is a far inferior experience to making your way into our quaint Hobart CBD to see contemporary dance at this level. I can’t wait for our next opportunity. They are too few and far between!
Sara Wright
Monday, November 2, 2009
IDENTITY
Theatre Royal
30 October 2009
Regardless of our age or experience, we all have moments of anxiety and self doubt as we teeter between the defiant individualist and the need to be part of a community.
In Tasdance’s latest work, IDENTITY, Artistic Director Annie Greig invited two choreographers to explore the complexities of ‘unique personality’. Both explored individuality and unity, yet the results are very different.
The Blur, by Anton an experienced dancer, choreographer and film maker, was an edgy hard and fast response with the dancers manipulating sheets of translucent perspex to create a sense of voyeurism, manipulation and control. With filmic qualities that included an evolving and rhythmical soundscape, the dancers moved in a staggered unison – together but not identical.
Movements were jolting and spasmodic with conflict between dancers giving way to touch, support and harmony. It was a fearless performance from Sofie Burgoyne, Joel Corpuz and Trisha Dunn who worked together seamlessly.
In contrast, the storytelling voice over that introduced Remembered Of Us , by choreographer Francis Rings, welcomed the audience into the work through narrative. Francis has worked extensively throughout Australia and overseas as a choreographer and dancer and brings an earthiness to the piece that is mimicked in the stage production.
The warm lighting, by Darren Willmott and textured set and costuming, by Odette Arietta-Shadbolt, was extremely effective and worked to create a sense of place. The walls of wool and ribbon provided opportunities for dancers to interact and contrasted well against The Blurs’ stark white down lights and empty stage.
Unlike The Blur, this work was full of cliques that tapped into our own memories in a tapestry that explored inherited traits and relationships. It was solemn, nostalgic and quite beautiful. The music overpowered the performance at times but did not distract from the duet by Sarah Fiddaman and Malcolm McMillan, who presented a strong and sensual representation of ‘a grown up relationship’ and a meeting of equals.
These two works engaged with the audience in very different ways. The Blur connected through a less reflective hypnotic partnering of sound and movement. Remembered of us was more conventional contemporary dance which presented clear ideas to the audience and invited us into the narrative.
With few empty seats at the Theatre Royal, it’s clear there’s an audience for contemporary dance. I look forward to more experiences like this.
IDENTITY continues on its Tasmanian tour, heading to Devonport Entertainment and Convention Centre 5-6 November. For more details contact www.tasdance.com.au
30 October 2009
Regardless of our age or experience, we all have moments of anxiety and self doubt as we teeter between the defiant individualist and the need to be part of a community.
In Tasdance’s latest work, IDENTITY, Artistic Director Annie Greig invited two choreographers to explore the complexities of ‘unique personality’. Both explored individuality and unity, yet the results are very different.
The Blur, by Anton an experienced dancer, choreographer and film maker, was an edgy hard and fast response with the dancers manipulating sheets of translucent perspex to create a sense of voyeurism, manipulation and control. With filmic qualities that included an evolving and rhythmical soundscape, the dancers moved in a staggered unison – together but not identical.
Movements were jolting and spasmodic with conflict between dancers giving way to touch, support and harmony. It was a fearless performance from Sofie Burgoyne, Joel Corpuz and Trisha Dunn who worked together seamlessly.
In contrast, the storytelling voice over that introduced Remembered Of Us , by choreographer Francis Rings, welcomed the audience into the work through narrative. Francis has worked extensively throughout Australia and overseas as a choreographer and dancer and brings an earthiness to the piece that is mimicked in the stage production.
The warm lighting, by Darren Willmott and textured set and costuming, by Odette Arietta-Shadbolt, was extremely effective and worked to create a sense of place. The walls of wool and ribbon provided opportunities for dancers to interact and contrasted well against The Blurs’ stark white down lights and empty stage.
Unlike The Blur, this work was full of cliques that tapped into our own memories in a tapestry that explored inherited traits and relationships. It was solemn, nostalgic and quite beautiful. The music overpowered the performance at times but did not distract from the duet by Sarah Fiddaman and Malcolm McMillan, who presented a strong and sensual representation of ‘a grown up relationship’ and a meeting of equals.
These two works engaged with the audience in very different ways. The Blur connected through a less reflective hypnotic partnering of sound and movement. Remembered of us was more conventional contemporary dance which presented clear ideas to the audience and invited us into the narrative.
With few empty seats at the Theatre Royal, it’s clear there’s an audience for contemporary dance. I look forward to more experiences like this.
IDENTITY continues on its Tasmanian tour, heading to Devonport Entertainment and Convention Centre 5-6 November. For more details contact www.tasdance.com.au
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Identity
Tasdance
Theatre Royal
October 30, 2009
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
Tasdance’s latest offering, Identity, pairs works by two choreographers exploring what makes us who we are. Anton’s ‘The Blur’ is a slightly edgy, abstract work playing with the disconnections and distractions of contemporary urban life, and ‘Remembered of us’ by Frances Rings is a gentle, lyrical work with a strong narrative thread about ancestry. Both are evocative and delivered with strength and commitment by four veteran and two new Tasdance performers.
In ‘The Blur’, sheets of slightly frosted Perspex create a sense of separation between dancers, and between dancers and audience. When working with the sheets, the dancers test the texture, the resistance, and the possibilities of the material, just as they push these relationships with space, with gravity, and with each other. In their movement they find breaking points, barriers, and sometimes support and protection. With ‘The Blur’ Anton challenges us, with a determined intensity, to question our own relationship with the modern world.
‘Remembered of us’, developed around the stories and histories of the dancers, asks fewer questions than ‘The Blur’ and instead offers melodic and comforting patterns of movement. The opening voice-over, about family resemblance and heritage, is both welcome and restrictive. It provides an accessible narrative context for the rest of the performance, but also dictates interpretation. The work is enriched by Odette Arietta-Shadbolt’s beautiful set (a series of woven, knitted, and wrapped wooden frames) but suffers under the weight of its slightly intrusive and self-conscious soundtrack, which occasionally suffocates the careful, symbolic, filmic phrases.
It’s not always easy (or important) to find and follow the narratives of contemporary dance, but in Identity I felt very drawn to the journey the dancers were making, as they traversed points of convergence and divergence. A highlight was Trisha Dunn’s solo in ‘Remembered of us’, as the other dancers caressed and lifted her limbs through a screen of the threads on one of the wooden frames. As she stepped away from the frame into a solo proper, the echoes of the other dancers’ hands and their impact on her movement were very vivid; a poetic metaphor for the way our history and ancestry can shape us even when it is not physically present.
The contrast between choreographic styles of the two works (with Rings’ more traditional) echoes the different understandings of ‘identity’ that each of us holds. Yet the two works also share a certain energy and intensity, reminding us that there is always some common cultural ‘identity’ underpinning our individual experience.
Theatre Royal
October 30, 2009
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
Tasdance’s latest offering, Identity, pairs works by two choreographers exploring what makes us who we are. Anton’s ‘The Blur’ is a slightly edgy, abstract work playing with the disconnections and distractions of contemporary urban life, and ‘Remembered of us’ by Frances Rings is a gentle, lyrical work with a strong narrative thread about ancestry. Both are evocative and delivered with strength and commitment by four veteran and two new Tasdance performers.
In ‘The Blur’, sheets of slightly frosted Perspex create a sense of separation between dancers, and between dancers and audience. When working with the sheets, the dancers test the texture, the resistance, and the possibilities of the material, just as they push these relationships with space, with gravity, and with each other. In their movement they find breaking points, barriers, and sometimes support and protection. With ‘The Blur’ Anton challenges us, with a determined intensity, to question our own relationship with the modern world.
‘Remembered of us’, developed around the stories and histories of the dancers, asks fewer questions than ‘The Blur’ and instead offers melodic and comforting patterns of movement. The opening voice-over, about family resemblance and heritage, is both welcome and restrictive. It provides an accessible narrative context for the rest of the performance, but also dictates interpretation. The work is enriched by Odette Arietta-Shadbolt’s beautiful set (a series of woven, knitted, and wrapped wooden frames) but suffers under the weight of its slightly intrusive and self-conscious soundtrack, which occasionally suffocates the careful, symbolic, filmic phrases.
It’s not always easy (or important) to find and follow the narratives of contemporary dance, but in Identity I felt very drawn to the journey the dancers were making, as they traversed points of convergence and divergence. A highlight was Trisha Dunn’s solo in ‘Remembered of us’, as the other dancers caressed and lifted her limbs through a screen of the threads on one of the wooden frames. As she stepped away from the frame into a solo proper, the echoes of the other dancers’ hands and their impact on her movement were very vivid; a poetic metaphor for the way our history and ancestry can shape us even when it is not physically present.
The contrast between choreographic styles of the two works (with Rings’ more traditional) echoes the different understandings of ‘identity’ that each of us holds. Yet the two works also share a certain energy and intensity, reminding us that there is always some common cultural ‘identity’ underpinning our individual experience.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Elvis Costello
Sunday October 11 2009
Tasman Hall, Wrest Point Casino
by Stephenie Cahalan
I have always loved Elvis Costello for his extraordinary song writing. His lyrics mix limerick-cheek with artful word play and searing insight into the delights and despairs of life. But I really had no idea of what a gifted guitarist he is until I saw him play solo at the Wrest Point casino on Sunday night.
It is a thrill to see a musician who is truly a master of his craft perform. At times it was like Costello was a having a conversation with his guitar — one that he was happy to share with the thousand-odd eavesdroppers in the audience.
Costello offered a mix of old favorite crowd-pleasers, including ‘Everyday I write the book’ which he claimed to hate (too hard to sing!), plus a sweet taste of new stuff that, far from sending many running to the bar or toilet as can be the case with new material, kept everyone totally engaged. Costello can almost work a bit of Sondheim-like melodrama into his work at times. But you know an artist is completely in a league of his own when he has over thirty years of musical credibility and a vast list of song credits, yet chooses to cover classics like ‘Hide your love away’ by The Beetles, ‘Jackie Wilson said‘ by Van Morrison, and (oh, so beautiful) ‘She’ by Charles Aznavour. And given that I will never get to see The Beetles play, a cover by Costello is fine consolation.
Just watching Elvis work on that guitar was like seeing a kind of modern-dance-with-instrument act. Frustratingly, the music stand placed in front of him meant that those of us sitting on the right side of the auditorium could see little of the intricate finger-work without looking at the screens placed either side of the stage.
His interaction with the audience was distant at first, working up to a pub-like rapport with the crowd by the close of the show. Maybe that was helped by whatever he was swigging from that mug, which I first assumed was herbal tea (in keeping with a generation of musos who have cleaned up after years of hard partying). Jagger and Bowie weathered the hedonism and excesses of the earlier crazy decades, but Elvis Costello and his exceptional contemporaries like Joe Strummer and Paul Weller shone through the musical muck that abounded in the eighties. And if that doesn’t deserve a little glass of personality on stage, I don’t know what does.
It is a tribute to Costello’s musical calibre and showmanship that he could breath so much energy into a terminally soul-less venue like the Tasman Hall at the Casino. Is this really the best Hobart has to offer? It is a great yawning cavern of a room and I wish Costello’s tourers could have steered him to the Theatre Royal (although it is currently hosting Miss Saigon) or perhaps the concert hall. Any place with more life, both in the acoustics and the atmosphere.
The audience was thrilled with the gig, standing in ovation and winning a second encore as reward. I suspect, judging by the quietly-pleased smile on his face as he left the stage, that Costello was rather happy too. I really hope he meant it when he said he would be back.
Tasman Hall, Wrest Point Casino
by Stephenie Cahalan
I have always loved Elvis Costello for his extraordinary song writing. His lyrics mix limerick-cheek with artful word play and searing insight into the delights and despairs of life. But I really had no idea of what a gifted guitarist he is until I saw him play solo at the Wrest Point casino on Sunday night.
It is a thrill to see a musician who is truly a master of his craft perform. At times it was like Costello was a having a conversation with his guitar — one that he was happy to share with the thousand-odd eavesdroppers in the audience.
Costello offered a mix of old favorite crowd-pleasers, including ‘Everyday I write the book’ which he claimed to hate (too hard to sing!), plus a sweet taste of new stuff that, far from sending many running to the bar or toilet as can be the case with new material, kept everyone totally engaged. Costello can almost work a bit of Sondheim-like melodrama into his work at times. But you know an artist is completely in a league of his own when he has over thirty years of musical credibility and a vast list of song credits, yet chooses to cover classics like ‘Hide your love away’ by The Beetles, ‘Jackie Wilson said‘ by Van Morrison, and (oh, so beautiful) ‘She’ by Charles Aznavour. And given that I will never get to see The Beetles play, a cover by Costello is fine consolation.
Just watching Elvis work on that guitar was like seeing a kind of modern-dance-with-instrument act. Frustratingly, the music stand placed in front of him meant that those of us sitting on the right side of the auditorium could see little of the intricate finger-work without looking at the screens placed either side of the stage.
His interaction with the audience was distant at first, working up to a pub-like rapport with the crowd by the close of the show. Maybe that was helped by whatever he was swigging from that mug, which I first assumed was herbal tea (in keeping with a generation of musos who have cleaned up after years of hard partying). Jagger and Bowie weathered the hedonism and excesses of the earlier crazy decades, but Elvis Costello and his exceptional contemporaries like Joe Strummer and Paul Weller shone through the musical muck that abounded in the eighties. And if that doesn’t deserve a little glass of personality on stage, I don’t know what does.
It is a tribute to Costello’s musical calibre and showmanship that he could breath so much energy into a terminally soul-less venue like the Tasman Hall at the Casino. Is this really the best Hobart has to offer? It is a great yawning cavern of a room and I wish Costello’s tourers could have steered him to the Theatre Royal (although it is currently hosting Miss Saigon) or perhaps the concert hall. Any place with more life, both in the acoustics and the atmosphere.
The audience was thrilled with the gig, standing in ovation and winning a second encore as reward. I suspect, judging by the quietly-pleased smile on his face as he left the stage, that Costello was rather happy too. I really hope he meant it when he said he would be back.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Miss Saigon
by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg; dir. Robert Jarman
Craig Wellington Productions and the Tasmanian Theatre Unit Trust
Theatre Royal, Hobart, Thursday October 8th (opening night)
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
There’s been an awful lot of talk lately, around the town, about a helicopter.
And fair enough, too. How could the Tasmanian Theatre Unit Trust possibly follow up on the smash hit that was their inaugural production, Les Misérables, just over a year ago? Clearly, the only answer was to find a show with even more spectacular staging requirements. And it’s hard to go past helicopter-in-relatively-small-theatre when it comes to “spectacle”.
So, Miss Saigon it is.
My advice is not to get too focussed on the helicopter. I’m not saying it isn’t impressive. It is impressive (Broadway-gimmickyness notwithstanding). But, you see, if you spend too much time thinking about the helicopter, you may ignore much more important elements: primarily, the emotional and energetic commitment – both from principles and ensemble – which are matched with musical proficiency and confidence in this young cast.
Under the firm hand of Robert Jarman (ably augmented by Aaron Powell’s musical direction, Mandy Lowrie’s choreography, and indeed the rest of the production team’s contributions), this Miss Saigon is bold, decisive, and powerful.
Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg’s musical doesn’t give us much time to settle in. From curtain up we’re thrust into the love story of American GI Chris and new Vietnamese prostitute Kim, and also into a narrative of the Vietnam war: a story which assumes its audience already has a strong cultural back-story and understanding. Jarman and his company never lose this pace throughout, as event after event tumble out in song, and every single moment is deliberate. There’s no room for feebleness here: even the love story seems fuelled by a youthful, hot fury and political frustration.
Both cast and orchestra are equal to the challenge of this sweeping work, although they were sometimes let down by the insistent amplification which tended to impair diction. Amplification seems a necessary evil, to achieve balance with such a strong instrumental contribution. And yet this theatre is so intimate, and most of these performers so competent and capable of projection -- evidenced by the occasional moments when the technology failed them!
The show is notoriously awkward to cast, with its Asian setting. Largely, Jarman’s casting ignores racial demarcation (the only realistic option within Hobart’s limited bank of performers). This is just one of those things we have to agree to suspend disbelief about. But it’s such an important component of this narrative that I found myself constantly philosophising on the restrictions physicality poses on casting. Sometimes it was downright confusing, such as distinguishing whether characters were American or Vietnamese. But that’s an unwinnable battle this time.
Tess Hansen (Kim) works hard at the centre of the cast, and is supported strongly by Scott Farrow’s smooth performance as Chris, as well as by the other principles and a consistently tight and robust ensemble. Andrew Hickman warmed into his role as a rather Thénardier-ish Engineer; and Craig Wood is strong (sometimes a little too strong) as Thuy, the husband Kim’s father had intended for her. All the principles could do with a little refining, such as in their emotional transitions, but this is bound to come with the season. If the opening night audience is anything to go by, reception will be wildly appreciative. Don’t leave it til the last minute if you’re planning to go; I don’t imagine Miss Saigon will have any trouble selling out.
Craig Wellington Productions and the Tasmanian Theatre Unit Trust
Theatre Royal, Hobart, Thursday October 8th (opening night)
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
There’s been an awful lot of talk lately, around the town, about a helicopter.
And fair enough, too. How could the Tasmanian Theatre Unit Trust possibly follow up on the smash hit that was their inaugural production, Les Misérables, just over a year ago? Clearly, the only answer was to find a show with even more spectacular staging requirements. And it’s hard to go past helicopter-in-relatively-small-theatre when it comes to “spectacle”.
So, Miss Saigon it is.
My advice is not to get too focussed on the helicopter. I’m not saying it isn’t impressive. It is impressive (Broadway-gimmickyness notwithstanding). But, you see, if you spend too much time thinking about the helicopter, you may ignore much more important elements: primarily, the emotional and energetic commitment – both from principles and ensemble – which are matched with musical proficiency and confidence in this young cast.
Under the firm hand of Robert Jarman (ably augmented by Aaron Powell’s musical direction, Mandy Lowrie’s choreography, and indeed the rest of the production team’s contributions), this Miss Saigon is bold, decisive, and powerful.
Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg’s musical doesn’t give us much time to settle in. From curtain up we’re thrust into the love story of American GI Chris and new Vietnamese prostitute Kim, and also into a narrative of the Vietnam war: a story which assumes its audience already has a strong cultural back-story and understanding. Jarman and his company never lose this pace throughout, as event after event tumble out in song, and every single moment is deliberate. There’s no room for feebleness here: even the love story seems fuelled by a youthful, hot fury and political frustration.
Both cast and orchestra are equal to the challenge of this sweeping work, although they were sometimes let down by the insistent amplification which tended to impair diction. Amplification seems a necessary evil, to achieve balance with such a strong instrumental contribution. And yet this theatre is so intimate, and most of these performers so competent and capable of projection -- evidenced by the occasional moments when the technology failed them!
The show is notoriously awkward to cast, with its Asian setting. Largely, Jarman’s casting ignores racial demarcation (the only realistic option within Hobart’s limited bank of performers). This is just one of those things we have to agree to suspend disbelief about. But it’s such an important component of this narrative that I found myself constantly philosophising on the restrictions physicality poses on casting. Sometimes it was downright confusing, such as distinguishing whether characters were American or Vietnamese. But that’s an unwinnable battle this time.
Tess Hansen (Kim) works hard at the centre of the cast, and is supported strongly by Scott Farrow’s smooth performance as Chris, as well as by the other principles and a consistently tight and robust ensemble. Andrew Hickman warmed into his role as a rather Thénardier-ish Engineer; and Craig Wood is strong (sometimes a little too strong) as Thuy, the husband Kim’s father had intended for her. All the principles could do with a little refining, such as in their emotional transitions, but this is bound to come with the season. If the opening night audience is anything to go by, reception will be wildly appreciative. Don’t leave it til the last minute if you’re planning to go; I don’t imagine Miss Saigon will have any trouble selling out.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
A Streetcar Named Desire
... for those of us who wished we took the ride.
from Steph
I was recently in Sydney where several people I spoke to were gleefully clutching rare and precious tickets to see Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire by the Sydney Theatre Company. Those not going were trying to, and those who had been were feeling like very fortunate theatre-goers indeed. Partly because they had seen the luminous talent of Cate Blanchett on the stage and partly because a bit of Tennessee is always a treat.
For those of us who were not there, James Waites has written a really interesting account of his experience with a journey into the mood and approach to staging a Williams play. It’s a wonderful insight into the concept of ‘camp’. This is just one view of the Streetcar experience. I wonder are there any others, just for the sake of a little discussion?
Go to http://jameswaites.com/?p=4494#more-4494
from Steph
I was recently in Sydney where several people I spoke to were gleefully clutching rare and precious tickets to see Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire by the Sydney Theatre Company. Those not going were trying to, and those who had been were feeling like very fortunate theatre-goers indeed. Partly because they had seen the luminous talent of Cate Blanchett on the stage and partly because a bit of Tennessee is always a treat.
For those of us who were not there, James Waites has written a really interesting account of his experience with a journey into the mood and approach to staging a Williams play. It’s a wonderful insight into the concept of ‘camp’. This is just one view of the Streetcar experience. I wonder are there any others, just for the sake of a little discussion?
Go to http://jameswaites.com/?p=4494#more-4494
Terrapin Puppet Theatre (toured by Tasmania Performs)
Kettering Hall
October 30, 2009
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
Tasmania Performs is currently bringing
At the heart of this work is Finegan Kruckemeyer’s gorgeously poetic script, which tells us the stories of why Helena eventually gives away her voice; why her mother Madeleine left the family to disappear forever into a mobile phone; why her father Alvarez sings with animals in the forest and then decides to sail away from her in a boat; and how a small word like hello joins people to each other all across the world. Some of these “why”s aren’t satisfactorily answered – which wouldn’t be a problem except that the play’s three forest-animal-narrators regularly tell us that in order to understand one “why”, we must know the story behind another “why”. In the end, the questions begin to meld into one big “why”.
Frank Newman’s direction is energetic and heartfelt, making the most of the capriciously playful, mournful, philosophical, and sinister turns in the script. His cast are similarly dynamic, and have a tight working relationship which focuses the often far-fetched scope of the narrative. Mel King offers particular warmth and zing and softens the potentially irritating Madeleine; Ryk Goddard engages the audience with a twinkle-eyed confidence; and Sam McMahon adds an especially contented, puckish tone.
I have two reservations about the production. One is that the work feels too “adult” for its target audience. I am all for not patronising children, but at times Helena goes to the other extreme. Kruckemeyer’s superb writing is sometimes just too complex: long phrases and rich symbolism which are wonderfully stimulating (sometimes challengingly so) for an adult audience, but too abstract for many younger viewers.
The other is that the “technology” doesn’t feel integral. The digital puppetry using touch-phones is occasionally intriguing, but the possibilities are not exploited because the straight storytelling seems much more important here.
I wish the temptations of technology had been able to meet the standard set by moments of traditional and elegant stagecraft such as when
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Dealer's Choice
Albedo Productions (toured by Critical Stages); Theatre Royal, Hobart, September 22-23
When I last played poker, there were one-cent pieces around to bet with. That’s how long ago it was. Even then, I barely knew what I was doing (I think I was eleven).
Patrick Marber’s Dealer’s Choice is a play entirely built on a bedrock of poker: the game, the habit, the parallels with life, the adrenaline, the strategies, the jargon. It’s also about the compulsion of poker; these six men play the game to fill absences of other passion in their lives.
Did I mention that I know nothing about poker? But on balance, it didn’t matter. Sure, there were minutes at a time when I hadn’t a clue what any of the dialogue meant: five card high-low, the wheel’s in, call, call, I’m out, you can’t have had trip four, call... (forgive me if you’re a poker player; that’s how I heard it!). But – and Marber and director Craig Ilott understand this implicitly – any ignorance of this dialogue’s surface meaning only serves to focus attention on the fine dynamics between actors, and the nuances of mood and characterisation.
I adore The West Wing: I don’t understand the first thing about the American political system, but the characters, the pace and rhythm of dialogue, the humour, and ultimately the moments of deep, genuine dramatic intensity are the real treats. I felt the same way about Dealer’s Choice.
Dealer’s Choice is a little slow to begin, although a strong atmosphere is there even as the audience enter; a chef goes quietly about his business in the split stage (kitchen/dining room), and a perfectly compiled soundtrack situates us immediately in the London restaurant where the play is set.
The first half is so self-conscious about establishing characters that many become caricatures instead: both obvious and stilted. The humour to begin with is, similarly, a little predictable, and a little too reminiscent of a dated British sitcom. Some of the motivations and developments of narrative are also forced, as the group of guys who work in the restaurant prepare for their regular poker game that evening.
It is in the second half that Marber’s writing shines, and gives this production the opportunity to do the same. We’re still in the restaurant, but downstairs where the game is. It’s hard work for an audience to get in to this world. Lights are dim, the round poker table is exclusive and the staging obscures actors’ faces -- and then there is that impenetrably jargonistic table-talk. But these obstacles are neither careless nor preclusive; the strength of both writing and ensemble performance connect with an audience despite the physical and practical barriers they must cross.
I’ve got no interest in gambling, but the play briefly made me want to be a part of that world: the adrenaline, the almost-seediness, the insularity, the intimacy of it. For a play to stimulate that level of unwilling desire in an audience member is credit to the writing, the direction, and the performances.
The casting is strong; the script is dependent on a tight ensemble of contrasting and complementary performances, and this production delivers. The characters balance each other for both the humour and the dramatic tension of the work. Christopher Stollery as Ash (an interloper into the restaurant game, and a professional player with his own debts to recoup from games elsewhere) and Sam North as Carl (the restaurant owner’s prodigal son) both excel.
Critical Stages, a non-profit touring body, should be commended for giving this production a wider audience than its original 2004 Sydney season. But it is a pity that it had such a short, mid-week run here in Hobart – perhaps an intrinsic challenge of mounting a wide tour without high commercial funding...
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
When I last played poker, there were one-cent pieces around to bet with. That’s how long ago it was. Even then, I barely knew what I was doing (I think I was eleven).
Patrick Marber’s Dealer’s Choice is a play entirely built on a bedrock of poker: the game, the habit, the parallels with life, the adrenaline, the strategies, the jargon. It’s also about the compulsion of poker; these six men play the game to fill absences of other passion in their lives.
Did I mention that I know nothing about poker? But on balance, it didn’t matter. Sure, there were minutes at a time when I hadn’t a clue what any of the dialogue meant: five card high-low, the wheel’s in, call, call, I’m out, you can’t have had trip four, call... (forgive me if you’re a poker player; that’s how I heard it!). But – and Marber and director Craig Ilott understand this implicitly – any ignorance of this dialogue’s surface meaning only serves to focus attention on the fine dynamics between actors, and the nuances of mood and characterisation.
I adore The West Wing: I don’t understand the first thing about the American political system, but the characters, the pace and rhythm of dialogue, the humour, and ultimately the moments of deep, genuine dramatic intensity are the real treats. I felt the same way about Dealer’s Choice.
Dealer’s Choice is a little slow to begin, although a strong atmosphere is there even as the audience enter; a chef goes quietly about his business in the split stage (kitchen/dining room), and a perfectly compiled soundtrack situates us immediately in the London restaurant where the play is set.
The first half is so self-conscious about establishing characters that many become caricatures instead: both obvious and stilted. The humour to begin with is, similarly, a little predictable, and a little too reminiscent of a dated British sitcom. Some of the motivations and developments of narrative are also forced, as the group of guys who work in the restaurant prepare for their regular poker game that evening.
It is in the second half that Marber’s writing shines, and gives this production the opportunity to do the same. We’re still in the restaurant, but downstairs where the game is. It’s hard work for an audience to get in to this world. Lights are dim, the round poker table is exclusive and the staging obscures actors’ faces -- and then there is that impenetrably jargonistic table-talk. But these obstacles are neither careless nor preclusive; the strength of both writing and ensemble performance connect with an audience despite the physical and practical barriers they must cross.
I’ve got no interest in gambling, but the play briefly made me want to be a part of that world: the adrenaline, the almost-seediness, the insularity, the intimacy of it. For a play to stimulate that level of unwilling desire in an audience member is credit to the writing, the direction, and the performances.
The casting is strong; the script is dependent on a tight ensemble of contrasting and complementary performances, and this production delivers. The characters balance each other for both the humour and the dramatic tension of the work. Christopher Stollery as Ash (an interloper into the restaurant game, and a professional player with his own debts to recoup from games elsewhere) and Sam North as Carl (the restaurant owner’s prodigal son) both excel.
Critical Stages, a non-profit touring body, should be commended for giving this production a wider audience than its original 2004 Sydney season. But it is a pity that it had such a short, mid-week run here in Hobart – perhaps an intrinsic challenge of mounting a wide tour without high commercial funding...
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
Dealer’s Choice
Albedo Productions, with touring assistance by Critical Stages
Theatre Royal Hobart
Tuesday, 23 September
Stephenie Cahalan
I learned a new language last night. I’m not fluent but, like my Italian, I reckon I could get by. It is the language of poker. I also gained an insight into the insidiousness of an addiction. How it can forge a tight bond amongst fellow addicts that creates camaraderie and honour, but at the same time foster a viciousness that pits friends and family against each other.
Dealer’s Choice, written by Patrick Marber, is set in a gloomy restaurant in central London where small-time gambling and glamour have nothing in common. Presented by Albedo Productions and brought to Hobart with the assistance of Critical Stages, it tells of six men whose multifaceted relationships are both underpinned and undermined by an addiction to gambling. Each prefers to think of themselves as a little better than the others: Steven because he owns a moderately successful restaurant and knows a bit about life; Frankie for his charm and prowess at the table; Mugsy because he is eternally optimistic despite his universally-recognised status as a loser; Sweeney because he has a reason to not gamble; Ash for his aloof professional confidence, and Carl for the simple arrogance that youth affords.
Dealer’s Choice is funny, sad and unsettling. I often felt a sense of dread at the impending disaster, lifted by little moments of redemption just before the mood got all too heavy. It has tightly-strung moments juxtaposed with ridiculousness that made me laugh with relief. Full of colour and clichés, the rolling poker-talk dominated the dialogue. Although I am not a card-player, I gained a little understanding of how the game acts like a secret club where you have to know the special lingo and rules in order to belong. The regular family of players created the bizarre dynamic of being both orchestrators of each man’s downfall, yet part of the scaffolding that helps him back up again. The lounge music soundtrack wafted through the world of delusion in which each man dreamed of the glorious heights he might reach with his winnings, while the reality of debt and the everyday life is kept at bay.
Every actor amply filled the skins of their characters and the artful script flowed beautifully throughout the play. In Dealer’s Choice each man’s gamble is really with himself, his relationships and his aspirations. The stakes are high indeed, and regardless of how each of the characters fare, I think the production is a winner. Tonight is the show's last night in Hobart and is worth the trip out into the weather to catch.
Director: Craig Ilott
Cast: David Webb, David Terry, John Leary, Ashley Lyons, Sam North, Christopher Stollery.
Theatre Royal Hobart
Tuesday, 23 September
Stephenie Cahalan
I learned a new language last night. I’m not fluent but, like my Italian, I reckon I could get by. It is the language of poker. I also gained an insight into the insidiousness of an addiction. How it can forge a tight bond amongst fellow addicts that creates camaraderie and honour, but at the same time foster a viciousness that pits friends and family against each other.
Dealer’s Choice, written by Patrick Marber, is set in a gloomy restaurant in central London where small-time gambling and glamour have nothing in common. Presented by Albedo Productions and brought to Hobart with the assistance of Critical Stages, it tells of six men whose multifaceted relationships are both underpinned and undermined by an addiction to gambling. Each prefers to think of themselves as a little better than the others: Steven because he owns a moderately successful restaurant and knows a bit about life; Frankie for his charm and prowess at the table; Mugsy because he is eternally optimistic despite his universally-recognised status as a loser; Sweeney because he has a reason to not gamble; Ash for his aloof professional confidence, and Carl for the simple arrogance that youth affords.
Dealer’s Choice is funny, sad and unsettling. I often felt a sense of dread at the impending disaster, lifted by little moments of redemption just before the mood got all too heavy. It has tightly-strung moments juxtaposed with ridiculousness that made me laugh with relief. Full of colour and clichés, the rolling poker-talk dominated the dialogue. Although I am not a card-player, I gained a little understanding of how the game acts like a secret club where you have to know the special lingo and rules in order to belong. The regular family of players created the bizarre dynamic of being both orchestrators of each man’s downfall, yet part of the scaffolding that helps him back up again. The lounge music soundtrack wafted through the world of delusion in which each man dreamed of the glorious heights he might reach with his winnings, while the reality of debt and the everyday life is kept at bay.
Every actor amply filled the skins of their characters and the artful script flowed beautifully throughout the play. In Dealer’s Choice each man’s gamble is really with himself, his relationships and his aspirations. The stakes are high indeed, and regardless of how each of the characters fare, I think the production is a winner. Tonight is the show's last night in Hobart and is worth the trip out into the weather to catch.
Director: Craig Ilott
Cast: David Webb, David Terry, John Leary, Ashley Lyons, Sam North, Christopher Stollery.
Monday, September 21, 2009
In Light Relief
Carnegie Gallery, Hobart
21 August-27 September 2009
Kylie Elizabeth Eastley
An exhibition opening is often not the best time to experience art. Crowds and noise can detract from the work and present problems for those not comfortable with small talk. But the darkened room and subtle lighting at the Carnegie Gallery at the opening of In Light Relief provided an opportunity to see a dramatic collection of works from four of Hobart’s creative minds. It also provided the stage for seeing Sonia Heap’s designs at their best, as a small army of female models mingled and lounged amongst the crowd in her exquisite gowns.
Heap joins jeweller Sandra Wrightson and designers and jewellers Fiona Tabart and Jon Williamson to present a cohesive collection of desirable and evocative works. Dramatic, intense and sensual, the red walls and spot lighting accentuate the individual sculptures and jewellery.
Sonia Heap is a part-time designer who produces exquisite clothing using screen-printed silks and high quality materials that layer and lap across the female form to create erotic contemporary dresses. Gothicism collides with Jane Eyre, as Heap takes the viewer or voyeur into a fantasy world of nymphs and sirens. Cutesy meets macabre in a collection of designs that enhance and hug the models.
Like page 3 girls from a Juztapoz magazine, Heap’s designs are dark, textured and slightly menacing. Influenced by sights, sounds, poems and music, her clothing exudes attitude and flips the relationship between artwork and viewer, creating a sense of unease, discomfort and titillation. While best experienced at the opening, video footage does provide some insight to the drama these pieces create.
In some of her best work, Fiona Tabart (better known for her slumped acrylic jewellery) produces a series of small sculptures exploring home, love and the deeper elements of life. Taking a leaf from Greg Leong’s book, her works are highly decorative and beautiful, but upon closer inspection show a depth and darkness that mimics the reality of life: the sting in the tail. Flocked cages cast shadows on the walls and look luscious and exotic, while smaller free standing sculptures continue the themes of capture with layered etched acrylic and stone. Her work appears to draw inspiration from traditional Asian textiles and wall hangings, while exploring the patterns in nature.
Jon Williamson’s steam punk jewellery and sculptures are well known by many Tasmanians, but the work in this exhibition sees him traverse a world of shadows, light and suspension. An expert in assemblages, Williamson has created mesmerizing spherical puzzles: precise and intricate. Interlocking pieces join together to form decorative orbs and the inclusion of LED lights creates shadows and patterns to fall across walls and ceilings.
Sandy Wrightson’s collection of jewellery sits well with her companions’ pieces. Mirroring natural forms with the white sand-blasted silver, this work also creates shadows and space. The necklaces twist and fall effortlessly creating an elegance and languidness.
This exhibition demonstrates that design and decoration matters. It can be subtle and intricate, complicated and outrageous. It reminds me of the saying ‘the devil is in the detail’. With all these works it is the detail that helps to create the negative space that builds interest and speaks of a darker place. And this makes this work absorbing and very seductive.
21 August-27 September 2009
Kylie Elizabeth Eastley
An exhibition opening is often not the best time to experience art. Crowds and noise can detract from the work and present problems for those not comfortable with small talk. But the darkened room and subtle lighting at the Carnegie Gallery at the opening of In Light Relief provided an opportunity to see a dramatic collection of works from four of Hobart’s creative minds. It also provided the stage for seeing Sonia Heap’s designs at their best, as a small army of female models mingled and lounged amongst the crowd in her exquisite gowns.
Heap joins jeweller Sandra Wrightson and designers and jewellers Fiona Tabart and Jon Williamson to present a cohesive collection of desirable and evocative works. Dramatic, intense and sensual, the red walls and spot lighting accentuate the individual sculptures and jewellery.
Sonia Heap is a part-time designer who produces exquisite clothing using screen-printed silks and high quality materials that layer and lap across the female form to create erotic contemporary dresses. Gothicism collides with Jane Eyre, as Heap takes the viewer or voyeur into a fantasy world of nymphs and sirens. Cutesy meets macabre in a collection of designs that enhance and hug the models.
Like page 3 girls from a Juztapoz magazine, Heap’s designs are dark, textured and slightly menacing. Influenced by sights, sounds, poems and music, her clothing exudes attitude and flips the relationship between artwork and viewer, creating a sense of unease, discomfort and titillation. While best experienced at the opening, video footage does provide some insight to the drama these pieces create.
In some of her best work, Fiona Tabart (better known for her slumped acrylic jewellery) produces a series of small sculptures exploring home, love and the deeper elements of life. Taking a leaf from Greg Leong’s book, her works are highly decorative and beautiful, but upon closer inspection show a depth and darkness that mimics the reality of life: the sting in the tail. Flocked cages cast shadows on the walls and look luscious and exotic, while smaller free standing sculptures continue the themes of capture with layered etched acrylic and stone. Her work appears to draw inspiration from traditional Asian textiles and wall hangings, while exploring the patterns in nature.
Jon Williamson’s steam punk jewellery and sculptures are well known by many Tasmanians, but the work in this exhibition sees him traverse a world of shadows, light and suspension. An expert in assemblages, Williamson has created mesmerizing spherical puzzles: precise and intricate. Interlocking pieces join together to form decorative orbs and the inclusion of LED lights creates shadows and patterns to fall across walls and ceilings.
Sandy Wrightson’s collection of jewellery sits well with her companions’ pieces. Mirroring natural forms with the white sand-blasted silver, this work also creates shadows and space. The necklaces twist and fall effortlessly creating an elegance and languidness.
This exhibition demonstrates that design and decoration matters. It can be subtle and intricate, complicated and outrageous. It reminds me of the saying ‘the devil is in the detail’. With all these works it is the detail that helps to create the negative space that builds interest and speaks of a darker place. And this makes this work absorbing and very seductive.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Amadeus
4MBS Classic
Theatre Royal
Friday, September 18
Stephenie Cahalan
The constant dilemma of fiction being mistaken for history (such as the heated discourse prompted by Kate Grenville’s The Secret River ), rears its head in the play of Amadeus by Peter Shaffer. This production by 4MBS Classic from Brisbane presents the story of the Italian composer Antonio Salieri as we meet him at the end of his life, ‘confessing’ to killing the young composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Casual reading of the internet led me to numerous articles at pains to assure the reader that Mozart was NOT poisoned, but most likely died of rheumatic fever. Yet, if Shaffer had stuck to the dry facts, then the clever and engaging Amadeus may not have made it to the stage.
Amadeus is part mystery, part music history. It tells the age-old story of young talent trying to break through the wall of convention and vested interest to help culture evolve. The criticism leveled at Mozart by Emperor Joseph II for using ‘too many notes’ is one of the very things that makes his music so profoundly thrilling. So many notes, and so expertly arranged, but it was not the done thing at the time, and not to be encouraged: as Shaffer’s character complains, ‘There are only so many notes one can hear in the course of an evening!’
Andrew McFarlane, as Salieri, carried the story with flair through his soliloquies, memories and conversations with the audience, a fair portion of which were delivered in Italian. McFarlane portrayed well the change in temperament from a largely good, but simple man to a bitter Machiavelli, plotting to ruin Mozart due to his envy of the young composer’s extraordinary musical gift.
Tama Matheson’s neat set design, with banners of sheet music suspended, easily located us in Viennese drawing rooms, theatres and the aged Salieri’s bedroom. Actors rearranged props to change scenes, but managed to avoid the impression they were moonlighting as stage techs between their lines.
It seemed at times as if things were in a bit of a rush, with not enough time for the actors to pause at significant moments and lines, yet the humour was not lost in the pace. The production was badly let down by the fact that the music, a critical part of the play, was downright sloppy with end notes cut off and clunky finishes. Given that 4MBS is a Classical Radio station, it is hard to excuse this embarrassing glitch.
In Amadeus, Salieri despaired at his own self-professed mediocrity and that he was ‘born a pair of ears and nothing more’. Yet, where would a performer be without countless pairs of ears to listen and love the talents of those who can move us with their music. Hear hear for the ears of this world! May they continue to be many.
Director: Tama Matheson
Cast: Andrew McFarlane, Dash Kruck, Kerith Atkinson, Nick Backstrom, Steven Tandy, Norman Doyle, Bruce Baddiley, Natasha Yantsch, Niki-J Witt.
Theatre Royal
Friday, September 18
Stephenie Cahalan
The constant dilemma of fiction being mistaken for history (such as the heated discourse prompted by Kate Grenville’s The Secret River ), rears its head in the play of Amadeus by Peter Shaffer. This production by 4MBS Classic from Brisbane presents the story of the Italian composer Antonio Salieri as we meet him at the end of his life, ‘confessing’ to killing the young composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Casual reading of the internet led me to numerous articles at pains to assure the reader that Mozart was NOT poisoned, but most likely died of rheumatic fever. Yet, if Shaffer had stuck to the dry facts, then the clever and engaging Amadeus may not have made it to the stage.
Amadeus is part mystery, part music history. It tells the age-old story of young talent trying to break through the wall of convention and vested interest to help culture evolve. The criticism leveled at Mozart by Emperor Joseph II for using ‘too many notes’ is one of the very things that makes his music so profoundly thrilling. So many notes, and so expertly arranged, but it was not the done thing at the time, and not to be encouraged: as Shaffer’s character complains, ‘There are only so many notes one can hear in the course of an evening!’
Andrew McFarlane, as Salieri, carried the story with flair through his soliloquies, memories and conversations with the audience, a fair portion of which were delivered in Italian. McFarlane portrayed well the change in temperament from a largely good, but simple man to a bitter Machiavelli, plotting to ruin Mozart due to his envy of the young composer’s extraordinary musical gift.
Tama Matheson’s neat set design, with banners of sheet music suspended, easily located us in Viennese drawing rooms, theatres and the aged Salieri’s bedroom. Actors rearranged props to change scenes, but managed to avoid the impression they were moonlighting as stage techs between their lines.
It seemed at times as if things were in a bit of a rush, with not enough time for the actors to pause at significant moments and lines, yet the humour was not lost in the pace. The production was badly let down by the fact that the music, a critical part of the play, was downright sloppy with end notes cut off and clunky finishes. Given that 4MBS is a Classical Radio station, it is hard to excuse this embarrassing glitch.
In Amadeus, Salieri despaired at his own self-professed mediocrity and that he was ‘born a pair of ears and nothing more’. Yet, where would a performer be without countless pairs of ears to listen and love the talents of those who can move us with their music. Hear hear for the ears of this world! May they continue to be many.
Director: Tama Matheson
Cast: Andrew McFarlane, Dash Kruck, Kerith Atkinson, Nick Backstrom, Steven Tandy, Norman Doyle, Bruce Baddiley, Natasha Yantsch, Niki-J Witt.
Amadeus
4MBS
Theatre Royal, Hobart
September 18, 2009
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
Peter Shaffer’s 1979 play offers a strange challenge: to tell a story of one art form through another. It is not a musical, it is a play; but music is at its core. Amadeus is an imaginatively speculative history of madness, creativity, jealousy, and sabotage. But beneath all these, it is also a narrative of music. Amadeus comes from the perspective of Antonio Salieri, a composer and contemporary of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Shaffer’s Salieri (played in this production by Andrew McFarlane) is incurably jealous of Mozart’s youthful genius, and speaks directly to the audience during his own final hour, recounting and justifying his attempts to discredit and eventually annihilate Amadeus (Dash Kruck).
An interpretation of the play must somehow marry Mozart’s music with Shaffer’s text. There are moments in 4MBS’s production which manage this beautifully. A symbolic storm is born out of the swelling Kyrie Eleison, and Salieri suffers a Stendhal-syndrome-like response. This moment is a good example. But most of the time, I found myself yearning for more music. Snippets of pre-recorded Mozart are frequently dangled enticingly behind the dialogue, but then irritatingly and abruptly snatched away. Whether or not you are familiar with Mozart’s works, it becomes increasingly difficult to engage with the desperate passion behind Salieri’s jealousy, when this jealousy is built on an intimate recognition of Mozart’s creative brilliance. But without much Mozart in the soundscape, it is too easy to forget his extraordinary talent, and we are also left wanting for glimpses of Salieri’s own experience of the music.
The relationship between the composers is one of insincere patronage, as Salieri’s devious advice eventually drives the naive Mozart to destruction. The play is a study of one man’s power to exploit another’s paranoias. An audience must feel moved by Salieri’s malicious actions, and struggle to forgive him. McFarlane’s Salieri is human, bitter, and believable (with the exception of excessive directorial melodrama in several monologues). But Kruck’s Mozart is so puerile, so conceited, so crass, so frivolous that if he had squeakily tittered just once more, I’d have been ready to jump up and save Salieri the trouble. The interpretation is clearly a considered creative decision, and Kruck’s energy and commitment are remarkable. Certainly, it presents a bravely imaginative insight into the flawed humanity behind the canonised glory of Mozart’s creativity. However, it is hard work caring about this unlikeable character, which in turn strains Salieri’s protracted justification of his behaviour.
The supporting cast are unassuming and sound, but have little to do beyond providing a backdrop for Salieri’s self-flagellation and Mozart’s persistent near-hysteria. Director Tama Matheson’s unfussy set and lighting design are at their best when the hanging panels of a Mozart score are beautifully shadowed by Mozart’s own hands as he conducts his work.
In the final scene, the Lacrimosa from Mozart’s Requiem makes its predictable but welcome appearance. The movement, played in full, accompanies the silent action of the final moments, and Mozart’s music is at last treated with some fervour. As the narrative journey concludes, the production does manage to move us. There is both humour and pathos here, and if the characters have not always been completely engaging, at least the energy and commitment of the company are rewarded.
I must confess, I find Shaffer almost unforgivably contemptible for closing a script with the line: “mediocrity is everywhere: I absolve you”... What production could ever stand up to such philosophical meta-censure?
Theatre Royal, Hobart
September 18, 2009
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg
Peter Shaffer’s 1979 play offers a strange challenge: to tell a story of one art form through another. It is not a musical, it is a play; but music is at its core. Amadeus is an imaginatively speculative history of madness, creativity, jealousy, and sabotage. But beneath all these, it is also a narrative of music. Amadeus comes from the perspective of Antonio Salieri, a composer and contemporary of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Shaffer’s Salieri (played in this production by Andrew McFarlane) is incurably jealous of Mozart’s youthful genius, and speaks directly to the audience during his own final hour, recounting and justifying his attempts to discredit and eventually annihilate Amadeus (Dash Kruck).
An interpretation of the play must somehow marry Mozart’s music with Shaffer’s text. There are moments in 4MBS’s production which manage this beautifully. A symbolic storm is born out of the swelling Kyrie Eleison, and Salieri suffers a Stendhal-syndrome-like response. This moment is a good example. But most of the time, I found myself yearning for more music. Snippets of pre-recorded Mozart are frequently dangled enticingly behind the dialogue, but then irritatingly and abruptly snatched away. Whether or not you are familiar with Mozart’s works, it becomes increasingly difficult to engage with the desperate passion behind Salieri’s jealousy, when this jealousy is built on an intimate recognition of Mozart’s creative brilliance. But without much Mozart in the soundscape, it is too easy to forget his extraordinary talent, and we are also left wanting for glimpses of Salieri’s own experience of the music.
The relationship between the composers is one of insincere patronage, as Salieri’s devious advice eventually drives the naive Mozart to destruction. The play is a study of one man’s power to exploit another’s paranoias. An audience must feel moved by Salieri’s malicious actions, and struggle to forgive him. McFarlane’s Salieri is human, bitter, and believable (with the exception of excessive directorial melodrama in several monologues). But Kruck’s Mozart is so puerile, so conceited, so crass, so frivolous that if he had squeakily tittered just once more, I’d have been ready to jump up and save Salieri the trouble. The interpretation is clearly a considered creative decision, and Kruck’s energy and commitment are remarkable. Certainly, it presents a bravely imaginative insight into the flawed humanity behind the canonised glory of Mozart’s creativity. However, it is hard work caring about this unlikeable character, which in turn strains Salieri’s protracted justification of his behaviour.
The supporting cast are unassuming and sound, but have little to do beyond providing a backdrop for Salieri’s self-flagellation and Mozart’s persistent near-hysteria. Director Tama Matheson’s unfussy set and lighting design are at their best when the hanging panels of a Mozart score are beautifully shadowed by Mozart’s own hands as he conducts his work.
In the final scene, the Lacrimosa from Mozart’s Requiem makes its predictable but welcome appearance. The movement, played in full, accompanies the silent action of the final moments, and Mozart’s music is at last treated with some fervour. As the narrative journey concludes, the production does manage to move us. There is both humour and pathos here, and if the characters have not always been completely engaging, at least the energy and commitment of the company are rewarded.
I must confess, I find Shaffer almost unforgivably contemptible for closing a script with the line: “mediocrity is everywhere: I absolve you”... What production could ever stand up to such philosophical meta-censure?
Sunday, August 30, 2009
CIRCUS OZ BARELY CONTAINED
My first plane trip out of Tasmania at the age of 18 was also my first encounter with Sydney and Circus Oz. At that time they didn’t have much of a profile, especially in Tasmania. But amongst the exotic experiences I had on that trip, Circus Oz became one that is inscribed on my memory forever.
Twenty years later on a wintry night in Hobart’s Theatre Royal I am watching the company’s latest show Circus Oz Barely Contained. Sitting beside me is my 10 year old daughter, Lily, already a regular Circus Oz patron. Something that has endured since the company began 30 years ago is the troupe’s ability to engage and entertain audiences of all ages.
While the show is entertaining and relatively fast paced, I find myself waiting for the oohhhh moment. And it finally comes in the form of two trapeze artists climbing and negotiating around each other while balancing on four stacked chairs, with the first positioned on four glass bottles. Intimate, seductive and beautifully lit, this scene demonstrates the magic of Circus Oz. It is not about the biggest and best tricks, but the sweet moments that create the sense of wonderment. Moments created through a simple idea, clever choreography and accomplished musicians.
Stand-out performances included the Strong Woman Mel Fyfe who teamed up with short-statured person Emma J Hawkins to perform a range of tap dancing and acrobatic routines. This partnership provided the light and shade, humour and black comedy that make Circus Oz more than just entertaining. The endurance, strength and skill from all the performers was at times breathtaking.
While the flimsy storyline about a wedding serves as the hook for many routines, it often interrupts the continuity and energy between the audience and performers. It also reminds us that a great show is built on a good script and clear direction. Something this show could have benefited from.
While the obvious delight from younger audience members reminded me of my first Circus Oz experience, I found myself wanting more. After 30 years of performing, the challenge is to not only entice new audiences but satisfy the stalwarts. To do this, they need to be developing fresh innovative work with strong scripts and direction, to keep us coming back for that dose of wit, brilliance and chaos.
Circus Oz Barely Contained performed in Hobart Wednesday 26-29th September as part of a National Tour.
Twenty years later on a wintry night in Hobart’s Theatre Royal I am watching the company’s latest show Circus Oz Barely Contained. Sitting beside me is my 10 year old daughter, Lily, already a regular Circus Oz patron. Something that has endured since the company began 30 years ago is the troupe’s ability to engage and entertain audiences of all ages.
While the show is entertaining and relatively fast paced, I find myself waiting for the oohhhh moment. And it finally comes in the form of two trapeze artists climbing and negotiating around each other while balancing on four stacked chairs, with the first positioned on four glass bottles. Intimate, seductive and beautifully lit, this scene demonstrates the magic of Circus Oz. It is not about the biggest and best tricks, but the sweet moments that create the sense of wonderment. Moments created through a simple idea, clever choreography and accomplished musicians.
Stand-out performances included the Strong Woman Mel Fyfe who teamed up with short-statured person Emma J Hawkins to perform a range of tap dancing and acrobatic routines. This partnership provided the light and shade, humour and black comedy that make Circus Oz more than just entertaining. The endurance, strength and skill from all the performers was at times breathtaking.
While the flimsy storyline about a wedding serves as the hook for many routines, it often interrupts the continuity and energy between the audience and performers. It also reminds us that a great show is built on a good script and clear direction. Something this show could have benefited from.
While the obvious delight from younger audience members reminded me of my first Circus Oz experience, I found myself wanting more. After 30 years of performing, the challenge is to not only entice new audiences but satisfy the stalwarts. To do this, they need to be developing fresh innovative work with strong scripts and direction, to keep us coming back for that dose of wit, brilliance and chaos.
Circus Oz Barely Contained performed in Hobart Wednesday 26-29th September as part of a National Tour.
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