Brothers

★★★★1/2

Adelaide Fringe. The Studio at The Bakehouse Theatre. 14 Mar 2022

Brothers is exceptionally fine theatre: an engaging well-written script about characters we care about deeply; skilled acting; sharp direction; and sympathetic production elements.

The action focusses on two brothers – Matt and Jay – who became estranged ten years ago as a consequence of tragic events playing out in their dysfunctional family. Matt, played by Daniel O’Kane, is battling cancer, and his prognosis appears grim. Jay, played by Liam O’Kane – and yes, he is Daniel’s real-life brother! – is a recovering drug addict who returns from living overseas to visit Matt, and to re-establish their fractured relationship. Initially, there seems to be little chance of reconciliation.

The narrative quickly and convincingly covers a lot of territory in just sixty minutes. It achieves this by dividing the text up into brief scenes and then playing them out of sequence to create flashbacks and rationales without having to burden the action with excessive detail. The cast move seamlessly from one scene to the other and the audience is never in any doubt about what is happening in the timeline. Director Peter Newling skilfully moves the cast around the limited space of the Studio’s stage and creates the illusion of it being much bigger than it is.

Daniel and Liam O’Kane stylishly traverse a wide range of emotions as they expose the fears and regrets of Matt and Jay. There is seething hatred, and then very quickly as they move back in time to happier days, there is genuine brotherly love, knock-about affection, and everything in between. Nothing is forced in their stagecraft – it is satisfyingly natural.

In true Fringe style, the setting is simple, but it is much more than ‘make do’. The few furniture items are well chosen, complete with a medical intravenous infusion pump, and there is a fetching painted backdrop in the form of a graffiti wall that includes key phrases from the play. The backdrop serves as a prompt to the audience to recall where we have just come from, and perhaps where we are heading, but it never gives anything away. The costuming is sensitive to the nature and situations of the two brothers and the lighting adds hints of detail without becoming trite or an unnecessary distraction.

This is a classy show.

Kym Clayton

When: 14 to 19 Mar

Where: The Studio at The Bakehouse Theatre

Bookings: adelaidefringe.com.au

Bangarra Dance Theatre

Adelaide Festival. Wudjang: Not the Past. 15 Mar 2022

As has become accepted practice, the show began with a Welcome to Country. Karl Telfer added to the traditional Kaurna Welcome on this night, sharing his sadness by reading a poem on the six month anniversary of his mother’s passing. With the mother (Wudjang) as the central theme of this production, it was especially poignant.

Set Designer Jacob Nash’ stage design features a large rock platform with a confronting, turning, serrated metal wheel that fills the centre stage, immediately referencing the plundering of the land by industrial machinery. In the digging for a dam, shrouded bones are revealed and the story of Wudjang unfolds.

This final production of Stephen Page’s for Bangarra Dance Theatre was developed in association with the Sydney Theatre Company, and the weaving of music, dance and theatre makes for a riveting production. Almost operatic in tone and style, the production is anchored by the compelling musical compositions of Steve Francis, performed by musicians Brendon Boney, Amaru Derwent, Tessa Nuku, and Véronique Serret. The latter plays a searing violin, and doesn’t remain confined to her corner of the stage, often moving in and out of the action with her jarring, haunting staccato augmentation.

Kirk Page plays Bilin, the Yugambeh man working at the dam site in Yugambeh country, who claims the bones of Wudjang (Elma Kris). The harmonious blending of English and Mibinyah language (as written by Stephen Page and dramaturg Alana Valentine) signals the passionate and sorrowful musical narrative that is to come as the Yugambeh work to restore Wudjang to her ancestral home.

“While the land is here, we are” they sing, a haunting refrain that wakens Wudjang and her young companion spirit Gurai (Lillian Banks). Maren/Yugambeh Shearer (Elaine Crombie), Duggai/Wheeler (Justin Smith) and Nanahng (Jess Hitchcock) bring their powerful voices to the fore as primary vocalists, while the 17 dancers move in the distinctive Bangarra choreography.

Nanahng is not convinced of the need to learn from Wudjang; the arrogance of youth has her questioning what an ancestor can bring to her life in the present. Wudjang wants her to understand that she is of the past, the present and the future – there is a dreaming reference to the world of the ancestors before we are plunged into a rude and confronting reminder of the country’s colonial history; murder, massacres, slavery, rape. This is not gentle and definitely not polite. In the dance of death, horrific screams of women rent the air as their children, their brothers, their fathers are murdered by the invaders – the settlers, the graziers, the soldiers of the ‘frontier wars’. Elaine Crombie sings despairingly on the rape of women, and the birth of the mixed race babies. Nick Schlieper’s lighting is what we have come to expect of him; evocative, sharp, expressive, giving each scene its own dramatic envelope.

The final scene is a fusion of traditional dance, modern choreography, musical theatre and First Nations storytelling. As Wudjang is sung to her final resting place, it is understood that ‘always was, always will be’ is more than words; it is the acceptance that the past informs the present, and the future. A reprise of “While the land is here, we are” beautifully bookends the production.

This is a beautifully staged work, and is almost a genre of its own. There are moments where it tries to tell too much at once and becomes a bit muddled, but it pulls free and continues on its heart-rending way. Page’s choreography is superb, and the singers more than complement the accomplished score.

The depiction of 60,000 years of First Nations people is a perfect swan song for the remarkable Stephen Page.

Arna Eyers-White

When: 15 to 18 Mar

Where: Festival Theatre

Bookings: adelaidefestival.com.au

Unperturbed

★★★★

Adelaide Fringe. Bakehouse Theatre. 15 Mar 2022

Unperturbed is a well-executed dramedy (more comedy than drama) about coming to terms with loss, grief, and family idiosyncrasies. It is as touching as it is funny, and therein lies its strength. Written by Jack Kearney, who has a number of international credits to his name, Unperturbed is a fine example of a character driven narrative to which the audience can easily relate, and importantly, find a little of themselves (or those closest to them) in every individual on stage.

Cathy (played by Kaylie Chieco), Conor (Michael Cameron), Will (Max Danta) and Siobhán (Amy Bloink) are siblings and it’s the morning of their mother’s funeral. Dad is not yet home from the car mechanic, and it is getting close to when they should be leaving for the funeral service. Anxiety levels are rising, as you would expect, and they reach fever point when a neighbour delivers condolences to the front door in the form of lasagne, but the friendly gesture goes down like a lead balloon. It’s the umpteenth time ‘care packages’ have been delivered to the house by well-meaning neighbours, and the freezer is full. Conor, the older brother, thinks he's in charge, but Cathy, the oldest sibling, knows she is. They both struggle with precocious Siobhán who is fifteen going on fifty, and everyone just doesn’t know how to deal with Will who is clearly ‘on the spectrum’.

Their discussions cover all manner of topics, and the writing is affecting, funny, and tight. Each sibling touchingly talks to their mother as they seek guidance, answers, and consolations. The cast is uniformly strong, and credible characters are quickly established. Jack Kearney’s dialogue by itself largely achieves this, but John Kearney’s (relation?) lean direction greatly facilitates, as do the acting smarts of the cast. A lot of the delivery is from the front of the stage directly to the audience and not to the other characters on stage. This directorial decision can be risky, but it works in this instance and has the effect of underlining the tensions and differences that exist between the siblings.

The setting is simple with the stage being divided into two playing areas – the lounge room, and the back garden – which are independently and empathetically lit as needed. Indeed, the lighting plot is a valuable asset to the production. Director Kearney capably moves the actors around and between each playing area, and continuity is seamless.

This is a feel-good play and although it is about a family in mourning immediately before a funeral of a parent, it is a delight on a range of levels.

Kym Clayton

When: 15 to 19 Mar
Where: Bakehouse Theatre

Bookings: adelaidefringe.com.au

The Picture of Dorian Gray

Adelaide Festival. Sydney Theatre Company. 14 Mar 2022

The empty stage, bar for a couple of camera tripods, the exposed stage flies… there is no indication of what is to come, and that is for the best. The scene by scene reveal of this production is to be tasted, savoured, swallowed and digested slowly as one of the great theatrical experiences.

Director Kip Williams has adapted Oscar Wide’s enduring novel for this two hour stage production, giving dialogue to the 26 odd characters – all of them played by Eryn Jean Norvill. The sheer range of the character portrayals undertaken by Norvill is staggering. There are no hurried changes behind screens here; the few changes that she makes onstage are in full view assisted by precise and unobtrusive dressers. But here is where the millennia old theatre crashes headlong into technology, producing the most remarkable result.

Williams has been working with live stage and video integration in previous productions but he has reached his apotheosis here. Norvill appears onstage as painter Basil Hallward, in conversation with Lord Henry Wotton. She is surrounded by hand held camera operators, projecting onto a huge screen. Changes of vocal timbre and astute switches of camera angle delineate the two characters. Suddenly, with a quick wig change, she is Dorian Gray, more screens appear, and she is everywhere: she is the narrator, the lord, the duchess. She is the seven guests at table at the lunch party; the desired actress playing Juliet in a marionette show; the wizened housekeeper Mrs Leaf.

The highly skilled camera operators make for seamless transitions from stage to screen, and for the most part, simultaneous live and recorded performances. Norvill stands on stage interacting with her video characters, and perfectly emulates her counterpart’s physical movements on screen. Video designer David Bergman has his team of operators perfectly positioned for maximum efficacy as Norvill changes character, with Nick Schlieper’s lighting design playing brilliant double duty to both stage and screen.

The mobile phone selfies, enhanced with Snapchat/Instagram filters, insert themselves into Victorian England as though they ever were, and the anachronisms are further muddied with Clemence William’s at times dramatic musical score (the clangourous dramatic chords as Dorian, then Basil, stare horrified at the ruined features of his portrait) is lightened by Donna Summer’s I Feel Love during his visit to the opium den.

The technical feats are never in danger of overshadowing the stagecraft: Norvill and Williams do not allow this. The focus constantly returns to the live stage actor, and this is never more so than in the forest scene, where a tragic Gray, being chased by the vengeful James Vane, tries to understand and articulate his fate.

Eryn Jean Norvill is a force to be reckoned with. The flick of an eyebrow can be everything. The turn of a head is a new character, a slight vocal inflection the difference between he/him and she/her. One can only guess at the gruelling nature of the rehearsals for this work; creating the 26 characters, perfecting the razor sharp interactive timing, hitting the camera marks for her filmed pieces, yet still constantly communicating with the audience with her onstage characters. For light relief (and there are a few such moments) she as Narrator argues with herself as Dorian about who will continue to tell the story; such moments were a temporary reprieve for an audience who seemed to hold its collective breath throughout much of this two hours. Such silence!

By performance end we were exhausted, and superbly sated. Our senses had been filled and stilled as we understood we had been in the presence of something magnificent. A performance with which to measure others to come, to memorialise, to reflect upon. The standing ovation was the least we could give her.

Arna Eyers-White

When: Until 20 March

Where: Her Majesty’s Theatre

Bookings: adelaidefestival.com.au