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Welcome to Cultural Binge
The rating system is simple:
★★★★★ – Terrific, world-standard. Don’t miss.
★★★★ – Great, definitely worth seeing.
★★★ – Good. Perfectly entertaining. Recommended. Individual mileage may vary.
★★ – Fine. Flawed and not really recommended, but you may find something to appreciate in it.
★ – Bad (& possibly offensive).
See more reviews over at The Queer Review.
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The Lifespan of a Fact ★★★1/2
Written by Jeremy Kareken and David Murrell and Gordon Farrell. Sydney Theatre Company. 20 September – 22 October, 2022.
A thought-provoking, hilarious script. A beloved Australian actress. Sydney Theatre Company’s Covid-delayed production of Broadway hit, The Lifespan of a Fact, is finally here with the weight of expectation behind it. And it’s good. Really good. But for me, something is missing…
We all have big opinions about the state of journalism, the fog of “alternative facts”, the erosion of public trust etc, and The Lifespan of a Fact tries to get to the core of whether “the truth” and “the facts” are indeed one and the same. The script fizzes with conceptual wordplay shooting out between three instantly recognisable characters. The powerful editor, the stubborn writer, the over-enthusiastic youth.
In telling the story of a suicide, what is more imporant – capturing the essence of the person, or holding fast to the details? Should you ever “let the facts get in the way of a good story”? What is “truth” after all? For writer/essayist John D’Agata the truth is the essence, it is the journey taken to bring the reader to a deeper understanding. For intern/fact-checker Jim Fingal the truth is the cumulative total of verifiable facts. For editor Emily Penrose the truth is the best, most impactful story that passes due diligence – balancing the prose with the poetry for maximum cut-through. Throw in a tight deadline to turn up the screws and you’ve got the set-up for a cerebral farce on journalistic themes. This is completely up my alley.
But something is missing…
Some excellent casting amplifies the drama. Charles Wu’s Jim is fresh-faced and earnest, a believer in what great writing can do. He is pitted against Gareth Davies’ grizzled D’Agata, older, bitter and more worldly. It’s never spoken aloud, but the age gap, the experience gap fuels the duals clashing worldviews. Between them Sigrid Thornton looks utterly tiny on the Rosyln Packer stage, but her presence is all enveloping. As Emily, the matriarch of her magazine who is forced into the role of arbiter in this war, she ducks and weaves and cajoles her team, desperate to reach a deadline that could shower them in accolades – but only if it’s correct.
For a play hitting at some of the big topics of modern times, The Lifespan of a Fact is wonderfully engaging but feels… slight. It’s like watching an episode of The West Wing. Charming and sharp, observant but ultimately a little glib. It’s just not as insightful as it thinks it is. Once you establish character, situation, plot and the stakes there’s only so much room to explore the issues in an entertaining way. And *spoiler alert here for the rest of the sentence* the ending feels like a dramatic cheat.
Elements of the production itself also gnawed at the back of my brain while watching. The set felt haphazard in the space, imprecise. Some of the timing of jokes felt rushed. And what was the point of the musician on stage, adding the occasional solitary, jazzy drone?! (BTW the “point” is explained in the show’s programme – it’s a definite stylistic choice that just didn’t work for me). These are personal niggles, not flaws.
*Spoiler alert again!* So what was missing for me? The play has no point, no opinion. It throws its hands up in the air and says “you decide” to the audience. It’s as if the writers were too scared to reveal their own feelings, or maybe it got lost in the committee (there are three writers credited – Jeremy Kareken, David Murrell and Gordon Farrell). And it’s a shame. The play could have ended with a stirring “fuck yeah” speech by Emily about the importance of truth, the power of facts, of facing the reality of the world and not hiding behind convenient narratives. It could have said something.
Instead, The Lifespan of a Fact entertains us. This isn’t a bad thing at all, it’s a good thing. We need entertainment that tickles our brains as well as our funny-bones. Good theatre entertains, but really great theatre enlightens… and this is really good theatre.
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Photograph 51 ★★★★
Written by Anna Zeigler. Ensemble Theatre. 2 September – 8 October 2022.
This is nice theatre. That’s not a dig by any means. I need nice theatre in my life. Theatre that tickles at your brain and your emotions, filled with language that sings and moments that make you smile, and scoff, and frown. At times everyone is so desperate to make that theatre that will be described as “vital” and “urgent” and ends up being “insufferable” and “boring”, there is a lot to be said for a good play, well presented that tells an interesting story with charm, and Photograph 51 at Ensemble Theatre is exactly that.
At first impressions I wondered if director Anna Ledwich had decided to stage the play in an Aesop store. Designer Emma Vine’s set is filled with warm woods, subtle recessed lighting and tall, calming arches with brown medical bottles. Evoking 1950s design but also guiding our eyes to sciences loftier, almost holy, ambitions. As the play asks, does it matter who was first to make the discovery, or merely that the discovery was made at all?
So this is the world we meet Rosalind Franklin, sorry Dr Rosalind Franklin, a brilliant scientist who receives a place at Kings College to further her research. Franklin is primed for battle in a system dominated by entitled white men. As competing teams of scientists work to discover the structure of DNA, Franklin’s own demeanour and stubborn perfectionism prove to be worse enemies than the people around her. But it is her skill in X-ray crystallography that produces the ground-breaking first image of the double-helix structure – Photograph 51.
Playwright Anna Zeigler’s text is wordy, but I’m a sucker for a talky play about science. Give me Michael Frayn’s Copenhagen or Tom Morton-Smith’s Oppenheimer any day. There is a careful rhythm to the speech that has a beauty and a humour all its own. Told through the memories of the men who outlived Dr Franklin and would win the Nobel prize for the discovery, Zeigler resists the urge to frame it as merely a fight against patriarchy. The various other scientists, Maurice Wilkins, Francis Crick and James Watson are filled with a combination of guilt, pride, regret and resignation to the way history plays out and how Dr Franklin’s role was dismissed for so long. But the play posits the question – was the real problem the fact she was overlooked as a woman? Or was it that her rigorous perfectionism robbed her of the imagination to see the breakthrough right in front of her?
Amber McMahon gives Rosalind Franklin a real spark. She’s spikey and gruff, but filled with a playful charm that draws the humour of our Zeigler’s script. In a way the play isn’t actually about Franklin, it’s about the men who orbit around and eventually tell her story, and as such McMahon is often the foundation for the other more eye-catching roles, and the ensemble is pitch perfect here. The two real standouts for me were Garth Holcombe’s Maurice Wilkins, Franklin’s scientific partner, the walking embodiment of Kings College’s establishment ways and Toby Blome’s ambitious and youthful James Watson, who would push the ethical boundaries to be first.
Holcombe makes Wilkins both the butt of every joke and a sympathetic, high minded, individual. He plays the layers of emotion behind the awkward Britishness with an assured hand. I was lucky enough to be seated near the front and could see every flicker cross his face. Meanwhile Blome’s Watson is an explosion of hair and avarice. The intensity and physicality of his ambition is one of the things that stops Photograph 51 from drowning under its own weight.
Photograph 51 isn’t challenging or particularly insightful or speaking volumes to our current age so don’t come looking for that. It is quite simply a really good night at the theatre. A strong script, elegantly staged by craftspeople doing their jobs flawlessly, all in around 90 minutes. And that is frankly the refreshing piece of theatre I needed to see right now.
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A Raisin in the Sun ★★★★1/2
Written by Lorraine Hansberry. Sydney Theatre Company. 27 August – 15 October 2022.
As the lights came up at the end of Sydney Theatre Company’s production of A Raisin in the Sun I was angry. My reaction to the Younger family was at odds with the play’s intentions. Pack of proud fools! I was mad at them. I was mad at the world around them. I was mad at a lot of things. But I wasn’t mad at this production – this production is heaven-sent!
Can we take a quick digression? How on earth can it be true that this is the mainstage Australian premiere of a play that has been an instant classic since it was first staged in 1959? Even if you thought US race relations in the 50s wouldn’t translate to Australia (and you would be very wrong about that), the sheer beauty and strength of the text should be enough to get it onto the stage. Lorraine Hansberry is the actual definition of “young, gifted and black” and this play is a modern masterpiece.
The quartet of the core Younger family members are dynamic together. A collision of pride and aspiration with the pain of life. The impending arrival of a life insurance check for $10,000 gives them a way out of their rut, but it’s not enough for everyone to get what they want. Matriarch Lena (Gayle Samuels), the recipient, has to juggle the wants and needs of her children, and their children. Her son, Walter (Bert Labonté), wants to quit his job as a chauffeur and go into business with his friends – to reclaim his manhood and stop being someone’s servant. Her daughter Beneatha (Angela Mahlatjie) is studying medicine, the first in the family to go to college, and the money will pay for her education. Walter’s wife, Ruth (Zahra Newman), just wants to get the hell out of this place, the weight of her depression is killing her.
These are four, fantastic performances. Newman’s Ruth is simultaneously an open wound in a tightly clenched fist. Labonté’s Walter, a proud man brought low, desperate for respect. Mahlatjie’s Beneatha is both youthfully ignorant (perhaps even entitled) and a deep thinker. Samuel’s Lena is a rock refusing to crack under the intense weight of life. They are electric.
Director Wesley Enoch plays things pretty straight, which is fitting for the text and its premiere status. The text is the star here and it is delivered without distractions. Hansberry’s characters are instantly vivid, layered and honest; they need no more embellishments. We get to live in the Younger family’s small apartment, stare out the grubby window into the air shaft, watch it transform through the day as the family live their lives. Enoch has also chosen to retain the character of Mrs Johnson, the Younger’s nosey neighbour (often cut for time – the play is almost three hours long) and she is an injection of humour, drama and fresh energy within the claustrophobic surroundings.
So why was I angry? I wanted to slap Walter for his stupidity again and again. It’s here this 1950s play resonates with the 2020s. A weak, broken man is given more and more chances to ruin things. Had I been on that stage I would have thrown Walter out of the house, not given him more authority. A stupid patriachal family struture with an idiotically vain man in a position of power – this is the downfall of the civilisation we live in, writ large on the stage as a story of hope and dignity. I struggle to sympathise with him and I felt his constant betrayals of Ruth too keenly. The narrative of him “finding his pride” left me hollow.
The play’s ending, as ever, is a bittersweet blend of hope in the face of adversity. Have the Younger’s made a wise decision? Probably not. Have they made a bold decision? Definitely. Maybe the point is that they are finally in a position to make any decision at all. They have agency. Their destiny is in their own hands now, and it will be hard sailing ahead.
Go see A Raisin in the Sun. It’s as simple as that. This is a worthy classic, produced and performed beautifully. To miss it would be folly.
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Whitefella Yella Tree ★★★★
Written by Dylan Van Den Berg. Griffin Theatre, Sydney. World Premiere. 19 August – 23 September 2022.
Whitefella Yella Tree is great work all round; a uniquely Australian story told by a largely indigenious cast and crew. I wanted it to be both longer and more expansive; and smaller and more intimate at the same time.
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How To Defend Yourself ★★★★★
Written by Liliana Padilla. An Outhouse Theatre Co & Red Line Productions Production. The Old Fitz Theatre, Sydney. Australian Premiere. 11 August – 3 September 2022.
In the immediate aftermath of a violent rape on campus, a group of college students meet up to take a self-defense course. As they learn to use their bodies as weapons, they dissect the complexities and counter-intuitive impulses involved in desire, consent, repression, expectation and how young people are ill prepared to navigate these waters.
How To Defend Yourself is the third Outhouse Theatre Co production I’ve seen in Sydney this year (after Heroes of the Fourth Turning and American Ulster both at the Seymour Centre) and so far they have a hit rate higher than other company in town in my opinion. All three houses have been uncontested five star works – great texts, great performances and great productions.
Liliana Padella’s script is sharp, moving effortlessly from humour to emotional horror, giving us characters to laugh at who slowly deepen as the play progresses. Everyone is hiding their own trauma and dealing with it in different, often confronting, ways. It expertly underplays moments and lets the actors fill the space with subtext. Subtext! The thing that’s been lacking from so many other productions I’ve seen this year!
Each character is a delicious mix of motivations that constantly criss-cross the other characters in exciting ways – sometime producing comedy gold, other times awkward tension and flirtacious fun. Between the core group of five women Padella explores sex, sexual desire and consent from a variety of angles and doesn’t shy away from confronting questions. How can you give consent when you can’t even admit to your true desires? Who gets to decide if something is a kink or a symptom of trauma? How can you speak the truth when you’re trying to lie to yourself?
In a uniformly excellent ensemble, two performers stood out. Brittany Santariga holds the emotional center of the play as Brandi, the blonde, perky, sorority sister who’s taken it upon herself to teach the others the self-defense techniques she’s learnt. Santariga slowly unpeals Brandi like an emotional onion, layer after layer is pulled away in a performace that feels 100% natural and lived in.
Meanwhile Jessica Paterson’s meek Nikki goes on a different journey, initially baulking from her own power to being rendered powerless once again – with all the emotional aftermath that entails. In what could easily have been an overly ‘showy’ and over-acted role, Paterson measures out the moments expertly delivering a heartbreaking gut punch in the closing moments.
Honourable mention goes out to the two male performers who walk the tightrope between being comedic foils and deliver real pathos, Michael Cameron as the handsome, charmer Andy, and Saro Lepejian as Eggo, a well meaning young man trying to figure out where the boundaries lay.
The credit for creating this well balanced production has to reside with director Claudia Barrie. There is an honesty to these women’s experiences that is presented without judgement – each character has their own flaws and past experiences that inform their decisions, none come off as stereotypes. Simple, crisp staging keeps the attention firmly on the drama. Even when multiple conversations are overlapping, the moments are clear and natural – it was like watching verbal choreography, their timing was so effortlessly intricate.
The play’s ending takes a more surreal turn which is a definite bold swing. It comes dangerously close to losing the plot, but the message about youth, innocence and the way our children become adults too quickly is the cherry on top of this sundae.
How To Defend Yourself is exactly what I want from theatre; bold, intelligent, engaging, and presented powerfully. When so many of the big main-stage productions in town have fallen short of late, once again the fringe comes to the rescue. Unreservedly recommended.
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The One ★★★1/2
Written by Vanessa Bates. Ensemble Theatre, Sydney. World Premiere. 22 July – 27 August 2022.
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The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde ★★★★★
Adapted by Kip Williams. Based on the novel by Robert Louis Stevenson. World Premiere. Sydney Theatre Company. 8 August – 10 September.
This is another example of fascinatingly immersive, multi-disciplined theatre that feels easily accessible to all. I’d love to see Kip Williams’ create one more show like this to cap off a theatrical trilogy and then move onto fresher works, but for now let this be his version of Baz Luhrmann’s Red Curtain Trilogy – a series of independent works, unified by an outlook and stylistic vision. This is career-making work and not to be missed.
Read the full review on The Queer Review.
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Jekyll & Hyde ★★★
Book & Lyrics by Leslie Bricusse, Music by Frank Wildhorn. Hayes Theatre Sydney. 29 July – 27 August 2022.
The Hayes Theatre’s revisionist version of Leslie Bricusse and Frank Wildhorn’s 1990 musical Jekyll & Hyde is a whole lot to take in. Bold, inventive and wildly uneven. There’s a lot to love and a lot to roll your eyes at, but boring it ain’t. In the end it’s undone by its own lack of chemistry which is, you know, ironic.
Director Hayden Tee has imposed a new vision over a frankly overblown, mediocre musical. The original show itself takes liberties with the source material to try and squeeze it into the mould of “a 90s musical” – inserting romantic subplots that distract from, rather than enhance, the themes of Robert Louis Stevenson’ gothic novel. This isn’t The Phantom of the Opera, no matter how hard they try to force it to be. So it’s ripe for reinvention.
Tee transplants the action to St Jude’s Military Asylum with the inmates taking on the roles of the story, all presumably happening in the mind of John Utterson (a gender swapped role played excellently by Madeleine Jones). As in the novel, Utterson is worried about her best friend, Dr Jekyll (played by indie pop/cabaret star Brendan Maclean), a scientist desperately searching for a way to separate the evil desires from the human psyche. She tries to hold him together as he faces his impending wedding to his fiance Emma (Georgina Hopson, recently seen in Phantom of the Opera) and the withdrawal of his research funding. In a desperate act, he experiments on himself – giving birth to his ID unleashed, Mr Hyde.
Maclean’s Jekyll and Hyde are frustrating beasts. With little delineation between the two it’s hard to grasp the duality of the story. Jekyll is obsessed, stressed and a mess, Hyde is the same with a lack of impulse control. The costuming decision to dress Hyde in a surgeon’s cap and gown seems backwards – surely Jekyll should be the one in a doctor’s garb? Maclean gives the performance 110% and has the vocals to bring it home, but the characterisation is a bit of a misstep. Jekyll is hard to care about so it’s hard to give a damn about his story and the romance plot feels completely forced.
The show is stolen by transgendered performer, Brady Peeti who takes on the role of “hooker with a heart of gold”, Lucy. This is Hayden Tee’s best decision, Peeti’s physicality and voice reinvent Lucy from cardboard romantic foil to the most sympathetic and powerful character in the show. A triumph of casting and vision.
Now the reality is if you’re coming to see Jekyll & Hyde you’re coming for the music, and the show is stuffed full with some excellent torch songs and in the hands of this cast they sound immaculate. Every member of the cast knows how to wring a tune for every ounce of emotion. This whole production sounds amazing. Annoyingly the acting is a real mixed bag. Some cast balance the camp (and the show is outrageously camp) with some kind of grounding, others are simply mugging to the back row, and in the small Hayes Theatre the back row isn’t that far away at all. Madeleine Jones stands out for really getting that balance right.
This production Jekyll & Hyde is a big, frenetic musical theatre experiment which is at least fitting for the core material but much like Dr Jekyll’s alchemy it has tipped over to the dark side the results can be monstrous. Come for the big tunes sung by big voices, and let the rest wash over you. It’s a hot mess, but I’d rather watch a show that shoots for the stars and burns up in orbit, than a boring one that plays it far too safe.
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Albion ★★★★
Written by Mike Barlett. A Secret House, New Ghosts Theatre Company Production. Seymour Centre, Sydney. Australian Premiere. 27 July – 20 August 2022.
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