Medea

By Kate Mulvany 

Belvoir St Downstairs Theatre

"We're just...specks. Specks of specks" 
                                                  - Leon

Kate Mulvany and Anne-Louise Sarks’ reimagining of Medea delivers the ancient tale of a conflicted and despairing mother with eloquence and power. Loosely based on the Greek myth of the scorned and vengeful Medea, the co-writers have created an original and contemporary take on Euripides’ play. Leon (Joseph Kelly) and Jasper (Rory Potter) replace Medea’s original sons, Mermeros and Pheres, bringing a rare freshness and playful innocence to this tragic story.

Baring little literal resemblance to the original play, Jason (Medea’s cheating lover), has become an off-stage presence, merely acting as catalyst for the frantic, and ultimately murderous, Medea (Blazey Best) who is obviously a force to be reckoned with. This undeniably successful appropriation focuses less on Medea’s betrayal by Jason, and more on the profound, but ultimately devastating, love of a mother for her children. The heart-rending and tortured contradiction is that, despite Medea’s palpable love for her children, she is so consumed with grief and rage, that she is willing to sacrifice them in the name of vengeance. Most of us know the story…hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Medea, once burnt, wreaks horrendous havoc. Indeed it is our awareness of this inevitably tragic ending that generates the remarkably moving tension of this grim tale.

Produced in association with Australian Theatre for Young People (ATYP) Medea is a terrifying journey from playful childhood naivety to gut wrenching betrayal. Sarks has drawn the best from 13-year-old Kelly and 11-year-old Potter: they evoke a truthfulness and complexity of character far beyond their years. ATYP aims to close the gap between young people and professional theatre and, in this production, the young people give the professionals a run for their money. The two young actors are what make this production so completely enthralling, managing to overshadow even talented veteran Best. It would be a challenge to find a more pure and honest portrayal of the relationship and kinship between two brothers: Kelly and Potter interact with such joyous mischievousness. The three actors share an intimacy, cohesion and rhythm rare in any ensemble and this astonishing dynamic is at the core of this production’s success.

Mel Page’s set too transports us into a world of happy naivety, echoing the brightness of childhood. Two single beds occupy the boys’ bedroom. Toys cover the floor, scattered across the room in a whirlwind of confusion. But this illusion of boyish abandon is pierced by discrete macabre imagery: dolls pierced by arrows and the ominously locked door transform the childhood playground into a prison. Gradually the ‘sleeping’ bodies of the two boys (which we are forced to step over to reach our seats) morph from slumbering siblings into ‘victims’ in a terrible crime scene.

Jasper’s initial stirring brings the scene to life and the first insight into the beautiful innocence of these two brothers occurs when the younger boy attempts to wake his still limp, and alarmingly lifeless, brother. Jasper begins by carefully dropping Leon’s arm onto the floor, then using his brother’s own floppy finger to pick his nose in order to feed it to him. Finally, he resorts to threatening to fart in his big brother’s face. These adorable, affectionate gestures are familiar and very, very funny. Sadly, it soon becomes evident that these two ingénues have, in fact, been incarcerated by their mother as yet another feud between their parent’s rages on the other side of their ‘prison’ door. Their simple, sincere, candor makes the impending horror of the ‘adults on the other side’ so much more powerful.

The action unfolds as a series of games between the brothers. Their bedroom becomes a backdrop for gory battles, confessions of love and brotherly competition. As is typical of children, they can’t help but get bored and their attempts to listen to the raging battle on the other side of the door are distressingly gripping.

The boys’ escapades are occasionally punctuated by Medea, who enters in a rising state of distress and anxiety, leaving the boys confused and lonely. The dynamic between Leon and his younger sibling is both poignant and troubling. Leon seems to be all too cognizant of the goings on between their parents and his attempts to sidetrack Jasper highlight both his strength as a brother and indeed his profound insight into reality. As Jasper chatters away, Leon remains taciturn and composed. Sarks has entrusted her young actors with the task of revealing the often-underestimated wisdom and clear-sightedness of youth. Her trust is very well placed and startling in its simplicity.

This disarmingly honest and restrained approach informs all elements of the production. There is a cohesion of performance, design and directorial vision that compliment each other with humble but undeniably powerful decisions. Benjamin Cisterne’s modest lighting supports the pure and honest acting onstage. At the flick of a switch Leon plunges their room into darkness and we gaze nostalgically, with the boys, at the ‘glow in the dark galaxy’ on the ceiling. In the end, the poignancy of this story is as ancient and universal as stargazing and its resonance is just as slow to fade.

The Details: Medea plays until November 25th 
Ticket Prices: From $32
Bookings: www.belvoir.com/whats-on/ 

Sex with Strangers

By Laura Eason

Sydney Theatre Company Wharf 1 

"The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them" 
                                                                     - Ernest Hemingway

The gaggle of blue-rinse-brigade members seated around me at The Wharf Theatre seems rather incongruous given the provocative title of Laura Esson’s new play. Steppenwolf’s production of Sex with Strangers received mixed reviews when it premiered in Chicago in 2009. Thankfully, despite being seated beside a biddy with an undying passion for unbearably loud lolly wrappers, the play, directed by Jocelyn Moorhouse, provides indulgent escapism from start to finish. Actors Jacqueline McKenzie and Ryan Corr are a match made in heaven. The attractive couple exudes chemistry, creating an almost tangible sexual tension that drives the play’s narrative. While this play is a lot of fun, its meaning does not resonate far beyond the confines of the theatre as it attempts to expose a conflict between our on-line and real-life worlds that is no longer as controversial as it once was.

McKenzie plays reclusive, would-be author, Olivia, whose writing retreat is interrupted by the appearance of an uninvited guest. As the play begins, her cosy cabin, a sanctuary from the raging blizzard outside, is invaded by the sweeping headlight beams of Matthew Marshall’s beautifully crafted lighting design. As Olivia ducks behind a couch to hide, the dazzling beams, shining through the shadowy forest, herald the arrival of cocky playboy Ethan (Corr) who, along with a swirl of snowflakes, brings havoc – and heat – to the stage.

Corr’s entrance marks the start of a series of vigorous displays of youthful enthusiasm and passion, which immediately capture the audience and intoxicate Olivia. Corr’s ability to possess the stage, and indeed McKenzie, becomes the basis for the inherent conflict between the two characters, as Olivia struggles to resist a powerful charisma that has already seduced the audience. Ethan epitomizes youthful virility and his irrepressible energy works wonders for Olivia’s anxious and reserved character. Separately the two characters are quite interesting, but combined they sizzle and pop in fiery fury.

Marshall’s design vision extends to the clever use of digital projection to create the transitory illusion of sparse and leafless trees, which build the implied isolation of the cabin in Act One. The innovative and witty use of significant literary quotes during scene transitions is a droll and charming device. As Olivia and Ethan bound up the stairs to the off-stage bedroom (at first tentatively and later with rising gusto), the scene transitions are accompanied by floating words that drift-digitally across the set and scatter so aptly like falling leaves. The audience nods in agreement as though ‘in the know’, collectively indulging in a kind of shared smugness as these quotes theoretically reinforce the meaning of each scene. Our self-satisfaction almost mirrors the egotism of Ethan. As the crowd chuckles audibly at the words of Robert Balano, “I don’t consider them one night stands, they’re auditions for love”, Ethan’s career as a professional Lothario is both highlighted and made light of in a single neon quote. We are momentarily left feeling vaguely unsettled by this seeming justification of Ethan’s immoral behavior. However, this feeling of unease is forgotten as quickly as the quotes scatter and dash across the stage: the audience has become as desensitized to such casualization of sex as Ethan is.

As the second act begins, time has passed and Tracy Grant Lord’s love-shack set slides seamlessly into an ultra-modern, minimalist, city, loft, where the two love birds are now ‘shacked up’ and the generation gap, evident in their embryonic relationship, is beginning to widen. McKenzie’s transformation from uptight, aging, ingénue to sexually liberated, author du jour is highlighted by Lord’s costume design as Olivia’s frumpy jumpers and peasant skirts are quite literally ‘stripped’ away by the charming Ethan and replaced by stilettoes and a sleek silhouette.

The play begins to really explore the blurred line between our invented selves – online and off - and what happens when these identities intersect and our private lives becomes public domain. Ethan’s relaxed attitude to blogging and on-line intimacy, paired with his insistent (at times pushy) faith in Olivia’s talents as an author, lead to an inevitable divide as the two realise the truth of their differences in the real world.

Regrettably, the battle between Olivia and Ethan, as he attempts to convince her that her book will be just as successful and just as much of an accomplishment online, is hardly eye opening to today’s audience. The virtual universe is already a normal part of our lives. In attempting to be current, controversial and provocative, Sex With Strangers has unfortunately arrived a little too late: even the little ol’ lolly lover beside me seems in the know, as she audibly and unabashedly volunteers “Fred!” as a pseudonym for Olivia’s cyber identity. Despite these shortcomings, Sex with Strangers still makes for an extremely entertaining night out and we can’t help but indulge in the guilty, and oh so human, pleasures of the voyeur.   

The Details: Sex with Stangers plays until November 24th 
Ticket Prices: From $35
Bookings: www.sydneytheatrecompany.com.au/what's-on