Review: The Histrionic

The Histrionic
Malthouse Theatre and Sydney Theatre Company
15 April
Merlyn Theatre
to 5 May
malthouse.com.au

Until I hit Google, I didn't  know about Austrian writer Thomas Bernhard. A quote from the New York Times that his works are "the most significant literary achievement since World War II" crops up a lot. As an over-educated reader, I guess I should know him, but The Histrionic hasn't encouraged me to seek out more Bernhard.

In 1982 Bernhard had a super-hissy when a Saltzburg Festival theatre wouldn't turn off emergency EXIT signs and he cancelled the season because "A society that can't deal with two minutes of darkness can do without my play". He then went all meta and returned to the same theatre with a dark comedy about a living-treasure genius artist performing his greatest work in a town that's more interested in its pigs and sausages – complete with ironic rants about EXIT signs.

I love little more than art and writing, but I care little for self-important art and writers. Even with its satirical guise, The Histrionic is still so close to reality that I didn't care.

Billie Brown joyfully embodies Bruscon, the self-obsessed genius who has to perform even if his cast/ family and audiences don't live up to his standards. In a career-highlight performance, the work is mostly a one-sided conversation with Bruscon and for all its insight and genuine wit, I didn't care if he succeeded, failed or was eaten by the pigs.

I didn't care about the writer or his art because there's nothing he's saying that we don't know.  I know people like Bruscon and his cast and, even with their lost souls and broken hearts, I'm happy to light the way out and live without him.

But what makes this production so intriguing and enjoyable is that director Daniel Schlusser and his wonderful cast make us care for everyone else on the stage. The good-hearted landlord (Barry Otto), his wife (Kelly Butler) and daughter (Katherine Tobkin) and Bruscon's wife (Jennifer Vuletic) and children (Josh Price and Edwina Wren), say little, but great theatre and irresistible performance isn't really about getting the most lines.

As Bruscon pontificates, they accept and suffer in a marvellous backstage void filled with saw dust and old props that have been left to decay (designed by Marg Horwell and lit by Paul Jackson). With the likes of huge fruit and veg, a giant hand and massive moose, you can't not laugh at and love the artifice of theatre – and there's the bonus game of "what show is that prop from" (hooray for another appearance of the bi-polar bear).

Schlusser's voice is by far the more interesting one in The Histrionic and he balances the line between self-indulgence and art so deftly that even the likes of Bruscon are forgiven, if not loved.

This review appeared on AussieTheatre.com

Review: The Dollhouse

MELBOURNE FRINGE 2011
The Dollhouse
fortyfivedownstairs and Daniel Schlusser
16 September 2011
fortyfivedownstairs
to 25 September

It might be best to get to the fortyfivedownstairs for The Dollshouse before the madness of the Fringe begins. Just don’t regret missing it. Don't worry if you like or despise Ibsen, because this remarkable adaption will leave you with a new perspective. It's overtly theatrical, but feels like overhearing your neighbours fighting and you can't tear yourself away from the delicious uncomfortable intimacy.

It doesn't take long for Ibsen and nineteenth-century naturalism to turn up in any drama or theatre studies class. And it takes less time to realise that naturalistic dialogue and situations are far from naturalistic. As all scriptwriters learn, the art is in making the terribly contrived sound real and, even in translation, Henrik Ibsen is a fine starting point.

The opening of Daniel Schlusser's adaptation doesn't start with Ibsen. Nora (Nikki Sheils) is in a black slip, Torvald (Kade Greenland) is on his games chair with a big TV, Dr Rank (Josh Price) and Kristine (Edwina Wren) are talking about massage and Nils (Schlusser) has a microphone and is looking at vodka. Described by Schlusser as "hyper realism", their conversations are far from the known text ("Torvold have you seen my phone?") and feel improvised, but there's far too much order and design, and the heightened theatricality of the extended stage of cold beaten metal and the interaction with the audience and crew only adds to the sense of inclusion.

Schlusser has re-written Ibsen's story as its subtext. For all its deceit and lack of communication, when these people speak, they say what they mean. This is so unnatural, but the effect is so real. Perhaps it because we don't have to interpret the falseness, so are able to understand and feel for everyone on the stage. Or maybe because there is so much awkward humour in the tension and unraveling horrors. It’s more natural to try to laugh when things are bad than to make a serious speech.

This is the first time I've seen an Ibsen and totally got it. It must be as close to understanding what the1879 audiences felt like when they witnessed such a new style of writing and performance, and I'm betting that Henrik himself is gazing down and high-fiving Chekov at the use of Chewy costume.

And having a can't-see-the-acting cast doesn't hurt. All are so comfortable on the stage that even with the excessive fairy lights and tissues from Ben the sound operator, it's wrong to think that they are performing, as they are simply what Ibsen must have thought of. Sheils especially shows a Nora who struggles, without making us pity her or hate her. (And if you saw Nikki in Don Parties On, please see this so you know it was the play and not the actor.)

The ending may surprise. In 1880 Germans producers insisted on a new ending and Ibsen wrote the alternative saying, "I prefer, having learned from previous experience, to commit such violence myself, rather than surrender my works to treatment and adaptation by less careful and less skilful hands than my own."

If all adaptations were as skillful as this one, great writers would never have to worry.

This review originally appeared on AussieTheatre.com.

Photo by Marg Horwell