Hand to God Alexander Vass and Vass Production
24 February 2018
The Alex Theatre
to 18 March alextheatrestk.com.au
Hand To God. Morgana O'Reilly & Gyton Grantley. Photo by Angelo Leggas
Hand to God was nominated for a pile of Tony Awards in 2015, including Best Play (which was won by The Curious Incident of the Dog in The Night-time; which has just finished at MTC). Set in conservative, religious, small-town Texas, its success depends on a balance between its story of personal trauma and God-fearing repression, and the freedom of its God-damning, adults-only language and puppet-fucking irreverence. Yes, it's another Broadway show where puppets have raunchy sex – and it is regularly (and unfairly) compared to Avenue Q.
It's also regularly called "irreverent", and the focus on the naughtiness of being rude may be why this production hasn't found its emotional strength or empathy.
Recently widowed middle-aged Margery (Alison Whyte) is running a puppet workshop for teenagers in the her church hall. The only kids are her quiet son Jason (Gyton Grantley), bad-boy Timothy (Jake Speer), and pretty nerd Jessica (Morgana O'Reilly). The class is an inevitable failure but bumbling Pastor Gregory (Grant Piro) wants an in-church performance, Timothy has a super crush on Margery, and Jason will never tell Jessica that he likes her – until he's fist-deep in his puppet Tyrone.
Demonic possession, inappropriate sex and blashphemous abandon follow. There are plenty of laughs, but many fall flat. The fast-paced direction (Gary Abrahams) revels in jokes, but it tends to play the joke rather than tell the story. And when it is telling the story, it isn't clear what it's really about.
Deep laughs – even the most inappropriate ones – come from feeling connection to character and caring about what happens to them; laughing at potty-mouthed idiots is easy, and forgettable. With a severely-traumatised child, deep grief, and unexpected heroes, there's plenty to make the audience care, especially as the tone shifts in the second half and it becomes clear what's really at stake.
Meanwhile, there's still plenty to laugh at and the tone is set by the wit and fun of the design, by Jacob Battista (design), Chloe Greaves (costime) and Amelia Lever-Devidson (lighting). When the curtain opens, it initially looks so much like a hideously familiar church hall that it takes a while to notice the gorgeously hilarious detail (read the posters, look at the costumes) and it comes into its own with a stage-within-the-stage-within-the-stage.
The shock and laughs in Hand To God don't come from its blasphemy or sex but from from wondering if
we, too, would behave like that if our life took a similar turn. I suspect that this side of the production will develop as it runs and finds its connection to its audience.
As a chubby chick with big hair who has been known to rant about the obscenity of racism and has a fondness for 80s queer cinema, Hairspray is my kind of show. Kind of.
Based on the 1988 John Waters film (staring Divine, Debbie Harry, Sonny Bono and Go Ricki Go Ricki Lake), Hairspray won Tony's in 2003 and John Travolta filled Divine's cups in the film version of the musical. The much-anticipated Australian version is all new and conceived and directed by David Atkins. All are set in 1962 Balitmore where fat chick Tracy Turnblad wants to dance on the teen hit The Corny Collins Show and doesn't know why every day can't be Negro Day on the tv program. With an obese mum who's scared to leave the house, a school that doesn't get her, a skinny blonde rival called Amber and a segregated fearful town, Tracy has some obstacles to overcome.
From the opening giant screen showing black and white delights like the duck and cover nuclear war turtle and the Flintstones advertising fags, there's no doubt that the world we're about to play in is going to be something unexpected, but nothing can fully prepare you for the design.
Cast and crew had their lips sewn shut during rehearsal because it is so spectacular. It's rare to see something totally new and this design of moving LCD screens with animated pictures is so mind-blowing that it takes a while for your eyes to finish orgasming and accept that this is how good it's going to be all night. It's like being thrown into your favourite cartoon (or game) with the colour turned to the top of the dial. It made me regret wearing black. (And we get fined for that in Melbourne.)
To match the visual joy, choreographer Jason Coleman proves why every So You Think You Can Dance contestant should listen to everything he says. This is the kind of dance that lets you forget its technical prowess and makes you want to dance; and he has a cast who know how to turn movement into joy.
Since Waters discovered Lake, unknowns have been cast as Tracy. Twenty-two-year-old Jaz Flowers is Melbourne's find and she takes about 30 seconds to win every heart in the audience. This Tracy is so full of love that her naivety that there's nothing wrong with being fat, ugly, black, male, female or even skinny and white is so genuine that you have to believe that's its true. Even so, I'd still like to see a smidge of doubt and anger to really make her decisions shine because they come from a place that isn't so back and white.
The rest of the cast are just as awesome and the casting choices are sensational, including Renee Armstong (Amber), Ester Hannaford (Tracy's bff Penny), Scott Irwin (Corny Collins), Cle Morgan (Motormouth Maybelle) and Grant Piro (Tracy's dad Wilbur).
In the original film Tracy's mum Edna was played by 42-year-old Glenn Milstead, who went by the name Divine. Divine played men and women throughout his career and died in his sleep a week after Hairspray was released. All Ednas since have been played men. Our Edna is Trevor Ashley and his Edna is winning as many hearts as Tracy. What struck me though about his knock-em-dead performance is that he plays Edna as a drag queen. Edna is not a drag queen; she is a woman. There's a noticeable difference between a man being a queen and a man playing a woman. Drag queens tend to be characters we laugh at. Edna is funny, but (as Divine and Travolta knew) she never deserves to be laughed at.
For all the marvellousness of Hairspray, there were elements that didn't tickle my heart.
If you think musical theatre is a lesser art designed for feel good, middle ground, please everyone and don't rock the boat entertainment, then Hairspray IS the feel good, bring Nanna and the kids show of the year. But I don't think musical theatre is a lesser art. I watch it the same way I watch the artiest show at the Melbourne International Arts Festival or the tiniest Fringe festival show. I enjoy a show based on how it makes me feel.
John Waters described his film as "a satire on two of the most dreaded genres: the teen flick and the message movie." Our Hairspray has become both and so loses much of the guts and power that it could have. This Tracy's too nice to spit at cops, no one is called a mullato and no white girl is poked with an electrified stick because she hung out with black folk. These scenes come from the satirical version, but by smoothing off the sharp edges and giving the musical a big happy ending without the underlying darkness that pushes the plot, Hairspray's message can become almost irrelevant.
It's lovely to think that Penny and Seaweed are going to be happy for ever because racism disappeared in 1962, but everyone who watches Hairspray knows that the same type of ignorance still exists today. The over-the-topness of Waters' satire made this clear, but the musical shows it as a world that has been made good. This never feels right in a show that has photos of Martin Luther King and 1960s race protests. Nor does it feel right that some of the "black" ensemble looked like they were assisted by make-up.
I know that thearte is a world of make believe and pretendies. I know that CATS couldn't be cast with real cats and that no real trains could be found for Starlight Express because they can't rollerskate or hold a tune, but there's something that feels so wrong about seeing blacked-up folk in a show about racism. Did we learn nothing from Harry Connick Jr's hissy on Hey Hey? If we lived in a theartrical world where people were regularly whited-up because they were the best person for the part then perhaps this wouldn't be an issue.
There is so much wonderful about Hairspray that discussions about racism and satire and intent can become meaningless. It's a great show, but what was once a brave, angry, funny and queer story has become quaint.
