Showing posts with label Luke Ryan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Luke Ryan. Show all posts

17 May 2016

Review & PS: Straight White Men

TheStraight White Men
MTC
12 May 2016
Fairfax Studio
to 18 June
mtc.com.au

Straight White Men. John Gaden and Hamish Michael. Photo by Jeff Busby

There's a PS after the clip.

"What would you be willing to give up to make a difference in the world?"

Young Jean Lee wrote Straight White Men because a three-act naturalistic play about straight white men was the last thing the Korean-American, New York–based, avant-garde playwright and theatre maker wanted to write.

The result is an extraordinary exploration of privilege that starts with four men who are so self aware of their privilege that they question their own self awareness of their privilege.

The "last show" motivation has been a relative constant in Lee's work. In 2012, the Melbourne Festival brought us her We're All Going to Die, in which the non-singer, inexperienced performer fronted a band in a cabaret show about personal loss and death. She had the audience clapping along in a crying and smiling mess as we sang "We're all gonna die". Last year's festival screened a filmed performance of her work The Shipment about being black in the USA, in which some audience members huffed out of the cinema without trying to understand why some of us were laughing so much that it hurt.

In Straight White Men, brothers Jake (Luke Ryan) and Drew (Hamish Michael) are back home for Christmas with their older brother Matt (Gareth Reeves) and dad, Ed, (John Gaden). Their mum is dead, but her presence remains in the likes of Monopoly game re-made as Privilege – donate $50 to the local gay and lesbian support group.

Jake knows that his success at work is because he's a SWM, Matt insists he's happy being a temp at community centre because he's useful, and Drew knows how much therapy and talking have helped him. They sing satirical racist show tunes, want to wear Christmas eve pjs, and stop to ask the brother who's crying if he's sick, hurt or wants to talk.

What lovely men.

So why is their behaviour so funny?

They are what so many people say they/we want our straight white men to be. Yet when we're given men like that, we laugh at them.

Director Sarah Giles, designer Eugyeene Teh – who includes touches like the home-made clay phallic sculpture and Jake's full-compression running clothes coordinated with multi-pocketted running shorts – and the cast nail Lee's tone. The best satire is played as straight as it can be, without any self-aware winks to the audience.

Those winks are left to the glorious Candy Bowers, who welcomes the audience as a DJ – listen to what she plays – and is the woman of colour who watches and tweaks the men's world. Her constant presence reminds us that it's not about the men on stage; it's about everything that they are expected to be and about every one who laughs when they are not what we expect.

Like the playwright, she reminds us that we should be laughing at this world because we're part of it. We laugh because maybe we should feel as conflicted as they do when they're faced with giving up anything to help smash the system that has given them so much.

This was on AussieTheatre.com.au.

Have a listen to Candy Bowers and Hamish Michael talking to Richard Watts on RRR Smart Arts. They start about 1:40. 



PS

I've read the tweets and the reviews about the plot and I don't understand why so many people can't see what this play is about.

It's not about straight white men.

If David Williamson wrote a piece called Queer Coloured Women, would anyone think it was really about queer coloured women?

Yet when a woman of colour writes a show called Straight White Men, so many people assume she's written a play about SWM. They don't see the very obvious clues on the stage – or even ask the even more obvious questions.

Excuse me while I attempt to mansplain.

The plot – the one that doesn't tie up nicely or feel quite right – is a complicated and genius joke. It's satirising the three-act psychoanalytic American plays, which tend to be about SWM.

The characters are part of the satire; they'd bleed irony if they were cut open.

When straight white men (or any variation of) write queer coloured women (or any variation of), the characters/situations/resolutions don't always feel real. At the extremes there's the black maid with a heart of gold (who isn't far from the noble savage), the Asian stranger who offers spiritual advice, the sassy gay best friend, the woman who sacrifices everything for her man.

We see these characters all the time. We hate them.

They are idealised and too perfect, or drawn from ignorance and not bothering to understand, or too afraid to show fault. They are "other".

Young Jean Lee wrote her straight white men like this.

They are idealised. They care about their Christmas tree, they ask each other about their feelings, they wear clothes that match. They may pretend to be SWM, but they aren't like any SWM I know.

She's written SWM as ridiculously as SWM write QCW.

Maybe it's hard to notice the huge cock on the mantle piece, but it's impossible to miss that a queer black woman welcomes you to the theatre, watches the show, interacts with the performers, and controls the scene changes. How are so many people missing that this is HER world? It's her perspective. She's in charge. She has the authority.

Is this idea that a QCW is in control of the SWM so out of the understanding of our theatre conventions that even when it's obvious, it's rejected?

23 September 2011

Review: Clybourne Park

Clybourne Park 
Melbourne Theatre Company
22 September
Sumner Theatre
to 26 October
www.mtc.com.au

Let's get it out in the open. Let's just be honest and talk about what Clybourne Park at the MTC is really talking about. It's an issue I feel very strongly about, something I won't change my mind about, and something that makes too many Melbournians behave like selfish knobs. It's about property development.

And it's about racism and about stuck up, white cunts.

As the MTC continues to explore how tough it is to be a middle class property owner, along comes American playwright Bruce Norris, who won the Pulitzer for this little beauty set in a family home in a white Chicago neighbourhood in 1959 and in the same house in 2009 as the now-black neighbourhood is being gentrified.

At first, it feels like the ultimate white-do-gooder, racism-and-sexism are-bad rant. It's like a competition to see who can resist sniggering the longest, and the first laughs are like watching Guess Who's Coming to Dinner with your Indigenous Australian pal while your dad makes monkey noises each time Sidney Poitier appears and yells at your mum to open his beer. We DO NOT laugh at such things.

Of course we don't, and no one coming to see a show by a posh university-run theatre company with the likes of Greg Stone, Alison Whyte and Berte La Bonte in it is going to expect a hooray-for-segregation story.  So there's no need for director (Peter Evans) to hold back and stress the social commentary in act one. My date for the evening compared the first half to The Help and didn't believe that it was meant to be funny.

It is funny. It's nails-down-the-blackboard satire filled with ridiculous people that is written to be laughed at as loudly as possible.

Act two is much freer with the comedy. Perhaps because it's easier to laugh at conversations we've had or heard. When an argument (Norris writes very fine arguments) develops about whether a joke is funny/offensive because it's about a black man, anal sex or rape, the delicious pain is not in the joke but in the squirming embarrassment and huffy indignation as each person the tries to explain, justify or deny the intent of their harmless words.

Norris says that too many people think "that my plays are about exposing hypocritical liberals...and what's missing from that assessment ... is that I'm something of a hypocritical liberal too." Writing, programming, being in or seeing Clybourne Park should never be about tut-tutting at the ignorant and misguided, but about cringing at our own blatant hypocritical attitudes.

The suburb cast (Stone, Whyte, La Bonte and Patrick Brammall, Laura Gordon, Zahra Newman, Luke Ryan) grasp this tone and relish in Norris's exquisite parallel structure. Each present the worst of their character, but finds their wholeness and their humanity, leaving them so real that the tipping point between laughing and crying is so precarious that's it's easy to slide down the other side without noticing.

Don’t wait for permission to laugh in Clybourne Park. Laugh because it’s so wrong and because it’s so true. Laugh because we know better and because we never learn. Laugh to prove you’re not uptight and because you know you really are.


Photo by Jeff Busby


03 June 2010

Review: The Ugly One

The Ugly One
MTC
27 May 2010
The MTC Theatre, Lawler


What would you do if you were told you were ugly? Not homely or plain or "not my type", but so unacceptably ugly that even your beloved can only look at your left eye.

Marius von Mayenburg's The Ugly One is far more than a deliciously dark glance at superficiality, but draws its audience close with the shared fear of being rejected for our exterior. Who hasn't glanced in a mirror wishing that the face/body/clothes of someone else would wink back? No matter how much we know that real beauty is on the inside, we don't want to be ugly.

Lette (Patrick Brammel) had no idea that he was ugly, until his boss, Scheffler (Kim Gyngell), wants to send the hotter Karlmann (Luke Ryan) to a conference and Lette's wife, Fanny (Alison Bell), confesses that she always admired her husband for coping so well with his ugliness.  Now knowing he is socially unacceptable, Lette finds help from surgeon Scheffler and is transformed into a total spunk rat.  Business for the good looking can only get better and new friends like wealthy surgery addict Fanny and her son Karlmann offer new paths. Until everyone wants to look like Lette, and surgeon Scheffler owns the template.

Berlin-based von Mayenburg's work was last seen here in 2008 in Moving Target, directed by Benedict Andrews.  Mayenburg's style joyfully exploits all that is unique about theatre and gives its creative team the freedom to inject their own staging solutions.  From Moliere to McNamara, director Peter Evans lets his playwright's voices lead, yet the The Ugly One doesn't allow for an uninstrusive director; and it's a welcome surprise to see a sense of Evan's own style and choices.

The in the round stage contains office chairs, a microphone and buckets filled with crunchy, dribbly apples that provide a gruesome soundscape for the surgery. The couldn't-be-better cast morph between same-named characters as sharply as the surgeon's knife and the moments of doubt in between provide an unexpected rhythm to the text – and even more laughs.

Like recent gems Moth (Malthouse/Arena) and That Face (Red Stitch) and even MTCs Richard III (that didn't tickle me under the chin and make me smile), getting a ticket to The Ugly One is a challenge, but extra 9.30pm shows have been added so you don't have to miss out.

This review appears on AussieTheatre.com.

30 June 2009

A Commercial Farce

A Commercial Farce
Malthouse Theatre
14 June 2009
Beckett Theatre, CUB Malthouse



I was a bit worried when A Commercial Farce opened with a “you being perfect and me being crap” phone call between a husband and wife, but then came the banana skin, the whack in the nuts and the breaking of the number one comedy rule.

I keep missing Peter Houghton’s plays. I don’t mean to and I will make sure that I don’t miss another one, because A Commercial Farce is the best piece of theatre comic writing I’ve seen in a long time. What bliss to sit in a theatre and just laugh and laugh and laugh.

It’s the night before opening night and director Bill (Houghton) is trying to force-rehearse TV stud Jules (Luke Ryan) into his first stage role, a “pay by the laugh” commercial farce by Crackburn.

Anyone who has ever worked with a cocky, young telly actor will wiggle in their seat with recognition, if only for the moment when Bill explains the innuendo. Ryan’s Jules is a horror. He’s everything cringeable about celebrity, good looks and no real talent. And to create such a perfect monster, reveals the Luke as the Jules’ antithesis. Only the very best actors can create credible bad acting.

On stage, Houghton is just as perfect as Bill, who is over the thrill of theatre, but knows too much to get out. Houghton wrote Jules and Bill as the two sides of himself. There’s a slab of “Oh my God I’m middle aged” indulgence in Bill, but it’s balanced by the youthful smugness of Jules, leaving quite a balanced playwright in the middle!

Bill screams at Jules that audiences don’t care about theme and form - they care about character and story. I want to snog Houghton for the observation, but even more so because A Commercial Farce is a never-ending joke about theme and form that never forgets the story or the characters. Under Aidan Fennessy’s meticulous (so good it’s almost invisible) direction, the timing, the expectation and the jokes are never allowed to overpower the two men. The heart of this work is the two people at the centre of the whirlpool of jokes, and we don’t want either of them to be sucked in and drown.

This review originally appeared on AussieTheatre.com.

09 May 2007

OT: Chronicles of the Old Testament

OT: Chronicles of the Old Testament
Uncle Semolina (and Friends) and Malthouse Theatre
9 May 2007
Beckett Theatre, CUB Malthouse,


When Yahweh created mankind he said “it was good”. I left Uncle Semolina (and Friends)’s OT: Chronicles of the Old Testament saying it was good. It was actually very, very, very good. In fact it’s the kind of authentic, original, mind blowing theatre that awakens your brain and shows the unique power of people on a stage.
 
Imagine Playschool and The Wiggles getting together to tell a story. The toys are getting old and worn, the set really is cardboard, the cast aren’t the best of friends and the director is difficult and ambivalent, but he really IS God. The story is of Yahweh, his creation of mankind and the brutality and violence that is the source of our modern sense of morality.

Directors and creators Christian Leavesley and Phil Rolfe say with OT “we want to explore the building block of our morality.... to re-imagine the stories of the Bible but at the heart of it we are trying to explore and pull apart what the values are.”

OK...a show that deals with the entire morality of society, using the world’s best selling book as a starting point. The enormity of this task is overwhelming. I can think of one or two religions that have been attempting the same task for a more than two thousand years.

Uncle Semolina (and Friends)’s attempt isn’t perfect, but they’ve come pretty close.

At first the pace seemed forced and I was concerned that the performers were simply narrating a well known tale, rather than showing us an authentic story. However, the structure of the work gradually lifts the pace and the emotional commitment of the characters. The initial doubt made the realization that this is seriously brilliant theatre even more powerful. For me that moment came when the storytellers lost their God .The complexity and confusion of literally and figuratively flooded the stage, and the real strength of this piece emerged.

Luke Ryan’s performance is superb. His story of that “tough cunt” Sampson (the bogan re-telling is how is should always be told) and his stand up comic Job (aka Head) were highlights from a consistently intelligent and engaging performance. The rest of the cast are very good, but need to settle into the run and break away from performing so much. It is hard to hide how much you love being on a stage, but let the telling of the story come first. This will make the audience forget we are watching you perform, which will actually make us love your performance even more.

The direction seems very influenced by Forced Entertainment’s Bloody Mess ( Melbourne International Festival  2005). As OT runs, it will also achieve the directorial balance of humour, story, character and chaos, which Bloody Mess did so well. The image of Burt rimming Teddy is carved into my brain for ever, but, at such times, the humour distracted from the rest of the stage and from the story.

I say this regularly and will say it again. The support the Malthouse Theatre is giving to independent theatre creators in Melbourne is brilliant. Authentic, original theatrical language can only be created when artists are given the freedom to create, without the restrictions of commercial viability. Looking at the Malthouse program for the rest of the year, I’m also expecting (and hoping) to see this authenticity appear more in Malthouse main stage productions

This review originally appeared on AussieTheatre.com.