Teasing my Fringe

I've now dipped my toe into the waters of the fringe. I've only seen a couple of things thus far. I will see more, really, I will. Although nothing like what Born Dancin' has committed himself to. What is this, an extreme sport? Jesus.

Blinkers 

Devised and Performed by Natalie Medlock and Dan Musgrove.

Directed by Sophie Roberts

Festival Hub, Meeting Room, Arts House

26 Sept. - 11 Oct.

I'm not really sure what drew me to this in the first place. It really was on a whim that I went. I liked their publicity image. I liked the promise of something that sounded a little like Perec's 'Life: A User's Manual'. This was bafflingly charming, and it's not a backhanded compliment, it's rather like the human species - you know, deeply flawed but likeable. I don't want to be mean here, there is a lot to like and there is a lot that is worth supporting here - young artists making their own work, international artists putting themselves on the line to get to the Fringe. And hell, its $16 that could be much much worse spent. 

There just isn't a lot to talk about. Natalie Medlock played a wonderful character who truly was bordering between caricature and pathos. Her accent was obtrusive but so much so that I began to feel as if it was an affectation of her character, in which case it was quite a feat, if not it was a bad accent. Dan Musgrove was a caricature. Despite promising to be something more, it wound up conforming to a conservative structure and story. The two young performers are really promising though. And good for them - creating their own show and bringing it here. That sounded really patronising and I didn't intend for it to be so. I mean it. 

Diatribe

It is a wee bit of a testament to the show that I wound up thinking about the venue a little too much. It's on at the Meeting Room of North Melbourne Town Hall. Now: this place gets kitted out for the Fringe, as does Trades Hall for the Comedy Festival, and this in theory is no bad thing. Fringe needs a hub, and young international artists such as these need a place like this to know they'll be on where the action is and not in some enterprising person's garage in Glenroy. There is just something so... perfunctory about the way it's set up. It's run with great spirit largely, as I understand, by volunteers and this is not the problem, in fact it contributes to what atmosphere there is, absolutely. I just felt that a show, particularly like this, would have benefited from a more interesting space. Something warm and quirky, something as charming as the performers were. And the way the rooms are set up at North Melbourne Town Hall is totally devoid of any character or charm. A few lights, a rig of scaff holding them up, a couple of speakers - on stage pointing straight at us, and blacks surrounding the space. It's unimaginative. I've never seen something that benefits from a set up like this. It's alright for comedy. But for the Fringe? Isn't the Fringe all about quirk and peculiarity? I just think it was cheaply and rather cynically done. They pack shows in there, in what is a curated season, in the Fringe which prides itself on not being curated, charge them I'm not sure what, possibly very little, maybe they do run at a loss, I'm not sure - but to me it isn't worth it. Some rooms of the Lithuanian Club has character. The Meat Market has character. 

I remember seeing Suitcase Royale's 'Chronicles of a Sleepless Moon' in a room like this at Trades Hall during Fringe. And it did nothing for them, they were working so hard to bring their atmosphere to the room and they kind of pulled it off - but they're Suitcase Royale goddamn it, they have so much stuff that they can bring. For a show like Blinkers, it just looked a bit drab. 

 

Whew. Sorry about the rant. Ahem. Yes. Anyway...

The Correction Tour

Devised and Performed by Nathan Little and Amy Bodossian aka Bad Father

Glitch Bar

27, 28 Sept. & 8, 9 & 13 Oct.

This is something. It goes on for a bit too long and its a bit underdeveloped and underdirected but it's really funny, just often enough to make it worth it. And its bizarre. And I've never seen or heard of these two before. And I liked them a lot. 

I would have preferred it if they steered away from the comedy a bit more and really went for something. I think they were headed there (there's a wonderful clip of Peter Finch from Paddy Chayefski's 'Network' played for the dramatic value I think, which was great to see and reminded me of how much I'd like to see that film again and also of how much Peter Finch at his age then reminds me of Albert  Finney now. Incedently, 'Network' was Peter Finch's final film - except for something made for TV in which he played Yitzhak Rabin - what a coupla swan songs!).  And I would have preferred it if a particularly sketch comedy-esque video weren't in it. But on the whole its a really fun thing to see. Kind of Boosh, kind of Conchords, kind of Die Roten Punkte and strangely kind of Forced Entertainment on the surface and I suspect completely unintentionally, although it could have benefited from the kind of deconstructivism manifest in Forced Entertainment and was kind of close at moments. 

You'll have fun if you go. Although I just noticed its only on like five times. Jesus, that's not much. Okay, so go. I think these two will be something soon and then you can be the one saying that you saw them in a funny little place in Fitzroy. And you'll be awesome. And everyone else will be awestruck. And you'll win.

Empire Falls

This is a clip I made for Plastic Palace Alice's single 'Empire Falls'. It was directed by my good self and shot and edited by Aleks from Aleks and the Ramps aka Cobra Kitten. It was devised and performed by First Impressions Youth Theatre. We made it over a year ago and there are certainly things I would change, seeing it now.

I was thinking about Haneke's shot for shot remake of 'Funny Games' the other day. It was first made over ten years ago. I don't know anyone who would recreate something ten years later shot for shot as it were. Where does he get the chutzpah to do that?

Anyway have a good ol' butchers at this. Even though there are things that I would change, it still makes me happy.

Empire Falls from long sentence on Vimeo.

Tournis

This is astonishing. I remember once, when I was a kid standing at a railway platform waiting for a train. I must've been about seven I think. I was standing there and there were a lot of other people waiting for trains also. I clearly recall being almost overwhelmed by the realisation that everyone there had a different visual perspective of the train station. There would have been perhaps one hundred people there and I just couldn't fathom how there was room in the world for all of those perspectives. And I mean perspective in the most literal way. It's a phenomenon that I've never really shaken or forgotten.

Anyhoo, have a gander at this. It's incredible and the closest thing I've seen to a physical representation of the aforementioned sensation.

There... I've said it.

I must now impart to you my reasons for airing my thoughts through such a public forum as this.

It really began as a whim. Actually not so much a whim as a fit. A fit of impotent rage brought about by what has been, for me, a tough year. I needed to be heard. I needed to be honest and transparent. I needed to have an obligation to objectively and subjectively reflect. Reflect upon what I've witnessed, what I've heard and what I'm going through. 

It has, as I said, been a tough year. 

Masculine nonchalance tells me that it thickens my skin, toughens me up, engenders me to be more able to cope with a life in the arts. And I hope that this is true. It does not, however, stop me from being sad, exhausted, filled with self-doubt and loathing, bitter, angry and envious. And lets face it, who, in this line of work, hasn't honestly felt these things from time to time?This racket tends to require irrational degrees of self-belief which I simply don't possess - and nor will I pretend to. 

I've always been a spectacular failure at protecting myself. I always get my hopes up, I always tell everyone what I'm applying for and get excited. I always set myself up for a fall. And I can feel this changing. I've begun to get secretive about my hopes and desires. I've begun to withhold information from the people closest to me. I've begun to 'take it on the chin' without fully allowing myself to be openly disappointed. This is not good. This is out of character for me. This is typically masculine - and as I near my 30th, I fear the kind of man that I may be becoming. One that doesn't go to the Doctor, doesn't express his fears and vulnerabilities in order to not show weakness. One that doesn't confront his inherent lack of control. 

So here, in one of the most public ways possible, in the interest of transparency, and in the hope of expressing honestly, fully and eloquently the turbulence of a life in the arts I will divulge my fears and display my weaknesses.

Over the last twelve months I have applied for several grants. Three or four to develop a project that has been hanging around for a few years, one for a community arts organisation of which I am the artistic director. I have also applied for two awards.

I have been successful in none of these applications.

Now, I'm not complaining. The funding and the awards were granted to people, groups and projects that are very deserving. I don't desire to be comparative as it helps no one. But, Jesus, it's hard. And I don't know that this was ever communicated to me as a young artist. Actually, it probably was and I possibly ignored it believing (with the arrogance of youth) that it would not apply to my future stellar career. But let me tell you, it does apply. 

Now, I have had my good years. In 2006 I received a number of grants for a number of projects and I was on could nine. It was great. But now, after sitting on a project for three years, it's hard to keep believing in it. It's difficult to continue believing that it will be successful after so many knock-backs, and artistic success and worth is totally beside the point as it is so subjective. 

And this is the thing: these applications, these rejections begin to fertilize comparison, envy and jealousy. As you read who won the grants, the awards - it really is hard to not go: 'Who, [insert name here]? How are they more deserving than me?'. And this is poison. I don't want to have to build myself into a lonely tower of moral righteousness, against the vacuous hordes, just to save face. I don't want to have to believe that my project, my skills or myself are any more deserving than anybody else's. I don't want to have to push myself into artistic martyrdom just because I missed out on a  couple of awards and a bunch of goddamned grants. All this will do is leave me lonely, bitter, angry and irrelevant. 

I don't know what the answer is. I am not able to write an application without a modicum of hope. Whilst studying I never said that I wrote my essay the night before. I didn't. Whilst writing grant applications, I am never able to distance myself from it. In order to summon the energy to write the cursed thing I have to believe in it. I have to buy into it. I cannot write it without imagining myself in the job, imagining the opportunities that would arise from it. I am just that way inclined. 

And I shouldn't have to erect this armour of false self-confidence and nonchalance. It isn't me. 

So here I am. I'm disappointed. I'm a little bit broken. My self belief has taken a battering. I honestly believe that the aforementioned grants / awards went to the right projects / people. I'm just disappointed that the right project / person wasn't me. 

This is not a cry for platitudes to buoy my spirits. I'm okay. I have a great job doing something that I'm privileged to do. I collaborate with great people. I have great friends. 

I am responsible for my self-motivation, self-belief, inspiration. 

I'm just saying it's hard to cop sometimes. 

I have used the words impotent and erect in this post. What a man.

Professor Ramachandran's Suggested Ten Universal Laws of Art

1. Peak shift

2. Grouping

3. Contrast

4. Isolation

5. Perception problem solving

6. Symmetry

7. Abhorrence of coincidence / generic viewpoint

8. Repetition, rhythm and orderliness

9. Balance

10. Metaphor

From the illustrious neuroscientist V.S. Ramachandran. I sometimes recoil from this kind of reductive theory however, for some reason, I really like what he has to say.

The full lecture: The Artful Brain.

At last. Art-making can become tangible! We can all just tick the boxes.

Review: Red Sky Morning

Red Sky Morning
by Tom Holloway, directed by Sam Strong.
With David Whiteley, Sarah Sutherland and Erin Dewar.
Red Stitch Actor's Theatre until September 27.

Let me begin by making a couple of declarations. 1. I have and continue to collaborate with rising star of Australian theatre, AWGIE award winning young playwright Tom Holloway. 2. I have directed three shows at Red Stitch over the years.

Melbourne hasn't been graced with a production of Holloway's in recent years. Beyond the Neck was performed in Hobart last year and Don't Say the Words in what was by all accounts a brilliant production at the Griffin in Sydney a couple of months back. Holloway is going places. Not only do you need to see Red Sky Morning to see what the fuss is about but to be privy to a seminal moment in Australian theatre. Seriously.

The writing takes my breath away. Honestly it does. And it is a risk. Holloway has made a huge leap in Red Sky Morning and taken a risk. But, and this is important now, the form is perfectly suited to the material. Perfectly. There is a very good reason to take that risk. Or conversely the risk works on a level that resonates deeper than sheer style because of the content.
Some is not as tight as it could be, yes. Some things land a little too heavily, yes. But jeepers creepers, there is a whole lot that works the hell outta me.
The technical feat that Holloway and director Sam Strong have achieved sent shivers down my spine. Not only does this feel and sound new, it is directly of our time. it is pertinent now. This is a story that needs to be told. And we need to hear it. How often does one get a chance like this in the theatre in this country? To be there when...
It is heavy material, but is written, directed and performed with a grace, dignity and a lightness of touch. It is, I imagine, difficult material to deliver. It would be a temptation to emote rather heavily, to compensate for the lack of action, activity or communication. None of the actors fall into that trap. It, for the most part, rings true. There is an understatement and poetry that reminds me of Egoyan's 'The Sweet Hereafter'.
Just see it. Really, I mean it.
Now, a couple of things. The following criticisms by no means counter my central thesis here which is This Is Important Work, so I will continue, and you may not if you so choose.
I have an issue with the regional setting. On the one hand, I know that statistically speaking, male depression is worse in regional areas of Australia. On the other hand, it just grates me a little - to sit there in a theatre in a metropolis, surrounded by middle class, educated people, looking at these regional characters. It always feels just a little condescending. I think it distances us from the terrifying stasis and drama. It ceases to become a mirror. Also, I don't think the play needed it. I'm not certain whether it was something Holloway specified, or was something that was a directorial choice. It just didn't sit well with me.
The alienation generated by the design is great. But it isn't seen through. I would love to have had my view obscured by the venetian blinds for the entire play, it would have completely worked.
Some of the staging is a little heavy-handed. Material like this is really hard, because there's really nothing to direct, it just got a little clever at points and drew attention away from the story.
The climactic moment is undercut by the staging. Totally. It forces the actors to over play the scene which is not good. This whole play is about less is more, and that concept is seriously compromised by the staging of the climax.
But these quibbles are beside the point. We need to see this. We need for this to be seen and we need to talk about it.
Godspeed.

Review: Vamp

Vamp
by Meow Meow and Iain Grandage, directed by Michael Kantor, musical direction by Iain Grandage.
Malthouse Theatre and Sydney Opera House @ the Merlyn Theatre, CUB Malthouse until September 20. Sydney Opera House, September 24-October 5.
Bookings: (03) 9685 5111, (02) 9250 7777

I saw Vamp on Thursday night. I have a feeling it's going to divide us, hoo-boy, how exciting. In fact, it has already done so perhaps.
Before glancing upon my ill-thought-out nonsense, one is advised to peruse the vastly superior musings of Ms. Croggon.

Now, I am a director. I am involved in theatre and cabaret. I am the goddamned target audience of piece such as this. I am an urbane young hipster. I have a beard. I am bald, however, so that's a draw-back.
Thus let us begin: Vamp is stunning musically, but I had trouble with it as a whole. Meow Meow is such a great performer. I left, however, wondering whether I would have preferred the show to be just her and a piano. Without all the flotsam. Now, there's a part of me that was thoroughly seduced by the world of Vamp. There's also a part of me that gets a thrill when classical references land, a plethora here from Wilde's Salome to Pabst's Pandora's Box (with the ultimate vamp - Louise Brooks). But these satisfactions are brief, placatory and somewhat vacuous. They also render a piece somewhat critic proof methinks. (You know... Emperor's New Clothes and all that - who wants to be the one leaving themselves open to 'you didn't get it's? This wide-eyed chump, that's who.)

There is an aspect of the Vamp that Meow Meow thoroughly inhabits. Her control of the audience is total, despotic, maniacal and hugely entertaining. This is not, however, anything new for her. That's what she does. And it's awesome. But here I was expecting promises to be delivered. And there was all too little tragedy, vulnerability, and victimhood. It existed in the content perhaps, but wasn't inhabited by the performance. There must be a flip-side. I was aching for some kind of real collapse, such as Faye Dunaway's sister / daughter revelation in Chinatown, some kind of honest exploration of the Vamp as both manifestation and victim of a morally corrupt society gone to seed. There was never a true sense of collapse. I knew that she was in control every single moment.
Is this a directorial problem? Partly, perhaps. But I think it's indicative of a larger issue, that there seemed to be no centre to this. It was wheeling about without an orbit. It wasn't her show, it wasn't Kantor's show, it fell between the cracks. The theatre and spectacle brought nothing to her performance and she brought nothing to the theatre of the piece.
There are a couple of moments that I loved and would liked to have seen more of, including some stillness and vulnerability during a Radiohead number (she still had to clamber over someone and exert her control in order to express her vulnerability - but it worked. And, oh, those lyrics: 'If I could be who you wanted...'). Also, the dance of the seven veils worked on that same level, but her previous (performative - yes) insistence upon applause destroyed what could have been a marvelous, quiet, awkward moment of her failing. But by that point, the audience were oh-so-keen to please her that the moment was not served.
I think what left me somewhat bereft was that the wonderful content was not matched by the performance and the form. And that the performer and the form had not informed the content. I got the feeling that Meow Meow trusted neither the content or the audience to 'get it', and I know, I know that is a part of her character - so again I say 'critic proof'.
I don't really know who this show was for, or from. This is a problem of under-development I'd hazard to guess. Which is frustrating as there are so many theatre-makers, who can garner support to do not much else but develop material, and then there are these strange hybrid pieces that have resources spewed at them that strive towards a concept without any cohesion, honesty or symbiosis.
But that's just me.

Throwies

Whilst many in the great cyber pea-soup post the mischief-work of others, here, my friends, it shall not be. No siree.

The miracle of LED realised at last. What a lot of whimsy these little morsels are.

All you need, dear minion, is: LED lights, batteries, magnets & tape.

My handiwork, yes but not my original idea, mind. Follow the link to GRL's website and to some easy to digest instructions from instructables.
Let throwies abound.

Long sentence no suggestions...

... is the most frequent alert I receive in word. It struck me as the story of my life. Or anyone's really. It will be here that I will diarise, review and discuss things I've seen, things I'm into and things that I'm about to be into.
There are many of these amorphous blogs and I'm loathe to be one of them. So let's see how we go, you and I. Let's see if we can evolve a manifesto over time.