Don’t try to be a ‘consumable product’: Minchin warns performers

Tim Minchin has shared the secrets of his success to an intimate audience of performing arts students, ahead of the second show of his BACK tour through Perth, Sydney and St Kilda.

The comedian and singer-songwriter, in Perth on the first stop of his national tour, was at Edith Cowan University’s Spiegeltent on Thursday to accept an honorary doctorate from the WA Academy of Performing Arts, where he earned his Bachelor of Contemporary Music long before becoming a household name.

The new Dr Minchin, flanked by the heads of the university.
The new Dr Minchin, flanked by the heads of the university. CREDIT:STEPHEN HEATH PHOTOGRAPHY

Garbed in doctoral robes and wearing a sheepish grin, after performances in his honour from a full complement of almost frighteningly skilled undergraduate singers and musicians, he said he was “hugely grateful and more than a little embarrassed.”

“There are artists here that just make me feel like the hack that I am,” he said.

Minchin warmed up the crowd with jokes about his free upgrade to the penthouse at Crown Towers – “like an Italian furniture showroom with so many couches that 90 people could comfortably sit in it … built for the purpose of making wankers feel like legends” – but soon got serious.

“If this were a graduation ceremony my role here would be give career advice to the grads,” he said.

“It’s not, but I’m old now, so my role is giving unsolicited advice, like all old white guys.”

He told the young faces turned towards him that being an artist required massive reserves of self-belief.

“Of course, the two years I spent here feeling unbelievably bad about myself was perfect preparation for the next eight years feeling even worse,” he said.

“Wanting to give up, cut my fingers off and feed them to a swan.

“Making coffees and pouring beers to pay my rent … my friends in the acting course all wandering around in black tights shagging each other.”

He said he often got asked for career advice, and it always reminded him of himself during this period.

“I was always thinking, what is the trick?” he said.

“There is no trick … but I will tell you three things that are important.”

Read the rest of this story here on WAtoday

Eight hours of power: Groundbreaking Gatz comes straight from NYC to stun Perth

Entering Perth’s Octagon Theatre on Friday night, I saw a warning: “contains cigarette smoke, open flames and use of firearms.”

Well, that’s the least I expect, I thought.

Scott Shepherd as Nick Carraway in Gatz.
Scott Shepherd as Nick Carraway in Gatz.

Perth Festival has brought New York Theatre Company Elevator Repair Service to Perth for the first time to perform critically acclaimed and wildly popular Gatz; to me, far and away the most exciting page in a jam-packed 2019 program.

This epic word-for-word enactment of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s masterpiece The Great Gatsby has toured the world to sold-out houses for the past 13 years; in 2010, the New York Times hailed it “the most remarkable achievement in theatre not only of this year, but also of this decade”.

Perth Festival artistic director Wendy Martin says it’s the greatest piece of theatre she has ever seen and she has worked tirelessly to bring it to Australia for the second time, the first time having been to the Sydney Opera House.

Coming to Perth direct from another season in New York, the production opens with a worker in a shabby 1980s office casually picking up a copy of The Great Gatsby, and starting to read it aloud at his desk.

And he just can’t put it down.

Click to read the rest of this review on WAtoday.

Blithe Spirit (Black Swan State Theatre Company, Heath Ledger Theatre, 2015)

The party prepare for the seance. Image: Gary Marsh

The party prepare for the seance. Image: Gary Marsh

In Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit, Ruth and Charles Condomine invite their friends, along with local kook Madame Arcati to an all-in-good-fun seance. But the fun soon fades for the couple when the seance leads to the mistaken calling-forth of the spirit of Charles’ dead first wife, Elvira, much to his and Ruth’s horror.

I have loved this supremely funny farce since first performing monologues from it as a teenager doing Trinity College Speech exams.

Later I saw it in the fabulous movie version starring the indomitable Margaret Rutherford as scatty but enthusiastic medium Madame Arcati, and loved that too, so much so that I made the Ministry watch it a few years ago.

Most recently I saw a stage version Roleystone community theatre performed perhaps just two years ago, to which I dragged the Ministry in an effort to show him both why I like community theatre (not just for the free cream sherry starters) and enjoyed myself immensely.

While I have liked previous contemporary works by Black Swan – last year’s Gasp! for example – I do think the company shines brightest when it goes traditional. So when I heard it was doing my old favourite I knew that, given my recent viewing history of the play it was complete overkill to attend, but nevertheless absolutely necessary.

I got the news on the day of the preview that the actress playing Madame Arcati – not the biggest role of the play but arguably the show-stealer – Roz Hammond, had fallen ill and had had to withdraw from the season, I greeted the news with mingled worry that my guest, The Tutor, who I had been sure would share my enthusiasm for this play, might not see it at its best.

Director Jeffrey Jay Fowler appeared before curtain-up to tell her replacement Alison van Reeken, who had played to acclaim in the recent season of Dinner, had been called upon just that day to play the role and would do so bravely, script in hand, on the strength of a single run-through that morning.

Despite my trepidation I was very much inclined, as I’m sure the rest of the audience was, to show goodwill to anyone with the balls to get up and star in a production at the drop of a hat and joined in the warm applause at her appearance.

Well, by golly. As I told the Ministry that night when I appeared at home deliriously sleepy after staying up two hours past my regular bedtime (I know, it’s pathetic) anyone who thinks acting is a bit of a Mickey Mouse profession should have seen what van Reeken stumped up.

She used the script as she had to, but she did so fluidly and with amazingly little reliance on it. She made it part of her movement (and Madame Arcati is a very physical role, so this was no small achievement.) She used the stage space without a single stumble that I could see, and of course we were all looking for one.

Physically she was about as far as you could get from the Madame Arcati of my imagination, who behaves firmly like a stout middle-aged crazy auntie (we’ve all got one) so it was a shock to the system to see her played by a slender young blonde. But this fine-boned woman had a big stage presence and my suspicions faded quickly.

I was honestly so impressed by van Reeken’s self-possession, professionalism and general aplomb that it was an inspiration to see her in action.

Her performance was all the more impressive in such a dialogue-heavy play. This play has a relatively basic set and as Coward fans will understand, the rapid-fire comedic dialogue is everything. If that fails you got Buckley’s. And it didn’t fail.

With this in mind, credit must also go to the other actors who supported van Reeken so strongly in her every scene, particularly the roguish Charles (Adam Booth) who loves both his wives (but perhaps not quite as devotedly as all that, as he himself confesses) and snappish but pitiable Ruth (Adriane Daff) as well as peevish and excitable Elvira (Jo Morris), who wreaks such merry havoc upon their once-contented marriage.

Charles and Ruth. Image: Gary Marsh

Charles and Ruth. Image: Gary Marsh

Charles and Ruth, onstage for virtually the entire 2.5-hour play, never miss a beat despite the phenomenal amount of dialogue they have. The speed and skill and timing of their repartee is flawless. Despite the entire cast looking rather younger than I would generally expect (it is traditionally a middle-aged sort of crowd whereas none of these characters, apart from one, looked much over thirty) they were all so on-beat that I eventually forgot the characters I imagined and started appreciating the ones in front of me.

Ruth tries to keep it together. Image: Gary Marsh

Ruth tries to keep it together. Image: Gary Marsh

My favourite was probably Ruth, whose keyed-up speeches (screeches?) made me laugh, but simultaneously grimace in solidarity with her. The Tutor loved Charles and a special nod must go the maid Edith (Ella Hetherington), whose exaggerated mincing about the stage had perfect comic timing.

I made particular note of the beautiful use of lighting, which managed to produce the effects of all times of night and day with uncanny authenticity. At one stage I could have sworn I was myself sitting at a sunlit breakfast table on a crisp English morning.

Don’t let the change of cast put you off. If you love a good English comedy of manners then it would be a sin not to take yourself off to this one. Alison van Reeken will probably have learned her lines and written a novel and baked a cake by the time you’ve booked your ticket if what she managed in one day is anything to go by.

But do watch Margaret Rutherford in the movie as well – afterwards, of course.

I got review tickets for this, I should mention, but my appreciation is genuine.

Blithe Spirit runs until August 9.


La Soiree (Strut & Fret and La Soiree Australia), Palais des Glaces Spiegeltent, The Pleasure Garden, Northbridge

Aerial gymnast David O'mer as Bath Boy. Photo: Simon-Pierre Gingras

Aerial gymnast David O’mer as Bath Boy. Photo: Simon-Pierre Gingras

On Thursday nights the Ministry and I usually go to ballroom dancing lessons, so in the tradition of all true anal retentives I was reluctant to change my routine for the opening night of international circus La Soiree‘s Perth debut this week.

As we entered the surrounding Pleasure Garden, set up at Russell Square in Northbridge for Fringe World, I felt hot, tired, grumpy, infinitely sober and not at all sure I had made the right call.

As I squished stickily into my ringside seat, I looked at the stage, which had to be about 2m in diameter, and wondered how anyone could conduct a circus on it, let alone a troupe whose rude and risky mix of vaudeville and circus acts had thrilled sell-out crowds across the globe. But in a nod to the original Cabaret itself, the besuited MC greeted us and told us to leave our troubles at the door – and I didn’t need to be told twice.

Anticipation was running high in the circular spiegeltent, its velvet, wood and stained-glass interior a work of art in itself. The Ministry was overjoyed to find a bar inside and immediately set to work on it before we commenced leaning back with the rest of the audience, biting our knuckles as we waited for some particularly death-defying act to go horribly wrong – which of course it never did.

This tiny stage was more than enough room for the acts, which ranged from the eye-wateringly vulgar and titillating, leaving us roaring with helpless laughter, to the beautiful and sensual, which we gazed at with slack-jawed amazement. The excited babble from the crowd in each brief break told me we were not the only ones amazed by what we were seeing.

I spent most of this show grinning like a little kid, unbelieving at the displays of strength, agility and skill unfolding before me and truly, the performers themselves, hailing from Sweden to Canada to Las Vegas, seemed as though they were having almost as much fun as I was – look, if a circus doesn’t make you want to run away and join the circus, it’s probably not doing it right.

Don’t take your grandma to this; possibly take your teenage niece or nephew if they’re mature and their parents permissive, and you want to win their admiration forever; definitely take your partner (prepare for both of you to feel a little inadequate afterwards).

Above all, make sure YOU see it. Go on a weekend, leave the car at home and enjoy the Pleasure Garden before the show.

La Soiree runs until February 22.

More info at

Gasp! (Black Swan State Theatre Company and Queensland Theatre Company, Heath Ledger Theatre)

Everyone owns the air, don’t they? We don’t have the right to sell it…?

Phillip (Damon Lockwood), Lockheart (Greg McNeill) and Sandy (Steven Rooke) in Gasp! Image by Gary Marsh Photography.

Phillip (Damon Lockwood), Lockheart (Greg McNeill) and Sandy (Steven Rooke) in Gasp! Image by Gary Marsh Photography.

Gasp! is written by Ben Elton, stand-up comic, writer of such awesome books as High Society (read it) sitcoms including Blackadder and The Young Ones.

When big mining starts to run out of stuff to dig up, young executive Phillip (Damon Lockwood) is under pressure to perform. He comes up with the bright idea of marketing designer air, free from the unpleasant odours that of everyday life. Of course, it all goes dreadfully wrong and children in Africa begin to suffocate while the rich drink in designer air sucked in from exotic locations.

Gasp! is an update of Elton’s earlier hit Gasping. When I say updated, I mean no-kidding updated, leaving nowhere for contemporary Australia to hide from this – most unforgiving – portrayal of itself.

Apple, Palmer, Packer, Rineheart, Murdoch, PR, Labor, Liberal and the press, from The Australian to the ABC – none are safe from the glare of this most egalitarian mockery.

If you’re too busy to delegate yourself, for God’s sake get someone to do it for you.

In a fabulous scene, Phillip tries to have a serious conversation with new girlfriend Peggy (Lucy Goleby) as the audience giggles madly, watching him take girlish sips from a bucket-sized Starbonks cup. Yes, Starbonks.

Phillip, Lockheart and Sandy get down to business in the sauna. Image: Gary Marsh Photography

Phillip, Lockheart and Sandy get down to business in the sauna. Image: Gary Marsh Photography

I was eagerly awaiting the sets, which did not disappoint. Spare, simple and formed by key pieces of furniture and a screen backdrop, they roll on and off sideways, suggesting by turns an executive office, hospital room, PR-shark office-slash-playroom, cute living room – complete with that most iconic of Australian suburban symbols, the flying ducks – sauna, press briefing room and, cleverest of all, airport travelator.

Changes are rapid and made exciting with effective use of music and the actors’ silhouetted figures.

Lockwood, a hapless hero with a definite air of J. Pierrepont Finch – the whole show is very How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying – is an excellent lead, sharp and funny, with an elastic face and seemingly endless capacity to ad-lib over the odd technical difficulty, effortlessly charming the audience.

All the casting, in fact, was spot-on, with each actor fitting their role beautifully.

The Matriarch, my guest for the evening, thought the relationship between Phillip and Peggy a touch stilted, and I had to agree – there lacked a bit of the warmth their innocent courtship could have had, an opportunity to humanise the play a bit more. But this is a minor criticism of a play that proves an incisive critique of Australia’s resources-reliant economy and big businesses, albeit one that never lags or gets preachy.

It’s laugh-out-loud funny throughout, acidic satire tempered with lashings of toilet humour and a smidge of nudity, topped off by a hilariously dotty closing scene.

A great night out and a reminder of how satisfying and energetic contemporary theatre can be.

The production is on at Heath Ledger Theatre, State Theatre Centre of WA until Sunday 9 November, and then travels to Queensland.

Bookings:, 1300 795 012 or in person at venue box office.

Shrine (Black Swan State Theatre Company, Heath Ledger Theatre, September 2013)

The hole they leave is bigger than the space they took. How can that be?


Adam (John Howard) and June (Whitney Richards) in Shrine. Image by Gary Marsh Photography










Black Swan’s new production of Tim Winton’s Shrine, now on at Heath Ledger Theatre, fits a big story into small spheres.

There are few plays, surely, that give voice to a story so typical of WA – 19-year-old Jack Mansfield (Paul Ashcroft) and his two schoolmates have a car crash on a country road while returning to Perth from a night out at his parents’ beach house. Jack’s friends survive; he is killed.

This narrow lens opens a window into the lives of people who are part of a story so common in WA: otherwise privileged teenagers drinking and killing themselves in powerful cars on treacherous country roads, so often pitiful crosses such as the one draped in an Eagles scarf on this set are commonplace: sad, but unremarkable. As Jack’s father Adam Mansfield (stage and screen stalwart John Howard) says, his son is just a number.

Despite this pinpoint on a unique place on an island’s most isolated city, Shrine hones in on a theme so universal anyone who has ever lost a loved one will recognise it: grief, and the peculiar hierarchy of who owns the right to it; love, and the different versions of a person known to their loved ones.

Winton is no stranger to human misery, and I must admit, I was a bit dismayed by the picture of abject misery Shrine leapt straight in to. The poster promised coarse language, smoking, nudity and drug use, so I could be forgiven for thinking I might have been in for something rather scintillating.

Some much-appreciated laughs break up the dirge, mostly delivered by Jack’s bereaved, alcoholic father (Howard as believable as ever). Whitney Richards does a pleasingly unaffected, guileless job of Jack’s love interest, regional IGA worker June, though my fellow theatregoer Lurgy thought her “bush pig” accent, with its dropped consonants, a little forced.

Though at times the dialogue feels very much like one should read it in a novel rather than hear it on stage, somewhat at odds with the naturalistic representations of the subject, I cannot deny it is, like all Winton’s work, very well-written.

He does himself proud with teenage vernacular – you feel Jacks’ friends’ derisive comments lash June and wince on her behalf. Will and Ben’s cruelty is something all Western Australians have heard before.


Will (Luke McMahon) and Ben (Will McNeill) in Shrine. Image by Gary Marsh Photography

Jack’s mother Mary Mansfield was played by Sarah McNeill with fierce commitment, and she portrayed a mother falling apart while maintaining a statuesque sort of dignity. Lurgy was unimpressed, saying McNeill was far too melodramatic, and while I concede her delivery was markedly to the rest of the cast’s and this was a bit jarring (Lurgy: “infuriating”), some people are a English naturally, even in real life Perth. The way she touched her son’s body spoke to me of motherhood. Also in her favour was a powerful closing monologue that caused some distressing physical symptoms: goosebumps rose up, throat closed down and weird salty drops slid out the sides of my eyes.

When that call comes, it’s midnight wherever you are.

The set, a beach littered with fragments of vehicle carcass that also served as furniture and other props, is as good as all Black Swan’s seem to be, and used with the most uplifting effect in the middle, when you see Jack’s and June’s only love scene (of sorts). Blue, hazy spotlighting light and pitch darkness pricked by faraway electric lights create an eerie, freezing night on the water; a momentarily re-purposed half-sunken car roof serves as a surfboard; and delicate music plays, all the more noticeable because of the play’s almost complete lack of other sound effects. It saves the play from the moments of horror and ugliness it depicts.

But these moments expose the meaning beating at the heart of the big-story-within-a-small: everyone wants a piece of grief, wants a piece of that person they loved, and their opinions of who that person was can be as different as night and day. Adam Mansfield hears June’s stories of his son teaching her about wines and, bewildered, tells her he never knew his son knew anything of the sort. He and his wife revolve in their separate circles of grief, each disgusted by the other’s behaviour. She cannot visit the crash site – he cannot keep away from it. Jack’s friends put up a crude shrine there, with alcohol bottles and paraphernalia, and Adam cannot stand it and rips it down repeatedly. June is upset by this and pleads with him to leave it.

It’s better than nothing.


June (Whitney Richards) in Shrine. Image by Gary Marsh Photography

Shrine tells its audience that people are limited, but grief and love are infinite – and there’s plenty to go around.

Shrine runs at Heath Ledger Theatre, State Theatre Centre of WA until September 15.

The production will then tour to Albany Entertainment Centre September 19 – 20 and then to Canberra Theatre Centre September 26 – 29.

The Little Mermaid (The Blue Room Theatre and Houston Sinclair, The Blue Room, August 2013)

A song that stretches time and makes the sea smell like bubblegum.

Grace (Jacinta Lacrombe) in The Little Mermaid at The Blue Room Theatre

Grace (Jacinta Lacrombe) in The Little Mermaid at The Blue Room Theatre

A lithe girl dances in her underwear.

That’s all you need to know.

Just kidding.

But Grace and her hypnotic musing are enough to charm you from the start.

She has an evil mother, almost witch-like, complete with pointed features and the loving scariness only a mum can pull off.

It was so nice, after a few highbrow shows, to see intimate community theatre, and for a moment I could kid myself into thinking (somewhat like arthouse theatre itself does, probably) that I don’t need to explain any more than that.

That was unfair; in fact, one doesn’t end up with a furrowed brow after this neat one-hour production from the Blue Room, which I haven’t set foot in for years.

What’s not to love about a place where you can get $15 review night tickets, that gives you a beer and toastie for $10, lets you take said beer into the theatre, whose affable bartender gives you a deftly executed card trick, compliments you by checking your ID even though you are nearly 28, and then smells most enticingly of sage on the way in? The theatre, that is, not the bartender.

And all that before the play starts. I was looking forward to this, even though I worked out shortly beforehand there wouldn’t be any actual mermaids in this dark contemporary retelling of the fairy tale.

Now try and dance… only one elbow, or you’ll look like a prostitute.

I was expecting the beauty, but not the humour this turned out to have. My companions and I were a bit disappointed by hearing it was going to be a Serious Contemporary Retelling, but not dissuaded – the lure of the Mermaid was strong, and well enough referenced, both in the dialogue and through the use of music and sound effects on a beautifully simple set.

I was craning my neck enough to see what happens, and that shows a story intriguing enough to carry its audience, but not as frustratingly elusive as these productions sometimes can be. There was just enough mystery to provide a bit of conversation fodder after the lights went on.

Mother Nina (Georgia King) was perfect and Grace (Jacinta Lacrombe) stirred the heart. If she had been a less bewitching dancer the show would have been tedious, but she was enchanting and believably teenage. The mother-daughter dynamic, though played by actresses not far apart in age, was unmistakable.

This was an enjoyable and good-value show, with plenty of whimsy and sex appeal, but nothing too noggin-scratching. Could even have taken the Ministry and not felt too guilty, but precisely the thing for a night out with the girls.

The Little Mermaid plays until September 7 at The Blue Room Theatre. Tickets:

Day One, A Hotel, Evening (Black Swan State Theatre Company, State Theatre Centre, June 2013)

The party supply business is rife with corporate espionage.

Stella (Roz Hammond) and Madeleine (Michelle Fornasier) in Day One, A Hotel, Evening. Photo by Gary Marsh Photography

Stella (Roz Hammond) and Madeleine (Michelle Fornasier) in Day One, A Hotel, Evening. Photo by Gary Marsh Photography

This is just a taste of the rapid-fire dialogue in Australian playwright Joanna Murray-Smith’s Day One, A Hotel, Evening, Black Swan Theatre Company’s latest show at Northbridge’s Heath Ledger Theatre.

The fast pace is echoed by the swiftness of the set changes – once again, Black Swan shows off its talent for very cool sets, this time with a set of revolving brickwork interiors setting the scene for countless murky liaisons between three married couples.

We have only two responsibilities: to be curious and promiscuous… in a cafe.

Sadly, even these responsibilities might be too much for Murray-Smith’s upper-middle-class malcontents, who can’t even seem to cheat on each other very successfully.

There’s no cure for intuition.

Incredibly fast-paced, like an HBO series crammed into an hour and a half, the show is littered with contemporary references – everything from Berlusconi to Apple, and keeps the audience in fits throughout the bewildering array of adultery it is presented with.

I’m what you’d call aggressive aggressive. It wastes less time, but some people find it a little off-putting.

The play isn’t completely devoid of higher meaning – by the end, clear themes emerge on suburbia and the discontent it can breed, where happiness is not a given, but a decision one must make.

If what you have doesn’t cost anything, what’s it worth?

All of the actors do splendidly in the repartee-heavy script, delivering flurries of razor-sharp one-liners and put-downs with clarity and excellent comic timing.

The standout, however, is Roz Hammond of the impressive resume – clearly an actress with staying power (

Her dotty Stella is fabulous and the perfect choice to deliver the play’s wistful stabs in the gut as it draws to a close.

Will it stand the test of time? Possibly it won’t become what you’d call a classic, but if classics were all we ever got, the theatre would die a swift death. We are living here and now and we want good plays, with solid – if whirlwind – plotting and plenty of laughs, and Joanna Murray-Smith is clearly a playwright who can deliver.

Disclosure: I was a guest of Black Swan for this show. But I write without fear or favour.

Hurry: Ends this Sunday, June 30. Tickets:

Death of a Salesman (Black Swan State Theatre Company, State Theatre Centre, May 4, 2013)

(Bernard) Sometimes a man has to walk away.

(Willy) What if he can’t walk away?

(Bernard) I guess then it’s tough.

Josh McConville, John Stanton. Death of a Salesman. Photo by Gary Marsh

Biff (Josh McConville) and Willy (John Stanton) in Death of a Salesman. Photo by Gary Marsh

On Saturday night, May 4, director Adam Mitchell emerged rather apologetically to warn the preview show was “part of our rehearsal process” … but after feedback, would hopefully “really sing”.

Sing it does already.

John Stanton is utterly convincing as Willy Loman, the debt-laden salesman who never made his fortune; whose two sons are not following in his footsteps, or anyone’s; and whose mind is retreating, rather than face such truths.

His wife Linda (Caroline McKenzie) is ageing disgracefully and barely allowed to finish a sentence by the menfolk. Her hair greys, her stockings ladder, are mended and then ladder again. Her bathrobe is perpetual.

Anyone who has ever confronted their parents’ increasing fragility and confusion will see uncomfortable truths in the portrayal of this couple, aware of their children’s faults, but wilfully blind to their limitations.

Biff (Josh McConville) and Happy (Ben O’Toole) show their desperate frustration with their parents, but are themselves infuriating. It is hard to feel for them, and they show similar confusion about themselves.

(Happy) You’re a poet, you’re an idealist.

(Biff) No – I’m mixed up.

It is hard to lay the blame for the events that follow at the feet of any one. All seem at times to teeter on the brink of salvation, but all betray themselves – the boys by apathy, and Willy by pride.

(Linda) You have enough to be happy, right here, right now. Why must everybody conquer the world?

Linda finally learns to stand up for herself as well as for Willy, but wins no reward.

I overheard some muttering in the interval about accents. I am no authority on the subject and found them all adequate, but will say it seemed to me that Stanton’s was the only one that to me rang authoritatively enough to conjure a real sense of place and time. Moreover, throughout I had some trouble picking up every bit of the dialogue, which in some bits seemed a touch indistinct.

I confess to wondering, pre-interval, why anyone puts themselves through something so undeniably miserable as this story, knowing  how it ends.

I concluded in the second half that this is precisely the difference between a sob story and art. You can’t tear yourself away from truly great writing.

For that matter, great writing can only “sing” if it is as skilfully performed and compellingly staged as this is, with its flashbacks so enmeshed with the “present” that the whole mess represents Willy’s mind, trapped by its long-held beliefs and desires.

(Willy)  Never leave a job til it’s finished, remember that.

(Willy) A man can’t go out the way he came in. A man’s got to add up to something.

The story enthrals as its awful implications reveal themselves, and even the shadow cast by an industrial fan on to the stage seems menacing.

The sets of The White Divers of Broome with its eerie lighting and The Importance of being Earnest with its the extravagant flower-wall (the last two Black Swan shows I saw) impressed me with their simplicity and beauty, and the staging of this show is no different.

Caroline McKenzie as Linda and John Stanton as Willy in Death of a Salesman. Photo by Gary Marsh.

Linda (Caroline McKenzie) and Willy in Death of a Salesman. Photo by Gary Marsh.

You aren’t shown a view from Willy and Linda’s window, but you watch them look outside and clearly see what they do – an urban jungle, slowly encroaching on their American dream.

I’ve got to get some seeds. I’ve got to get some seeds, right away. Nothing’s planted. I don’t have a thing in the ground.

A lonely fridge sits reproachfully in a corner, a reminder that it has broken before it has been paid off. Like the fridge, Willy and Linda are so close to paying off the mortgage and owning their home, but see their lives broken anyway as Willy’s tortured mind gets the better of him.

0235 Caroline McKenzie, Igor Sas, Josh McConville, Ben O'Toole, Eden Falk. Death of a Salesman. Photo by Gary Marsh

Linda, Charley (Igor Sas), Biff, Happy (Ben O’Toole) and Bernard (Eden Falk) in Death of a Salesman. Photo by Gary Marsh

Needless to say, my face was all crumpled and salty by the time the play reached its harrowing end.

I saw many a similar countenance on the way to the Ladies’, where we all gave each other smiles that at once acknowledged how silly we were, but also how right we were to be hurt.

(Linda) I don’t say he’s a great man. Willy Loman never made a lot of money. His name was never in the paper. He’s not the finest character that ever lived. But he’s a human being, and a terrible thing is happening to him. So attention must be paid. He’s not to be allowed to fall into his grave like an old dog. Attention, attention must be finally paid to such a person.

Black Swan, we’re paying attention. As my mate Sturdy put it: “I can’t believe how marvelously depressing that was.”

Death of a Salesman runs until May 19. 

A Chorus Line (Burswood Theatre), October 26, 2012

IMG_0585One thrilling combination?!?

In a word, no.

Having said this, I really have no specific fault to find with this show. Perhaps it’s a case of something you’ve built up in your mind to be so powerful being inevitably disappointing.

And truly, it was only very slightly disappointing and I’m still trying to put my finger on what it was. Was I secretly hoping Michael Douglas would actually appear onstage? I don’t think so…

The staging was minimalist, as befits a show about the stripped-down, unadorned story behind the scenes.

The dancing was undoubtedly very tight and very slick, and a joy to behold. Cassie’s tortured solo, as she tried to express her frustration with both her impassive ex and her situation, was a powerful bit of dancing, and they did a little something with the lighting that made this part really stand out.

There was plenty of humour, as there should be, and the characters were as fleshed out as they should be in such a dialogue- and character-driven musical.

But with the word musical, I’m inching closer to the source of my dissatisfaction. Because, honestly, there was only a whisper of dissatisfaction. I’m “praising with faint damn”.

It just wasn’t… musical enough. Not one of those vocal solos – and the show is basically all vocal solos – really had my spine tingling. The singers, though certainly competent, just didn’t seem that memorable. Remembering Jemma Rix in Wicked, and how her voice made me want to weep and made my skin prickle even the second time I saw the show, makes me realise that not one of these numbers moved me in the way I wanted.

I waited and waited to hear Nothing, the song Diana sings, and look, it was good, but it just wasn’t great. And the dancing is all well and good, but the singing is what makes you really care about those people, and if you don’t really care, it’s a long time to sit and listen to emotional stuff.

Happily, spine tingles eventually came… One was introduced slowly, almost spookily, and in general given the attention it deserves.

By the time the (damned fine) chorus line finally hit the stage, the Ministry and I started to wiggle in our seats and grin at each other. They did an awesome job on that ending, even down to working the performers’ final bows into it. Just seeing those high kickers strut their stuff made it all worth it, and I grin to remember it.

So, overall, I’m happy.