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Tag: Kaityln Clare

Theatre review: The Blue Room

Dear Dad

Sex (still) sells, despite what some might say. Just head down to The Owl and the Pussycat now, if you need any convincing.

On attendance night, the theatre was nearly full, packed with people from the young (no, not kids, of course) to the doddery old. There were homosexuals, heterosexuals; there were talkers, and watchers, the chic, and the scruffy.

And what about theatre reviews? Barely one week since the opening show, and the web is already buzzing with a flurry of enthusiastic write-ups, that mostly only high-budget, high-profile productions seem able to enjoy.

When David Hare’s play, The Blue Room, opened in London in 1998, featuring Nicole Kidman and Iain Glen, people thronged their way to glimpse at Kidman’s bare buttocks. And when Simon Phillips staged a production at the Melbourne Theatre Company in 2002, ticket sales were phenomenal. So, things have hardly changed.

Adapted from Arthur Schnitzler’s 1921 Reigen, this play is an interlocking lace of sexual rendezvous: a prostitute latches on to a taxi-driver, who coaxes his way into an au pair’s knickers, that gives exploitative pleasure to her employer’s son, who matures under the hands of a politician’s wife, her husband meanwhile wheedling a 17-year-old model, who is entranced by a playwright seeking inspiration from her and an actress, who tempts into her bosom an aristocrat, who turns out to be the first prostitute’s soul-searching client.

Yes, that was enervating to write, enervating too to watch. But that is perhaps the whole idea: through his wry social portrait, Schnitzler (a doctor) wants us to follow debauchery as it (and the diseases it carries) traverses its way through different classes of society. If the subterranean agenda is too subtle to deter, the sheer iteration of the theme itself becomes too tedious after a while.

Fortunately, director Jason Cavanagh has given his revival a decidedly light and engaging flourish, making the 120-minute production enjoyable to sit through, without compromising on the hollowness of those lives it conveys.

As with most of Hare’s writings, the script is woven with probing political questions: has the liberty our society craves for become too libertine for our own good, for example. And do the wealthy have more entitlement to freedom than the poor?

We do not get answers, as you’d expect, but what we get is an insight into how carnal desires have no respect for class, or any other boundary. It drives us, (often) defines us, and contrary to received wisdom, offers as much sensory gratification no matter who the co-participant, what the reasons for participation, or where.

Kaitlyn Clare and Zak Zavod play the woman and the man, each one taking on five roles, over 10 separate scenes.

Clare is a consummate performer who segues between characters, accents, and personas with flawless ease. She is scorching as the raunchy hooker, demure as the au pair, manipulative as the actress. Her angelic innocence as the young model enraptured by the playwright’s musical rendition is especially memorable. And her crisp English inflection, delicious French intonation are altogether pretty impressive. Most will agree she is one of the most talented, most exciting actresses to watch today.

While Zavod may not display as much versatility and flair as Clare, consistently pushy or aggressive in most of his personalities, he gives his final character a moving introspective journey. And, as his piano sequence demonstrates, his talent is nothing less than multi-faceted.

The shopfront venue in darkly trendy Richmond is ideal for The Blue Room, and the set is something of a portmanteau affair, with all the scenes folded more or less into the same intimate space. The grand finale, however, must count as the most unexpected, the lights, the street, the motion all conspiring to jolt us firmly back into reality.

There is more nudity here than in other productions, but far from hastening the activity of complex proteins, it seems to have the opposite effect. Although Clare’s body is as beautiful as a white marble sculpture, and Zavod’s trim physique just as enviable, I cannot help but feel how the first glance at the prostitute’s covered crotch was more prurient.

And is that not Schnitzler’s point: sex still sells, but sexual excesses are as counterproductive as always.


Theatre review: Tell them that it rained too hard

Dear Dad

That promiscuity is fashionable and inspiring is as much a myth as the title of the play is a lie. Tell them that it rained too hard is a daring and honest examination of our society’s attitudes towards carnal indiscrimination and sexual modesty. Despite offering up a platform for both ideals to be heard and empathised — if not more partial to the former than the latter — the production ends with a patently salutary message.

In a brisk outline, Tell them that it rained too hard resembles one of those Sex and the City serials that openly discusses issues around sexual liberation and social ideals — those that seem somewhat jaded and pedestrian now. But Tom Pitts, the thoughtful playwright and exquisite composer known for his talent in combining music and drama to devastatingly sublime effect, brings the play alive with utterly recognisable characters and haunting tunes.

Directed with becoming delicacy by Celeste Cody, one of the theatre company’s artistic directors, who last year collaborated with Pitts in Christina: A Story With Music and Ad Absurdum to critical acclaim, the play also benefits immeasurably from performance of limpid truth by a highly talented cast.

Kaitlyn Clare plays a sensuous young woman, Helen, who revels in the frisson of new sexual encounters. She believes every man possesses a mystical magic that dissipates the moment fornication is done and excitement exploited. She recoils from the idea of monogamy for no one “really wants to travel on the same road again and again”.

So, when Elizabeth, her best friend, played by Vivienne Garnett, prepares to settle down, Helen is privately ambivalent, deeply convinced that Elizabeth will come to rue her choice. Seeing herself as a rousing influence, leading with chutzpah to live out people’s most visceral desires, Helen recollects Elizabeth’s eyes brimming with gratitude for taking her where she would never have ventured.

The play’s abstruse title refers to a phrase used by Helen’s mother in narrating a story surrounding the father Helen never knew. “Tell them that it rained too hard,” was what he said to her mother, exhorting her to call the authorities, before being swept away by the country floods — Helen is repeatedly told. Until now, she has never thought to question the veracity of the tale.

The production is delightfully peppered with delicious metaphors. Mother’s artful stacking, then un-stacking, of inverted milk crates into one straight line on the ground suggests that her own past paves the way back to none other than the main street, from where she urges Helen to avoid. When Elizabeth’s fiance, Mark, attributes their tardiness to the “flashing amber lights” that really want to turn to green but cannot, he is unwittingly spelling out Elizabeth’s restrained desires for a former flame.

The most profound metaphor, perhaps, comes right at the outset in Helen’s soliloquy about the colourful harlot parade. It is not hard to imagine what Michael, Elizabeth’s brother — femme fatale’s latest victim– whispered into Helen’s ear when he finally coaxed her into bed again, under the unforgiving gaze of judging voyeurs.

While Pitts’ writing is brutal — flirting perilously close with misogyny — Cody and Stephanie Spiers’ stylish and tasteful direction (and stunning costumes) combines with Ian Tsaoussi’s eloquent lighting and Pitts’ own atmospheric music to create a mood that plies the murky hinterland between eroticism and elegance, between the sordid and the sensible.

Nevertheless, the production is affecting mostly because the cast does not push to make it so. Clare’s protagonist Helen is absolutely compelling, transitioning from defiance and seductiveness to morning-after disgust, disappointment then dejection — at times astounding with a simultaneous melange.

Garnett’s Elizabeth is just as fine: her outstanding depiction of a woman’s susceptibility to temptation is an embarrassing reality many fervently deny but secretly acknowledge. Her turn-around on watching her brother suffer at the receiving end of such decadence is entirely convincing.

Special mention must be made of Maree Cody who plays Mother. Her effortless portrayal of a parent desperately hoping against history repeating itself while somewhat resigned in the knowledge of its inexorable prospect speaks to her consummate skill as a reliable stage veteran.

Enormous talent is also displayed by Sam Lund as fiance Mark, Nick Bendall as brother Michael, James Deeth as old-flame Alan and Christian Connolly as Man — his nonchalance as beguiling to the audience as it is to the protagonist.

The acts of heart-quickening flirtation, hilarious parody and lewd antics played out by the three pairs of voyeurs and drunks, too, are remarkable. One cannot help but be captivated by Grace Travaglia’s low-cast eyes that are totally inebriated in the moment as she feels Alex Roe’s fingers creeping up her arm.

Perhaps, as the play’s ending alludes, the only way to sustain someone still clinging to the rejected and fading notion of promiscuity is an enduring promise of the ever-tantalising, the never knowing and never possessing — never mind that it comes with a promise their future will be as much a disgrace as the lie: “Tell them that it rained too hard.”

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