Review of The Wild Between Stars

By Tiffany Barton

Four Stars

The air is balmy at the grand opening of The West Australian Ballet Company's new work 'The Wild Between Stars'. I frock up in something fancy, eat canapés in the VIP lounge, then take my seat in the VIP section of the front row... only to discover my bottom is submerged in a rather large puddle! So much for the fancy frock. I relocate my soggy bottom and even more soggy dignity to a dryer chair, and the ballet begins.

Choreographed by Loughlan Prior, the opening piece, “The Wild Between the Stars,” is a neo-classical ballet, purportedly ‘a journey through the infinite universe where human emotions and physical form mirror the vast beauty, mystery, and constant evolution of the Cosmos.’

Well, the program notes certainly aimed for the stars. What I see however, is more like a pleasant stroll through a particularly well-decorated park. A bunch of very pretty dancers wearing very pretty frocks prance around the stage like wood nymphs and fairies in a scene from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Graceful? Yes. Romantic and ethereal? Absolutely. But a “journey through the infinite Universe”? Not really - more like a fun romp in the woods. The choreography, while lovely, lacks the depth and complexity to truly capture the vastness of the cosmos. The music, though pleasant, is somewhat generic and doesn't evoke the sense of wonder one might expect. It all seems a bit… safe. However, the backdrop and natural grandeur of the Quarry Ampitheatre definitely add to the magical woodland ambience.

The highlights are the romantic pas de deux between the two lovers (Are they Lysander and Hermia? or Demetrius and Helena?) performed by lead dancers Juan Carlos Osma and Chihiro Nomura. They are formidable dancers and make a magical pair. Osma’s height, presence, rippling body, and powerful ballet moves complement the more diminutive Chihiro, who acts as the delicate yin to his powerful yang. 

The diaphanous silver costumes, designed by Emma Kingsbery, are also particularly lovely, though “wrapped in drifting nebular clouds,” as suggested by the program, seems a tad overstated. (Who does write this copy, AI??)

The second piece, however, is far more exciting and innovative. “Ripples,” choreographed by Tara Gower, an Indigenous dancer from Broome who formerly danced with Bangarra, is a glorious fusion of ballet and Indigenous dance. Innovative in form and concept, and truly thrilling to witness, it opens with a single green spotlight on a smoking conch shell. The dancers are curled on the ground, shrouded in smoke. Powerful didgeridoo (played by Isiah Walley Stack), rumbles with root connectedness through the audience, grounding us in the earth of Indigenous Australia. It is a stark contrast to the ethereal European prancing of the previous piece. Before the audience’s eyes, the Dreamtime calls and the dancers answer.

Gower’s choreography seamlessly blends the precision of ballet with the fluidity and earthiness of Indigenous movement. The dancers move with a power and grace that feels both ancient and contemporary. The second piece, “Bird Song,”  is set to an exquisite composition by Mick Monolis. It begins with the magical warbling of bird call at dawn. The dancers perform an indigenous swan dance, their bodies evoke the fluttering of wings and the power, strength and majesty of birds in flight. The men wear exquisite harem pants (designed by Rika Hamaguchi) whose earthy green tones evoke the mangrove swamps of Gower’s beloved Broome.

Gower says that Ripples explores, ‘The polarity of Northern and Southern WA, Freshwater and Saltwater, First Nations and Non – Indigenous, contemporary dance and ballet’ and she hopes to ‘Find something new, promote reconciliation and celebrate our rich untold history.’

 She delivers on all counts. Ripples tells a story of connection. Connection to country, to unity and to people. It is a joyous celebration of spiritual connectedness, and the enthusiastic applause at the end is an indication that Gower’s message is received loud and clear.

The final piece, Concerto Anniversary, is a flamboyant and exhilarating tribute to Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto Number One on its 150th anniversary. Choreographer Lucas Jervies’s statement that “This concerto, with its soaring melodies and dramatic flourishes, feels like a celebration of Tchaikovsky’s frowned-upon queerness,” gives the piece an added layer of meaning. Knowing this, I embrace the performance as a triumphant and joyful ode to queer composers, a celebration of artistry and identity expressed through movement.

Juan Carlos Osma’s Dionysian performance is a particular highlight. He is a vision, a bronze statue sprung to life, all rippling muscles, smoldering glances, and an undeniable charisma that radiates across the stage. Think Michelangelo's David, but with darker skin, better turnout, a decidedly Cuban swagger, and a palpable sense of sensuality. His pas de deux with the exotic Dayanna Hardy Acuna is a stunning display of masculine strength and feminine grace, a captivating interplay of power and vulnerability. Their movements are perfectly synchronized, a testament to their skill and artistry, and the chemistry between them is electric.

Charles Dashwood and Alexa Tuzil also deliver a striking and dynamic pas de deux. Dashwood's height give him a regal dignity, while Tuzil's clean, graceful movements provid a beautiful counterpoint. Their performance is a showcase of classical technique and contemporary flair, a perfect embodiment of the music's energy and emotion.

From the initial puddle-induced panic to the final, exhilarating moments of Concerto Anniversary, the evening is a journey in itself. While not every piece lands perfectly, the sheer artistry and passion on display are captivating. The West Australian Ballet clearly has a lot to say, and they say it with style, grace, and absolute dedication to their craft. I leave uplifted by the transcendent power and breathtaking beauty of the ballet - almost forgetting that my bottom is still soggy.

FIVE STARS

Triptych: A Captivating Fusion of Sound, Light, and Movement

Lewis Major, a rising star in Australian dance with a unique background spanning sheep shearing and contemporary dance, aims to make dance accessible to all. His latest work, Triptych, created in collaboration with his mentors, the legendary British choreographers Russell Maliphant and Hofesh Shechter, achieves this goal with a mesmerizing fusion of sound, light, and movement. Evoking ancient mythology, classic sculpture, underwater dreamscapes, and futuristic utopias, Triptych is a captivating journey that transcends the boundaries of traditional ballet.

The performance opens with Maliphant's Two by Three. Michael Hulls' powerful lighting design casts dancers as individual figures within their own prisms of light, working in synergy with Andy Cowton's electronic soundscape to evoke a futuristic dystopia reminiscent of The Matrix. The dancers, impeccably disciplined and precise, move with Maliphant's characteristic clean lines and sharp angles, conveying a sense of strength, protest, and rebellion against this confined world.

Major's own Unfolding transports the audience to the depths of the ocean. Bathed in Fausto Brusamolino's stunning triangle of light, the dancers become shadowy figures, their bodies illuminated and obscured in dramatic chiaroscuro. The eerie, ethereal soundscape, punctuated by sinister undertones, and the swirling smoke create an atmosphere of mystery and intrigue. Two elegant pas de deux unfold, showcasing the dancers' fluidity and grace, before the harmony gives way to conflict. The music swells, the strobe lights intensify, and the stage becomes a turbulent ocean of emotion. The men exit, leaving the women to circle within the splintering light. In a moment of transcendent beauty, they disrobe, their bodies now marbled in golden light, and embrace before fading into darkness. The men return with a tender, vulnerable ballet, providing a poignant counterpoint to the preceding turbulence.

During the intermission, excited whispers fill the air, with audience members describing the performance as "trancelike" and reminiscent of Greek sculpture. Indeed, Major's choreography, particularly in Unfolding evokes the timeless beauty of classical forms, while simultaneously exploring complex emotions and human experiences.

The final piece, Major's Epilogue is divided into two distinct sections. "Part One" begins with a single vocal note, reminiscent of a Gregorian chant, which transforms into a sacred song. Eight golden lights illuminate a solitary dancer who moves like a whirling dervish, transitioning seamlessly from a grand jeté to a dramatic, arched pose reminiscent of a matador before collapsing to the ground. A woman enters, stepping on his prone form with an air of dominance before joining him in a passionate duet. She lifts his head towards the sky, suggesting hope and redemption.

"Part Two" features Clementine Benson, statuesque and covered in chalk dust. As she turns slow pirouettes to Dane Yates' arrangements of Debussy and Sakamoto, the dust falls from her body like a second skin, creating mesmerizing patterns in the air. Her movements are sculptural, unfolding with classical precision and grace.

Throughout Triptych, the dancers – Clementine Benson, Macon Riley, Elsie Faulks and Stephan Morrow – deliver powerful and nuanced performances. Their technical skill and artistry bring Major's vision to life with breathtaking precision and emotional depth.

Ultimately, Triptych is a testament to Lewis Major's talent and his commitment to creating accessible and thought-provoking dance. Through its captivating blend of movement, sound, and light, Triptych invites the audience to contemplate the beauty and complexity of the human experience.

Triptych performs at The State Theatre until Feb 3.

Review of "I Watched Someone Die on TikTok"

By Tiffany Barton

Strap yourself in for a wild ride and prepare to have your synapses blown. Charlotte Otton is a force to be reckoned with, and boy, does she have something to say. In her “I'm soooooo topical” one-woman show, I Watched Someone Die on TikTok, she uses her considerable intelligence, charisma, and wicked wit to dissect the horrific impact social media has on young minds, and the addictive, insidious machinations of social media algorithms that exploit our vulnerabilities and darker proclivities to keep us hooked.

Otton’s set is a bare stage with a giant screen on the back wall, which hits us with a montage of disturbing TikTok videos at the beginning of the show. Car crashes merge with dance moves, merge with digital suicide notes, distress calls to emergency services, and wonky camera footage of carnage and trauma. Otton simulates a 'doomscroll' so disturbing it made me physically ill.

She breaks the grim mood by entering singing a chirpy, happy song before plunging us into the horror of the online world again. She recreates an online scene of seduction between herself and an older man that occurred in the early days of her internet experimentation. She sends him a nude picture of herself, and a masturbatory dialogue ensues. It’s all delivered with a twisted gallows humour…until we learn that she was only 12 years old. Pictures of 12-year-old Charlotte ping on the screen, and we realize with horror that the innocence of our young has been severely compromised.

She snaps us out of the horror with more dark humor before plunging us into the quagmire again. This time, she acts out a 911 call she found on TikTok. It’s a woman with a deep southern accent claiming to have killed her children. Only one child is left and wants to be saved. Charlotte performs it for laughs, but of course, the laughs are hollow and underlined with a deadly sense of dread. This is the real world, and she very cleverly shows us the myriad way we’ve become desensitized to it.

The inciting moment for the creation of the show occurred not long after Otton had relocated to Sydney. She was lonely, isolated and spiralling into depression, which she hoped to alleviate by signing up for some cheerful TikTok videos. Instead, she says, ‘My always learning algorithm picked up on my depression: drip-feeding it back to me digitally, forcing me to micro-dose alarming content centered mostly around death.’ This intensified her depression, eventually leading her to break down in floods of tears when she witnessed the death of a five-year-old while scrolling Tik Tok on the train one morning. Soon after, she felt compelled to make a show about the dark side of social media.

Otton developed the work by interrogating her own algorithm and did a lot of online deep diving and writing to get to the crux of what she wanted to say. She developed the work with the help of director Maddie Diggins, collaborator Lindsay McDonald, dramaturg Harriet Gillies, and composer Solomon Frank during residencies at Sydney’s Performance Space and Brand X’s Flying Nun program. After a sold-out season in Melbourne, it's now playing in Perth. Judging by the screams of laughter (and my visceral sense of horror), I suspect she’ll be in the running for a bunch of awards at Fringe this year. (Last year her show Feminah took out five Fringe awards and a PAWA award for Best Actor). This is high-impact theatre, in equal turns hilarious and horrifying, and it has a host of important things to say.

I Watched Someone Die on TikTok is a dark comedy about the impact of social media, online content consumption, and the desensitization to violence in the digital age. It also delves into the overwhelming nature of the internet and the algorithms that control what we see. But Otton's show is more than just a commentary; it's a wake-up call. She brings home the dangers of the internet and social media with visceral force. It made me want to flee to the country, ditch my smart phone and live off-grid in order to escape the hideous and insidious impact of this ever evolving technology Perhaps that's the ultimate message: we need to reclaim our lives from the clutches of the digital world before it's too late. Props to Otton and team for delivering such an important message with this incredibly unique, innovative hilarious, and disturbing production.

Five stars.

Photo by Darren Gill

Review of "Chopin's Nocturne - at Fringeworld

Review of Chopin’s Nocturne

By Tiffany Barton

I’m going to break with tradition and make this review personal, because it’s Fringe, and breaking rules are the name of the game.  Also, in writing this piece I want to honor and acknowledge my beautiful son Cosmo.

A comedy show about Chopin’s Nocturne? I was intrigued. Unique concept. Could be good. Could be shit. I hate being trapped in a bad comedy show, but on the other hand I have a very special relationship with Chopin’s Nocturne. It was one of my son’s favorite pieces and he played it exquisitely before he died four years ago.

Also, the blurb made me laugh.  Aidan Jones sells himself with a nice bit of self-deprecation.   "Classical piano presented with jokes by a bald dickhead with a beard." So I decided to take a punt and invited my friend Nat and Cosmo's best friend Neisha along.

Aidan certainly leaned into the "bald dickhead" persona at the start, with plenty of swearing and bravado that seemed to mask his nerves. A drunk couple in the front row added to the challenge, but he handled their eventual exit with grace, smiling until the door closed behind them before sending them off with a well-deserved flip of the bird.

Then something magical happened.

Aidan began to play Chopin... and the prickly Adelaide bogan melted away. In its place we discovered the sensitive, passionate classical music enthusiast hiding just below that blustery surface.

Aidan took us on quite a journey, from crude jokes about break ups and blow jobs (they didn’t quite land for my friends and I but got some laughs from the blokes in the audience) to incredibly engaging stories about Chopin’s life and loves. He was only 49 kilos and suffered from tuberculosis all his life - he eschewed large concerts in favour of small intimate house concerts (like the one my son played at Mum’s place 2 months before he died), and his piece Nocturne used a free-flowing right-handed melody in place of lyrics, which bestowed great emotional effect. 

I closed my eyes as Aidan began to play. It could have been Cosmo in the room, playing to me from the beyond. I began to weep. Neisha and my Natalie held my hands tightly… and then Aidan dragged me out of it by joking about the emotional journey the different notes take you on, his face hilariously parodying the highs and lows of joy and despair.

I have never quite experienced sobbing in deep grief and hysterically laughing at the same time but there you go. Fringe has a reputation for delivering unique and unparalleled experiences, and this, for me was a prime example. The rest of the show I alternated between being deeply engaged by Aidan’s passion and enthusiasm for his subject (Cosmo was equally passionate about the fortepiano which he was studying at WAAPA), deeply moved by the skill and sensitivity of his playing, (equal to my sons) and deeply amused by his hilarious antics. (Cosmo would've laughed his tits off).

Jones is definitely at his best when he lets his sensitivity and passion show. He had his audience eating out of the palm of his hand with his wonderful story-telling, curiosity and passion for his subject.

He wove together stories, historical insights, and musical analysis, captivating the audience, who were clearly fellow Chopin enthusiasts. He even ventured into a discussion of Goya's "Saturn Devouring His Son," linking it to themes of creative struggle and familial relationships. Aidan delivered a hilarious parody of Saturn eating his own children (his physical comedy and facial expressions are very funny and evocative) and told some great jokes about the reasons why Goya's brother-in-law, also an artist, hated him. While the connection felt a bit tangential at first, it ultimately added another layer to the performance, prompting reflection on the darker side of artistic expression.

The show resonated with me on a profound level. Aidan's enthusiasm for the piano reminded me of Cosmo's own passion for the instrument, and his sensitive playing evoked a deep emotional connection to my son's memory.

"Chopin's Nocturne" is a testament to Fringe's ability to deliver unparalleled experiences. With its unique blend of comedy, music, and history, "Chopin's Nocturne" has the potential to captivate audiences worldwide. As Jones continues to refine his approach, this show promises to become a true gem. He’s warm, passionate and funny, and his final rendition of Chopin’s exquisite composition was very moving.

Four stars.

Chopin’s Nocturne is on at the Terrarium 99 St Georges Terrace at 6 pm and 7.55 pm until the 1^st February.

Review of The Seed

Review of The Seed

Black Swan Theatre Company

Kate Mulvany’s autobiographical play The Seed had its first iteration in 2004 for Sydney’s Belvoir St Theatre.  Mulvany had just returned from a trip to Nottingham to spend time with her Irish family when Belvoir offered her a commission to write a play. She was in the process of discovering that the serious health problems that had plagued her since infancy were a direct result of her father’s exposure to Agent Orange during the Vietnam War. The Seed was planted and a brilliant new West Australian play was about to bloom.

She was unprepared for the wide-reaching reception her play received; it touched a chord with a lot of people about the impact of war on veterans and their families, and the secrets that are covered up – by governments and by families.

 This 2024 production with a freshly tweaked script, weaves together excellent writing with mostly solid performances, evocative multi-media by Jessica Russell and strong direction by Matt Edgerton, creating a taut and surprisingly funny family drama. It is a story that is as pertinent and relevant today as it was twenty years ago, and is made all the more poignant by the inclusion of Kate Mulvany’s sister Tegan Mulvany in the role of Rose.

The plot revolves around a family reunion. It’s Guy Fawkes day and Danny (Steve Turner) travels from Australia to Nottingham in England with his daughter Rose (Tegan Mulvany) to meet her Irish grandfather Brian (Geoff Kelso) for their shared birthday. Rose is a journalist looking for a good story about her family, and full of questions for her grandfather – a hard talking IRA sympathiser/activist who appears to be still very much involved in the cause.

Brian’s dialogue is superbly crafted and Kelso’s execution of his character is poetry in motion – you can’t take your eyes off him as he struts the stage, throwing down hilariously ascerbic lines while dominating his traumatised son and confused granddaughter. The Seed is worth seeing if for nothing else to witness Kelso’s performance. He’s a veteran actor at the top of his game and he plays the old rebel Brian with obvious relish, great command and hilarious comic timing.

Rose vacillates between being drawn in by her grandfather’s rough charm and repelled by his brutal honesty, casual violence and lawlessness. His behaviour is outrageous; he's a charismatic bully who insists on dragging his jetlagged son and granddaughter to the pub, tries to give them drugs he claims his other sons are selling and also attempts to enlist Rose in the nefarious ‘family business.’

His son Danny is a broken man. He’s a shell of his former self and intensely uneasy in his father’s presence.  Yet his close bond with his daughter gets him through and their concern for each other is genuinely touching. Rose hovers over him during a ‘white out’ brought on by his father’s bullying, and we learn of the harrowing experience of cancer she experienced during her early childhood. Turner and Tegan Mulvaney nail the abiding sense of love, trust and concern between father and daughter. One senses a lot of work has gone into establishing those deep father/daughter bonds in the rehearsal room.

Turner’s portrayal of Danny is a sensitive and nuanced portrait of a war veteran with PTSD. He doesn’t hit a false note. His face and body convey an intense inner struggle, and his fearful response to his domineering father is heartbreaking to witness. Tegan Mulvaney has moments of strength as Rose. Her opening scene with Turner is powerful and captivating, and she launches the narrative with strength and confidence. Later she delivers Rose’s comedic lines with a sly, subtle humour and also finds a touching vulnerability and humanity in her character. The scene in which she reveals to her grandfather that she’s barren, is painful to watch, powerfully delivered and a reminder of the great losses this innocent young woman has had to endure.

The Seed is an important Australian play - one to watch if you haven’t seen it before. It’s born from a lived experience of the horrific intergenerational legacy of war, and is steeped in the complexity of deep familial love and the secrets and lies that threaten to unravel that love. It’s masterfully written, well directed and performed, with sophisticated multi-media and sound design by Jessica Russell and Mark Haslam that skilfully evokes Rose’s childhood memories of crayfishing in Geraldton with her Dad. The Seed is everything one looks for in great Australian theatre. It has tremendous emotional affect, an acute sense of social justice, compassionately drawn characters and a wicked ear for great dialogue.

Four Stars

The Seed performs at The Subiaco Theatre Centre until the 17^th November.

Photo by Daniel J Grant

Lucky Oceans and David Milroy

FIVE STARS

What do you get when you bring together a Grammy award winning American pedal steel guitarist with an award-winning Aboriginal playwright/songwriter?

A whole bunch of belly-laughs and a toe-tapping good time.

Lucky Oceans and David Milroy have only been performing together since 2020, but to listen to their banter you’d think they’d been lifetime buddies and collaborators. This duo brings a truckload of charisma to the stage, and they both have a hilarious sense of humour that tickled their audience pink.

This year they performed for NAIDOC week and the Jama Nyinayi Festival, and there’s talk of further collaboration for a show for the Perth Festival. They also both played together in the band for Milroy’s plays Waltzing the Wilara and Panawathi Girl. (He joked about playing music in his own plays that ‘You gotta get a gig somehow.’)

At Fremantle Theatre Company’s Victoria Hall they performed for a Morning Melodies session at 10.30am to a surprisingly large audience for such an unconventional time slot - testimony to the reputation of these two formidable artists. This was a unique musical experience that spanned a range of styles, from American country to Australian country to zydeco, blues and even a spot of yodelling.

While Oceans hails from Philadelphia, Milroy is a proud Palyku man from West Pilbara. They sang songs with strong connection to their respective land, language and culture that combined to form an intriguing cultural experience, taking the audience on a magical carpet ride  from honky tonks and bayou swamps to spinifex and cowboy musters under the Southern Cross; from serious songs of love and death to ridiculous songs about space buggies and people who have to eat their pets. (Blame Milroy for that one.)

Many of Milroy’s songs were taken from his plays Waltzing the Wilara (Nominated Best Musical Score at the 2011 Helpmann Awards) and Panawathi Girl. The final song, sung in traditional language with Oceans improvising on his pedal steel guitar was simply transcendent, transporting the audience to the red dirt, blue skies and ancient ancestors of the Pilbara. It was steeped in nostalgia and longing for country, and Ocean’s guitar evoked the  Pilbara heat, smell and taste of roo tail over the campfire as effectively as it evoked jambalaya and crawfish pie.

The duo also played requests and a bunch of their favourite covers including Johnny Cash and Creedence Clearwater. They were having such a good time they played way past their allocated time and had to get shooed out of the Victoria Hall for their next booking. The audience stayed glued to their seats – there was no way anyone was going to leave this ebullient performance, and we all filed out at the end, filled up by the time-honored tradition of coming together for a yarn and a good old singalong.

Waltzing the Wilara will tour next year with Hit Productions.

Lucky Oceans is playing at The Duke of George East Fremantle on the 15^th November and the 1^st December.

Dave and Lucky are performing at:

Day in the Forrest,   a one day Festival at Glen Forrest, free December 7

The Country Show at the Quarry Amphitheatre 8th December https://wasup.com.au/events/lucky/

Closing party Perth Town Hall ( A Night Out West) March 2 

Ten Days on the Island, Tasmania (Tassie's premier festival) 27-30 March 

He Aint Heavy - Written and Directed by David Vincent Smith

Five Stars

How far would you go to save a loved one from addiction? How far is it possible to go? At what point do you throw your hands in the air and walk away?

He Aint Heavy is a stunning debut feature by writer/director David Vincent Smith and producer Jess Parker of No Labels. Based on Vincent’s personal experience of his brother’s addiction, it’s a gripping, no-holds-barred story of a young woman’s desperate attempt to get her violent, meth-addicted brother clean.

Leila George plays the long-suffering Jade, whose own life has been on hold for the duration of her brother’s addiction. Her real-life mother Greta Scacchi plays their forgiving mother Bev, and Sam Corlett plays the troubled brother and son Max. George has clearly inherited her mother’s acting chops. She brilliantly captures the complexity of Jade’s relationship with Max – the deep despair at his vile behaviour, the hatred of the person he’s become, the compassion for his suffering and the love born from a deep sibling bond and the memory of the beautiful young man that he once was.

George does not hit one false note. Her powerful performance is grounded in truth. The anguish and trauma she portrays is visceral and will resonate deeply for anyone who has experienced the pain of losing a loved one to addiction. This is a bravura performance that signals the arrival of a significant new acting talent in Australian cinema.

Greta Scacchi is also impressive as the gentle Bev, who continues to love and forgive her son despite his appalling behaviour, and to support her daughter to live her life, despite the horror that threatens to engulf them all. The real-life bond between Scacchi and George bleeds into the film with a deeply felt sense of tenderness and trust. Scacchi gives a humble but dignified performance of a remarkable woman, who endures and forges on where many others would crumble.

All three leads deliver award-worthy performances and Sam Corbett’s is a tour de force; combining demonic behaviour (that echoes Jack Nicholson in The Shining) with raw pain and a vulnerable beauty which shines through in the moments we see him drug free, including an incredibly tender scene between the two siblings which had this reviewer in tears.

Vincent Smith’s screenplay was developed with screen editor Lynn Vincent McCarthy who previously worked on the powerful Australian films The Nightingale and Relic. It’s an assured script, crafted with a keen sense of tension and drama and a depth of insight. Impressively, it doesn’t attempt to sugar coat the story with humour, instead choosing to tell it with a steely-eyed commitment to the truth. There are many humble family moments in the script that combine to tell an epic story of love, transgression, forgiveness and redemption. The climactic scene which begins with a simple candle on a cupcake is utterly harrowing and heart breaking.

David Vincent Smith has crafted his film with honesty, empathy and an embodied understanding of the impact of drug addiction on families. He’s drawn remarkable performances from his actors and painted a powerful picture of a loving family torn apart by addiction. It’s a remarkably mature examination of a complex issue by a young film maker, who strikes a sensitive balance between the violence and horror of Max’s drug induced behaviour, and the humanity that lies beneath his ugly meth psychosis.

He Aint Heavy is the must-see Australian movie for 2024. Combining killer performances with unflinching story-telling and a big heart, it’s a remarkable, powerful debut with tremendous impact; worthy of awards and international attention.

He Aint Heavy is being released nationally on October 17.

Just a Farmer - Written, Produced and Starring Leila McDougall

Written, Produced by and starring Leila McDougall

Directed by Simon Lyndon

Cinematography by Gavin John Head

Trigger Warning: This review contains discussion of suicide and mental health.

In a recent coronial enquiry into the mental health of farmers, it was found that a farmer takes their own life every 10 days in Australia. It’s a staggering statistic that begs the question Why don’t we hear more about this and what is being done about it?

Leila McDougall was born into farm life and married a farmer. She has had no training in the arts and no experience writing, acting or producing film. She just had a burning desire to tell an important story about farmers, and the tenacity and self-belief to make that story into a movie.

In Just A Farmer McDougall plays Alison – the wife of Alex.  They have two young kids and a large farm to look after. They’re six million dollars in debt and the bills are piling up following a failed harvest. When her sister says “I don’t know how you cope.” Ali replies, ‘Most farmers have this much debt. You just learn to deal with it.’ Just A Farmer illustrates the incredible stresses and pressures farmers struggle with, and for men particularly, there’s no time and few resources to talk about, or seek help with their mental health.

Though there are subtle signs that Alex is suffering under intense pressure, no one is prepared for his sudden suicide, and Alison is left to deal with the aftermath. We see her go about her day-to-day business with a thousand-yard stare. Her shock, depression and grief are palpable, and will resonate with anyone who has experienced devastating loss. Yet she pulls herself up by the boot straps and perseveres because her children – and her farm – need her.

For a quiet, slice-of-life film, Just A Farmer really packs a punch. It is a humble, beautifully realised study of grief and the aftermath of suicide. McDougall’s portrayal of a grieving widow is emotionally resonant, honest and deeply authentic. Her grief is the ever-present subtext beneath her busy farm life, and we see that she perseveres because she must, even though her grief threatens to overwhelm her.

The authenticity of the film is made possible for myriad reasons - it’s filmed on location at McDougall’s farm. All the work she puts into the farm – the fixing of fences, the herding of animals, the sorting of wool, is her real-life work. Her daughter is played wonderfully by her real-life daughter Vivian. (Her performance is as natural and as endearing as her mother’s). Her animals also play important roles; Eric’s suicide is triggered by his need to put down one of the cows and after his suicide, it is his distressed dog that leads Ali to his body. The same dog refuses to help herd sheep in the following days because she too is grieving.

This is Simon Lyndon’s directorial debut and he brings an impressive restraint to his direction, allowing the quietness and ordinariness of farm life to tell a powerful story of loss and resilience. There are many small, beautifully observed moments. In a cameo of the first policeman to arrive on the scene after Eric’s suicide, the look of horror and despair on Lyndon’s face says it all, without him having to say a word. The cinematography by Gavin Head is an exquisite tapestry of Australian landscape and farm life, with finely observed moments that speak to the slow pace of life in the country and the ever-present connection with the land.

Robert Taylor plays Eli’s alcoholic father-in-law Owen with depth and complexity.  Owen’s pain, guilt and helplessness in the face of his son’s death is heartbreaking. Joel Jackson plays Alison’s husband Eric with an understated complexity that hints at the vulnerability and cracks beneath his stoic surface. Damien Walshe Howling plays Eric’s best friend, and again, his pain is not stated but shown in a series of understated moments. He snorts an illicit substance while listening to Nick Cave in his Ute one minute, then flirts with Alison’s sister and shows up to take Alison’s son to footy training the next. These are all complex characters who depict a range of emotional responses to tragedy.

Alison’s son is played by McDougall’s best friend’s ten year old son Oliver Overton, and he is another non-actor who shines in his role. Young Alec develops a new maturity after the death of his Dad. The scene in which he asks his Mum what he can do to help her is genuinely moving. There’s a warmth and authenticity in all the performances which brings depth and humanity to the film. This can all be traced back to McDougall’s writing. Her deep empathy and compassion for her community shines through in every scene and character.

Just A Farmer is a beautifully crafted film with strong performances and an important story to tell. It’s a film that deserves a proper place in the Australian canon of cinema, yet it’s only had limited screenings at mostly regional cinemas. Fingers crossed it gets picked up by a streaming service or free to air television, because it’s an important Australian film which deserves a wide audience.

FIVE STARS

Just A Farmer will screen at DADAA on 92 Adelaide Street Fremantle on 24 and 25 October.

Review of Alexandria 2.0

Review of Alexandria 2.0

At The Victoria Hall Fremantle

If you could create a soundtrack to accompany your favourite book, what would it sound like?

Steve McCall and David Phillip Richardson used this question to create a genre-defying fusion of literature and sound to tantalise the senses and ignite curiosity in their show Alexandria 2.0. The entire room at The Victoria Hall was used as part of the performance, with a multi-media screen at the back and McCall and Richardson onstage. The lights played an important role, creating a dream-like ambience as they swept from the front to the back of the room - directing the audience where to look next. Most of the seating faced the stage, but there were lush red velvet couches at the back which also faced the screen.

The show’s beginning was a little wishy-washy, with blurred multi-media illustrating the story The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. Visually it didn’t hold up. The music was layered and melodic, but neither the screen or the performers were interesting to watch, so the story didn’t entirely land in terms of impact. However, as the stories progressed, the music, story-telling and multi-media  worked together more synergistically, and grew in power and affect.

The soundscape for Tomorrow When The War Began – a dystopian Australian novel by John Marsden was evocative and emotionally redolent, with hypnotic beats and driving guitar creating a sense of tension and impending doom. The ambient sounds of percussion and samples evoked a sense of fear, love and the precariousness of existence, but again the multimedia visuals were a little weak and didn’t do justice to the music or the samples from the book.

The multi-media was effective though, in Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell. This was a powerful and evocative riff on poverty, with driving rock guitar and ominous beats providing the soundtrack to compelling voice overs from the book on the nature of poverty. The multi-media was a broken down urban wasteland made up of abandoned, neglected buildings  and abandoned, neglected people. It was a potent comment on the ongoing suffering of the poor and the capitalist system that seeks to keep them oppressed.

The synergy continued with On The Road by Jack Kerouac. Kerouac’s stream of consciousness writing was heavily influenced by experimental jazz, so it was at first disappointing that McCall and Richardson did not speak to this in their soundscape (although there was a hint of it in the gentle brush back beat). They also chose to use an Australian accent for the text voice over and mostly Australian landscapes in the multimedia. The sweeping images of the road moving through wide open Australian landscapes combined with the voice-over urging us not to look back but ever onward, and another driving, rock-based soundscape evoked a heady sense of freedom, adventure and connection to the land. I’m not sure Kerouac would have approved of the artists displacing the book from his beloved America, but the piece worked, because the Australian road and surrounding landscape is just as mythic (think Mad Max) and evocative if not more so, than America.

Each track from this point on grew in potency and power, and the sound/visual extravaganza became really exciting with Neuromancer –  the cyberpunk masterpiece by William Gibson.  Phillip Richardson’s multi-media utilised images of cyber humans, laser lights and a futuristic cyber landscape which beautifully complimented the foreboding electronica sound track and evocative samples from the book. This was a dynamic and immersive experience where sound, light, image and text all came together to create a bold, brave science fiction experience. An added highlight was the appearance of a mysterious woman high up in the stalls, who lip synced to strange machine noises before breaking into song. Her appearance met a need in this reviewer for one more ingredient in the mix – bodies in the space.

Combining the richness of great literature with emotionally resonant contemporary soundscapes, Alexandria 2.0 transports the audience to a myriad of worlds and sensually redolent experiences. This is a unique, innovative and immersive experience for audiences which utilises pace, tension, drama and emotion to great affect. High praise must go to McCall and Richardson for their bold vision and for executing such an ambitious concept with skill and flair.

Four Stars

Review of Vincent - Written by/starring Alan King

FIVE STARS

Vincent is a film like no other. It defies categorisation and stands alone as a truly unique work of art. Written, performed and edited by Alan King, it’s a psychological character study of a brilliant and tortured artist trying to navigate his way through friendship, fame, success, substance abuse and his own precarious mental health.

Vincent is a troubled man who retreats to his parents’ shack in the bush after a break up due mainly to his alcoholism. As a strange outsider and loner, he’s mocked by the small-minded people from the town nearby. He befriends another strange loner, encounters a ‘beast’ one night in the woods, whose violent attack scares him into sobriety, and from his sobriety he begins to write a novel. Four months later, after biting off and swallowing his own tongue, and mysteriously losing an eye at the hands of ‘the beast’, his novel wins a national literary prize, obtains a top literary agent and Vincent embarks on a national tour which draws him back into a life of hedonism, self-destruction and emotional fragility.

Alan King delivers a fascinating and deeply compelling performance as Vincent. His immersion into his character invites the viewer to step in to his very strange, internal world. There are hints of violence and psychosis in Vincent’s psychological make up, but he is also incredibly sweet and vulnerable, and there’s a depth to King’s characterisation that one only sees in people who have undergone deep suffering.

There’s also plenty of ambiguity in Vincent to keep people guessing. Edited in surreal jump cuts and freeze frames that suggest a fragmented psyche and a tenuous grip on reality, the audience is left to question if the beast is real or is it Vincent’s violent alter ego? Is the success and book tour real or is he delusional? Are any of the characters he meets real or are they all just aspects of his psyche? Vincent asks more questions than it answers, but rather than being obscure and difficult to understand it is fascinating and compelling.

The unusual editing and peculiarity of King’s performance, combined with quirky improvised scenes with the other characters, create a screen world like no other – in which the line between fantasy and reality is blurred and the viewer is constantly questioning what is the truth…much like a person suffering from an extreme mental health condition would do.  

The title, along with the loss of eye and tongue refer to the deeply troubled and equally brilliant Vincent Van Gogh. No other references are drawn, but it is a nod to the trope of the tortured artist and the many parallels between genius and insanity that can be found throughout the arts.

King credits David Lynch, Jean Luc Goddard, Lars von Trier and Stanley Kubrick as his great influences and Vincent certainly shows shades of Lynch and Von Trier, but it has a dark thread of comedy running through it that gives it more absurdism and humor than Von Trier’s work. King also used many of Von Trier’s Dogme films principles to shoot his film. Vincent was shot in one week and only a handful of locations, using mostly natural light, a micro crew and handheld camera. The result is a remarkably free film that bursts with creativity and holds together beautifully despite its lack of narrative structure. The strength and power all comes down to King’s deeply authentic performance and the unusual editing which holds the delicate threads of the film together like an intricately woven spider web.

Vincent has all the makings of an Australian cult classic. It’s intelligent, quirky, unique, finely observed and beautifully performed. Fingers crossed this wonderful film will get a national and international distribution deal soon. Props to King, his producer wife Angela Ling and his terrific team for creating such a fascinating, darkly humorous and unique film.

Vincent is currently screening at The Galactic Imaginarium (Romania), Santiago Horror Festival (Chile), Montevideo Fantastico Film Festival (Uruguay) and Callela Film Festival Spain. Alan King was nominated Best Actor for Vincent at the recent Septimius Awards in Amsterdam.

Review of 'What About Sal'

THREE AND A HALF STARS

Sal (Gerard O’Dwyer) has Down Syndrome. He’s in his 30s, lives with his Mum Sophie in inner city Sydney and enjoys a happy, carefree life with some great friendships. Then suddenly his Mum (Kaarin Fairfax) falls sick and is taken to hospital. She’s diagnosed with lung cancer and hasn’t got long to live. Sal is faced with the tough choice of finding his father or having to move into a group home. He embarks on a mission to find his Dad, armed only with the information that he was a singer in a rock band in the 80s.

What About Sal is written, produced, directed by and stars Aussie icon John Jarratt. It is Jarratt’s second foray into writing and directing, and his big-hearted compassion for his subject matter shines through in every aspect of this little Aussie gem. His direction coaxes terrific performances out of his actors - Kaarin Fairfax delivers a beautifully modulated performance as Gerard’s Mum. She inhabits her character with a lovely natural authenticity and warmth. Her performance is emotionally charged, and each screen moment is imbued with a deep and abiding love for her child. Her grief and helplessness in anticipation of her impending death is heartbreaking to witness and will resonate with anyone faced with their own mortality or the loss of a child.

Gerard O’Dwyer is the undisputed star of the movie. His performance beautifully captures the complex emotions Sal experiences as he navigates the urgency of his situation, his quest to find his father and his grief and fear over the impending loss of his mother. His big heartedness is the quality that shines through, and the bond between O’Dwyer and Jarratt carries a ring of truth that is really touching.

Jarratt plays Sal’s alcoholic father. He begins his journey in the film as a belligerent drunk who’s encounter with his long-lost son triggers a radical transformation of his character. At times the transformation is a little too neat and easy, and it seemed that while Jarrett did a terrific job directing the other actors, he could have done with an outside eye to guide him with his own performance. His Deadbeat Dad came across as a little two-dimensional, and it was difficult to believe that such a nasty man and rotten drunk could so quickly transform to become a kind, loving and responsible father to Sal.

Nevertheless, What About Sal tells an important story about an issue that faces every parent of a disabled child and every disabled adult trying to live with independence and self-determination. If audiences can suspend their disbelief, it's a heart warming story, told with warmth, humor and charm.

Vagina Monologues at The Victoria Hall Fremantle

TWO AND A HALF STARS

In 2018 the New York Times stated of the groundbreaking play The Vagina Monologues, “No other work of theatre has had a greater impact worldwide.” Created in 1996 by Eve Ensler and based on interviews with 200 women about their relationship with their bodies, sex, and their experience of violence, the popularity and relevance of the play spread world-wide. Ensler’s sex positive mission to empower women evolved into an international campaign to end violence against women. She has since raised over 120 million dollars towards this end with her not-for-profit charity ‘One Billion Rising’.

With this legacy, Culture Vulture attended a performance of The Vagina Monologues at The Victoria Hall in Fremantle with high expectations, and unfortunately found it sadly lacking. There were some poignant and comedic moments, but it lacked the fire, courage and call to action that Ensler’s script demands.

There were some glaring omissions. The monologue “I Was Twelve, My Mother Slapped Me’ about menstruation was not included, and neither was one of the most powerful monologues “My Vagina Was My Village” which, compiled from testimonials of Bosnian women about their horrific experience in rape camps during the Bosnian war, speaks to the sex trafficking and sex crimes still taking place today as a result of the war in Ukraine.

The black voices in the script were noticeably absent, and it was disappointing to see an all-white cast when a good portion of Ensler’s monologues were based on testimonials from people of colour. ‘The Little Coochie Snorcher That Could’ is a black story which was also omitted. This has been one of the most controversial monologues in Ensler’s play, because it tells the story of a black woman who, after experiencing sexual trauma and rape, is able to heal and transform her relationship with her body after being consensually seduced by an older woman. The monologue was called out by conservative critic Robert Swope as an example of female rape. (The woman was 13 at the time of seduction and her lover 25.) But this was a true story told by a woman who clearly enjoyed a positive consensual experience with her older lover. Her story is a fascinating insight into the unconventional paths that can lead to healing.

Controversial stories that illuminate the grey area of ethical behavior are good for audiences. They are thought-provoking and act as catalysts for important discussion. Avoiding them is an insult to the intelligence of audiences. It deprives them of the opportunity to arrive at their own decisions about where they stand on ethical issues. It was very disappointing to see such a complex monologue censored from this production.

The production did include some recent statistics about violence against women in Australia which were a potent reminder that this issue is in our back yard and screaming to be addressed. Each year Ensler adds a new monologue to The Vagina Monologues to reflect a different culture or demographic around the world. In Australia, Aboriginal children are 7 times more likely to be sexually abused than white children, and Aboriginal women 6 times more likely to be sexually abused than white women. Eve Ensler would be well advised to take a look at this hidden issue in Australia and include it in her play. In keeping with the times, she has recently added a monologue about a woman in a burka (‘Under The Burka’) and a monologue about a transwoman (‘They Beat The Girl Out of My Boy’) which were also disappointingly not included in this production.

Some of the monologues were performed well, but others fell short. Mikayla Merks, after a bumpy beginning which included clumsy sight reading and garbled lines, eventually redeemed herself with a poignant and beautifully authentic performance of ‘The Vagina Workshop”, in which an English woman first experiences an orgasm at her own hands. Alison Van Reeken gave a strong and thought-provoking reading of ‘The Woman Who Liked to Make Vagina’s Happy’ about a lawyer turned dominatrix who specialises in female pleasure, and Sarah McNeil delivered the delightful ‘Reclaiming Cunt’ with clear diction and great comic timing.

However, there were also quite a few moments that did not ring true. The different types of moans demonstrated in response to desire were coy and did not always hit the spot (pardon the pun). Sarah McNeil’s rendition of “The Flood”, about an older woman’s sexual shut down after being shamed in her youth, lacked the vulnerability and pathos required to make the story moving. Without the pathos, the humour that closed it came across as a parody of elderly sexuality. Alison Van Reeken performed ‘Because He Liked To Look At It’ with an Australian accent that sounded a little forced, and seemed at odds with the language, so the speech did not entirely ring true. There were also unnecessary sound cues such as Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love” playing in the background of one speech, which detracted from the performance rather than adding to it.

To put it plainly, the production lacked direction. It needed an outside eye to bring coherence and a sense of the bigger picture to the actors’ performances. It also needed a braver, bolder vision to do justice to the courageous women who shared their stories. It lacked the element of risk and honesty that the script required.

Review of After Frankenstein and Ugly Sisters

Review of Star Goon, Carlos Pandanus and Tomas Ford

Star Goon Stickers $5 each

FOUR STARS

Two weeks back from Edinburgh Fringe and Fremantle delivered a gig to rival the weirdest shit Culture Vulture witnessed at Edinburgh. It was the debut performance of psych influenced space core duo Star Goon at The Buffalo Club in Fremantle, and they invited their equally weird mates Carlos Pandanus and Tomas Ford along to support them. Carlos Pandanus opened, dressed as an Oompa Loompa, with his clothes on backwards, playing some heavy beats and spacy vocals with his voice set to chipmunk.  Ian Macleod as Carlos Pandanus is a seasoned and hilarious performer who’s been appearing on the Freo indie music scene for over twenty years in various different punk/techno outfits.  The music and production values for his songs were no great shakes but for entertainment value he got a ten out of ten for irreverent shits and giggles, and he was a great warm up for Star Goon who were up next.

Star Goon are vocalist/flautist Sunny Floyd and Shayne O’Neill - former guitarist from punk bands Fuzz Bucket, Spock Fonzies and Accelerators. They’ve produced two albums (The Gift and Small Explosions) with a third to be released next year. Star Goon is like the love child of Ziggy Stardust and Devendra Banhardt, with a Unicorn thrown in for good measure. Sunny Floyd delivered a beautifully weird performance, dressed like a psychedelic Telly Tubby, as she peered out at us with a demented glint in her eyes and sang hallucinatory vocals about space moths, barflys and moonbeams on Jupiter. Her voice was distorted and vocals were trippy and drawn out  - not unlike Nico in The Velvet Underground.  Definitely the kind of sounds you’d expect from die hard Freo hippies, but these guys were no cliché. This was genre-defying space rock that would have made Ziggy Stardust proud.

Floyd’s flute supported the dreamy space cake ambience and O’Neill brought some fast, furious psychedelic rock guitar to the mix. It was hallucinatory, insane and hilarious. The duo were clearly having a ball test driving their new material and they had some fun Space Goon merch pictured.

Next up, living legend Tomas Ford brought in his new act as a gay cowboy playing punked up country music on his ukelele, with his usual anarchic brand of rage and comedy. The last time Culture Vulture saw Tomas he was dressed as a Cub Scout singing songs around the campfire and making damper at Hidden Treasures. The time before he was doing a one man show about being diagnosed with ADHD and fighting all the time with his missus. Since then, he broke up with said missus, came out as gay, and fully embraced his gayness by adjusting his performance dial to Queer As F*ck.  I won’t give away the revealing finale but let's just say Ford is one of the most outrageous performers in Perth and he didn’t disappoint.

Star Goon then did their final set which was even better than their first. Floyd delivered an operatic song that soared to Mars and back. Floaty and ethereal, she drew the audience in with her supernatural charm. It was a deep, contemplative moment in which time stood still and everyone got lifted. I don’t know whether the drinks were spiked or Star Goon really do have transcendent powers, but there was a whole lot of trippy magic going on at The Buffalo Club and the audience spilled out transformed by the experience.