Art Smitten

There will be some mildly sexual language and content throughout this review. If that might be a problem for you, tune out for the next five minutes or so - but, you'll be missing the breakdown of a great show.

A live band of sorts, and performance goes with the music

Duets is a show that will probably take you out of your theatre-comfort zone, unless you usually attend shows that include women performing suggestive acts with a banana and a tomato, or men in sequined morph suits gyrating to music, wearing enormous strap on dildo's. It is the second in a series of productions by performance troupe The Stain. Jo Franklin, in an interview with La Mama, suggested that the Stain's full title and job description should be 'performance art live music ensemble'. Duets is directed by Maude Davey, and the brainchild of the Stain core group Francesca Sculli, Jo Franklin and Gen Berstein. They are accompanied in the show by Harpist Genevive Fry, performance artists Sarah Ward, The Huxley' and Paula Russel. This is complimented with a haunting soundscape from Nat Grant, lighting design by Simon Coleman and set construction and props by Herbz.

The bio for the performance reads that it is set in 'an underground world marred by the spoils of life'. The set reminded me of the party Neo attends in the first Matrix movie, as he follows the figurative white rabbit. Dark, smoky, sweaty, and indeed, this world the Stain are about to take us into with Duet's is very alike to falling into a bizarre wonderland. Plastic sheets, the kind Bateman lines his apartment with in the famous American Pyscho  murder scene, canvas the walls of the small theatre.

The chairs for the audience are essentially a part of the stage. The drum kit and mics are so close to the front row that there is a very vague distinction between audience member and performer, especially when the performers make a point of roaming behind and into the audience at times, demanding your attention.

There is a fantastic light show, and the dancing lasers scramble your conception of any stability or normality in the universe of the show. Francesca and Joe, the key performers and singers, do not merely sing, standing still behind a mike, but gyrate, stare, gesture. There is a comedy to their performance, but also a deep seriousness, and the atmosphere is thick with an almost undetectable tension - I found myself deeply immersed in their world, the world of the steamy club party and exploration of sexuality, interrogating aspects of it constantly.

It is very clear that you are being taken out of your world and plonked down into a place which remembers and mimics things that are present in our own - love, sex, television, pop music, dance - but is not really them, rather, it is a place that subverts them, makes them ugly, beautiful, sad, silly, elegant or deranged, most obvious in their many adaptations of popular songs, warping and moulding music from artists such as Gotye and Rihanna.  It is over the top, confronting, but given that life can so frequently be overwhelming and bizarre in all its aspects, I believe Duets captures and champions this fact.

The show bears watching a second time - I do not think I gleaned too much of their message from the first viewing, perhaps so overwhelmed and engaged with the theatre of it all, and the sheer fun of listening to good, interesting live music. What I do know is that Duets is trying, both lightly and desperately, to examine the intensity of a human connection. And, while I believe they examine this most overtly through a sexual connection, this I can believe is also highly symbolic of other modes of desire, and the accompanying human flaws and compromises that can ruin any fantasy.

The element that moved me the most was Paula Russel's dancing. She dressed in a white flowing garment, and danced wildly around with a silly glint in her eye, beckoning us through the door and to our seats for the evening. She served as a kind of glorified roadie, changing over instruments and clearing the stage in a hyper energetic, twirling fury.

In the dying moments of the play, she appeared on stage, after all the other performers and musicians had vacated it. I only expected her to do something silly, light, comedic, to see us off for the evening. I was so presently surprised when she presented us with a full ten minute, highly choreographed dance, that was elegant, fractured, quietly sad but also defiantly optimistic

It's importance was accentuated given her capacity in the performance leading up to this point had been secondary, a relief character of sorts - a character that had been there from before we had even sat down, a person we had taken for granted and assumed to be unimportant. It was wonderful to have these expectations subverted, in that she proved to be one of the most compelling aspects of the performance, in my mind.

Catch Duet's at La Mama theatre, where it is showign until the 14th of August. Bookings and more info at lamama.com.au.

Written by Jim Thomas

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Mill on the Floss is a theatrical adaptation by Optic Nerve of the 1860 novel of the same name written by Mary Ann Evans under the pseudonym George Eliot.

Optic Nerves adaption of Mill on the Floss was a theatrical re-telling of the story of Maggie Tulliver. This adaption is much the same as the book, it is set in 19th century England, and it spans across 10-15 years of Maggies life starting when Maggie was 9 years old. This story is about the oppression of Maggies imagination, intelligence and agency as a woman living in a small town.

It is very clear to the audience from the beginning and Maggie is a very smart woman, she loves to read and learn, but it is quickly stifled by her father, telling her she shouldn’t be reading books. Maggie is left to her own imagination while her brother, unwillingly goes to school, something that Maggie dreams of doing.

Later we see a teenage Maggie, and then an older Maggie, perhaps in her early 20s. All throughout the play we see Maggie struggling to find her independence in a world that is unwilling to accommodate her. It is very clear that if it weren’t for the oppressive society that she lives in she would excel in academia and very easily find the independence she had been trying to find all her life, this is contrasted with the story of her brother, who does not wish to go to school and be in command of the family and his own life, essentially is forced into this role in which he is inept and violent. 

Optic Nerves adaption of this play is set in the same period as the book in England. The audience surrounds the action of the play in a U-shape. The set and costume design is minimal, with a long raised stage at the back of the space, with few set and props used through the play, like tables and chairs and lots and lots of books. The costumes for men were all the same, a light cream shirt and pants, and for women light cream singlet and skirt. 

I had a lot of issues with this adaption. Mainly I fail to understand why it has been set in 19th century England. I felt disconnected by the time period and place it was set, I think this play would have had a much more profound impact on me if it had have been adapted to modern Australia. I connected with Maggies struggle as a woman trying to prove her self in a society that disregards her for her gender, that still resonates today, but I struggled to make any deep connection, this may be because I am not a fan of period drama and putting on accents, but I think placing this piece in modern Australia would have made it a lot more potent because we as the audience would have a clearer look at how these themes still resonate are in modern Australia.

There was one point in the play where it seemed to jump forward in time, Maggie was going to a town dance, and the music was like that in a club, I would have enjoyed this element if it was sprinkled all through the play, but the jump to modernity only happened in this one moment which was very jarring and confusing to what was the significance of this, why was the dance modern? I don’t know.

I also struggled with the length of this piece. It was over 2 hours long with no interval, and very little changed in set, mood and energy, which was very exhausting, especially because I hadn’t eaten dinner. For a lot of the time the audience was at least partially lit, which made me feel tense and like I couldn’t move, and I am a very fidgety person so this was a struggle for me.

The piece was extremely text heavy, and hardly shifted in tone and energy the whole way through, and the acting seemed strained and forced, partially because the accents were so think and loud and strong. The dialogue seemed never ending and I felt like there was no room for me to breathe as an audience member because the content just keep coming and coming and a steady pace, I wanted moments of calm and moments of climax which I only seldom and briefly got, there was only one point of climax which was towards the very end when, seemingly out of no where there was a flood, which in terms of plot confused me, was I meant to know this area of England was prone to flooding? What happened to Maggie and the rest of her family and friends after the flood? I’m not sure, and honestly I didn’t make that much of a connection with any of the characters to have an investment in their fate.

Although I could see what the play was trying to do, I feel like it could have achieved more by setting it the 2000s, dropping a lot of the dialogue and cutting the length of the play – this would have also made the play a lot more accessible for those in the audience who at not as knowledgeable about the themes explored in the piece. I feel like this play was made and directed intellectually and not emotionally, and its so important to strike the right balance, otherwise you may be alienating some of your audience members, partially on the topic of feminism and oppression.

Mill of the Floss by Optic Nerve is being performed until August 13th at Theatre Works in St Kilda.

Written by Ebony Beaton

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For any fans of the fantasy genre, Bhaskar Hazarika's Kothanodi is a great entry point into this year’s Indian Film Festival. For anyone's who's not as keen on swords, dragons and castles, this adaptation of four classic Assamese folk tales is not that kind of fantasy movie. Taken from a compendium entitled Burhi Aair Sadhu (Grandma’s Tales) compiled by Lakshminath Bezbaroa, the stories all have a maternal relationship at their centre and a different harsh truth to deliver about motherhood.

The story of Malati, and her husband Poonai, is perhaps the harshest of all. They are a childless couple, but only because Poonai's mystical uncle has told his nephew to kill each of the three babies that Malati has given birth to. Poonai promised his father on his deathbed that he would always follow his uncle's counsel, however difficult it might be.

The film's opening scene shows Poonai taking their third screaming infant into the dark forest and burying it alive. It's an unexpectedly horrifying introduction to the world of this film, but one that sets the tone right from the outset. The murder is depicted in a way that is dark and confounding, but not gruesome or gratuitous. It operates within the familiar frame of folk tale logic, and in a very recognisable fantasy setting.

While Poonai and Malati are naturally disheartened by what they've had to sacrifice, they are not as traumatised as they would be if this film was striving for realism. Nevertheless, the once again pregnant Malati is determined to keep this next child, no matter what Poonai's uncle says. However, her feeling changes when he eventually shows her a vision of what would have happened if she'd kept her other children.

 While the rest of the stories don't start off quite as gruesomely, one way or another they all end up in quite a violent place.

The tale of Keteki, a woman who has given birth to a fruit, begins less shockingly but just as strangely. A friendly traveller named Devinath tells her that there is in fact a human son inside the fruit, one who loves his mum as much as any child does but who doesn’t fee safe enough to come out of his shell and into the world. As you can imagine, Keteki is simultaneously overjoyed at this discovery and overcome with maternal guilt.

The image of her walking around with her elephant apple rolling behind her is so unashamedly bizarre and eventually so emotionally charged that it works. No doubt much of this production’s local audience would have grown up with these stories and have no impulse to question their believability. As for international audiences such as Australia, surely they will respect a film that feels no need to explain itself too much. 

The stories are told with an effective mix of fantasy and magical realism. When Devinath guides Keteki through a ritual that will draw out her son, she certainly reacts as though she is watching something otherworldly. It is definitely the film's most fantastical scene, and yet we still feel that we are in the same "real" world where more mundane happenings are taking place. Keteki’s neighbours react to her fruit child with surprise, but not disbelief. They think she is a witch, and a dangerous one. If it’s her they’re afraid of, they should really meet the other two mothers we see here.

While Malati and Keteki are the two understatedly sympahetic characters, the domineering Doneshwari and evil stepmother Senehi are our gloriously fearsome villains. Doneshwari, we hear, has been tricked by a cunning python into selling her daughter's hand in marriage.  He managed to conceal his species from Doneshwari until just after the deal was made, but she is not at all aggrieved. She has heard tell of a girl in a nearby village who was also married off to a python. Apparently the morning after the marriage was consummated she woke up dressed in finery and covered with money, so Doneshwari is convinced that her daughter’s marriage will be a very prosperous union. The snake's con happens offscreen, as Hazarika, who wrote and directed the film, very wisely doesn't go so far as showing us a talking snake. The fact that we only ever see him doing things that a real python would do makes Doneshwari appear all the more deluded and self-centred.

That said, the avaricious matriarch has nothing on our evil stepmother, Senehi, who also happens to be Devinath's second wife. She is bitterly envious of the special connection between her new husband and his sweet young daughter. She feels incapable of competing with such a strong familial bond, and decides she wants her stepdaughter gone. The final straw is when the girl borrows , without permission, the dress that used to owned by Senehi's deceased mother. While Devinath is off travelling and helping Keteki connect with her withdrawn child, he has unknowingly left his own child at the mercy of a woman who has resolved to kill her.

The film's title roughly translates to "dark waters" in English. On its surface, Kothanodi simply looks like a dark but entertaining mix of traditional fables. While it does conjure a sense of curiosity about what fates these characters will eventually meet, they are all quite clearly illustrations of different vices and virtues. However, Hazarika manages to infuse most of these cautionary tales with a contemporary relevance. The story of a woman who must decide whether or not to keep her child, and who is sick of having men make that decision for her, is anything but otherworldly. There are also many children who are born living in their own little world that they never want to leave, something their mothers sadly can't help but take personally. Unfortunately, there are also still many matchmaking mothers around the world who will turn a blind eye to an abusive son-in-law if he is rich enough.

 The odd one out here is the wicked stepmother, who just doesn't have the same social resonance as the other three. As memorable as she is, and even though the real world does actually have a few resentful step-parents, hers is a story that feels overrepresented, especially in folk tales. Nevertheless, she is a delightful addition to what is still a deep and varied exploration of what it means to be a mother, and how hard it is to be a good one.

Written by Christian Tsoutsouvas

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To say that The New Girl in Class is the weakest offering of the Indian Film Festival would be something of an understatement. Amrita Dasgupta's documentary on the life of a 9-year-old autistic girl is certainly never boring, but for all of the wrong reasons. The story that Dasgupta wants to tell and the story that she has actually documented are so embarrassingly different that the end result approaches the so-bad-it's-good territory. It is so perfect a manual on how not to represent autism that it is, in its own way, highly informative.

Roshni is the new girl in question. Her mother, Neeraja, has fought hard to finally get her daughter into a mainstream school. However, she doesn't just want her daughter to get the same opportunities as her non-autistic classmates: she wants her to become them. She wants Roshni to stop flapping her hands, cycling through repetitive actions, and playing with her own saliva (although that last one is certainly justified). She wants her to play ball sports, to play with her toys “appropriately,” just like the other children do.

She describes the feeling of grief that she and unfortunately many other parents feel upon receiving an autism diagnosis for their child. Her husband, Shubhashish, talks about it being one of those things that you know happens to other families but never think will happen to yours, about wondering why it had to happen to his family. Listening to them both, you'd think that Roshni had been diagnosed with a terminal illness.

Shubhashish says that it gets easier, that the reality eventually sinks in. Neeraja says that she has accepted that autism will be with her daughter for life, that Roshni is not and never will be a typical child, and yet she is trying to make her as close to one as she can. She talks about wanting her daughter to become independent and socially connected, and yet there is never a moment at home, or even at school, where Roshni doesn't have her mother with her. When Roshni isn't at home or at school, she is attending Applied Behavioural Analysis therapy sessions that are designed to make her act like a non-autistic child, whatever the cost.

Of course, it's easy to see where Roshni's parents are coming from. They want their daughter to be happy, healthy and successful, and autism, like many things, is excluded from the mainstream picture of happiness, health and success. Neeraja rejoiced when Roshni was walking and talking sooner than the other children, but panics as soon as her little girl starts falling behind in the race. Autism might now be widely known, but it is still sparsely understood. It is something that Neeraja had probably heard about but never given a second thought until Roshni was diagnosed. Now she is desperately playing catch-up. She is trying do the right thing. She is researching like crazy, but the immense ocean of literature out there is overwhelming, even to those who’ve been learning about it all their life, simply because just about everyone seems to have something to say about autism. For Neeraja, what floats to the surface is what speaks to what she has already been taught to want for her child: for her to be normal, but not average; special, but not "special". Autism research and services is a huge, lucrative business. There is naturally a lot of money to be made in telling parents that their neurodiverse child is broken, and that you know how to fix them. Similarly, there is much acclaim to be won from making a documentary about a heroic mother on a quest to rescue her child from the disability of the week. What is much harder to sell is acceptance, accessibility, and social and systemic change brought about by some long, hard self-reflection.

We do hear at least one person politely challenge Neeraja’s quest. In the closest thing this film has to a climax, where Neeraja finds out if her daughter has passed her first year at her new school, Roshni’s wise school principal reminds her that every child learns at their own pace and in their own way. Sadly though, her tiny bit of screen time is too little, too late.

We see interviews conducted with Roshni’s beleaguered parents, her strict therapists, her bewildered classmates, and even her twin sister, Srishti, who knows about Roshni’s diagnosis, but not one of them is taken with Roshni herself. This means that countless important questions are never answered, or even addressed.

What does Roshni want? What are her interests? What does she enjoy doing? What does she think of her classmates? What does she think of her new school? How does she feel about having her mum at school with her all day, every day? If her sister knows about her diagnosis, does Roshni also know? Did she overhear it? Did she figure it out? How does she feel about it? Why is it hard for her to focus on playing a ball game? Is it really because she has a short attention span, as her father thinks, or does she just not like playing ball sports? Why does she like playing with her toys differently? What stories is she creating in her head? Why does she sometimes lash out at people? Is it because she feels overwhelmed? Frustrated? Threatened? Scared? Does she know that Srishti discloses her diagnosis and life story to anyone who asks about her? Does she mind her doing that? Is Srishti accurate in her accounts of her sister’s experiences and feelings? Are her parents’ accounts accurate?

As both a biography of Roshni and a documentary on autism, The New Girl in Class really shoots itself in the foot, not just by jumping the gun with its production and restricting itself to the first 9 years of her life, but also, more significantly, by not giving Roshni or any other autistic person the space to be heard. Roshni is made the object, not the subject, of what is supposed to be her own documentary. Instead of hearing from actually autistic people about the realities of being on the spectrum, we are stuck listening to closed-minded non-autistic people making uneducated guesses and getting just about everything wrong.

Written by Christian Tsoutsouvas

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Milk Bars in an installation and performance piece, it is based at The Mechanics Institute in Brunswick by Metanoia Theatre. The installation spread all across the Mechanics Institute, with five spaces and the theatre space being used as a central meeting point and bar that most audience members gravitated towards. 

The installation ranged from abstract to realistic interpretations of ‘a milk bar’ some were very interesting and beautiful, my favorite was the dressing room of the theatre that had been turned into a realistic home, perhaps out the back of a milk bar. Some of the installations seemed under done, one of the rooms had pixilated images of old fashions shelves like you’d see in a milkbar, and advertisements playing on another projector, the space was very white and felt unwelcoming, I did not like going into that space.

Throughout the space and all at different times were short performances by a handful of different actors, musicians and performance makers, and also the Executive Director of the Convenience and Mixed Business Association. The Performance styles were diverse, but I did not find this to be a a good thing, they ranged from avant garde movement pieces to monologues and story telling delivered to the audience, I found the performances to be inconsistent and jarring moving from one to the other.

One of the more confusing performances was Domenic Greco the Executive Director of the Convenience and Mixed Business Association giving a monologue about his childhood growing with his parents owning a milk bar and all the benefits this had to him and his towns community. Parts of his speech were very sweet, but some of it made me feel alienated and offended, he heavily critiqued modern society and the ‘rise of the supermarket’ and how its contributed to a lack of community which to me seemed a bit bias, and he didn’t touch on how supermarkets can be a positive influence, and how with negatives come positives, like the convenience of being able to buy all your goods in one place and employment. I was unsure what he was trying to get across to the audience, perhaps his speech was aimed at people who grew up and rasied their families when milk bars were still around and the main place people went for their goods.

The audience could move around the space as they wish but there was little indication of how the night would play out which left me feeling lost and confused and at times lonely because it was unclear what I was meant to be doing, and the program shed no light on it either.

Perhaps a few more performers acting as ushers to guild audience members around the space would have been helpful, this would also have helped activate the space because at times it felt static and awkward. Milk Bars would have benefited from a larger ensemble of performers with a consistent performing style; this would have made the space feel more friendly, welcoming and joyous.

Milk Bars by Metanoia is showing at The Mechanics Institute in Brunswick until August 6th.

Written by Ebony Beaton

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Christian and Beth are joined by Jeff Wortman, lead singer of Robot Child (Waleed Aly’s band) and the Musical Director of the production Changes: Theatrical Tribute to the Music of David Bowie. 

Changes will be performed until the 6th August at the Gasworks Theatre, 21 Graham St, Albert Park. 

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Christian was joined by Görkem Acaroglu, director of live art installation piece, Milk Bars. It will be performed at the Mechanics Institute Brunswick, 270 Sydney Road Brunswick, from the 27th July to the 6th August. 

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Guernica is a two-act ballet inspired by Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, set against the backdrop of the Spanish Civil War in the nineteen-thirties.

The Melbourne Ballet Company’s resident choreographer Simon Hoy brought his unique style of contemporary ballet combined with Prokofiev’s powerful original score.

Guernica is part of the Company’s 2016 Premiere Season Intention and Desire. The body of work was inspired by the messages within Picasso’s famous mural of the same name.  

You will not get a cheap version of mainstream productions with the Melbourne Ballet Company.

All of the dancers, handpicked by the directors, developed their skills with the likes of the Paris Opera Ballet, Cedar Lake Contemporary Ballet New York, West Australian Ballet and the Australian Ballet School.

The Company’s newest dancer and leading lady Gemma Pearse was a highlight on opening night.

Her portrayal of Juanita, a young Basque woman, delivered on the youthful innocence of the original Juliet. Her character came to life with light effortless jumps and exquisite pointe work in the first act, which was a delight to watch.

Pearce along with former Queensland Ballet artist Charles Riddiford as Ramiro, a young Nationalist Officer, formed a convincing partnership as the young lovers with impassioned and beautifully executed pas de deux.

Principal dancer Alexander Baden Bryce gave a superb performance in his role of Tybalt with a look fitting for a villain. Principal guest artist and Australian Ballet alumni Adam Thurlow graced the audience performing the role of a clearly frustrated Paris, who was unable to win the attention and love of Juanita. 

The small cast brought a strong stage presence, with Hoy’s signature lyrical movements brought to life by the brilliant artistry of the dancers. The simple, colourful costumes were a modern take on the era.   

Earlier, I caught up with resident choreographer and director of Guernica Simon Hoy to find out more about his production. In our interview Hoy also discusses how the Melbourne Ballet Company has carved out their own niche as a creative platform that is well on the rise.  

Written by Caroline Tung

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To anyone who's been holding out for a good theatrical sequel, Roberto Aguire Sacasa's Abigail/1702 is the latest member of that rare species. Picking up 10 years from the ending of its predecessor, Arthur Miller's The Crucible, Sacasa plucks out Miller's two-faced antagonist, Abigail Williams, and turns her into a very successful protagonist. The past decade has transformed the jealous young girl into a desperately puritanical young woman. Once a fierce denouncer in the Salem witch trials who sent 20 people to their deaths over a tumultuous affair with John Proctor, the married man she once worked for, she now lives on a farm in Boston. She has abandoned her now infamous name and adopted the new identity of a god-fearing farmer and nurse, which she hopes will drive away Satan's hold on her.

So far she has been successful. After all these years of living in a modest little hut, surrounded by dense forest and countless iron crosses, the Devil has not come to reclaim her. However, the arrival of a handsome wounded sailor, who is ironically named John Brown, is enough to stir up feelings that she has thus far been able to suppress. Their attraction to each other is palpable, as much as Abigail might deny it, but she certainly hasn't forgotten the last time she gave in to a man's insistence on bedding her, and not least because both men share the same first name.

Abigail/1702 reveals that John Proctor, the protagonist of The Crucible, forced himself upon Abigal the first time that they slept together, even though their later encounters were apparently consensual. While John Brown never physically violates her, he is not about to take no for answer. He scoffs at her choice of chastity, and declares, to the shock of the audience, that "a woman who is not a wife or a mother is only half a woman." Although, thanks to Abigail, John's wife, Elizabeth Proctor, is now a widow with no surviving children, and looks at most like half a woman when Abigail comes to see her in a desperate attempt to set things right.

The Crucible's account of the absurd Salem witch-hunt was famously allegorical, with its real target being the anti-communist paranoia that Senator McCarthy was still stirring up when it was first performed. However, Sacasa's sequel does not continue this focus. Its social commentary is much more visible at the surface, but arguably just as contemporary. While it is remarkable how seamlessly our old spiteful villain has transitioned into a sympathetic tragic heroine, there is no denying that she is still up to her old tricks. She is still doing selfish things for purportedly selfless and pious reasons. Her intentions are good, but they are nowhere near as pure as she tells herself. Her interest in redeeming herself, in healing the sick and in caring for orphans only started when she found out that the Devil was in hot pursuit of her.

Swinging between extremes is the only way she knows how to survive. When she is not destroying every life in sight, she is trying to save them all. When she is not entering into abusive love affairs, she is abstaining from all sexual acts. Whatever she tries, it never works for long.

Boutique Theatre has added their own special touch to the play's premier Australian production. At the bottom of the staircase leading up to the theatre, each guest is offered a small wheat biscuit. At the top of the stairs, they are offered a thimble cup full of either wine or blackcurrant juice. As they go through the big double doors to take their seats, the usher collects their empty cup and warns them that this 'communion' "may not save your soul." Just like this play's depiction of the Devil, who surprisingly is present as a character here, this elaborate welcome strikes the right balance between campy and caustic. Abigail/1702 feels just as cruel as its predecessor, but it is also much more playful. Abigail's sins might have been forgiven, but they certainly have not been forgotten. There is a sadistic sense of inevitability to Abigail's great punishment, as it would seem that not only circumstance but also her nature have always been against her.

Under Elizabeth's excellent direction, the cast of this production do a fine job of creating either complex or more cartoonish characters well called upon, just as the special effects team have a good sense of when to make things stylised and certainly know when and how to make things look realistic. Emma Caldwell is particularly impressive as Abigail and Jessica Tanner leaves an especially strong impression as the wounded Elizabeth. Nick Casey's forest-inspired set design is the perfect landscape for these haunting figures to prowl about in and the thrust theatre staging literally gives every audience member a different perspective on the action. Depending on where they are seated, some character reactions may be obscured while others happen in plain view. There is no level playing field for these characters as they each receive their judgement.

Sacasa has also written a fair bit for the screen, which shows here in the way he takes his cues from some of the best cinematic sequels as he crafts this follow-up to Arthur Miller's classic play. He draws on the most interesting story points of The Crucible while still having his own story to tell and his own messages to send. As such, Abigail/1702 is not only a fitting continuation of the original story, but it also works solidly as a standalone piece.

Written by Christian Tsoutsouvas

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Theatre company 'Make a Scene' alongside the La Mama Learning Company are currently presenting their interpretation of Carlo Goldoni's masterpiece 'The Servant of Two Master's. It is showing at Australia La mama theatre in Carlton until July 31st.

The cast includes Christian Bagin, Sharon Davis, Roby Favretto, Irene del Pilar, Freya Pragt, Lelda Kapsis and Darcy Kent. Many actors play both a primary and a secondary or extra character, and the lightning quick costume changes became just as fun as the play itself, as I tried to keep track of everybody, the frequent use of masks as props making this an even greater and more interesting challenge.

Goldoni's 18th century play has been translated and directed by Rosa Campagnaro, who has studied in depth the nuances of commedia dell'arte, or the Italian tradition of comedic improvisation. While 'The Servant of Two Masters' is not necessarily part of commedia dell'arte canon, given that it is scripted in depth, in her version Rosa has encouraged her actors into acts of improvisation which in my opinion gel wonderfully with the feeling of the play and add exponentially to the wild silliness of the whole affair. 

For example, the night I attended (the 17th of June), Brighella the innkeeper began to recite a menu to the audience, but got his mains mixed up with his entree. Truffaldino the servant, who was sharing the stage, leapt in using his outrageously coy Italian accent, 'come on man, you're a professional. You can't even get this right? Let's start the scene again'. After a quick argument in character, Brighella walked off stage left and reappeared, completely composed, and the scene continued, this time getting the dishes in the correct order.

 I can't stress the fact that everyone is in their own roles perform excellently, and throughout the play every character made me laugh out loud with wordplay, physical slapstick comedy, hugely exaggerated ego's, excellently crafted accents and the obvious chemistry the exhibit in their on stage relationships with each other.

 For me, the pinnacle of the comedy in the play was Campagnaro's plotting and the actors execution of the famous dining scene, in which Truffaldino is simultaneously serving his two masters unbeknownst to the masters themselves. The direction was ambitiously high, demanding perfect timing, high energy and on the momentum of the scene. That is, if one performer drops the ball, the whole thing loses all its power, but, the quicker, louder and riskier the scene is, the more hilarious it can be. It was perfectly  executed. The audience did not stop laughing for the full five minutes of the scene.

While every performer in this play did a brilliant job, the star of the show was Christian Bagen as Trufaldino , the eccentric, rude, hilarious and endearing Servant. Bagen presented his character as he is meant to be, and stole the spotlight with perfect  comedic timing, improvisation, maturity and charm.

It is a light hearted, entertaining play as a whole. However Campagnaro has  emphasised themes of sexuality and feminism in her version of the play, themes that are partially addressed in the original given a large part of the plot being devoted to a woman, dressed as a man, searching for her lost lover incognito, and the gender-based power she comes to control in her camouflage

The themes have been drawn out gradually over the course of the play, and they include women's sexual libertarianism, the ridiculousness of gender stereotypes, and the sad cruelty of these stereotypes being enforced. Furthermore, the fact that so many of the antiquated social codes designed to oppress women are present in Goldoni's 18th Century play live on in our modern society is another well deserved and well calculated jab.   

So, Campagnaro's 'The Servant of Two Masters' champions the women and condemns the fact that their qualities and capabilities, their power, is negated by a social code that when broken by the women in the play, seems bizarre that it had ever existed. And yet, none of these characters are white-washed. Both the men and women of the play have very real, repulsive human flaws, which somehow makes them that much more sympathetic.   

And indeed, this play opens a discourse on feminism that is based largely in laughter - in the ridiculous, the silly, which can so often help us examine and access serious matters with an open mind.

Once again, The Servant of Two Masters is running until the 31st of July, so not much time left. Head to lamama.com.au for more info and booking details.

Written by Jim Thomas

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