Art Smitten: Reviews - 2017

Click here to listen to Finley's interview with cast member Charles Purcell.

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Smithers reviews Simon J Green's horror short film The Darkness.

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The Privatisation of Ward 9B follows a desperate psychiatrist, Doctor Craven (played by David McCrae) in his efforts to supplement diminishing public funding by dragging his patients into the merciless world of economic enterprise. Written in 1991 at a time when the Hawke-Keating government was privatising public services such as airports, airlines, telecommunications and banks, Bill Marshall’s social message still rings clear - we bring an emphasis on profit making and cost cutting into the provision of public services at the peril of those most vulnerable in society. As I was born in the year it was written, I’ve only ever known these services to be private, and wonder if the setting had a more meaningful impact on the audience’s members from an older generation.

Walking into the intimate black box theatre at La Mama, a nurse seated in the corner of the stage judged our every movements. It was as if we had entered a psychiatric ward as patients instead of a theatre as audience members, foreshadowing the audience's active role as characters in the story that unfolded.

We were addressed as potential investors, which questioned the morality of our role as observers of a stage performance as a parallel to those people detained on behalf of society at large. Theatre norms were smashed from the beginning when the theatre manager gave his Welcome to Country and phones off announcement after the play had seemingly begun. With the actors on stage with him, they guided the audience members to a medicine cup with a “pill” under each of our chairs. I don't know what was in that pill but it was a roller coaster into crazy land from that moment forward.

Mike, played by Marc Opitz, claims he is a sane visitor of the hospital, trapped in the ward and being treated like a patient. Much like Leonardo Dicaprio in Shutter Island, the audience is left wondering whether he is the only voice of reason, or profoundly self-deluded. The thematic relevance of this character in a wider sense opened the question; who should be given the power to decide what is sane and what is not? In Ward 9B, the audience is privy to Dr Craven’s abuse of authority to make these judgements, yet within the world of the play fails to see his corruption and wrongly rewards his manipulations. The farcical results are begging to be compared with our contemporary political and social landscapes.

Mike’s sub-story, like all four of the patients in Ward 9B, I felt were not fully developed and could have been produced as separate plays altogether. With the patient’s back stories, their mild relationship developments and the overarching story all happening on stage simultaneously with no ascertainable rhyme or reason, the story line was at times difficult to follow. There were moments in which eight character were crowding the tiny stage with no obvious justification. Physically and psychologically it was utterly chaotic. Trapped in the small theatre for 80 minutes, as an audience member I began to feel what the patients in that ward might be experiencing such as agitation, relentlessness and disorientation.

A special mention to Matthew Richard Walsh who plays Max, a creepy, depraved patient, whose acting was nuanced and consistent Caroline Ferguson who plays the vain Nurse Wrench (perhaps a nod to and a less malevolent version of Ken Kesey’s Nurse Ratched) has a beautifully resonant voice which filled up the space both when she was speaking, and when she treated us to a strange and random cabaret performance. I thought the acting of the cast as a whole was a little disconnected disconnected at times where lines or physical responses were anticipated, although this could have been a directorial choice by Mark E Lawrence to set up a hyper realistic, melodramatic tone.

The synopsis promises an interesting explanation into a controversial matter, but I found that the scriptwriting, direction and acting all tried to cover too much ground, which meant sacrificing a clear message, and losing important themes along the way.

The Privatisation of Ward 9B is showing at La Mama theatre in Carlton until the 19th of February.

Written by Scarlett Koehne

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Faith is a difficult concept to explain to non-believers. I was never raised religiously, or even with any sort of a belief in a god. As such, I generally struggle to connect to stories of faith and to characters who so strongly experience faith, and it takes something special to make me truly understand what these people are going through. But Martin Scorsese, with his latest film Silence, has managed to do just that. Himself a lapsed Catholic, he may just be in the best position to convey the intricacies of faith.

Silence is the story of two Portuguese Christian missionaries in Japan in the 17th century, a time when Christianity was forbidden and severely persecuted. It’s based on a novel of the same name by Shusaku Endo, a Japanese Christian author, which in turn is based on a real set of historical events. The two missionaries, Rodrigues and Garupe (Andrew Garfield and Adam Driver), travel to Japan in pursuit of another priest by the name of Ferreira (Liam Neeson) who had gone to Japan many years earlier and of whom all traces had been lost. Over the course of the film, the priests hide in small Japanese villages and attempt, unsuccessfully, to evade the authorities who are determined to make the priests apostatise, to renounce their religion, and who aim to stamp out the roots of Christianity in Japan. The more the priests persist in their attempts to find Ferreira and to hold on to their dogma, the more ruthless the Japanese officials become, not just towards them but also towards the villagers who hide them.

For the most part, the narrative is centred on Rodrigues, and the themes of wavering faith, the silence of god and the point of missionary work in general, are all explored through him. Rodrigues is so deeply embedded in his religious system and indoctrinated role as a missionary that he fails to realise that true faith is in one’s heart, not one’s church. There’s a moment in the middle of the film where Rodrigues hands out religious artefacts to the church-starved locals and observes that these people seem more obsessed with the symbolism of religion than religion itself. It’s a thought that Rodrigues himself does not seem to fully grasp in relation to the manifestations of his own faith: repeatedly, the officials try to make him renounce his faith by placing his foot on an image of Christ, and repeatedly he refuses, as indeed do the persecuted villagers. He too, then, like the villagers, is more interested with preserving his status as an emissary of the church and of god than of accepting true belief, and as a result cannot bring himself to reject a physical symbol. To add to his inner turmoil and the difficulty he faces, the longer he takes to reject his status as a priest in front of authorities, the more the Japanese civilians are tormented and tortured. Even the officials continually state that the act of apostasy is a pure formality, that they would be satisfied with the simple gesture of stamping on the engraving, and even though this statement comes from a place of heartless bureaucracy, it nevertheless encapsulates the very lesson that Rodrigues is destined to learn.

Most of these narrative twists, thematic ideas and religious dilemmas come, of course, from Endo’s original novel, not from Scorsese or his co-screenwriter Jay Cocks, so I can’t pretend that they’re specific to this film. Having said that, the novel doesn’t really work for me. It seems to presume a basic personal understanding of the problems faced by people of faith and in doing so alienates someone like me who does not necessarily appreciate the faithful mindset. Endo almost relies on the (albeit intriguing) philosophical and ethical questions to be the start and endpoint of the narrative and as a result the narrative itself falls flat. There was even another adaptation of the novel filmed in 1971 by Masahiro Shindo, co-written by Endo himself, and even that felt very unengaging, though technically well-made. Scorsese’s adaptation, however, succeeds in constructing a deeply personal and affecting portrayal of the young priest and took me on a journey alongside him, allowing me to empathise with the weight of his doubts. Ironically, it seems that he has achieved this by toning down the first-person perspective in comparison to the original, though we do get a voiceover in several sections of the film, and consequently the film becomes more subtle and more balanced as a depiction. On top of this, Scorsese pays a great deal more attention to the Japanese villagers and their suffering, the very suffering that is at the core of the moral quandary facing Rodrigues. It all makes for very engrossing and moving viewing. In other words, while Scorsese hasn’t come up with the seeds of the story and themes, it’s the way he expresses them that is significant here.

On a technical level, too, Silence is astoundingly well-put-together. The majority of the film is shot with striking cold, foggy tones, echoing the harshness of the political environment which the priests are thrust into. Yet there are several notable moments that seem surprisingly warmly-coloured, made even more notable by the overall coldness of the film. These warm moments predominantly seem to have some connection to faith, such as a night-time prayer session in a tiny hut. It’s almost as if to emphasise the extent of the meaning people derive from their faith and the intimacy of their beliefs. I should note that cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto has been nominated for an Academy Award for Silence, and it’s very much well-earned. Scorsese’s longtime collaborator and film editor Thelma Schoonmaker, too, continues her masterful work, as does legendary set and art designer Dante Ferretti. The period detail is meticulous, even in scenes we barely see. And even though superficially this film mightn’t appear to shout “Scorsese”, there’s enough of his familiar camera movements to divulge his directorial presence. Several startling zooms and pans, particularly in the prison sequences, still stick in my mind and are well and truly characteristic of Scorsese’s work. Not to mention the stark and brutal imagery that has become synonymous with his reputation.

Excellent, fascinating and absorbing, a story about faith that even non-religious people like me can get into. All that’s left to say, I suppose, is that Martin Scorsese’s Silence is golden.

Silence is out in cinemas on February 16th.

Written by Ben Volchok

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The only time I ever went to the circus was easily ten years ago, somewhere in Melbourne where I remember only feeling a little bad for the animals on display there. My second outing to the circus being this, I must say, that no animals were harmed in Cirque du Soleil’s Kooza; apart from if you count the man dressed as a dog who urinated on an audience member at one stage.

I go into Kooza having a background in Theatre myself, both in acting, design and technologies such as lighting and sound. What Kooza does brilliantly isn’t just a circus act, but also a brilliantly staged and designed theatre act, which encompasses live music and a story which doesn’t need to told, instead, shown. The story of Kooza itself is about a boy in rags, who has a kite which closely resembles what he wears; grey, lifeless, and sagging. As he fails to send it high into the sky, a package is delivered to him, a jack in a box which comes alive, and transforms the world the boy resides in.

The first act of the play is split into different aspects of Circus acts, including aerial hoops, contortionists, and a unicycle duo. Kooza drip feeds excitement and danger, backending each circus act with a comedy sketch, including audience members twice. Each audience member brought up acted along well, however the second man by the name of Zach did so well, he earned more applause than the actual comedians themselves. The story progresses, as each act is brought out by the use of a wand, which when timed well gives the idea that pure magic is being used on stage, as the band plays to the shifts in the stage, curtains, and movement of actors. In the climax of act one, the wand drops, and a darkness encompasses the stage.

Returning to act two, the overall feeling and design of the production shifts. Purple and black costumes and lights shine as skeletal characters emerge, mimicking Day of the Dead, a Mexican holiday which is famous for its beautiful yet haunting skeleton designs and costumes. The acts as well become more dangerous, including balancing acts, a teeterboard, and easily the best part of the show, the Wheel of Death, which is metal pendulum with two circles on either side, in where two performers jump, move and skip rope as they cause the crowd to gasp and cover their eyes. My only gripe with Kooza is the conclusion of the production, which is resolved quite simply, the boy being given a new pair of clothes, and a fresh kite to fly. The actual Day of the Dead invasion into the play's design is not resolved however; the dropping of the wand seemed to me as the dark part of the play, and as the original cast run and shriek from the arrival of the skeletons, it is confusing why the situation isn’t resolved. Do they just go on living in a different world, and if not, how did they return to the act one world?

However, putting aside the small problem, Kooza was a brilliant display of theatre, circus and music combined into one action packed performance. It is sure to thrill anyone who has a sense of adventure, and also anyone with an urge to explore international cultures such as Day of the Dead, which Cirque de Soleil celebrates with its production of Kooza.

Written by Hamish Vallance

Click here to listen to Hamish and Christian's inteview with Lisa Ramey, one of the singers from Kooza

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Christian chats to Kent Morris, CEO of the Torch Project about Confined 8, an exhibiton on at The Gallery in St Kilda Town Hall that features 140 artworks by 130 Indigenous artists in or released from Victoria prisons.

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Review transcript:

You’re listening to Art Smitten on SYN. I’m Rebecca Houlihan, and today I’m going to be talking to you about a National Theatre Live production of No Man’s Land, written by Harold Pinter, and this version is directed by Sean Mathias.

So this play was originally produced in 1975, which is where it’s set. The big draw card of this version is the two Sirs, Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian Mckellen.

It’s a four-man play, and it focuses on conversations between the four characters. So that’s Spooner (played by Ian Mckellen) who’s this bumbling, failed poet, Hurst (played by Sir Patrick Stewart) who’s this successful writer that you don’t really know much about, and it’s clear his mind is deteriorating, and then the two younger men, Foster (played by Damien Molony), and Briggs (played by Owen Teale), who come into the play and you know less about them than either of the other characters, and they sort of raise a lot of the questions. So this play is really interesting because it is essentially a power play with words. Each character is trying to upstage another, and only one character holds the power in the scene at any particular time, and all the characters reveal themselves through story rather than what’s happening. It’s all in one setting, all in one scenario, so it’s what they say and do that you find out stuff about them which is a really interesting device for me. Especially the concepts it explores through this, what memory is, they’re all drinking so how alcohol affects people’s relationships, what taking advantage of people is even.

The set itself is very amazing it’s this round, enclosed room. It’s sort of feels a bit like a jail, while also being a bit comforting because it’s this nice stately room. There is very little set dressing on it, but what is, is styled to perfection. Every little part is detailed. Even the alcohol they drink, although it’s not alcohol presumably, it’s the right colour and you can see it.

The play itself is sort of very, uncomfortable and sinister in a hard to put into place way. There’s just something not quite right about the whole situation. It’s very unsettling, in a really comprehensive, but engaging way. It definitely captured my attention. It’s the sort of play I want to really study, and read reviews of, read critiques of, and try and understand what’s happening, because it’s not quite clear what they’re doing there. You sort of know a bit about the characters but you don’t really know what they’re relationships are to each other, or if they’ve even met each other before. Is all feels like they’re taking advantage of Patrick Stewart’s character but you don’t really know that.

Another interesting element is the contrast between the characters of Spooner and Hurst, Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart. Spooner the bumbling, wanting to please Hurst, character that doesn’t really know what he’s doing and is very cringe-worthy and embarrassing, vs. Hurst who, his mind is deteriorating so he goes between being pitifully pathetic or intensely powerful, holding the scene and everyone in it.

It makes you question what’s reality and what’s not in this play.

Another delightful thing about the play is the contrast between this ethereal, existential drama, and this really abrupt comedy. In the Q&A session that is featured after this version of this film, they talk about the precisely placed swear word in it, which is really just delightful, in contrast to all this intense stuff, there’s jokes, there’s humour, it’s really quite rude, but it’s also deeply philosophical.

So even if you don’t generally enjoy shows in one setting with minimal characters it’s definitely a show to check out, if only because the actors in it are so amazing, bringing so much through their facial expressions.

It’s just really an interesting play, I just really want to watch it over and over again, and I probably will go see it again, just to try and figure out what on earth I think is happening in this play.

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Toni Erdmann is a German-Austrian comedy directed, written, and co-produced by Maren Ade. It centres on the relationship between the eccentric prankster father, Winfried Conradi (played by Peter Simonischek), and his stressed, work-a-holic daughter, Ines (played by Sandra Hüller). Spurred by the death of his dog, and the loss of his piano students, Winifried decides to spontaneously visit Ines, and thus essentially begins interfering in her life through pranks, questions, and inopportune comments that Ines fears will ruin her business partnerships. Winifried agrees to go home, but doesn’t, instead appearing again as his life-coach alter ego Toni Erdmann, and continues to push Ines to her limits.

The film captured my attention because although a comedy, with absurd situations, the acting on the whole was admirably understated. The humour of the film came through the wittiness of the script, combined with situations that the actors let speak for themselves. This understated acting also contributed to the emotional connection with the characters during the dramatic and sad moments of the film.

The camera shots themselves had the slightly shaky feel of a hand-held camera, while never being out of focus or detracting attention away from the plot. This added to the realism of the film, which in essence was why this film was so enjoyable. Even though the situations got ridiculous or absurd, and the character of Winifried is very eccentric, is still had an element of reality within it.

As a comedy this film really just works. It is very funny in a sometimes unexpected way. However the humour is mixed in with elements of drama, sadness, and real human emotions. There are times when you can just feel the stress and embarrassment pouring out of Ines.

The only element that perhaps detracts from the film is its length. At a running time of 162 minutes there are points where it does feel long. However this does not last as the narrative style quickly moves from one situation to the next, gaining the viewer’s attention easily.

On the whole, the film’s interplay between being simultaneously underplayed and absurd is key to its enjoyability. It is not a film where you clearly see the plot line laid out before you, but the twists and turns of its story line also are not painfully far fetched.

Written by Rebi Houlihan

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For me personally, reality television is not something that I’m a fan of; I don’t like the staged humour, staged love, and staged drama, as I could get all that from an actual written episode of fictional television, such as Fargo or The Fall. However, Phil Keoghan's The Amazing Race, alongside some other American reality shows, stand out among others, for either its ridiculousness, or its actual credibility, such as Keoghan’s show. Thus, stepping into the directing seat for another documentary, Keoghan brings us Le Ride, pretty much a sequel to “The Ride”, with some French mixed in. Le Ride is truly an interesting, one of a kind documentary in its own right. Keoghan decides to recreate the 1928 Tour de France in honour of the Australasian team which consisted of three Australians, Hubert Opperman, Percy Osborn and Ernest Bainbridge, and one New Zealander, Harry Watson.

The race itself is known as one of the hardest and most brutal tours of all time, with only 41 racers finishing out of around 160. Le Ride documents Phil Keoghan, his friend Ben Cornell, and a crew as they recreate the race on bikes from the same time and place as the 1928 race, as it intercuts actual radio reports from 1928 of the Australisians teams journey to France, racing, and finally completion of the dreaded race. Keoghan, an avid cyclist and New Zealand born himself, honours the four racers for the better part of the film, consistently cutting between intense and hilarious moments with his own experiences riding the 1928 route, with discussions about the four racers, quotes from them, and drilling into the audience the hardship which each rider had to go through as they competed. The film itself mirrors the two races quite well. Whilst Keoghan’s recreation isn’t easy, for the most part it’s injury free, peaceful, and funny, whilst the images from the 1928 include bloody crashes, boils and sores from riding too much, and in some cases death. Keoghan emphasizes the difference in the two races, with him commenting on how hard it would of been for the Australasian team then, if Keoghan and Ben are struggling years later without even having a clock to beat.

However, stepping aside from the history and excitement of the recreation of a race, it's Keoghan’s background in reality television which leaves an interesting mark on this doco. A multitude of the shots within the documentary can be mistaken for actual dramatic movie shots. I’m not talking about long sweeping shots of drones angled down on mountains in the France. I’m talking about extreme close ups on Keoghan as he stares dramatically into the distance, as if waiting for an army to approach. The shots can also be lined up very well with of cause the shots done in The Amazing Race, and other reality shows. These shots add tension, drama and shock value to the program, as viewers can become more immersed with the show and the story it tells. I’m not sure the same effect is achieved using it in a documentary like this, as the documentary story is already fairly laid out with what’s going to happen, so the use of drama is almost irrelevant. Nevertheless, it adds a certain quality which separates it from other documentaries of its kind.

Le Ride celebrates foreign relations through sport, the might of Australians in the face of hardship and the Tour de France itself all in 90 minutes, and in addition manages to include humour, drama and even some ties to reality television. You might not be a fan of the other shows that he’s involved in, however, Keoghan manages to capture something special with this documentary, which keeps viewers captivated and gives them a good laugh as well.

Written by Hamish Vallance

Click here for Hamish and Christian's interview with Phil Keoghan

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