God’s Ear – A new American play by Jenny Schwarz, directed by Jonathan Wald was the final show of the inaugural Reginald Season for 2011 and it was in the last few days of it’s season that I found myself spontaneously in a seat at the Seymour.

Declarations up front – I am friends with Jonathan Wald and had considered being attached to this show as a casting advisor until my own projects whisked me up and away – so I knew about this long before I saw it. So this is not a review but a note reflecting some of my thoughts about the show.

It’s a difficult thing for me to imagine and it pushes me into a different realm of philosophical pondering to assume there is a God and this God possesses an ear. It’s nearly a quaint notion, isn’t it? The assumption that there is an all-powerful, all-seeing, all-hearing presence which overseas the mutterings, bumblings, stumblings and fumblings of humanity. In a world which is so geared to the individual’s individualistic pursuits of money, fame, success – where we cheat nature and time with science and technology – it seems like an ancient myth to me – like that of the Greeks or the Egyptians- the presence and influence of God. And there we are, an audience peering down onto the stage – watching and listening. We are that all-powerful observer – the audience.

The story is fairly domestic – a marriage falters as both try to come to terms with the death of their son, and the life of their daughter. Love is lost, forgotten, half-remembered and interactions between parents, lovers, strangers zig-zag and jar. The story simple and relationships familiar – but the language – the sound, the use – all new, all different. And it’s hard going. This is not the type of naturalism that could be found in film, TV or at bus stops. And even beyond the American sounds and locations and names and references the collide between the familiar and the unfamiliar is compelling.
And it felt like a window into a new world. Not because of it’s American-ness. but because of the rhythm of the interchanges.

I can’t tell you about the cast – except to say it was clear that they were all on the same page and in the same play. I can tell you that I loved the design (Jo Lewis) and the lighting design (Matt Cox) – and it seems that Jonathan and I have always shared a common aesthetic sensibility.

In other reviews it talks about the coldness or unemotional nature of the play –
Jason Blake: http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/theatre/the-inexpressible-finds-voice-in-aphorism-cliche-and-puns-20111114-1nfe1.html
Kevin Jackson: http://kjtheatrereviews.blogspot.com/2011/11/marriage-plot.html

And I suppose, in my view – this was not so at least for the actors performing- perhaps by the time I saw the show the actors were more comfortable in the space, in the story and in the text. However, the audience experience is still somewhat removed: it is not easy to be swept away in an instinctual catharis in a play which is highly technical with it’s language just like it is difficult to be swept up in the magic of spectacle if you can see what’s in the lighting grid.

The show for me was largely centred around Helen O’Leary’s speech/rant/impersonations as the forever tragic Lenore- and it has been a while since I sat dumbstruck, embarrassed and in awe of such a performance. All things made sense to me at that moment.

And if the audience is God – we are an impotent one – not affecting, not shaping nor influencing – merely listening to the world as fragmented, muddled and struggling to make sense. And to me, that makes perfect, complete sense.

A grubby, dank apartment hovers over a black abyss.

Two brothers Alan (Heath Wilder) and Terry (Jason Langley) are meeting to discuss the arrangements now their mother has passed away.

There’s something nasty looming over them…

The memory of their mother?

A loveless marriage?

The veiled woman?

Previous familial slights?

Hidden agendas?

There is something rotten here – and everything is pointing at it. The terse conversation. The arrangements. The violence. The vomit. The fickleness of tempers. The sound design. The set design. The costume design. Everything. You know from the moment you sit down in the New Theatre’s seats there is something very, very wrong here.

This is the second play programmed by New Theatre as a part of their Spare Room Initiative. Interestingly this is the only piece which is not a new Australian play – and also the only play not directed by a New Theatre first timer.

This is also the second piece of work I have seen directed by Fiona Hallenan-Barker, after her joint effort in Howard Barker’s The Possibilities at Sidetrack last year – who is in her second year out of Drama School, having graduated from VCA. I must confess to not being overly familiar with Hallenan-Barker’s previous pre-drama-school directorial offerings (besides a few short plays she directed for Art is a Weapon in 2007) but judging by her choice of play (with an exception or two…) the body of work she is developing appears to favour brutal, poetic horror stories… and Piranha Heights fits within that aesthetic leaning.

Prior to this production I have experienced two other Philip Ridley productions: Ben Packer’s Production of Mercury Fur (The Stables Theatre, 2007) and Jonathan Wald’s Production of Vincent River (The Old Fitzroy Hotel). The writing is bleak, bold, and deals with examines the dirty, desperate, angry, secrets of the white middle classes – their latent violence and the everyday horror of poverty. The plays delve into deep psychological darkness. Intense claustrophobic situations and the reveals that shatter any veneer of the average/normal/predictable choices of the characters as they crash into each other.

Tom Bannerman’s set and Anna Gardiner’s Costume designs are well thought out and beautifully executed – and this isn’t really surprising as Bannerman knows how to handle designing at the New Theatre – as his bio attests – this is his 57th design at that theatre. It’s beautifully crafted.

The cast are sharp, ready and utterly in it. Terrorizing each other -full force – full energy -brutally at each other. Unrelenting and unforgiving.

But for me, as an observer – there was something I failed to connect with. And I’m still thinking about what it was. Is it the fact that because I know this is theatre – that wont ever see the violence on stage that I have seen on TV, in film, in real life that it all seems to be all threat but no follow through? Is it because I don’t sympathize with any of the characters? Is is because I am watching and listening to the re-creation of a British world (a world I am completely unfamiliar with except through TV and film) that it seems so “other”?

I find myself watching the acting. Listening to the accent. Admiring the set and wondering, why this? Why here? Why now? beyond the intellectual admiration of the writer – what is it that Hallenan-Barker wants us to feel and think about our world? Is she hoping that we, like her, feel compelled to stab a pigeon in a park after experiencing the play as her directorial note suggests? What do I care about London? What should I care about London? London’s over there – it’s removed from my reality. I have a theory of London – it’s the colour of pigeons and concrete and pack-a-day smokers. It smells like pea and ham soup. It’s full of dower men in trench coats and old wooden taverns and women with crooked teeth and raspy voices. My image of London is already bleak. So this further re-enforcement… and I’m not really surprised or enlightened.

I only suggest that I’m not surprised or enlightened because I think it is the role of art. And that’s what I’m looking for when I go to the theatre.

However, I can say that Hallenan-Barker seems very consistent in her taste and her vision of the type of theatre she enjoys making – though not my cup of tea, I can say, she has a very firm focus and I look forward to seeing more of her work.

The view from the 428- it's a sign

Anne-Maree Magi, Vanessa Bates, Noelle Janaczewska, Ned Manning, Donna Abela, Kate Gaul

Playwrights on the 428

Week 1 writers at FraserStudios