The Loved Ones

The Loved Ones
Melbourne International Film Festival
Greater Union Cinema – 30 July & 7 August

In a packed cinema, this evening’s thrill-seeking audience is cautioned to “shut your eyes” or “block your ears.” We are assured we “won’t fall asleep in this one”. A warning to be heeded, The Loved Ones will simultaneously disgust and amaze you. Get ready for a sexy, gory, scary rollercoaster ride of fast-paced sequences that don’t let up.

We are introduced to tortured teen soul Brent who crashed the car killing his father some months before. His home life is in tatters with his mother, pale and ghost-like, hovering in the doorway as he pumps heavy metal. At school Lola approaches Brent and breathlessly asks him to the school dance. He declines and we meet Holly, his girlfriend, in the car sex scene. The first jump of the film comes as the camera flicks to the window and Lola is there, watching murderously.

Set in a country town, Brent escapes his house to rock-climb, clutching his razor-sharp dog tag necklace. His iPod inhibits his and the viewers’ senses and it comes as a shock when a man appears behind him. With only a short struggle, Brent is over-powered and dragged away.

He regains consciousness to find himself in a tuxedo, tied to a chair with Lola, her father Eric and ‘Bright Eyes’ peering at him. There is a disco ball eerily turning, a banner strung up pronouncing Lola’s Prom and the party food is a stomach-turning combination of chicken with a glass of milk. The party takes a turn for the gruesome as Lola and Eric utilise power tools to entertain their bound guest.

The soundtrack is excellent, adding to the mood and satire and giving insight into the characters via their musical choices. Brent channels heavy metal while Lola we associate with the ironic choice of Kasey Chambers “Not Pretty Enough”.

Seeing The Loved Ones I am reminded of Stephen King’s 1976 horror film Carrie, which also deals with misunderstood girl on Prom night. While the two films share plot similarities they are worlds apart. The Loved Ones is not your typical horror movie – it falls within the genre however disobeys many of the conventions and could better be described as a cross-genre comedy/thriller. The bizarre and gory party is balanced with two sub plots of comic relief and drama as the audience is transported violently between the three with no chance to catch a breath.

Robin McLeavy (48 Shades) is relentless as Lola, a seductively sadistic dominatrix in a pink, satin Prom dress and heels. Outstanding performances also by Xavier Samuel (due to appear in the third Twilight movie) as Brent and John Brumpton (Last Ride, Romper Stomper) as Lola’s psychotic father Eric. Directed by Sean Bryne with cinematography by Simon Chapman, the film premiered at MIFF and will be screened next at Toronto International Film Festival.

The Loved Ones is an experience that will cause you a lot of tension, some anxiety, may make you want to throw your guts up, and will certainly quash any thoughts of moving to a country town. The visual, and auditory assault is totally worth it. This is an exceptional testament to Australian film.

An Education

An Education
Melbourne International Film Festival
Forum Theatre – August 1, 2

Set in the 1960s, London, An Education is charming and socially aware in its capturing of the wide-eyed, boundless idealism of youth through a sixteen-year-old girl.

Jenny is in her last year of school, and, up to this point her life has been dictated by Latin essays and cello rehearsals; high hopes for entry into Oxford University inspire and motivate her rigid schedule. David enters Jenny’s world and on his arm she is introduced to a socialite life of glamour, jazz clubs, fur coats, fine dining and travel to Paris. The seductive lifestyle is not all it seems – there is a hard lesson to be learnt and a fall from grace as our protagonist begins her initiation into adult life.

Two of the three women that influence Jenny the most are her teacher and headmistress; both characters are jaded and unsatisfied in their careers. Danny’s wife is the polar opposite – beautiful and fashionable, but inept to appreciate the cultural experiences she can afford. Jenny lingers somewhere in between all three as she searches for her place.

The education of women in the 1960s, lack of career opportunities and the absence of inspiration and support for young women to enter the work force are thematic content of the film. It is set within a society undergoing serious culture change. Older generations continue to uphold marriage and a woman’s role as housewife as the most important path, while younger generations pitch themselves against this, valuing education and career as priority.

MIFF festival attendees were treated to a greeting by the film’s star Carey Mulligan, a guest of the Festival. Mulligan was no diva as she declared in her English accent everyone had been ‘lovely’. She is charming as the intelligent and charismatic Jenny alongside Peter Sarsgaard as David, and joined by a cast of well-known faces. Nick Hornby works his brilliance bringing witty dialogue, iconic of the novelist’s work, to the screenplay.

A romantic drama that is entertaining and light-hearted, An Education presents social attitudes without dwelling too heavily on them. It is a perfect Sunday evening movie with artistic integrity in clever and witty screenplay to justify the escapism.

Servant of the Revolution

Servant of the Revolution
Mechanics Institute, Brunswick
8pm Tues to Sat 21–25 July;  28 July–1 August; 6pm Sun 26 July

Pre-performance ritual unfolds as the audience enters to three people applying stage makeup, seated around a wooden table in a state of concentration and focus. They are neutral wearing theatre blacks, legs crossed under the table, feet shoeless, occasionally conversing between themselves. Ropes hang the Marx family picture upstage and centre. Red blankets conceal other hangings in the dusty, attic setting. A piano recording is playing in the background; it fades out.

There is a voiceover and the performers tilt their heads with mild interest. It references Karl Marx’ death holding “a hand of Tussy’s, and a hand of mine”. It is unclear as to the owner of the ephemeral voice; my guess is Frederick Engels, Marx’ political collaborator. The blankets are tossed aside and the set up of the stage begins. “Chair”, “bowl”, “stairs coming through”. The performers verbally acknowledge each object. “Two minutes” – They change into periodic costumes of grey and red. “One minute” – The last of the props are in place. “Thirty seconds” – Lenchen (Donovan) is left onstage, cutting a strong figure.

During this scene, a huge cardboard picture of Marx’ face has been taped to the floor. Interestingly enough, Karl Marx is not characterized in this play and does not appear. Through the picture he takes on a cold, removed observer role, a presence that is ignored by the characters as they traipse across him.

Engels stumbles ungracefully on stage heralding the beginning of a scene that would last the duration of the play. It was running to real time; sixty minutes passed in the theatre with approximately the same time passing in the script. This concept is inherently interesting and the scene could have been stimulating if there had been some development, to character or plot, in that hour.

Lenchen has seen her son Freddy (son of Marx) for the first time since birth. She relates her regret, sadness and internal struggle of giving up her son to Engels. He is a committed listener who then attempts to console her; gently reminding her of the ‘servant of the revolution’ role she has taken. Tussy makes a brief appearance to confide in Lenchen of her romance that is disapproved by Marx paralleling Lenchen and Marx’ forbidden romance. Tussy exits and the conversation ensues heatedly between Engels and Lenchen.

The play is brought to a close with the entrance of Jenny, Marx’ wife, and Engels words “Courage comrade, courage”. No resolution has been reached, no character arc has occurred and the audience is left exactly as they begun. One socialist joke the wiser perhaps.

The performers are definitely to be commended; Donovan is the highlight as the deeply caring, maternal, yet restrained and hardened Lenchen, and is complemented by Tiernan’s affectionate Engels. Pagone’s presence was brief as both Tussy and Jenny, but striking nonetheless. The well-considered set design is by Rafaella McDonald.

The play is the conception of writer-producer Anitra Nelson and brought to the stage by actor and director Brenda Addie. Donovan, Tiernan and Pagone come together for the first time. The three have collectively secured roles on the Australian small screen in shows including City Homicide, Sea Patrol, The Strip and Canal Road. All have long histories on stage and are strong contributors to Melbourne’s theatre scene.

Anitra Nelson, a former member of the Australian Communist Party before it dis-banded in 1991, remains a women’s liberationist. She is an expert on Marx studying him extensively including his ill health and carbuncles. The Servant of the Revolution presents the hypothesis that Marx fathered an illegitimate child to Lenchen (or Helene Dumuth).

Do not be deceived by the experimental beginning, this is highly conventional theatre. The script is dry and more of a research paper, although there were redeeming moments of wit and humour. The Servant of the Revolution has its merits in excellent actors and stage design.

The Servant of the Revolution is at the Mechanics Institute, Brunswick until the 1st August.

Writer/Producer – Anitra Nelson
Director – Brenda Addie
Sound Designer – Ted Kazan
Set Designer – Rafaella McDonald
Lighting Designer – Scott Allan
Performers – Julianne Donovan, Ray Tiernan, Clara Pagone

]]> http://lanewaymagazine.com.au/theatre-servant-of-the-revolution/feed/ 0 http://lanewaymagazine.com.au/dance-rogue-malthouse-theatre/ http://lanewaymagazine.com.au/dance-rogue-malthouse-theatre/#comments Fri, 27 Mar 2009 06:30:51 +0000 Amy Macpherson http://lanewaymagazine.com.au/?p=1001 Rogue
Malthouse Theatre
March 11 – 15, 2009.

Rogue is a collective of contemporary dancers that formed after graduating from the Victorian College of the Arts in 2006. The group, which participated in the Kickstart Next Wave Festival program, going on to perform The Counting and Ocular Proof in the 2008 Next Wave Festival, is now a part of the Dance Massive Festival with a triple bill; A Volume Problem, choreographed by Byron Perry; The Counting, by Antony Hamilton; and PUCK by the Rogue dancers.

The evening begins with A Volume Problem, with the stage lights focussing on a box with fake grass on top and dancers crowded around. There are small speakers on top of the box and they are moved about as if they are people. The theme is population growth and auditory response feedback, with the speakers used as a representation of this.

The work is structured episodically – the lights and music fade between each section, disturbing the flow of the piece. The work, consisting of solos, duets and trios, is slick and tightly choreographed. As the dancers move closer to one another, each receives a physical response – similar to the way that holding a mobile phone to a speaker will cause a crackling noise.

The Counting is a highly percussive, disjointed work, but with a bass line that flows right through. The rhythm of the bass is irresistible, pulsating over and over until you can’t help but get lost within it. This continuousness prevents the work from becoming choppy or disconnected. The dancers either move with the beat, or they move through it – Hamilton stamping the piece with strong choreographic choices.

Quirky costume decisions also see the dancers rotate through grey, nondescript clothing – drawing focus to the movement – to white singlets with blue or orange pants.

Internal rhythms of the body are used as stimulus – in one duet, I imagine each dancer’s lungs filling and releasing oxygen, the ventricles of the heart pushing blood into the arteries as their movements begin proximally before being driven to the distal ends of limbs.

PUCK is the last on the program, and as the title suggests, it is playful and meddlesome. It is an audience interactive – the viewer’s turn to have some fun.

A Streets ice-cream vendor walks along the front of the audience. She takes out a bicycle bell, rings it, and suddenly the dancers onstage strike a new posotion – arms above their heads. They continue to move with the ringing of the bell, introducing the audience to the game. You make the sound, they make the move.
The control shifts to the audience, which is quite exciting. One person rings the bell four times in a row inhibiting their ability to move past the first position. I was handed the bell at one stage and must admit I did enjoy the power trip!

Next, other toys are handed out – squeaky balls and robots. These might cause the dancers to change formation, go to another section of the movement or break out of unison.

PUCK progresses through neutrality, desperation, tiredness, to forced fake laughter and happiness. Towards the end two dancers begin to cry, stopping immediately as they get a new instruction from the audience.
To finish, the bell is taken back, returning the dancers to the initial position and signalling a black out.

The triple bill is entertaining, and provides a little something for everyone. The pieces are not so grand as the group’s Next Wave debut, but a more intimate and personable performance. Certainly a highly enjoyable night for all involved.

Lawn‘s is a world that lingers between reality and the unreal. There is a foreboding, an eeriness that sends shivers up your spine; cockroaches crawl out of faces, parasites are ripped from bodies and a man is glad-wrapped from head to toe.

The production, presented by Splintergroup – a contemporary dance company of independent performers, designers and artists – was first developed in Berlin in 2001, and completed in Australia at Brisbane Powerhouse in 2004. It now travels to Melbourne’s Matlhouse Theatre as a part of the Dance Massive Festival.

As the audience enters, three men – Vincent Crowley, Grayson Milwood and Gavin Webber – are dressed in suits, going about their daily routine on stage. Milwood sits, nonchalant, as he clips his toenails on top of the dining table. Webber stands off to the right looking thoughtful, while Crowley obsessively dusts a bookshelf. The piece is set is a large room, and at the top of the walls the wallpaper is coming away to reveal underneath layers.

Lawn comes from a personal place for the performers, who created the piece while enduring the harsh Berlin winter, homesick for Australia. One day they peeled back the wallpaper of their house to find a painted swastika. The work is about layers and the history contained within our walls, floors and furniture.

The first hint of hyperreality strikes, taking the audience with horrified surprise, when Milwood covers his face with his hands, only to have cockroaches crawl out from between his fingers and run down his arms. The moment disappears into a scene of normalcy as Crowley, the clean freak of the three, chases the cockroaches with his shoe.

Lawn is a work of illusion; the craft of the performance is in the men’s’ ability to create a hyperreality that is as believable as the reality. Through the soundtrack, lighting and intelligent choreography, the work constantly moves between alternate realities, occasionally hanging in the balance. Classical violin, and later an accordion, accompanies the everyday scenes (played live, the musicians concealed by the set), whereas heavy metal is matched with wilder, more desperate dance solos.

The performers’ movements are energetic and rhythmic; all three are athletic and smooth in their transitions onto and off the floor. Milwood climbs, spider-like, up the walls of the room – a web of glad wrap revealed below. There is a collective inhale from the audience as they witness the spider’s calculated, yet risky fall from the top of the set. He is captured and cocooned in the thin plastic sheet below.

The feeling of all this is claustrophobia; the men are trapped within a room, literally crawling the walls, in an uncomfortable craziness. The audience can’t help but feel trapped with them.

It is open to interpretation as to whether these are three men in a room or possibly three different aspects of one man. Milwood and Crowley are shadowy; sometimes they are characters, sometimes ghost-like presences, and sometimes insects.

While the subject matter is serious, this work is at times comical, peppered with tongue-in-cheek attitude. Chuckles from audience members ensue throughout, and there are also some real laugh-out-loud moments. But other times the audience sits on edge of their seats in discomfort.

A fight scene towards the end is a highlight. It is fast-paced and tightly choreographed – Webber is beaten by Milwood and Crowley, using a chair and table. The beauty of this aggressive attack is that the performers do not try to make it look authentic; the blows do not connect and there is no attempt to make it seem as if they do. It is an artful bashing, but a risky one also. Seeing Webber post-performance, he has war wounds to prove it – he sports a black eye from the night before, and admits he was kicked in the head during an earlier performance.

The only point of criticism is the abrupt ending. Although a solace is achieved, the ending is rather the beginning of another tangent of the work.

All in all, though, Lawn is a wonderful production. For those who enjoy a little spine-tingling horror, mixed with excellent stagecraft and strong imagery, and even a little humour, this is for you. It is a highly physical, fast-paced, intelligent performance that will suck you into its world and keep you in enjoyable discomfort, somewhere between the normal and the not so normal.

Entering Chunky Move studios in Southbank for the preview of I Like This, by Antony Hamilton and Byron Perry, viewers are met with an exposed stage with the potential to transform into anything; any situation or scenario. There are four plastic, orange chairs forming a shallow V centre-stage. In front of the chairs there is a stereo system and a power point – cables of various colours run into it. At the back of the space there are two large speakers sitting on the floor.

The performance begins with three dancers sitting in the chairs, looking intently at the audience. They are all wearing rehearsal gear; track pants and T-shirts in different shades of grey. Quirky ‘80s video game-style music blips in the background, and various lights flash in time with the sounds, illuminating the performers differently each time.

It’s exciting, intriguing, attention grabbing – almost hilarious.

The music finishes and the lights steady as Stephanie Lake, whose character is particularly taken by two comically still, blank-faced men sitting across from her, begins an enthusiastic monologue with the opening words: “I like this …”

There is barely any pretext to the work, and it’s hard to catch on initially – as if the audience has entered a conversation midway. As the performance goes on, though, it develops a dialogue and aesthetic of its own, and all the seemingly random and surprising moments are given specific relevance.

This is a dance piece about making a dance piece. Hamilton and Perry demonstrate ways of composing props, lights, dancers and music in a space for visual and humorous effect. The task they have set themselves is to design an environment – the two directors converse at various intervals throughout, as to how best compose the work. The performers also comment. “Why are there no lights? That’s how injuries happen you idiots,” one shouts.

The audience is tossed into a wide variety of situations, the most entertaining being an ‘under the sea’ scene. Here, a blue case is put over a light and dancers wave like seaweed, making bubble noises, in a recognisably funny way. The audience soaked it up.

Light is used to disguise the transition into and out of the many juxtaposing moments, and the shifts can be disarming as they happen at such a fast pace – from a fight scene, to people screaming, jogging on the spot, swinging a light like a lasso. But it works.

I Like This is rooted in humour (speaking with Hamilton after the show, he compared it to stand-up). The two award winning dance directors come to the performance with a wealth of experience, and it shows. The performers are well rehearsed and movements are timed impeccably for optimal comic value. The closer you are to the stage, the better, as subtleties such as facial expressions really add to the piece.

I Like This is also the first work by Next Move, an initiative by major Melbourne contemporary dance company Chunky Move to support the next generation of Australian dance makers – certainly something to keep an eye on. If this witty, dry-humoured, continually surprising show is anything to go by, there’s plenty to look forward to.