Puppets, a nighttime tour of an old convent, live music, storytelling, comedy and drama. It all sounds amazing, doesn’t it? And it could be.

The Mysteries of the Convent is Peepshow Inc’s tour of the Abbotsford Convent (complete with dates, facts, and stories told by the ‘newbie’ tour guide Robyn McMicking). In the midst of the tour are vignettes with puppets and sketches revolving around the Mother Superior and girls trapped within the convent walls forced to do her biddings.

It is quirky and cute, but doesn’t realize its full potential. It’s a bit like a drama class performance where you happily support the collective because they are clearly attempting something great, but they never quite get there.

Perhaps the first puppet we see is a good metaphor. She is an old woman telling of when she lived in the convent as a little girl. Like many lonely old ladies, she speaks a whole lot, but never really has anything to say.

The story is disjointed. Directed and created with the cast by Melinda Hetzel, there are lots of great ideas on their own, but they don’t become a coherent whole. The real estate agent doesn’t fit with the fable. The sports bar doesn’t compliment the movement pieces with the flowing white sheets. The puppets don’t connect with the people.

The strength comes from the tour itself - specifically McMicking’s tour leader with her raised umbrella to guide the way, multitude of facts about the convent and comedic timing. The puppets get in the way. They seem like a separate show.

The live music did bring some consistency to the piece. Delia Poon’s cello and haunting operatic voice fill the space with an ethereal quality, fitting for the religious building.

The puppets themselves are clever; although like the rest of the production seem slightly unfinished. I didn’t quite get the point of the random singing and dancing giant bunny and rat. Perhaps there’s an inside joke I’m missing.

I would recommend you take the tour yourself. Apparently Peepshow Inc. are quite the institution at the Melbourne Fringe Festival, this being their third year remounting and adapting this production. And how often do you get to tour an old convent at night with puppets and a ‘lost’ tour guide? But don’t go with high expectations for a piece of polished theatre.

Click here for Laneway’s full coverage of the Melbourne Fringe Festival.

Image courtesy of Pia Johnson.

Meow Meow enters from the audience. She wears black fishnet tights, and a shimmering silver gown with matching sparkled eye shadow. She wails and smokes as she puts her leg up on an audience member’s chair, thrusting her crotch into the old lady’s face. The actress grabs the head of her dead boyfriend.

This is Vamp. Part cabaret, part concert, and part morbid indulgence.

Meow Meow is an entity. She is award winning, has traveled the world, and well known in Melbourne from her performances at The Famous Spigeltent in 2005 and 2006. She is larger than life. She fills the room with her presence, her personality, her songs, laughter and mischief.

In a smaller room, or a different atmosphere, this would have been enough. But this is a full-scale production, complete with a large staircase up the centre, elaborate couture (set and costumes designed by Anna Tregloan), a five-piece band, and a harness, which allows her to fly. Added to this are many references to previous femme fatales - Eve being tempted by the snake and Oscar Wilde’s version of the Salome story, to name a couple.

As spectacular as this all sounds, it just didn’t seem to fit. Not to say that in their own right every element wasn’t stunningly executed. But it just wasn’t the right venue, or the right mix.

First, the average age of the audience was around 60, probably subscribers and wealthy to take a guess (I did go on a Wednesday evening), and they didn’t seem to want to participate in Meow’s antics. Her frequent pleas for help and her murmurs of “it’s going to be a long night” didn’t make an impact.

Then, the venue itself: The Malthouse’s Merlyn Theatre is a large round room in which the seating is moved around to suit the production. With the decision to make the audience around three sides of the jetted-out stage, came the decision to exclude close to two thirds of the audience from seeing the special effect created by Meow Meow flying through the air in a harness with the backdrop of a large moon (which I imagine would have been amazing had I been sitting head on to see it).

The original music by Meow and Iain Grandage was haunting, if a bit boring at times. I wish the talented band members (Orchestra of Wild Dogs - Sam Anning, Iain Grandage, Martin Kay, Igor Oskolkov, Ben Vanderwal) had a more upfront presence. Being relegated to the back corners didn’t give them the credit they deserved - a more prominent position might also have helped with more interaction between Meow and the musicians.

There were some really striking moments. Her final song (although it wasn’t original - a Radiohead cover, I believe), where she just stood and sang, was eerily touching. And Meow was lit beautifully as she flew higher and higher, with a black lace veil wrapped over her head and shoulders, up from the ground (even from the side - credit to lighting designer Paul Jackson).

The costumes were characters in themselves. At one point Meow Meow made her entrance from a door in the Moon wearing a black tutu with small, amputated doll arms and legs attached to it. In another instance she entered with a neon red fox stole, ending on one side with tiny heads of perhaps those same dolls.

There were also some funny moments - the money shot comes to mind. Her interaction with the audience was precious, although it started to get a bit old after the first few attempts because her choice was pretty much restricted to the first row (which unfortunately included one creepy man who tried to feel Meow up).

Meow’s voice is striking, and its presence grand. But it became overly staged (I’m not sure whether this is due to director Michael Kantor). A more intimate venue where the audience could eat, drink and feel freer to interact would have suited her better. I would happily sacrifice the cool special effects for more connection to what Meow and her version of the tragic Vamp is all about.

Note: I wish I’d read the program notes, especially regarding Oscar Wilde’s version of Salome’s story, before I saw the production. They help explain some of the more obscure references.

Red Sky Morning
Red Stitch Actors Theatre
August 27 - September 27, 2008

A vicious dog, a fart and a pulsating pimple. This is how the day begins.

Three inner monologues tell the raw thoughts of a father, a mother and a daughter. In one day a lot can be considered and not said to those we love - even when we desperately need to reach out.

Red Sky Morning, the new play by Red Stitch playwright-in-residence Tom Holloway, is three interlocking monologues by a man (David Whiteley), his wife (Sarah Sutherland), and his teenage daughter (Erin Dewar). It is one day in the life of this family. To tell anymore would diminish the tender experience of discovering their secrets for yourself.

Developed in conjunction with ensemble cast members and director/dramaturge Sam Strong, and a result of the Red Stitch Writers program, this is new, exciting Australian modern theatre. The words are striking in their honesty. They are real people in crisis - they could be our neighbour, our friend, or our child’s classmate.

The characters speak directly to the audience and never once interact with each other. Yet their stories entwine together. The dialogue changes speed and rhythm like a piece of music. Sometimes they speak alone, sometimes all at the same time, and sometimes they answer each other’s pauses.

This can get tricky, and perhaps there was too much sound; at times it was hard to pick out a single voice within the harmony. Their jumbled words during the middle of the production could have used a more central focus - one speech to rise above the others.

As well, Whiteley’s sole male voice was frequently drowned out by the higher pitch of the two females. This was not helped by his position upstage on many occasions and the lower lighting on his face. His most dramatic scenes came seemed a little out of place, lacking the buildup the women were able to produce.

However, this is only a small issue. And perhaps we needed these moments of cacophony.

Each actor was comfortable in his or her character’s skin and confident with the lyrical script (perhaps due to their working alongside Holloway and Strong to develop this play). I believed in them, and in their family. There was humour and intensity when needed.

The functional set, designed by Peter Mumford, was a room with a sole table, two chairs, and one coffee mug. This area was bordered by floor-to-ceiling cream-coloured venetian blinds, which the actors opened and closed, lifted up and brought down, letting us into their heads and lives and bringing us back out again.

Red Sky Morning is a commentary on our society and a candid look into the modern family unit. It is also a beautifully sincere story about three people and the pressure and problems they face dealing with existence.

This world premiere production was raw, real and human. It left me wondering: how many of us spend our lives in our own inner thoughts and never really say what we want or need to those we love - even in times of crisis? And if we don’t speak out, will our lives continue the same daily cycles or will our problems eventually explode regardless?

When I was 15, I went to my friend’s youth group at the local church. There was lots of singing and dancing, laughing and preaching. The music was pretty, their enthusiasm was commendable, but I just wasn’t buying what they were selling.

This is what I felt sitting in the half-empty, less-than-rowdy audience of the Altar Boyz at the Athenaeum Theatre last Friday night. The actors were talented, the music was nice, but I just had to stop listening to the lyrics.

Played out as if a real tour of a striving Christian boy-band, the five performers sang, danced and told their story - well, at least what little story there was to tell.

Each character was a stereotype - the closet gay who is in love with another member of the band; the token ethnic searching for his family and heritage; the rapper who had to take some time off to go to rehab; the goody-goody leader; and the Jew (alright, so maybe the last one doesn’t quite fit).

Supported by a live band onstage, they sang lines such as “Jesus called me on my cell phone” and “Girl you make me want to wait”. And don’t tell me there is not a more serious ‘lesson’ in this supposed satire with lines like: “People don’t go to church no more. They’re scared of acting like fools… Kneel and say a prayer to Jesus. Kneel and wash your sins away.”

The cast (Dion Bilios, Tim Maddren, Jeremy Brennan, Andrew Koblar, and Keane Fletcher - understudy playing the role of Juan) was the saving grace in the production. They were an endearing ensemble, supporting each other in situations such as improvising responses to audience confessions (which, on the night I was there, involved some of the funniest moments as Juan discussed his love for donkeys in reply to a confession about touching another person’s arse). By the end of the performance I felt sorry that the actors had to make a living attempting to engage an audience with nothing besides a few callouts and the “Soul Sensor DX-12″ machine apparently saving our souls throughout the 90-minute production.

Altar Boyz opened off-Broadway in 2005 and has won numerous awards since then. It is marketed as “the longest running, critically acclaimed off-Broadway musical in years.” I can understand how this production would work a lot better in America than in Australia. The fanatical side of Christianity is less than apparent in Melbourne’s alternative scene.

To be fair, my colleague went to see the production the following night and loved it. She said that it must have offended my agnostic sensibilities. Maybe it did. Or maybe the surface dialogue, cheesy storyline and cringe-worthy lyrics offended my theatrical sensibilities.

He wears a massive, furry grey hat - one of those hats you wear in the arctic because it covers virtually everything but your face. He is a bit shy at first - a bit of a slow start. Then he notices the audience digs him and his music. Some people are singing along. They cheer when he tells them which song he will play next.

“This is one of my favourite shows,” frontman Devonte ‘Dev’ Hynes says near the end of Lightspeed Champion’s hour long set at the Northcote Social Club on Wednesday night. “No really,” trying to convince a crowd that doesn’t need convincing. He tells us of touring European festivals and the shit shows where he suspects the only reason there was anyone watching them at all was because they were in a tent and it was raining outside.

And perhaps this dialogue says more than I can about UK’s Lightspeed Champion and ex-Test Icicles member, Dev Hynes. Dev is a bit unsure of himself. Read his blog on the band’s official site, and you’ll see what’s going on in his head: his preoccupation with girls; his own self-esteem; his tales of being on the road. His lyrics are quirky and self-reflective, vulnerable and personal. And he’s not afraid to swear - a lot.

For the tour, he brings along a group of multi-talented musicians. The lady drummer, Anna Prior, also plays the guitar. Mike Siddell plays with passion the violin, the keys, guitar and bass. Dev’s longtime friend Mike, aka The Train Chronicles, plays the guitar and bass. And of course Dev himself plays guitar, keys and drums. They all switch. They all sing.

The set consisted of many of the tracks from their only album, Falling Off The Lavender Bridge, as well as a few new tracks. Opening with the album’s first song Galaxy Of The Lost, slowing down with Salty Water, continuing with the personal Everyone I Know Is Listening To Crunk, adding in a new song the band had “only practiced a handful of times and they were all today”, and finishing with the epic Midnight Surprise, to name a few.

The mix of folk, country and pop was fun and original. Having the show in the intimate bandroom at the Northcote Social Club definitely helped the atmosphere. But ultimately it was the passion the music was played with, the interaction Dev had with the crowd and his obvious appreciation and shock that people like him, and the multitalented group of musicians that made the night so successful.

Lightspeed Champion did come out for an Encore, but not with the song Dev would have chosen to end on. Although finishing with All To Shit, the gig definitely didn’t go that way.

Photos courtesy of Adam Pattison.

The biggest thing in Melbourne musical theatre right now is Wicked. Well, I haven’t seen Wicked, but I reckon I’ve seen something just as imaginative. And it still involves witches, munchkins, dancing and spectacular special effects.

It’s shortly before 1am on Saturday night. My friend pays $12 for each of us and we walk into a dimly lit club. A blend of Kylie and techno music pumps loudly through the speakers. We walk past the first bar and enter a dance floor full of great-dancing, stylish, fit men. Very few women scatter the crowd.

Suddenly the sea of dancers parts and a stage is revealed. Dorothy enters onstage and starts to sing Somewhere Over The Rainbow. Ok, well she is lip-synching. And she definitely isn’t like any Dorothy I’ve ever seen.

Welcome to Xchange Hotel’s The Wicked Witches of Oz. The beautiful (and sometimes not so beautiful) women on stage are not women at all. This is Wicked done drag style and is absolutely fabulous!

Conceptualised and directed by Anthony Stone and costumes by Jessica James, the show is an extravaganza of glitter and glam.

About half an hour long (and apparently it can be bit longer, depending on the crowd of the night), the show condenses the story of The Wizard of Oz, with a bit of Wicked thrown in.

All the familiar characters are there. The Cowardly Lion is well over six feet tall, with an elaborate glittering fur coat, and a pretty ugly grimace. The Munchkins sing “the witch is dead” bopping about on their knees.

There is the Wicked Witch’s deep green skin, the flying monkey’s black wings, the guards’ muffler hats, and Glinda the Good Witch’s pink fairy gown. The big screen backdrop transforms from Dorothy and her friends skipping into the Emerald City, to the giant head of The Great Oz.

The cast features Miss Lucy Loosebox as Dorothy; Miss Candee as the Good Witch, the Lion and Oz; Taylor as the Scarecrow; Sasha as the Tin ‘She-Man’; Sensation as the Wicked Witch; with munchkins Joel and Cory.

There is smoke and glitter, energy and glamour, sorrow and happiness. Everything you want from a musical. And I didn’t have to pay $125 to see it!

The Wicked Witches of Oz is the late show of three every Saturday night of the winter at the Xchange Hotel. Check out the website (here) for a promo clip of the show.

Love Lies Bleeding
Red Stitch Actors Theatre
July 16 - Aug 16 2008, Wed-Sat 8pm, Sun 6.30pm

I went to see a preview of the Red Stitch Actors Theatre’s latest production, Love Lies Bleeding, and was sadly disappointed.

I have recently fallen in love with the company and what they stand for. They are artistic people who love what they do and are trying their best to make a living doing it. Their two new initiatives - The Writers Program, aimed at fostering new Australian works and The Graduate Program, aimed at fostering new Australian talent - are excellent.

Unfortunately, even taking into account that it was a preview, this production lacked focus, energy and passion. The connection between the actors was almost nonexistent, except for a few rare moments.

Directed by Alice Bishop, the actors seemed to skim over the emotions necessary to believe the long histories between the characters. The short scenes connected by blackouts caused any flow of energy that could develop onstage to be interrupted.

Where was the tension? Didn’t they all know what they were there to do from the beginning? Where was the love?

Love Lies Bleeding, by New York author Don DeLillo, tells the story of an artist, Alex, who has ended up in a “persistent vegetative state” after several strokes. He lives with his fourth wife, young Lia, in the southwestern desert of the United States, where Lia does everything for him.

His second wife, Toinette, and his only son, Sean, arrive at the house to discuss the future of Alex. Should he continue to live in that state or should they help him die? Does Lia want to keep him alive for herself or for him? Does Sean want him dead because of his anger from his childhood? Where does Toinette really stand on the issue?

There was one scene - a flashback to shortly after a healthy Alex moved to the isolated desert landscape and Toinette came to visit - that had passion and connection. I could almost see the sexual tension and history between Alex (Kevin Summers) and Toinette (Christine Mahoney). When Mahoney rubbed her hands and body against the blank wall, reminiscing over keeping some of Alex’s paintings to remember his essence, her longing was visible.

Little can be said for the other relationships. The scenes at the beginning and end of the play between Alex and Lia (Olivia Connolly), after Alex had a stroke, were so cold my friend thought Lia was his nurse, not his wife.

The scenes where Sean (Tim Potter) and Lia discussed the plant names Alex was so fond of, including the name sake for the play Love-lies-bleeding, were done with such carefree glee they seemed to forget the rage and hurt of the previous scenes.

Tim Potter, the first VCA graduate accepted into The Graduate Program, played Sean with such cold anger I found it hard to see any humanity.

The minimalist set, designed by Peter Mumford, was cold and uncomfortable, adding to the lack of emotion in the production. Orange and grey splattered edges of long gone works of art were layered on the black walls, representing an artist’s studio. Alex’s wheelchair and black folding chairs covered with spots of dry paint were the only furniture. In the middle of the back wall was a screen door in front of the landscape of the desert.

The past two productions I have seen by Red Stitch have been brilliant. Hopefully the connection between the actors and the energy level will grow throughout the run and it will live up to the standard I’ve come to expect from a company with such passion.

Love Lies Bleeding plays at the Red Stitch Actors Theatre in St. Kilda until August 16. Check out their website for more details.

Pool (no water)
Red Stitch Actors Theatre
June 18 - July 5 2008

Is it human nature to want our friends to fail so we can feel better about ourselves? How do we justify it? Do we embrace the feeling? Do we deny it? Or, do we exploit it?

Pool (no water) by Mark Ravenhill shoves these questions in our faces. Playing at the Red Stitch Actors Theatre until July 5, the hour-long production is intimate, in your face, and shockingly self-reflecting.

The play is a narrative told by four struggling artists who take a trip to visit Sally, the only one from their art college group who is successful. When an accident causes Sally to enter a coma, the jealous friends must decide whether her bruised and battered body can become their work of art.

Pool (no water) was originally created for the English physical theatre company Frantic Assembly in 2006. Mark Ravenhill wrote in The Guardian that is was the photographs of Nan Goldin, “her intimate portraits of bohemian, drug-addled, multi sexual friends” that inspired him.

In the Red Stitch production, director Simon Stone has taken the opposite approach from the original production. He chooses an confronting, straightforward dialogue with the audience. Instead of the excessive movement used in physical theatre, he uses the contrast between loud and soft, blocked staging and confined space.

The set, designed by Peter Mumford, is a small triangular space with no furniture and no props. Small black tiles, spaced by white grout, cover the floor and walls. A drain in the centre suggests a dark shower, toilet or swimming pool with no water.

Aided by Danny Pettingill’s lighting - fluorescent flickering bulbs, spotlights and lighting from below - the atmosphere is one of closeness and claustrophobia. Do the artists want to get out or are they happy to be confined there?

It is important with such an intimate piece that the cast be a collective whole. With no props and no new characters, it is up to the four people onstage to keep our attention. Each movement, facial expression, and tone of voice counts.

The ensemble cast of Dion Mills, David Whiteley, Jessamy Dyer and Melissa Chambers are each caricatures, yet all equal parts. The sum of their convictions connects us to the story.

They claw at the walls as if to escape, yet seem comforted by their presence. They cling to each other, then drift apart in a Diazepam induced high. They love, hate, exploit, feel guilty, need, abandon. They scream ‘cunt’ again and again.

They are trying to find their independence, yet not wanting to at the same time. Every decision, which draws them farther into jealousy and hate, is never made by one. They cannot seem to recall who made any decision. It is a collective.

The almost full audience in the Red Stitch theatre seemed to enjoy the ups and downs. They laughed at the eccentricities and gasped at the horrors of humanity.

The only time the energy level and flow of the narrative decreased is when the actors were sitting. Because of the location of the seats in the audience it was difficult to see the floor and therefore difficult to connect.

And maybe the audience laughed because they saw themselves in these extremes - an exaggeration of our society and yet a reflection of it.

Yes, it is a story about a bunch of drugged up artists who make art for heroin babies and have to watch their friends die from AIDS or cancer. But Simon Stone’s production makes it about us as well. We may not be struggling artists who take photographs of our friend’s unconscious bruised body, but perhaps we do feel better about ourselves when someone else fails.

Is it bad to feel good when someone else is down? Are we all capable of what these artists did? Can we learn from our mistakes?

In the end it is turned on us.