TUSK TUSK

By Polly Stenham / directed by Shannon Murphy
Reviewed by Adam Norris

It wasn’t a particularly short dress.

It is rare that I would consider this a saving grace in the course of an evening, but then, the premiere of Australian Theatre for Young People’s Tusk Tusk was always going to be an interesting night.

Perhaps it has something to do with the removed location, enchanting as it is with its views of the carnival-dappled waters off Luna Park, but I seem incapable of arriving at STC productions more than five minutes before we are all scheduled to be seated and the houselights dim. There is some kind of temporal distortion around the building; I can find myself on the opposite side of the road with time to kill, yet something happens in the space it takes me to cross and suddenly, the foyer seems ominously empty and my stubble seems to have grown. The Tusk Tusk premiere was no different. I had time to gather my tickets and do my best in downing a glass of water without spilling it over myself and anyone else in a five-foot radius, and no more; tones were chiming; ushers were giving the Look; it was Time.

Our seats were spectacular, which is a point I would not usually bother illustrating were it not for the significance of what lay ahead. We were seated at the very front on the corner of stage left; should any of the actors ever forget themselves and decide to stroll off into the night they would do so by stepping onto our laps. At so close a regard to the actors the opportunity to catch every nuance of the performance is unparalleled. The downside, particularly with the stage lights revealing the immediate ring of audience members in unforgiving detail, is trying to disguise the fact I am taking notes without appearing to be scrawling verse down the inside of my thigh. Were it not for the logistical nightmare that would ensue, I would recommend rotating seating to every theatre house. It would upset the static immobility of the audience, snap them out of the easy revelry akin to relaxing before the television, and present a renewed perspective on the stage each time you found yourself in a fresh seat. It would be like musical chairs, and I’d even be willing to throw in proposals for Pass-the-Parcel and Murder-in-the-Dark if it didn’t stage the risk of upsetting the flow of the performance.

Suffice to say our seats were splendid, and my general trepidations of watching child actors aside, I was anticipating a strong performance and in the end would not be disappointed. My Long Suffering Companion had different reasons to feel trepidatious, however, quite removed from the fear of young children forgetting their lines or of chandeliers crashing down from the ceiling (the general terrors one brings to every performance). She and lead actor Miles Szanto were well acquainted, having had one of those festival-born, sodium-flaring encounters that would have made Jack Kerouac proud. I did my best to reassure her that all would be fine, and it would not be in the least bit awkward. Of course I should know by now that life never imitates art; life is art, and each story will have its way.

Tusk Tusk is a play that delivers the full nature of its premise in stages. We begin with two characters, Eliot and Maggie (Szanto and Airlie-Jane Dodds), and though they are brother and sister their relationship is initially unclear. Friends? Lovers? In the obvious comfort they find in each other’s presence it is difficult to judge, and speaks volumes for the ease with which both actors have with their roles. Mostly it speaks of trust, and as the play darkly unfolds and this intense affection never wavers I find it commendable that both these young actors were able to maintain this relationship for so long. At sixteen Eliot is the older sibling and as such, he assumes that the responsibility of caring for the family is his. Maggie is a fiercely precocious fourteen year old whose belief in Eliot is both heartfelt and ultimately tragic. We soon learn that there is another sibling, the seven-year-old brother Finn (Zac Ynfante and Kai Lewins on alternate nights), with a penchant for crowns and a desire to be Max, King of the Wild Things. The absence of parents is not an immediate concern as this family have just settled into a new home and boxes are strewn about everywhere, giving the children plenty of opportunity to distract themselves and, so doing, distract us.

One of the great strengths of this play is the ability to forget the legitimate fears for the children’s safety as you become caught up with the closed-circuit world they have created here. Shortages of food, money and sanitation, and the lethargy of self-imposed imprisonment are somehow rendered adventurous as we grow to care for these characters and the ambiguous lifestyle into which they have settled. Such is the conviction of each actor that one feels we are genuinely witnessing kids left to their own devices. For the majority of the play the only adult presence is an unseen neighbour pounding at the front door or banging on the roof from the apart upstairs, a threatening, disembodied figure that becomes synonymous with adulthood itself. Where are the children’s parents? It seems clear that not even they know, and as days go by and their isolated hamlet begins to drift further and further away from the outside world the control to which Eliot clings starts slipping away, replaced by the unchecked primal nature I believe we would all demonstrate were the rules of our lives relaxed.

Polly Stenham has devised a marvellous story here (although many have noted the similarities between this and her debut play, That Face), made all the more compelling by the gradual revelation of just how desperate the characters’ situation has really become. But it is the talents of Szanto and Dodds that make Tusk Tusk something truly memorable. There is something plasticine to Szanto’s voice and movements; he gives us the irreverent class clown, endearing despite his flaws. Eliot demonstrates a cocky assurance-through-avoidance, a survival trait that many will recall from their own High School days and which Szanto handles marvellously. His performance was not without flaw, there were times he began reacting to lines before they had been delivered, and his accent was often inconsistent. This, I suspect, was the cost of delivering a brilliantly physical, frenzied performance, and I’m sure these are kinks that will gradually be ironed out.

Dodds, however, was the show-stealer. Maggie is given some of the most difficult swathes of dialogue in the piece and Dodds handles them marvellously, never once dropping the loyal, terrified young teen she portrays so convincingly. There was such subtext to her performance, such a sense of her willingness to believe in the desperate cheer Eliot projects, even as real horror begins to encroach, that watching her was a delight. Again there were some timing issues with certain lines, and both seemed to struggle with certain sections of expositional dialogue, but given this is their debut in a major production such inconsistencies will certainly disappear. Kai Lewins seemed to have tremendous fun on stage – in fact, he made it seem that in doing this play he was having the time of his life – and Krew Boylan (who appears as Eliot’s sudden love interest) did a great job of … well, let’s call her a floozy woman … who has much more depth to her character than is immediately apparent.

Jacob Nash has devised a very simple but effective set, where the arrangement of cardboard boxes comes to resemble a grim city-scape with the children crashing around like Lords of All Creation. Kudos must also go to Verity Hampson for flawless lighting design. However, with the combination of these two talents, something unique occurred.

I am always conscious of actors noticing me off to one side, scribbling away and being distracted from their performance. This time was somewhat more so, as with the exception of intermission there was no point at which I wasn’t clearly visible trying to write surreptitiously by any who cared to look. The same went for my Long Suffering Companion, who happened to be placed right at the intersection of the front of stage and stage left. A model of decency and decorum, we were.

That said, I think we would have got away unnoticed were it not for the rat. That’s the problem with imaginary vermin; they have no sense of space. Eliot had mentioned it earlier in the play, reassuring young Finn that the rat was actually the reincarnation of Hitler and should be hunted down whenever possible. It was a neat little device, helped to assert how run-down their surroundings actually were. But then, Finn notices the rat dashing between the boxes. Eliot is immediately after it, careening across stage under he reaches the exact edge of stage where we were sitting. All lights are on us and I immediately stop writing, hands jammed in what I’m suddenly aware could be interpreted as a very inappropriate position in my lap. He drops to one knee, and in a loud, clear voice, points to my Long Suffering Companion’s skirt and cries, “Quickly, look, Hitler just disappeared down that hole!”

Such is the magic of theatre.

It all serves to reinforce how utterly unique and how utterly unearthly the world of theatre seems to me. There are few fields in which I think I would enjoy myself in such splendidly bemusing fashion, and performances like Tusk Tusk are reminders off that old Hunter S Thompson creedo – “As long as it keeps getting stranger.” It is a play you will certainly be reminded of long after seeing it, a kind of Party of Five meets Lord of the Flies. A spectacular cast, spectacularly directed. Go see it. No, really, just go, now. Get up from the computer and walk away. Sigh. This is getting awkward.

Cast - Krew Boylan, Airlie-Jane Dodds, Marta Dusseldorp, Kai Lewins, Cameron Stewart, Miles Szanto, Zac Ynfante
Director - Shannon Murphy
Set Designer - Jacob Nash
Costume Designer - Bruce McKinven
Lighting Designer - Verity Hampson
Composer/Sound Designer - Steve Francis

August: Osage County

The Steppenwolf Theatre Company production presented by Sydney Theatre Company and The Sydney Morning Herald

By Tracy Letts / directed by Anna D. Shapiro
Reviewed by Adam Norris

My father is an abalone diver, and on one of my last visits to the family farm we decided to take the sharkcat out to fish off the coast between Tathra and Bermagui. A few friends came along for the excursion and we whiled away several pleasant hours in the sun, catching more fish than was really reasonable (it was as though several schools were jostling for top position immediately beneath us). But just as the sun was beginning to set and we were preparing to call it a day, one of my friends hooked something huge. He didn’t hold it for long; ten seconds of strain and then a sudden limp line. My other friend had spotted something unidentifiable earlier in the day, something that broke the surface of the water briefly and was gone. A dolphin, perhaps, or a penguin, there were certainly plenty of them around. Within moments I had hooked another fish, and was reeling it in when all at once the line was almost jerked out of my hands. I was able to wrestle with it for a while, trying to keep enough slack to lure it to the surface and at least catch a glimpse of what it was, but to no avail. With a final painful jerk the line fell still, and when I reeled it back we found it had been chewed through.



The “Thing From the Deep” is a staple of genre fiction. Hell, Peter Benchley was able to sustain an entire career on the notion, and he is by no means unique. There is an endless fascination with the unknown tenants of the sea, and enough poetic metaphor to satisfy even the most hyperbolic of romantics. But despite how pretty the sun setting over the water might be, the things that are dragged from the ocean tend to be grotesque, as alien as we can fathom. The further down you go, the worse it gets. Anglerfish, goblin sharks, gulper eels, vampire squids (yes, I shit you not – vampire squids). Things that are best left drowned in the dark.

The majority of characters in August: Osage County live their lives beneath the surface, in words and deeds hidden from plain sight. There is madness, grief, incest, adultery, death and isolation - all the things a happy family thrives on. But then, after seeing Bug at the Stables Theatre earlier this year I was anticipating such despairing themes from Tracy Letts and certainly didn’t leave disappointed. Yet despite how thoroughly I enjoyed this play I hesitate listing it as one of the productions of the year. It ticked every box by which I would judge great theatre, and received a standing ovation the likes of which I haven’t seen since … well, nothing really springs to mind. I think perhaps because it was so lauded, so sure-fire a hit that I could never really be surprised or dazzled. Even the plot points of August aren’t really all that astonishing when you study them in the cold light of day; it’s the sheer strength of the cast that makes them so compelling.

Beverly Weston, patriarch of the family and acclaimed poet, has disappeared. His wife Violet (played magnificently by Deanna Dunagan, in the role that scored her a Tony Award for Best Actress) assumes control with a shaky iron fist as the extended family reluctantly descends on the sprawling Oklahoma house. Perhaps chief amongst the new arrivals is eldest daughter Barbara (played with brutal, bitter force by Amy Morton), a woman whose marriage has disintegrated and who finds herself desperately trying to maintain the image that all is well. Her husband (Jeff Perry) plans to leave her for a younger woman, her fourteen year old daughter is more distant by the day, and she is gradually succumbing to the acerbic nature of her drug-addicted mother. Her siblings, Ivy (Sally Murphy, who did a remarkable job of portraying real frustration at her family’s inability to take her aspirations seriously) and Karen (Mariann Mayberry, the most inconsistent of an otherwise spectacular cast) have significant troubles of their own, and as the play progresses these troubles will come to bear irrevocable consequences. Acting as outsider to these familial woes, and as an onstage guide or proxy for the audience, is Johanna (Kimberly Guerrero), the Native American hired help. Guerrero did the most with a character who really serves as little more than a weak symbolic counterpoint to the ragged, spiteful pride of the Weston clan. We soon learn that Beverly has in fact drowned himself, and with that the symbolic allusions start coming thick and fast.

Don’t get me wrong, this is a sharp play and the writing is astounding. Tracy Letts has produced something marvelous here, though at times it can suffer from being too clever for its own good. Television and literary allusions are everywhere, and by the end of the play the references to T.S. Eliot’s 'The Wasteland' are nothing short of heavy-handed (I would go so far as to say they actually spoil the ending). But these issues aside it is an amazing experience to behold that old chestnut of “the dysfunctional family coping under strain” done with such care and such skill. From start to finish, August is full of the delicious awkwardness of intruding on somebody else’s private conversation, the dialogue a perfect example of the frustrated speech of families. In fact, I would put it to anyone to see the play and not find at least one of these characters to be an exaggerated version of somebody they know and love dearly. Gary Cole outdoes himself as the epitome of Creepy Uncles; it’s like director Anna Shapiro was somehow able to roll together all of the sleaze and slimy lust that gathers in the corners of cheap nightclubs and fashion a person from it. But it is Deanna Dunagan who is the true delight - the kind of staggering, jaded Southern Belle you expect to find poisoning her family’s breakfast one morning. There are few examples I’ve seen where monologues addressed to the air have been so spellbinding, and in the play’s pivotal scene where the cast are gathered around the dining room table Dunagan is a force to behold.

Each actor brings such deep cynicism to their part, and such sarcasm to their roles as family members, that the audience was enraptured. You would slide August into the Contemporary Tragic slot on your bookshelf, sure, but this is also a hilarious play. And as disturbing as some of the revelations August offers are, the way the characters respond to them are wonderfully, uncomfortably familiar. I feel like I’m letting down the entire writing profession by falling back on such stock phrases, and yet, these were characters who truly came alive for me. Each personality seems unique, each actor blundering across the stage as though they had grown up in this curious house (which really isn’t altogether surprising given that some of the cast have been touring with this production for three years now).

We shift through so many tones in so short a time – shock, humour, violence, fractured love – that by the time you leave the theatre you’ll feel exhausted. I can’t recommend it highly enough … which is really just perpetuating the crowning flaw to my night watching August. I have seen so many lesser-budget, unconventional narratives this year on stage that I feel praising Lett’s so highly is to play it safe. I mean, this is Big Theatre with Big Themes - the set alone is awe-inspiring; a three-storey house spliced in half for the audience to peer inside, like a dollhouse for negligent giants - so chances are you’re going to be moved at least slightly. And though it is quite brilliant, I feel its renown coming between me and the thing itself. See it; enjoy it; then really step back and think about it. One thing is for certain – there are certainly very few plays performed today that are of August: Osage County’s standard. And, like every Sydney Theatre Company production, it has the added benefit of being a running-dive away from the lights of the harbour. If you really don’t enjoy it, you can always pull a Beverly Weston and swim for the sunrise. My theatre buddy that night (who is not Oscar Acosta, but should be) and I had earlier sat in the dark of the wharf, looking across the bay and the myriad cautious-coloured lights towards Blues Point Tower, pondering how deep those waters ran. I suppose the answer is – how deep do you need them?


Cast - Gary Cole, Deanna Dunagan, Kimberly Guerrero, Mariann Mayberry, Amy Morton, Sally Murphy, Paul Vincent O'Connor, Jeff Perry, Molly Ranson, Rondi Reed, Chelcie Ross, Troy West, Gary Wilmes
Director - Anna D. Shapiro
Set Designer - Todd Rosenthal
Costume Designer - Ana Kuzmanic
Lighting Designer - Ann G. Wrightson
Sound Designer - Richard Woodbury
Composer - David Singer
Fight Choreographer - Chuck Coyl