Theatre Australia 2(8) February 1978

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tralia’s magazine of the perfoflming arts

Theatre Survey ’77 Playscript: A Happy and Holy Occasion Act 1 Gordon Chater on A Year o f Benjamin Franklin Theatre Photography

February 1978 $1.95

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October — November 1978 Folk Artist

31st July — 26th August Mime SCHOOL SHOWS STAX of SAX DALE WOODWARD BOB FILLMAN & FRIENDS MODERN MIME THEATRE

I SUPPOSE I'D BETTER MY COUNTRY BENNELONG PLAYERS JAN CARTER ALEX HOOD

DANCABOUT MODERN MIME THEATRE WAYNE ROLAND BROWN GERRY ATKINSON

Theatre

Departments

Theatre Photography February 1978 Volume 2, Number 8

Features

International

2 3 3 54

Comment Whispers, Rumours and Facts Letters Guide: Theatre, Opera, Dance

4 Photographer Philip Morris Shoots Ned Kelly 6 Don’t Tell me, Show me — Peter Holderness Molto Temperamento — Pamela Ruskin interviews Richard Divall of the Victoria State Opera 13 Gordon Chater writes on a year to remember A Year o f Benjamin Franklin 50 Twilight o f the Gods — Geoffrey Hutton on the Star System 53 John McCallum on Billings, Broadsheets & Brochures 19 Barry O’Connor reports from Canada

Playscript 21 A Happy and Holy Occasion (Act One) by John O’Donaghue with an introduction by Terence Clark Survey 77

Theatre NSW — Katharine Brisbane VIC — Garrie Hutchinson QLD — Don Batchelor TAS — Karl Hubert SA — Tony Baker WA — Margot Luke Ballet William Shoubridge 47 Opera David Gyger

34 37 38 39 41 42 44

Australia

COMMENT

The tottering fortunes of the Old Tote have been the major headline makers over the Christmas period. Major decisions there, which could even involve closure, are to be made in mid-February, so comment at this stage would be premature, but TA will be taking a long hard look at the situation after that. Is it brinkmanship to force the State Government’s hand? Should the Tote be allowed its octopal growth?

Without money will it retreat to the Parade?

Even at this stage it looks deplorable that the axe should fall first on the new drama under Sharman and Cramphorn — which many believe with its Australian content to have been potentially the most exciting season the Tote has ever mounted.

All of which seems to prove that theatre companies must be run ultimately by their artistic directors, not their boards.

With the sun scorching down here and the northern hemisphere, birthplace and fount of western culture, suffering its annual death of vegetation and cringing before the elements, it is an obvious time to have our festivals. Adelaide, Sydney and Perth are all gathering in the cities for mass celebra­ tion of the muses, with overseas guests get­ ting a little sun worship thrown in.

What is the point of having such festivals? Are they for the artists of the northern hemisphere to have a holiday?

Are they to make the locals humble themselves the more before a gathering of the best the world can offer? Is it just a periodic cultural fix of the “real stu ff’?

It has been so. But gone — hopefully forever — are the days of Seymour (1960) and White (1962) fiascos, and this year one gets the sense that our head is being held higher. The cynics might say it is more a matter of economics than national pride to put the SATC, with two major tragedies, up front rather than the National or the RSC (the lack of the State company in the 1970 Festival was described by Denis Olsen as “an incredible administrative blunder”). Whether the cynics are right or wrong, it is the event that m atters.

Significantly the SA T C ’s plays are Sophocles’ Oedipus The King and Oedipus A t Colonus, — and the tenth Adelaide Festival resembles those of ancient times in more than just this.

At this City Dyonisia in the Athens of the South the indigenous product is fairly well represented. There is, even as in those Greek festivals of twenty four centuries ago (where it all started), a trilogy (including two premieres) by a local playwright; Peter Kenna has written in 2 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

tragic mood too, around the deities — here Catholic — of his major play A Hard God. They can be seen, following the stupendous Doll marathon at the MTC last year (and again the Greeks) in one session.

Remaining with our local poietes, Tim Gooding’s Rock'ola in the Nimrod ver­ sion, is to launch Adelaide audiences into a welter of sixties nostalgia, while the Hoopla one will be having a similar effect in Perth. Goodbye Baby and Amen. For the kids of the seventies there is the world premiere (again SATC) of Anne Harvey’s Uncle Hector and the Bohemians.

But Adelaide isn't just a harvest festival of our own crops, and nor should it be.

Sheer geographical remoteness dictates as much (TA has never been against first rate material from overseas, only third, fourth and fifth). As we are, also geographically and despite language and culture, part of the East, it is good to have the great classic drama of Japan, Kabuki, represented by some of its finest exponents, alongside Chhau, the masked dance of Bengal, based on the Bengali folk legend. And at the other end of the scale to have two produc­ tions from Poland, a country in the vanguard of theatrical experiment. Cricot 2 will present The Dead Class which took the 1976 Edinburgh Festival by storm, and the Polish Mime Theatre will further the Attic theme with a performance, based on Euripides’ The Bacchae and Pasolini’s Theorama, of Arriving Tomorrow.

In drama and dance there is to be a recreation of Kemp’s Jig (did he really jig across the Alps as well as the “nine day’s wonder” dance to Norwich?)’, a subMilliganesque one man show from Chris Langham, from Spain the Flamenco Puro Dancers, and right up front in the dance presentations, SA’s own Australian Dance Theatre. Not much in the dance, then, for the classical ballet lovers, rather a feast of delight for the eclectic palate.

The operatic highlight must be the Australian premiere of The Midsummer Marriage, with the composer Sir Michael Tippett in attendance. Again the produc­ tion is to be mounted by the state com­ pany, here the State Opera of South Australia, and there are to be concerts too from the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra including ones in which Tippett will con­ duct his own works, and a world premiere of Bruchner’s Symphony No. 3 in D Minor.

Fourteen world premieres in some three hundred separate perform ances and recitals must make this tenth anniversary event one of the world’s major festivals.

The worth of gatherings like these is as a meeting ground for artists, a showcase and a sheer celebration of the arts; but they are also contests. The judges of the Greek festivals were the Kritai, whence our word “critic” — the ones who still give the ver­ dict.

Anthony Steel is set upon bringing out a British critic — let us hope this is not based on his well-known disdainful views of prac­ titioners here, but only that the Festival be given good coverage back in the UK.

Theatre Australia Editor: Robert Page Executive Editor: Lucy Wagner Associate Editor: Bruce Knappett

Advisory Board: John Bell, Graeme Blundell, Ellen Braye, Katharine Brisbane, Vivian Chalwyn, Gordon Chater, John Clark,W.A. Enright, Lynda Gray, Jack Hibberd, Ken Horler, Garrie Hutchinson, Robert Jordan, Philip Mason, Stan Marks, Jake Newby, Phil Noyce, Ray­ mond Omodei, Philip Parsons, Diana Sharp, Ken Southgate, Raymond Stanley, Elizabeth Sweeting, John Timlin, Tony Trench, Guthrie Worby, Richard Wherrett

Publisher: John Curtain Art Director: Alex Stitt

Correspondents: Sydney, Sue Manger (02) 456 2068 Melbourne, Raymond Stanley (03) 419 1204 Brisbane, Don Batchelor (07)269 3018 Perth, Joan Ambrose (092) 94 6639 Adelaide, Michael Morley (08) 275 2204 Theatre Australia gratefully acknowledges the financial assistance of the Australia Council, the Literature Board of the Australia Council, the New South Wales' Cultural Grants Board, the Arts Grants Advisory Committee of South Australia, the Queensland Cultural Activities Department, the Victorian Ministry of the Arts, the University of New South' Wales Drama Foundation and the Assistance of the Univer­ sity of Newcastle.

Manuscripts: M anuscripts and editorial correspondence should be forwarded to the editorial office, 80 Elizabeth S treet, M ayfield, NSW 2304, telephone (049) 67 4470.

Whilst every care is taken of manuscripts and visual material supplied for this magazine, the publishers and their agents accept no liability for loss or damage which may occur. Un­ solicited manuscripts and visual material will not be returned unless accompanied by a stamped addressed envelope. Opinions express­ ed in signed articles are not necessarily those of the editors.

Subscriptions and advertising: The subscription rate is $19.80 post free within Australia. Cheques should be made payable to Theatre Australia and posted to the publisher’s address.

For advertising information contact the publisher in Melbourne (03) 42 0583 or Sue Manger in Sydney (02) 456 2068 and (02) 908 3648.

Theatre Australia is published monthly by Playhouse Press Pty. Ltd., 114 Cremorne Street, Richmond, Victoria 3121. Telephone (03) 42 0583. Distributed by subscription and through theatre foyers etc. by Playhouse Press and to newsagents throughout Australia by G o r d o n a n d G o t c h ( A ’a s i a ) L t d . , ME L BOURNE SYDNEY. Set by AbbTypesetting Pty. Ltd., and printed by Norman J. Field & Co. Pty. Ltd., 114 Cremorne Street, Richmond 3121. © Playhouse Press Pty. Ltd. 1977. All rights reserved except where specified.

The cover price is maximum recommended retail price only. Registered for posting as a periodical — category B

Ray Stanley’s

WHISPERS RUMOURS

Will the run of A Chorus Line in Mel­ bourne be longer than in Sydney? The unprecedented surge on the box office in its early days would point this way. One of the things that killed it in Sydney was the ‘strong language’. Nobody seems to be complaining about this aspect in Mel­ bourne, so maybe people are more broad­ minded in the Victorian capital . . . By taking over the role of the producer, Zach, in A Chorus Line, ballet dancer Garth Welch isn't exactly creating a precedent.

Don’t forget Kathy Gorham starred in Alice in Wonderland, Christopher Gable has undertaken film roles, ditto Nureyev, Moira Shearer once played Sally Bowles in I am a Camera, Shaw’s Major Barbara and recently played Madame Ranevsky in The Cherry Orchard, not to mention all the things Robert Helpmann has done.

And after all Garth Welch did appear in JCW musicals before joining the Aus­ tralian Ballet.

Did the Old Tote extend its activities too much, was it 6ad management or what, that caused its SOS for financial aid?

Maybe there should be some sort of a Royal Commission on its running — and of other state companies. Certainly I’ve heard of reputable actors having to undergo humiliating auditions at the Tote, and then being turned down, whilst unknowns (and TV names) apparently have been signed up without a hint of testing for suitability for a role . . .

Following on the Dracula cycle over­ seas, understand there are plans for a musical based on The Hunchback o f Notre Dame. Wonder when someone will get around to Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde . . . Her Majesty’s Theatres in Melbourne and Sydney come up for auction in April. But they have to keep operating as theatres for

twelve months after any sale. And after that? Maybe Norm Gallagher will see Her Maj. in Melbourne isn’t turned into a car park — it’s certainly more serviceable than the Regent. Believe the Victorian Govern­ ment has plans to purchase the Princess

. . . Who’ll be the first to bring out a biog­ raphy of Peter Finch? Shouldn’t be sur­ prised if it’s an Australian-born actor long domiciled in Europe.

Remember that old Carole LombardJohn Barrymore movie 20th Century? It’s looming up as quite a bright prospect as a musical in the U.S. . . . So Oliver is a big hit all over again in London, making it Britain’s most successful musical. There are planned productions all over Europe and Cameron Mackintosh, who has pro­ duced the London revival, is now nego­ tiating with a U.S. management for the American opening on the East Coast prior to its return to Broadway in late Novem­ ber 1978. London’s The Stage, reporting this, says: “ A Far East tour starting this autumn is also being scheduled, taking in a return to Tokyo . . . and finally playing at the Theatre Royal, Sydney, over Christ­ mas 1979/80.” What does Equity say to this? Oliver is one show where it has been proved imports are not required.

With Shaw’s The Apple Cart now tour­ ing with the Chichester Festival Theatre Co., did you know that in Gregan McMahon’s production of this in Mel­ bourne around 1933 Coral Browne played Orinthia, McMahon himself was Magnas and Irene Mitchell the Princess Royal? . . .

Bill Cronshaw tells me that originally he tried to get Orson Welles to Australia to narrate Side By Side By Sondheim. Welles would have come, but for other commit­ ments. However, understand we could be seeing him here in a one-man show later this year . . . Seems that more than one management has decided not to stage the play Once a Catholic, which is a smash hit in London. Too controversial perhaps? . . .

But Filumena looks a good prospect.

Hear Johnny Farnham is itching to get back on stage again, if not in a musical, then in a play . . . And we could be seeing Derek Nimmo in that oldie A Little Bit o f Fluff if*his London season of the farce is a hit. First staged in London in 1915, it was revived there in 1923 and again in 1943 . .

Am still awaiting those Kenn Brodziak anecdotes many people promised to send me for the biography I’m writing on our leading entrepreneur. Shall be grateful for any stories anyone has to relate. The address is: Box 1039H, G.P.O. Mel­ bourne 3001.

The cover shot and photos on the following pages are production photos by Philip Morris from Reg Livermore’s Ned Kelly now playing in Sydney.

Letters During the course of my research on the life and career of the late French actress Renee Adoree (1898-1933), I have been trying to locate individuals who knew her personally who would be willing to share what memories they may have of her with me. I was wondering if perhaps any of your readers might have information about her stage appearances with Guy Magley (“The Magleys” ) dt the Tivoli Theatre in Sydney in the spring of 1918, or information about her appearance in Claude Flemming’s mo­ tion picture 500 Reward, made in Australia in 1918.

Any correspondence from your readers would be appreciated.

Randye B Cohen, 451 West Lake Dasha Drive, Plantation, Florida 3324, USA. Ray Stanley never ceases to amaze me with his “ Whispers Rumours & . . . FACTS? He has in the past been extremely critical of the A.E.T.T. in being involved in “ imported overseas productions” . Now, however, it seems he has had an about face and is criticising our i n v o l v e me n t in t he p r o p o s e d A L L AUSTRALIAN production of The Circle. At the same time asking why we are not involved in the “ fully im ported” Chichester Festival Theatre tour with Keith Michell etc.

As usual his “ Whispers and Rumours” are far from fact. Helen Morse was only one of many being considered for The Circle but was after being short listed, not available.

He also believes that the A.E.T.T. has a quarter share of the Nimrod’s production of The Club at Sydney’s Theatre Royal in February. Wrong again! It is a 50/50 venture.

May I suggest the word FACTS be dropped from his column heading.

John Little Publicity Director THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 3

Photographer Philip Morris shoots

NED KELLY

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THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 5

Don't tell me, show me Peter Holderness " Theatre is the result of teamwork; many skills combine to produce an art form that is regrettably short-lived. The majority of productions in Australia run for between three and five weeks only. The theatre photographer is only just being recognised as an essential part of the artistic team with his ability to visually record produc­ tions in the way that words cannot, both to publicise them properly while they are run­ ning and to preserve their visual impres­ sion when they are not.

Good photography, in black and white or colour, is a stimulus to a company’s im­ age and provides invaluable material for attracting audiences. More immediately, good photographs can give those who have not seen a production at least an idea of its visual impact and effectiveness. It helps both critics and their readers; a photo­ graph can show what a thousand words cannot sum up.

Posed photographs — ‘publicity shots’ — are no longer an effective means of drawing patrons. A generally increased visual awareness makes these offerings appear outmoded and uninteresting and 6 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

thus does nothing or has a negative effect upon enlivening expectations of the show.

Pictures that capture the atmosphere and style of a production do interest poten­ tial theatre-goers; the director’s work is to choose a play because he feels that it em­ bodies something which will involve an audience and good photographs can reflect and promote the compulsive elements of a production. Photographs in programmes and magazines should likewise reflect the style and look of a production to remind and rekindle, and are even for the wider audience who might never have seen a live production.

Theatre needs to be recoverable to some extent; the cinema enthusiast has the original performance forever, but it is vir­ tually impossible to recapture many important historical theatre productions either for total lack of photographic records, or because what photos remain are posed and therefore documentarily in­ valid. Without visual records future in­ terest in a production can only be in rela­ tion to the text. Acting styles cannot be readily pictured. The work of designers

cannot be overviewed; hundreds of dollars are spent each year on sets, yet often the only record of them are glimpses behind posed groups of actors. The development of the work of a company cannot be look­ ed at, and worse, the atmosphere and flavour of a particular production is lost without trace.

A most important aspect that is often overlooked is that production photographs can give the performer perhaps his only chance to look at his own work and ex­ amine the complete production. Theatre is the only art form where the artist (actor) cannot stand back and assess his own work, for he is at once the creator and the product.

In buying photography many companies do not, or cannot afford to, include in their budgets money to record a performance properly. It is essential that the photo­ grapher be included as part of the com­ pany; to take good photographs he has to know the production. This means being in­ volved at an early stage, sitting in on rehearsals, so he can understand the view­ point of the director and designer on the

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play and work towards recording and preserving the style and interpretation of the play. (Documentation of the produc­ tion process itself would also be a valuable part of a company’s records, and to later students, but it will be a long time before this could be widely accepted.)

The theatre photographer has in the past been regarded as something of an outsider; taking photographs during actual perfor­ mance is discouraged, so photocalls — thought of as a necessary evil by actors and an area in which money can be saved by managements — have been the occasion for the only record of a ‘performance’. It hardly needs to be said that this can only on rare occasions meet more than the most basic publicity needs, not record the true character of a production.

During rehearsals preplanning as to the equipment and methods of photography can be worked out. A play in a small theatre that has fast action in low light levels will need different cameras and, film to a musical that is brightly lit on a big stage. Photographic angles and lenses best suited to the production can be established; close-up shots reveal the actors’ faces and expressions but without the larger context of set and positioning; medium shots cap­ ture interaction and relationship between actors; and wide shots show interaction within the total context of a production.

No one of these alone gives a balanced THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 7

view of a production, so a suitable number of each must be made in order for the choice of publicity shots to be fully representative.

Theatres must plan towards including photography fully as part of their total operation. In the past many important

8 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

plays presented by large subsidised and smaller non subsidy groups have not been properly photographed at all. Publicity departments must realise that the public is discriminating and responds much more to material showing the real interest of a production than to pictures of smiling

stars, and act responsibly to their com­ panies in terms of immediate needs as well as future records. To preserve and con­ tinue live th eatre we must rely on memories. As Stanislavksy said (actually in relation to acting) “ Don’t tell me, show me” . . .

Summer of the Seventeenth Doll

Mothers and Fathers JOSEPH MUSAPHIA

PETER RENNA Inner Voices

: A Stretch of the Imagination

ALEXANDER BUZO Norm and Ahmed Rooted__ The Roy Murphy Show

Currency Press Pty. Limited Australiaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Drama Publisher JJf 87 Jersey Road, Woollahra, NSW 2025, Telephone: (02) 32 4481 S&a, Currency Plays are distributed in Australia by Cambridge University Press ii /k f

Richard Divall and The Victoria State Opera

MOLTO TEMPERAMENTO

One might call Richard Divall the wonder boy of the Victorian music scene except for the fact that at 30, he’s hardly a boy and, after five years as Musical Director of the Victoria State Opera (ex Victorian Opera Company) the wonder has been replaced by a very solid appreciation of his musical ability by both musicians and audiences alike. Nevertheless there is something es­ sentially boyish about his soaring enthusiasms, his vaulting exultation as he describes a m usical work, his grey moments of despair and desolation, his over-all intensity about his work. Perhaps it is the very curly dark hair, now trimmed to quite a sedate length, the expression of owlishness the round black-rimmed glasses give to his dark, short-sighted eyes that seem to look out of his pale face that give him a look of innocence.

To see him take a curtain call at the end of a performance, shaking with nerves, panting from his exertions with the baton makes one realize that here is no suave sophisticate but a young man, something of a maverick, so totally immersed in the music he has been conducting and the emo­ tion it has generated that he is left drained and exhausted and quite unable to emulate the poised and smiling image of so many other conductors.

Richard Divall’s career is an extraor­ dinary one. A Sydney boy, he comes from a totally unmusical family, saw his first opera on television when he was sixteen and says “ From that moment on my life was given direction and purpose. I knew without any doubt that opera was to be my life. Nothing and nobody would prevent me following a career in music.” Easier said than done when you’ve no musical education whatsoever and no money to translate a dream into a reality, but faith once again moved mountains. Richard’s family were aghast to find this cuckoo in their nest — not a cuckoo perhaps, as that is a most unmusical bird — but a thrush in a nest of sparrows.

Just how determined Divall was and how successful in overcoming what looked like insuperable difficulties is shown by the fact that this almost entirely self-educated musician with no undergraduate degree, only a diploma, has been granted permis­ sion by the Melbourne University Conservatorium of Music to undertake his Master’s degree with a thesis devoted to the early operas of Gluck. “ Permission” says Divall attempting to look nonchalant but unable to hide his gratification, “was granted on the basis of 10 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

Master’s flat there. “ I’m in charge of the music for the chapel and I organize musical events for the college”, he explains happily. “ I use the students whenever I can. I used 50 students in a performance of Berlioz’ Sym phonie Trium phale et Funebre at the Myer Music Bowl at the end of April. It was the Victoria State Opera’s Anzac Day concert and we had an audience of 10,000 people. I’ve also been appointed as an Associate Lecturer in Ear­ ly Music to the staff of the Conservatorium. I’ve conducted at several con­ certs for them too” .

Living a more-or-less sheltered life in Queen’s College is an absolute benison for Richard who works extraordinarily hard, co n d u ctin g , a rra n g in g , w riting or transcribing scores, working with singers and research in g his th esis. As an emotional, highly strung and an overwork­ ed young man, to be relieved of the stresses of cooking and shopping and all the other chores of bachelordom is a great relief.

It was Dame Joan Hammond who suggested that the young Richard Divall be appointed Musical Director of the newlyconstituted Victorian Opera Company in 1972. “ I owe her so much. She has given me so much help, both musically and per­ sonally. She has so much knowledge and experience and wisdom and she has tried to teach me to discipline myself and to channel my efforts constructively. She’s a marvellous person!”

work done on early opera Australian colonial music” . A of research on early Australian done while he was working in Department of the A.B.C.

and early great deal music was the Music

Another and unusual appreciation of his musical knowledge and I think too, of the enthusiasm that he generates, is that he is now living as artist-in-residence at the University’s Queen's College in the elegance and sequestered tranquility of the

Within a very short time after his ap­ pointment, Richard Divall had won the support of a considerable section of the music-loving public, particularly among the young who were keen to see and hear the lesser-known musical works that the Vic Opera produced. “ I have a great in­ terest in the baroque operas of Monteverdi and Rameau and some of the smaller, lesser-known operas of M ozart and Gluck.” Two separate seasons, for exam­ ple, of The Coronation o f Poppea were hailed by critics and public alike and played to full houses. He has given seasons of Mozart’s one act opera, The Impresario and also the little-known, La Finta Giardinera. Equally successful were Poulenc’s The Breasts o f Therese, Handel’s Julius Caesar and Donizetti’s Don Pasquale as well as concert versions of The Trojans, The Son o f Getron (a twelfth century work) and Berlioz', The Childhood o f Christ. “ I seem” says Richard cheerfully, “to get involved in all kinds of things. Earlier

Pamela Ruskin

Although Divall is absolutely engrossed in early music, he is too much of a musi­ cian to close his mind to modern music. He assures me earnestly that “ music can’t be static. It must move on. It can’t keep repeating itself once everything has been said in a particular style or period. I find it essential that I become involved in con­ temporary musical ideas and composition.

That’s why I was involved in a season of the Contemporary Music Theatre last June in which Mark Foster and I con­ ducted performances of Walther Haupt’s The Sex Doll, George Dreyfus’ Mo and Felix Werder’s Agamemnon. In contrast to this, was my use of mediaeval in­ struments in our Vic Opera production of Monteverdi’s Orfeo last June. They created a lot of interest in the media” .

If that were not enough, Divall is in­ volved with the presentation of eighteenth century French Cantatas, using French costumes and showing the various acting styles of the time. It is this eclectisism of his that makes him one of the more in­ teresting figures of the Australian music scene.

this year, I conducted a ‘Music for the People’ with a programme that went from opera to rock. It was the first time that Hector Crawford had handed anyone his baton for 20 years but business pressures were heavy at the time and so he gave it to me. It was a very stimulating experience. I enjoyed it immensely.” “ What else has there been? Some fine St Cecelia’s Day concerts in the Great Hall of the Gallery, most of which have been en­ tirely sold out. 1977 has seen the most pop­ ular production I have conducted for the Vic Opera, Offenbach’s La Belle Helene where there wasn’t a seat to be had. It was great fun, of course, and good musically too.”

Divall has taken the Victoria State Opera on three country tours. In July this year, he went to eight country centres with 65 singers, musicians and staff with Rossini’s The Italian Girl In Algiers. “ It was the first time that we took an orchestra with us and that made a tremen­ dous difference. The enthusiasm was so heartening. In Shepparton we drew an audience of 800 people and in Traralgon, the 550 capacity theatre was booked out both nights. We reached hundreds of peo­ ple who’d never seen an opera before in their lives and their appreciation was marvellous” .

Although Richard Divall conducts many companies and orchestras outside the Vic Opera, this is his great love. He was asked to join the Australian Opera as a Resident Conductor but declined. He prefers to con­ duct the mini operas and lesser known works than the Grand Operas. He did, however, conduct for them Larry Sitsky’s modern opera, The Fall o f the House o f Usher. He has conducted the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra as well as orchestras and operas in Adelaide and other capital cities.

In 1975, R ichard was awarded a Churchill Scholarship and at the end of that year went to Europe for some weeks to study and work at the Paris Opera and also in England and Switzerland. This year, in early August, he went again to Europe on a seven week holiday plus study trip to Germany, England and France. In London, his special project was to study the score, staging and interpreta­ tion of Debussy’s Pelleas et Melisande.

This was produced by the Victoria State Opera in November.

Richard Divall’s overseas trip, the fares for which were paid by the Australia Council, concluded in time for the 1977 St Cecelia’s Day concerts, held in the Dallas

As a conductor and musical scholar, Divall is still growing in stature. He is the first to insist that he has a lot to learn and that he is learning all the time. He is becoming more disciplined both in his work and in himself. He is learning that while every conductor feels that he MUST have X number of musicians to do a work justice, he must be guided by the budget and make do with fewer.

Brooks Hall on 12 and 13 October where V iv ald i’s J u d ith a T rium phans and Handel’s Xerxes made up the programme. “ Next year our two main seaons that are decided on to date, are a full opera produc­ tion of Mozart’s Idomeneo which we had done in concert version some time ago. We are also going to do Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld which will have a very wide appeal. There are other things plann­ ed but it’s a bit early to talk about them at the moment” .

He is learning, as is everyone else in the Arts that these are lean times and that the Victoria State Opera must hasten slowly in financial terms. Nevertheless, under his musical direction, the Company is con­ solidating its place in the community. A solid subscription list is being built up while box office takings for Orfeo almost equalled those of the entire 1976 season.

“Once the Arts Centre is finished and the Company has a home, it will make a tremendous difference. We’ll take giant strides forward then” . One can see that Richard Divall is galloping into the future with the bit between his teeth. It is this per­ sonal enthusiasm that shows itself in the research that enables him to transpose long-neglected works and the same enthusiasm with which he infects his musicians and all who work with him, that are behind his remarkable career. Molto Temperamento, yes! But that’s the steam that fires the engines — the orchestras con­ ducted by Richard Divall.

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

11

The Australian Elizabethan Theatre Trust proudly presents these forthcom ing attractions

In association with The Adelaide Festival of Arts Inc.

KABUKI

Theatre from Japan

27 brilliant actors and musicians— all masters of this exotic form of drama.

Starring Nakamura Utaemon VI

(Member of Art Academy) Living National Treasure

POLISH M IM E

In association with The Adelaide Festival of Arts Inc.

BalletTheatre One of the supreme experiences of modern theatre this entertainment spectacular is vivid, sensual and exploding with vitality. One of Poland’s best known culture exports.

o s c u li PETERSON /HMDJOE P/ISS IIN CONCERT Pablo Jazz Festival 1978

In association with the Adelaide Festival of Arts Inc.

Gheorghe

ZAMFIR

The Greatest Virtuoso of the Flute of Pan Famous for his recording of the haunting “ Picnic at Hanging Rock’’ theme.

Tickets from her Majesty’s Theatre Box Office

Also to be presented in other cities under different managements.

SYDNEY

28 February to 4 March Nightly 8 p.m.

Regent Theatre

MELBOURNE

7th March to 11 th March Nightly 8.00 p.m.

Princess Theatre

MELBOURNE

20th February To 25th February Nightly: 8.00 p.m.

Matinee: Saturday 2 p.m.

Comedy Theatre

SYDNEY

6th March 6.00 p.m. & 8.30 p.m.

Opera House Concert Hall

2

CONCERTS ONLY

BRISBANE

6th March 8.00 p.m.

City Hall

1

CONCERT ONLY

Membership of the Australian Elizabethan Theatre Trust ensures advance notice, preferential bookings and special concessions to great plays and shows like this throughout the year.

Enquiries: Australian Elizabethan Theatre Trust, Sydney 357 1200; Melbourne 662 2911; Brisbane 221 9528.

CAM 801

“ What about a job in that cocktail bar you’ve opened?” (half pissed I was at the time) and Phil, bless him, said “Start tomorrow” and I did.

Gordon Chafer: A Year of Benjamin Franklin In 1974, after the run of Scandals o f ’74 at the Chevron, Sydney, I had a holiday in Cairns — started negotiations there for the lease of a small hotel — then they called me back to Sydney to appear in Frost on Australian Humour. I didn’t go back to Cairns and nobody offered work in Sydney. After four months of dissi­ pating time and spending too much of it in the Royal hotel at Fiveways, Padding­ ton, I said to Phil Ashton, the owner, “What about a job in that cocktail bar you’ve opened?” (half pissed I was at the time) and Phil, bless him, said “ Start tomorrow” and I did.

Instant publicity — press, TV and some of the more unthinking members of my profession muttering “ How dis­ graceful!” “ How undignified for a member of our profession” etc. — thank God for friends with a capital F, like Gwennie Plumb who lashed back with piercing loyalty, “Well he’s only getting paid for what he’s done for nothing behind his own bar at Palm Beach.”

And, of course, a successful barman is like a successful actor — he must like people, do it with pace and style, and I had a profitable and happy run in the Elephant Bar at the Royal: terminated when, with foolish courage, I tried to separate two white Muhammed Alis, was knee-wrenched, and with torn ligaments and cartilage, forced to bed for a week and to limp for four months. Followed by

appearing with the witty and pixielated Wilfred Hyde Whyte and the ebullient charmer Robert Coote in a Stellar production of The Jockey Club Stakes.

An incredible guaranteed 21 week con­ tra c t which ended abysm ally in Melbourne in November of ’75 after 8 weeks, with the management unable to pay the balance of salary owing. And nothing in view. Then an offer to get the Palace Hotel Restaurant together in Perth early in ’76 — and as I was pre­ paring to leave for Perth, Hilary ¿.in­ stead of M & L Casting called me one Friday afternoon: “ I’m sending you a script over by courier — let me know what you think of it.”

“Well, I can’t read it till Monday because I’ve got a busy social week-end.”

(Not really so busy but, though I knew Hilary would never send me the usual garbage involving eleven sets and forty characters that induces a coma on page three, I had developed a resistance to reading what always seemed to be poten­ tial professional death warrants).

The script of The Elocution o f Ben­ jamin Franklin arrived at 4 p.m. It lay on my table by the phone. I was making a call, read under the title “A play for one actor and a heck of a lot of technicians” . . . interesting . . . turned to page one, started reading, no reply to my call on the phone, which I put down, and one and a quarter hours later I cabled Hilary

and said “On certain conditions, yes, snap!”

The conditions were adequate prepara­ tion, that it had an opportunity in the commercial theatre — she had told me it was scheduled for production at the sub­ sidised Nimrod — and most important of all that if it should succeed no-one but I should play it in Australia for one year. I believe that new, and especially Aus­ tralian, plays would benefit greatly, if they are successful, by the original cast playing them throughout the continent.

Continuity of playing develops the per­ formances and, through the interplay of these performances, a shape and integ­ rity, honing the original valuable dia­ mond into a unique solitaire.

When I read the play I couldn’t put it down. My curiosity whirled. What was going to happen next? At the end of what was then the shattering climax of Act 2 — where the heck does he go now? And, blurred with tears and laughter through Act 3 (now Act 2) till, wrung out, I put it down; February 17th, 1976.

I enthused from that moment. One of my myriad faults is over enthusiasm, and I’m sure as I extolled the qualities of the ballsy writing, the relentless narrative, the lyricism of this play to my friends that they were thinking “ Dear old Gor­ die’s at it again” .

Richard Wherrett was already con­ tracted to direct. I didn’t know him. To THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 13

find out what I could about him as a director, I called Maggie Dence (Mavis Bramston herself) a trusted honest friend who had worked with him. She told me how I would love working with him. “ He’s meticulous” , “ He’ll extend you” , “Oh how lucky you are” . How right she is.

Then Richard and the author, Steve J. Spears, came to see me. Cautious ap­ praisal. To Steve I said “ How wonderful to meet a genius”, cautious with him because of his youth, then afro-hairdo, antique jeans — and I am the original pofaced conservative fuddy-duddy. “ What would you like to drink, Steve?” “ Eh — a tumbler of port, thanks” . Wince. For­ tunately there was enough for two tumblers. We talked about the play going into two acts. Richard agreed with me.

The original first act ended with Robert yahooing at Mrs Broad over the road and going to the bedroom with a tray of cheese and beer and the TV set.

So what? If the audience went to the foyer then, would they want to know what happened next? At that point I doubted it. Steve’s argum ent was strange: “ But you see three act plays are the sort of plays that Robert George O’Brien would have gone to.” “ And” said I with overt incredulity, “am I sup­ posed to get that over to the audience.”

Dear Steve — he agreed reluctantly. I believe now he agrees unequivocally.

So it was agreed we would rehearse in July, that it would, if successful, have a commercial opportunity, and that no one but I could play it for one year in Aus­ tralia. I met Lillian Horler, then general manager of Nimrod. We had a pro­ visional lunch — Lillian, Steve, Hilary, Richard and me — and it is not hindsight to say the vibes were good.

Then I went to Perth for 6 weeks, re­ opened the Palace Restaurant on per­ centage, suddenly got paid the balance owing on The Jockey Club Stakes, and with ten weeks to go before rehearsals, jumboed to London and New York. In London I showed the script to Emlyn Williams, the doyen of one-man shows, who said with that rich Welsh lilt “ When I saw the script I thought it might be one of those borring Beck-ett plays, but it’s most impressif. You are going to do it in your own voice?” I think he suspected I might do it like my old ocker pie-eater.

On June 20th I started learning. God, how I hate learning! Miriam Karlin and I have always joked about this fiendish process. We both do everything to put it off. Phone calls, letters, cleaning, shop­ ping, until there is nothing left but to sit down and learn. The script was nearly 60 foolscap pages long. I got up on twelve successive days at 4 a.m. and learnt five pages a day. And at 10 a.m. each day Nick Bailey, another actor enthusiast who was also engaged as my dresser for the Nimrod season, ‘heard’ me — over and over again.

When I knew it Richard and Steve came over and I gave an armchair perfor­ 14 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

mance. The second act (as it is now) always provoked my tears and there they were again, streaming down. Gently Richard said “ I’m glad you’re moved by the second act but if you cry the audience won’t.” Spot on — as always.

Finally into the Nimrod for the first rehearsal. Like learning I always dread the actual starting, the blocking of moves and so on. So did Richard. I met Maxine Le Guier, the stage director: twenty two, the prettiest round feminine face, jeans, and never happier than working with tape machines, tapes, lighting consoles, electronics — oh how inadequate I always feel.

I'm still working with her: a magnifi­ cent professional with her technical knowledge and ability, but also, with her timing of the phone bells, lighting cues and effects, a wonderful complementary actor whose contribution to my per­ formance is as inestimable as Richard’s.

Richard spent the first morning dividing the script into segments, with names, for simple working processes.

Like pages 1-4 “ He seduces himself” , 8-10 “ He entertains Bruce” , 13-16 “ A day in the life” , 26-28 “ Bombshell” , 30end (of Act 1) “ Invasion” . Coffee break — and then the moment of truth. “ We'll move the first act” .

And by lunch time we had. With props and most effects and substitute clothes. A negligee designed for me wasn’t ready and I was using a black chiffon designed for a sylph — giggles — relief. I am the worst giggler in the business and then, in reverent awe of Richard’s experience and stature, I don’t think anything relaxed me more than when I found out he was a berserk giggler too. We must have dissi­ pated at least two hours of the total rehearsal period rolling around on the floor giggling at something we thought excruciatingly funny to decorate the pro­ duction.

Well, the decorations are still there (like the delivery of Robert’s opening speech in front of the Mick Jagger poster) and useful they are, leading up to a particular moment. But the audience, quite rightly, have never even smiled at them!

The ability to giggle in the middle of serious work is, of course, an indication of objectivity. Lord Olivier said in Sydney in 1948 “To play Othello proper­ ly you and your Desdemona must be on the verge of giggles” .

Only once in the run of B.F. to date have I broken up (not easy when one’s alone on stage) and that was in Hobart at a matinee when a geriatric lady in the front row of the stalls relayed thunder­ ously to her even older deaf companion — “ He said FUCK dear” “ He said did you FART” etcetera . . . etcetera.

At the end of the First week the play was ‘set’, and we were ‘running’ it in the second.

Steve was with us in the first week of rehearsals — enthusiastic, co-operative and like all authors, sometimes reluctant.

There was, in fact, little re-writing. Some elision of scenes. A batch of Five elocu­ tion lessons reduced to three. A few lines of dialogue added for Robert ‘off stage’ to ease under-dressing and changes.

Minimal elimination of lighting cues.

And a year later very little has changed — a few of my own miniscule additions which emanated from larking about at rehearsals — Richard, laughing: “ Keep that in!” And during this time I warmed so much to Steve. His compassion. His impeccable manners. His wit and big laugh and the beauty and intelligence of his women friends often with esoteric names like Baschia (I asked was her other name Poofta) — and Lush.

On the third Monday of rehearsals Richard released me at lunch time; they needed a technical conference in the afternoon. I lunched, napped, and was suddenly in pain, high up abdominally.

Indigestion? No — milk and bicarb didn’t work. At ten that night I called an Emergency doctor. “Spasm” he said and gave me a needle. 1 a.m., awake, so crook I couldn’t lie, sit, stand, and look­ ed grey. At 6 a.m. I called my own Doc­ tor; another needle — relief. He had to go to the country so when the pain re­ asserted itself I called his partner who called an abdominal specialist.

“Obstruction” he said. “ You must go into Intensive Care” . Nightmare. But the staff at Balmain were superb — tubes up my nose to the stomach, needles — the lot. Tests and more tests. Kidneys, gall bladder, heart, barium enemas anal and oral. (I couldn’t believe that in 1976 medicine has not found ways of testing without pain). And frantic concern about the play. After 36 hours the pain had gone. On the Sunday I was out of hospital — my surgeon pleased, but non­ plussed.

I went back to work. Ten days to the first dress rehearsal. Twelve to the first preview. Good came out of hospital­ isation — extra previews. And for me there can never be enough preparation.

Somewhere, and perhaps now is the place, I must let forth about the “Talk Back” segment of the play. Reading it, only John Laws leapt to mind. But Nimrod management demurred. The budget could pay something, but John Laws . . .? I’ve known and admired John for many years — a consum m ate professional, articulate, talented, and I knew that he could say Yes or No. “ Send him the script” I said. John was wonder­ ful. “ I can’t give you a morning but I’ll put the lines down, with love.” And he did. Tony Verhoeven edited in the voices astonishingly. It is difficult to believe that the segment is not for real. And John, bless him, was profoundly moved when he saw the play and has never stopped championing us.

The first act at the first dress rehearsal took 1 hour 45 minutes (now 1 hour 10 minutes). We cut slightly but knew that pace would reduce it. The first preview, my fear of boring and love of pace (in this

Richard said “ I’m glad you're moved by the second act but if cry the audience won t.

instance at the expense of sense) cut it down to 55 minutes! Richard was in despair. I wasn’t trusting him, myself or the play. “Listen” he said “ on the phone!

Let the audience register the jokes — give us time to laugh.” And on another occasion when I thought I’d been rather good “That was a very boring perfor­ mance.”

It was during the previews that we were given invaluable advice by Peter, the secretary of the Sea Horse Club — the club for transvestites. I learnt that there are as many as 60,000 hetero­ sexual ‘cross-dressers’ in Australia. That in the play when Robert returns from his ‘dressed-up’ outing with Bruce to the Art Gallery, the prayer that ‘Benjamin and his mother didn’t see through my Drag’ must be serious — it is a ‘high’ for a transvestite not to be discovered in public; and more to my astonishment than anything else Peter said as he was about to leave — “Well I’m Peter now but on opening night I’ll be Trina accom­ panied by my wife and daughter.” It seemed improbable as he stood there, large and masculine in strides and a car­ digan — but on opening night there he was — a tall but good looking elegant woman.

Preview by preview I relaxed. Audi­ ence reaction was strong. The vibes were good. And then the opening night. A Saturday, and I remember little of the

performance except that at the end peo­ ple stood and applauded, which had never happened to me before.

And on the Monday the five daily papers all carried sensational reviews.

The radio commentators were raving and talking. In the make-up room at Channel 10 an actor inevitably said “ Well, of course Gordon’s got good notices — it’s type casting” to be pulped by my loyal friends. Three days after those initial notices the 6 week season at the Nimrod was sold out and 400 phone applications for tickets were turned down daily until the season at Nimrod finished — an estimated 21,000 bookings regret­ tably rejected.

Zandra Stanton, the party organiser and then doing P.R., called me on the Tuesday morning “Could you come in for an interview on Friday night at six?” I wasn’t that keen — two and a half hours before curtain time? But I agreed and arrived at the theatre grudgingly on the Friday night, greeted by Janet Kingsbury to do a spot for 11 a.m. on Channel 7.

Hand camera in the dressing room — talking to Jan in front of the mirror, drawling on, without much enthusiasm, about the play, the author, the . . . and then suddenly “Gordon, you’re not on 11 a.m., you’re on National Television: This is Your Life". Digby Wolfe.

I was flabbergasted, moved — the

tears welled. Then we did the reverse shots and Bob Rich said “ We’ll go and have a drink at Noah’s Northside before going to the Studio” . But what about the performance? None. It had all been arranged.

This Is Your Life was indeed an ex­ perience. Miriam Karlin from London and Jim Oswin from Paris on film.

Gwennie Plumb, Thelma Scott, Johnny Mellion, Ralph Peterson and Judi Farr, Carol Raye on the phone from London, Sir Walter (Mac) Leonard (who as G.M. of Ampol had sponsored me on Bramston), Barry Creyton, and my darling niece, Jane, flown out from London.

Warmth and love and tears — and the audience of treasured friends like Dot Mendoza, Ray Biehler, my accountant, Johnny Cover my agent for thirty years and his lovely wife, Queenie Ashton — and through all the accolades my mind kept thinking “ If only Mavis Bramston was still on we could do a wonderful “This is Your DEATH” . With people saying vitriolic things about me! T.I. Y.L. increased the demand for seats.

Sydney Edwards of the London Evening Standard reviewed us. “Australian hit play — superb.” Actors and actresses came in droves. Politicians. Entrepreneurs. But as the time sped there was still no transfer arranged. Lillian Horler and I had our first and last spat — thankfully indirectly, THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 15

It was during the previews that we were given invaluable advice by Peter, the secretary of the Sea Horse Club — the club for transvestites.

though my agent. She rejected all my ment H. & M. Tennents (who had not terms and conditions for transfer to a com­ heard Patrick) exploding with enthusiasm, mercial venue. O.K. we were to close on a “ I’ve always been looking for a play with a Saturday. I booked a chaise-longue on a great first act, topped by a great second.”

Qantas Jumbo to Europe for the Sunday.

There has always been division about Nimrod winced. I held my breath. Then the second act. I have a theory that if you Lillian called me direct. We talked and are a vulnerable person you are shattered laughed and all was settled. by it; if not you query the what-for of Finally the New Arts Theatre at Glebe Robert O'Brien’s desperation and demise was arranged. A 700 seater. Would the in the barbed wire of the ‘system’.

Then there was the Saturday night when play suffer going to such a relatively large theatre? I believed, because it is a ‘big’ Jam es H am m erstein (son of Oscar play, that it wouldn’t. There were worries. Hammerstein II and now a New York The costs of transfer, publicity, and the producer) saw it and bought the London threatre had to be repainted inside and and New York rights. Hilary Linstead, drycleaned backstage. And would all those Steve’s agent and my good friend, had people who had tried to get seats at the always been very straight with me “You do Nimrod, try again? Well we stayed there understand, Gordie, that my client is my for 26 weeks — in spite of a crippling first priority?” . Of course I did. So when petrol strike which affected the weekly J.H. bought it but for an International ‘take’ alarmingly — and the Christmas Star, to minimise the risk of producing an season (B.F. is hardly a Nativity play) unknown playwright’s play in London and when on Christmas Eve we played to 23 New York — and production costs in both people. But we survived and towards the cities are astronomic — I understood end of the run it was again impossible to perfectly and was not — as so many people wanted me to be — disappointed or vocal. get seats.

I'll remember the New Arts for Judith The great pleasure for me has always Schwartz, the manageress. Elegant, ef­ been the success of this Australian play ficient and unflappable, and a great hostess with an Australian production in its own after the show: The Sunday night when my co u n try . I did think th a t in The greatest advocate, Patrick White, came Australian’s front page announcement of into the dressing room and said in his most the overseas sale Steve was putting himself sonorous gloomy voice “ A bit of a fizzer” down by saying that the play depended followed by Helen Montagu, then boss of (apropos London and New York) on the the prestigious London theatrical manage­ shock of a ‘local’ star appearing nude and 16 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

uttering expletives.

Wilton Morley (Robert’s son, now an Australiophile entrepreneur who has presented us since leaving Sydney) came backstage. Charming and typical of him he wrote me the most enthusiastic letter which became, later, very important. And then the night when, knowing he was in the theatre, I heard Hal Prince’s quiet voice outside the dressing room saying, “ Would it be convenient^.) to see Mr. Chater?”

Hal Prince, his wife, and Stephen Sond­ heim transported me with their enthusi­ asm for the play and the performance. And they were genuinely shocked when they heard I wasn’t scheduled to play it in New York. Said Mrs Prince, God love her, “Ten minutes in I turned to Hal and said this guy has got to do it in New York — he’s married to his material" ! Later they contacted Hammerstein and ever since, I am certain, have had a great deal to do with the ultimate appearance of the original Nimrod production being nego­ tiated for London (and possibly New York).

As the run at the New Arts raced on it was very clear that if there had been any doubts of the play appealing to the General Public, there were none now, and as January of ’77 loomed we were looking forward to touring the continent. Nimrod had neither the facilities nor the personnel to look after a tour so we looked for an Entrepreneur.

Neither Eric Dare nor the Elizabethan Theatre Trust were prepared to pay the percentages for author, director and designer or their touring allowances on top of salary for Maxine, Paul Swanson (War­ drobe Master, superb dresser and laughing friend) and Philip Rolfe our mechanist.

And since the pace and effect of the show depends on them, apart from the physical­ ly draining absurdity of trying to re­ rehearse in each town with their counter­ parts, it looked, if no entrepreneur could be found, as though there would be no tour.

Then I remembered Wilton Morley’s letter saying warmly “ I do hope I shall have the pleasure of presenting you perhaps next year.” “Call Morley” I said to Paul lies.

My instinct was right. It was immediate­ ly arranged that after Canberra (where Nimrod had already booked us for 10 days) and apart from Hobart where John Unicomb had already arranged for the Tasmanian Theatre Co. to present us, we would be under the banner of Wilton Morley’s Parachute Productions. Wilton, 25, with the flair of a mature showman, never queried the percentages or touring allowances and struck a great blow for the Australian Theatrical Product by saying, publicly, “ Why shouldn’t it be paid for as the American or English theatrical product is?”

We closed in Sydney on February 26th at the 164th performance. On Monday February 28th the N ational C ritics Awards were announced — in N.S.W. we were given three: Best Play, Direction and Performance. And on March 17th we opened in Canberra. The playhouse is a small charming theatre and with the Awards and continuous publicity given us during the Sydney run, one would have ex­ pected rather greater advance bookings.

But it is a fact of life that in Australia still, no matter how celebrated or acclaim­ ed a play and performance is, if it’s Australian the public “Wait and see” . An overseas telly star in a run-of-the-mill vehi­ cle will be sold out prior to opening. So in Canberra, in spite of the brilliant public relations prowess of Coralie Wood — that smart dark tower of energy and charm, everywhere at once in gales of ‘Ciara’ — it took us five days to go to capacity; and then of course we had to extend to three extra performances.

The Lakeside was my home there and I was completely spoilt by the staff and deeply touched on my 55th birthday when they all gave me presents.

I was fascinated by the licensing laws in Canberra which enabled the crew and I to go, if we wanted to, to a different barrestaurant every night for a drink and supper (Melbourne and Perth please copy!) and it was nice to renew my friendship with John and Terry Vaughan cosily wombed by the Canberra Civic Cen­ tre: a bit too cosily I thought once or twice — but then all my life in this business I’ve rarely enjoyed the sinecure of subsidy.

In Canberra I used to get very testy as

I’d arrive at the theatre at 7 pm, when it was supposed to be opened, to find that it wasn’t: that there were paying customers waiting to buy seats. And to be told when I requested one Thursday morning the amount of advance held that they would be able to tell me on the Monday — “it has to go through the usual channels” : at the Nimrod it is a matter of a fifteen seconds investigation of a ledger. But, of course, I’m a vulgar commercial hustler.

We closed in Canberra on April 6th and on April 7th (Maundy Thursday) I flew to Adelaide. Wilton met me with a stunningly arranged, if staggering publicity schedule.

Straight from the airport to a radio inter­ view with Jeremy Cordeaux at 11 am, with another one at 2pm, and unbelievably, the generous press interviewed me on Good Friday, Easter Saturday and Easter Mon­ day. This Day Tonight did a story and the following morning the Box Office took $8,000 in two hours.

We were to play the 1100 seat Her Ma­ jesty’s Theatre. It is now, having been bought by the South Australian Govern­ ment, administered by the ‘Adelaide Festival Centre’, and all that bureaucracy! in spite of the thousands of dollars rent Willie Morley (our entrepreneur) was obliged to pay, because of Festival Centre ‘policy’, we were allowed neither box office or phone booking facilities at the theatre.

In 1977! By threatening public ridicule these facilities were quickly instated.

Later in the run there came a moment of further bureaucratic absurdity — a techni­ cian, assigned to our production by the Festival Centre and lavishly paid by Wilton, behaved with inefficiency that greatly reduced the stature of the show. In the commercial theatre he would have been sacked. Here he was reported but pro­ tected by his superior.

Adelaide was the beginning of Nimrod’s and my close association with Wilton Morley; and in my case a friendship to be cherished and which will never be diminished. Though thirty years older I have always been made to feel by him a contemporary. Professionally for the first time in my 31 years in the Australian theatre, I felt an Australian play and its Australian star were being presented with the panache of the best London or New York entrepreneurs. And whether I deserve it or not, it is the first time I have been given the legendary ‘star’ treatment — the acknowledgement that without the personal success of the cast (which does to a great extent depend on their comfort and well-being) the rest of the structure didn’t exist: the box office depends alone on what happens on the stage.

The night of our dress rehearsal in Adelaide I was momentarily fazed by the appearance of a clergyman backstage. “ My name is Peter Osborn and I’m in charge of the Actors Church Union here.”

In his youth he had been an actor of dis­ tinction in England. He then joined the Royal Navy and only fairly recently was he embraced by the Church. He stayed for the dress rehearsal and thrilled me with his warm appraisal of the play and the perfor­

mance. And in a curious way my worries about suddenly playing in this large theatre were dispelled.

People were repeatedly saying “ You’re not at Her Majesty’s?” No one goes there any more, the only place to play is the Festival Centre.” Well, pro-rata, in the first eight performances there we took m ore money than the enorm ously successful ‘family’ musical Irene. We ex­ tended a week. Standing room only. And Willie’s faith in us was justified. And we celebrated our 200th performance there.

The mail has always been phenomenal for B.F., but one letter, in Adelaide, is more than memorable. “At the end, when you die" it said “why don’t you bring up the lights to show young Benjamin holding a candle leading you up a staircase to Heaven. It would be so nice."

The end of the Adelaide season co­ incided with an Air Traffic Controller’s strike. We closed there on Saturday night and were scheduled to meet the Press in Perth on the following Monday. With luck we m anaged cabins on the T rans Australian (in which some of the staff seemed to resent the extra business with a wine waiter who sulkily picked his nose with a ‘d’youse want a red or a white?’ and then always just as we’d finished our dessert) and we reached Perth on the Tues­ day.

I found myself in Perth at the press con­ ference once again enthusing so much about Steve, Richard, the play, the audiences and once again wondering “ Is it really as good as that? Oh dear will it go in Perth.” We played the Regal at Subiaco, a thirties Art Deco moviehouse with perfect acoustics and seating 1200.

Nancye Hayes and Graeme Blundell had (as they had in Adelaide) ‘warmed’ the theatre up for us. But I did wonder whether the nature of the play and the relative isolation of Perth would attract the same capacity audiences to which we had now become accustomed. Well, again there were ecstatic notices and capacity audiences.

Two policemen were sitting in the theatre on opening night to vet my con­ troversial moment of ageing, repellent fullfrontal nudity at the beginning of the play.

Having got over that, they removed their hats, remained till the end of Act 1 and asked if they might return another night to see Act 2. Success! In the 42 performances at Adelaide and Perth the box office gross­ ed $170,000 which at $6.90 top, with par­ ties and student/pensioner concessions, is bread.

Sunny stunning Perth! The Parmelia, where I stayed, is the Savoy of Australia: that wonderful quiet, underplayed service one jump ahead of you. The superb garden court restaurant — but for treats only!

And being entertained by that charmer and wonderful actor Edgar Metcalfe. Carous­ ing at lunch time with the warm explosive laughing Bazza Martin and J.K. Watts, Yorkie (Lionel York) and Geoff Sweetnam — who only a year before had been my boss when I got the old Palace Hotel Restaurant together — the days when I THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

17

believed show business had finished with me. And the cab driver who said “That play you’re doing, Mr. Chater, is it Dickens’ Benjamin Franklin?”

And to top everything in Perth, in the middle of a TV interview in my dressing room, my darling friend of many years, Jill Perryman suddenly appearing without warning to present me with Theatre Australia’s Professional Award for Best Actor (shared flatteringly with that great actor John Gaden) in N.S.W. for 1976.

Then to freezing Hobart’s exquisite Theatre Royal.

It saddens me that the people of Hobart do not cherish their classical, beautiful theatre as the citizens of any town in Europe or America would if they had it. It is an almost perfect ‘Play’ house.

But there is lethargy and apathy about raising the miniscule $300,000 to provide basic rehearsal space, paint frame, dress­ ing and rehearsal rooms, administrative offices. And lovely as the interior is, oh for some white and gilt paint and lush maroon carpet and seats! One of the shattering revelations for me about this 1824 gem of theatrical architecture, cited as classical and envied in journals and encyclopaedias throughout the world, was when I asked a cabbie to take me to it. He started to roam in the other direction.“No,” I said “the Theatre Royal." “There is no Theatre Royal in Hobart — I know, I’ve lived here all my life — it’s in Launceston.” Well, I guess he learns something every day.

Hobart for me was memorable for John Unicomb who is in charge of the Tasma­ nian Theatre Company. I have known him almost since he was a child actor but had spent little time with him. Now in ten days I was lost in admiration for his dedication, enthusiasm, determination to get “ bums on seats” and still have time to be, with his darling attractive clever wife, Gillian, a generous host.

Our business exceeded expectations by about $4,000 for the 10 performances. But the reaction of the audiences was curiously different from those in other states. Good at the end of the play but neutral during it.

I sensed it was what I call an “oughter” play for them. “Oughter be seen.” And for the first time I heard the word “nasty” mentioned when the play was talked about; the first time this word came up was from an acquaintance, worldly and sophisticated who, because of the epithet ‘nasty’, I suspected had some skeleton in her closet of which perhaps the play had reminded her.

And Hobart itself — like a large beautiful Cornish seaside town — with the best fish restaurant, Mure’s, in the world, believe me: heavily booked out in advance but charmingly accommodating to us after our opening night. Bouillabaisse was never better or more beautifully served in M ar­ seilles. Our supper there was a unique, spectacular and spiritual entertainment for the stomach!

And just as I was leaving the hotel for the Friday (and only) matinee in Hobart, Hilary Linstead, Steve’s agent, cabled me from Sydney to congratulate me. After all 18 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

the talk of an international star to play it in cameraman raced below to my dressing London, the producers had settled for me. room where Mary, on monitor, then inter­ Richard cabled ‘Yippee’ — but because viewed me. If I mention Mary that is not negotiations hadn’t been Finalised, there to say how deeply appreciative of all the could be no public announcem ent: massive interest of the Press and TV we cautiousness which may be superstitiously have been: so many talented warm people right but divorced from the publicity lavishing their expertise and time upon us. bezazz of the theatre.

And on August 25th at the 290th perfor­ And so to Melbourne to open July 3rd. mance we completed our first year of play­ I have always believed, and still do, that ing. On September 5th we reached the the Sydney-M elbourne rivalry-envy- 300th performance. superiority syndrome is a myth. I like both Ahead there are still m onths in cities for different reasons and I particular­ Melbourne, a possible return season in ly like Melbourne, possibly because of my Sydney and then London. Again, though I early associations, after the war, working believe B.F. is a unique play with rivetting at the Princess and later with J.C.W .’s in theatricality, I think it is wise not to be Exhibition Street; it feels more theatre- over-confident. I am virtually unknown orientated. there: we could be in the wrong theatre: the critics could disagree violently with their And though we had been what may modestly be called a ‘smash-hit’ success down-under counterparts.

But I believe that if one can attract 100,everywhere else, I did wonder if Mel­ bourne, which I consider to be slightly 000 Australians without a great tradition more discerning about its theatre, would of theatre-going away from their TV sets, confirm the judgement. I was diffident and then it is likely that the European English nervous. The Press queried the delay in speaking people, with their tradition of reaching Melbourne — nearly 11 months theatre-going, will respond as enthusi­ after we'd opened in Sydney. They sound­ astically. But audiences are fickle. For ed a little hurt! But we would have come to Australia’s sake I pray I am wrong.

What conclusions have I about the play Melbourne earlier if there had been a suitable theatre available, and the Press in relation to the Australian Theatre?

Firstly that there is another young accepted this.

Hoopla Productions leased the cosy lit­ playwright writer with an innate flair for tle Playbox Theatre to Willie and we arriv­ the theatre, uniquely Australian ‘guts’ in ed from Hobart concurrently with Hoopla his style, and a sweeping compassion for taking up residence. The stage is tiny — his fellow man which I hope will never alm o st the w idth of the N im rod diminish. Secondly, that the Australian downstairs, where the play was born. But public with little tradition of theatregoing Maxine, never fazed, sorted all that out. and a swamping tradition of accepting Richard came down and we set to work blindly anything from the overseas theatre, with technical and lighting rehearsals are now less diffident about their own.

That above all, the lengthy, impeccable leading up to a charity preview and the first night on July 2nd (the 235th perfor­ preparation and what I have called Tender Loving Care, as well as Richard Whermance).

Richard and I were overjoyed at the am­ rett’s creative and sensitive directorial con­ bience of the theatre — no need to project tribution to minimise the risk of disaster, — in the first act one could really play the has paid off again, as it did in the lengthy play as though I was talking in my living- p re p a ra tio n of such m ass m edia room. The preview went well though successes as the Mavis Bramston Show Richard knew I was nervous if the and M y Nam e’s McGooley (not to audience didn’t. And on opening night, m ention the num erous thoroughly bless him, he came round and said “That’s prepared Crawford productions and Cash Harmon productions). the best performance you’ve given yet.”

And finally I believe, because of the big The notices were wonderful — though I winced when Neil Jillett compared Robert issues of the play — injustice and bigotry and loneliness — its narrative and timeless O ’Brien in the second act to my corn­ quality, that it will survive to be played and flake-munching rough diamond Dominic enjoyed as long as there is persecution, McGooley; — and, again, as I read the moral or physical, of any kind in this notices, especially Leonard Radio’s and world. James Agate defined a great play as Bob Crimeen’s, I thought “ Is that really one which “ Entertains and is an ex­ me? Are we as good as that?” , We quickly went to capacity and though perience” . “ Experience” is a word that from the original rehearsal period in crops up in almost every letter written to Sydney the media have been over­ us about the play. We know it has enter­ whelmingly generous with coverage, the tained by the attendances and applause.

Melbourne media just seemed to go that From mail, which has exceeded in numbers much further with their enthusiasm and and length the massive mail I used to get in determination that everyone should know the Bramston days, it is apparent that the play is for its viewers, an experience. Peo­ about us.

Mary Hardy prompted Channel 7 to ple who have seen it, speaking to me in the spend a whole day fixing up monitoring, street use the word ‘experience’ too. And video and sound equipment in my dressing because I accept Agate’s definition I room so that they could project to their believe the play merits the epithet ‘great’. vast audience on Penthouse, me taking my But regardless of that the privilege of play­ calls at the end of the first night’s perfor­ ing it is still a great experience.

Melbourne. Sept. 1977 mance, cut to commercials whilst I and the

International Barry O’Connor

Descending Scale There are two major centres of theatre in Canada. Montreal, except for the excellent Centaur Theatre, represents FrenchCanadian theatre; and Toronto, since the disappearance of Le Theatre du Petit Bonheur, is purely English-Canadian. The two traditions represent a cultural apar­ theid, that forces us to speak of one or the other, but not both simultaneously.

Canadian theatre, (and I mean the English variety from now on), finds its catchment area in southern Ontario. Not far from Toronto are the two largest festival stages in the country. The Shaw Festival at Niagara-on-the-Lake; and the Shakespeare Festival at Stratford, com­ plete with an Avon River, swans, and the expatriate cast of the BBC’s Forsythe Saga.

Toronto itself has many kinds of theatre, which may be classified on a descending scale of dollars. The Road Houses, the concrete O’Keefe Centre and the plush Victorian Royal Alexandra, take in superannuated stars from Broadway and the West End. Occasionally, at the ‘Alex’, is offered the bonus of Gielgud and Richardson in Pinter’s No Man’s Land', or, a world craze for Chorus Line is begun.

Then there is the St. Lawrence Centre — home to Toronto Arts Productions, whose policy is to perform the entire Brecht canon. But not, it is to be hoped, to become a Brecht Festival. Last season’s C o m e d ia n s by T r e v o r G r if f ith s demonstrated the TAP’s best ensemble potential. After the St. Lawrence Centre — a big step this — come the alternative theatres. There are those that have made

it, and those still trying to succeed with the public and the arts council scouts.

Not so long ago there were as many new Canadian playwrights as new theatres to produce their works. Those heady days have passed. The momentum ran out at the same time as the federal and provincial money. Now the so-called alternative theatres have formed their own establish­ ment; and the playwrights who survived along with these theatres enjoy upmarket revivals of their successes of merely two or three years back. The theatres which began in warehouses, stables, factories, and firehalls are now sumptuously comfortable; although, one or two maintain an ‘upstairs’ stage to remind them of their origins.

However, names like Toronto Work­ shop Productions, Free Theatre, New Theatre, and Factory Theatre Lab. are merely symbolic these days. New Cana­ dian plays are now being commissioned by the Stratford Festival of all places; how­ ever, this is expansionistic rather than compensatory on Artistic Director Robin Phillips’ part.

It’s not that there are no new theatres, no new plays, and no experimentation in the theatre here. Just that there no longer seems to be the immediacy and, dare I

name it, relevance of say the community experiments the Theatre Passe Muraille in the early ’seventies.

Quebec’s threatened secession from the rest of Canada is an urgent problem that has been looking for a theatre for well over a year. Theatre Plus lamely fashioned a production of Dennis Cannan’s Captain Carvallo as its contribution to the separatist issue. Theatre Plus was alone, until, as I write, Toronto Workshop Productions is presenting Rick Salutin’s Les Canadiens, which imaginatively ex­ plores English-French co-existence through the metaphor of the national madness — ice hockey.

Vancouver’s Tom Walmsley made his Toronto debut with the double bill, The Workingman and The Jones Boy. A new playwright, yes; but one who needs to temper the rawness of his street-kid vision with humanity. Carol Bolt, Canada’s most prolific dram atic w riter, dealing in political personalities and situations in Buffalo Jump, Red Emma and Shelter, is the new W riter-in-R esidence at the University of Toronto. Bolt’s last work, One Night Stand, predicts a narrowing of her focus, but not of her range. But can she survive the university?

The well known and much produced writers are Michel Tremblay and David French. Tremblay is one of the few play­ wrights who are known in French and English; L Belles Soeurs, Bonjour La, Bonjour, and Forever Yours Marie-Lou all spring from the catholic claustro­ phobia and the incestuous family life of his Quebec. Tremblay’s wryness and sensitivi­ ty are nowhere more evident than in

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 19

Hosanna: his most popular piece in which a drag queen dresses like Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra and soliloquises about his messed-up life.

David French’s Leaving Home and O f the Fields, Lately are realistic and sensi­ tive studies of a Newfoundland family.

And French’s One Crack Out did for Toronto’s pool halls what David Storey’s The Changing Room did for Rugby Feague. His latest work for the Tarragon Theatre is a translation — perhaps idiomisation is more accurate — of Chekhov’s The Seagull, in which French’s gifts in simplicity and honesty shone.

Two small, not necessarily alternative, but decidedly unsubsidised theatres en­ joyed tremendous box-offices this last season. The Phoenix Theatre’s production of Edward Bond’s The Sea directed by Graham Harley; and Israel Horowitz’s The Primary English Class at the Open Space.

English Class turned out to be a truly ‘smash hit comedy’, and is still playing in its third Toronto location. The play, which is written by an American, captured Toronto’s multi-cultural consciousness. It didn’t matter that the play is a predictable comedy, with obvious poverty in its characterisation. The audiences love to identify with the night-school English class, and to hear jokes in their own language. There are about seven .languages in the play, with voice-over ‘subtitles’ for the monolingual.

As for the 150-seat Phoenix Theatre,

how could it fail after the Globe and Mail Guardsman, and Richard III. blazed this headline across its entire Bedford gave us an unforgettable villainweekend Review section. ‘THEATRICAF hero in Richard. He brought a Machia­ GREATNESS IN HIDING: The Tiny vellian cynicism to a role where Phoenix Theatre Pulls Off Coup With a Machiavellian irony is more commonly Super Sleeper Called The Sea’. People displayed. His Richard shrugged through came in droves, and the run was extended his ‘evil’ speech and, so to speak, pulled with some changes in the cast. Audiences himself onto Richmond’s blade in much are still debating the secret of the Phoen­ the same spirit. What was wrong with this ix’s achievement. Was it the play or the ac­ playing of the crookback was that the ting? Perhaps the answer will come out of climaxes tended to be short-changed. next year’s ‘full-scale’ production at the St. Robin Phillips has made it clear that he Lawrence Centre. Toronto Arts Pro­ does not want Stratford to be a star show­ ductions was going to transpose The Sea to case. He is still building the Festival, and Atlantic Canada for its setting. This would his achievement in turning it from the be avoiding, however, what some people moribund wax works he took over three are calling the challenge of The Phoenix. years ago is astounding. Phillips wants a The two large Festivals drew their strong company of actors, and he is offer­ customary bus loads last year on the ing actors three year contracts to prove it. strength of their imported English stars. A Theatre School, experimental stage, and At the Shaw, Ian Richardson of the Royal media research facility are all planned for Shakespeare Company, performed the 1978.

Doctor in The Millionairess, and Jack Not to be out done, John Wood in Ot­ Tanner in Man and Superman — with the tawa has taken up Phillips’ gauntlet.

‘Don Juan in Hell’ interlude added at Through the National Theatre School weekends. In both roles, when sickness there, Wood is planning an ‘all-Canadian’ allowed, Richardson gave magnificent per­ company to compete with Stratford in formances, particularly in the demanding scope and repertoire. Mr Wood has been Superman double. rooting about in London, unearthing As with Richardson at Shaw, so too Canadian hopefuls and trying to persuade with Maggie Smith and Brian Bedford at them back home. Not an unearthed find, Stratford. They outclassed the other actors Kate Nelligan, London’s current darling, in the company. Indeed the Smith-Bedford is also one of Wood's targets. productions at Stratford appeared to have Canada has gone through its peak of been deliberately and lovingly devoted to theatre-building, its peak in playwrightthem at the expense of everyone else. This nurturing, now perhaps is the year of the was true of Hay Fever, Molnar’s The actor.

LECTURER PERFORMING ARTS

(TECHNICAL THEATRE)

Position No. 2/78 Applications are invited from suitably qualified and experienced persons interested in appointment to the above position.

SALARY: Lecturer Class I $17,080 Lecturer Class II $10,732 - $14,898.

LOCATION: Croydon Park College of Further Education in the first instance.

QUALIFICATIONS AND CONDITIONS OF SERVICE applicable to this position are set out in detailed DUTY STATEMENTS available, together with APPLICATION FORMS from the Department’s Management Service Branch (Telephone 227 1400) or write to the address below.

APPLICATIONS, quoting appropriate position numbers should be forwarded to the Director-General of Further Education, G.P.O. Box 2352, ADELAIDE, S.A. 5001, to reach him by Monday, 27th February, 1978.

DEPARTMENT OF FURTHER EDUCATION SOUTH AUSTRALIA

20 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

MONASH UNIVERSITY DIRECTOR OF STUDENT THEATRE Monash University Union is looking for a Director of Student Theatre to work full­ time starting from mid/late February, 1978. The appointment is for a two-year period with an option for a further year.

We are seek in g so m eo n e who is enthusiastic and excited about the prospects of working co-operatively with students, to explore ideas in non­ commercial theatre. Duties to include running or arranging regular workshops, assisting with student productions and helping dream up new ideas(!) Directing experience preferred but not absolutely essential. Salary vicinity $10,000-$ 10,500 p.a. depending on qualifications and previous experience. For further details contact Mrs. M. Morel, 541 0811 ext.

3100.

Written applications quoting reference no. 91122 s ta tin g d a te of b ir th , qualifications and experience should reach the Staff Officer, Monash University, Wellington Road, Clayton, 3168, as soon as possible.

Playscript:

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 21

TERENCE CLARK

8

&

îfeand ^ /e a th i in Mayfield West

A H appy and H o ly O ccasion (or AH AH O ) was written for the National Play Competition sponsored by the New­ castle College of Advanced Education Stu­ dent Representatives’ Council in 1974.

It was awarded first prize of $500 in the section restricted to residents of Newcastle and the Hunter Valley. The Newcastle Playwrights Project, formed by the NCAE English Department and the University of N ew castle’s D ram a D epartm ent to promote the production of plays by local w riters, received a grant from the Australia Council to engage a professional director to stage AH AH O . NPP ap­ proached me in late April about the possibility of the Hunter Valley Theatre Company’s doing the play, or at least providing a director for an am ateur production.

I had received a letter from John O’Donoghue in which he withdrew the play from consideration for production by either HVTC or NPP; this was accom­ panied by a very long explanation of his reasons — he had tried placing A H A H O and was frustrated by the wearing process, familiar to all beginning playwrights, of trying to get his play performed, or even read. And he wanted to get on with new work.

Although I had had a copy of the play for some time I did not read it until the morning after the NPP meeting — I was bowled over by it. I wrote to John O’Donoghue straight away, so beginning the correspondence that provides a record of the play’s reshaping and of the produc­ tion: John liked to record in writing the outcome of each of our many discussions — a way of working which I found as valuable as he.

Although the play changed considerably over the following months, my original response still says what I feel about the play: ‘It moved me very much, even more than did my first reading of A Hard God (with which it has certain affinities). “ Your themes are large, as large as they come, I suppose: family love, friendship, death, and those sad disparities in life — between aspiration and fulfilment, between religion’s ideals and its practice — which sour and hobble us. “ It is one thing to take large themes, another to embody them in character and action. Your characters are real, your dialogue is true: there are no stereotypes (not even the barmaid) but fully-realised people who talk and behave like people we 22 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

know, lovingly yet dispassionately observ­ ed. If this is a first play I am stunned, because you show such sureness in placing your characters and giving them life.’

The first draft of the play was in three acts, the first in two scenes: sc.i took us up to supper, the actors leaving for the diningroom; sc.ii was taken up with party songs, recitations, and so on; act II began with the news and then was given over to the deaths, acted out at length, with three or four additional characters appearing briefly; Act III took us to the end of the play much as it was eventually performed, though Breda left early on, and the play ended with a ‘reversed pieta’ — Christy cradling his mother Mary, which seemed dramatically weak and unresolved.

The characters of Mary and especially Christy seemed shadowy in the first ver­ sion. Christy hardly appeared — possibly because he is closest to John O’Donoghue (see Author’s Note) — and I felt he should be present at what was, after all, his party.

Breda was less prominent, and she seemed too good a character to waste.

Throughout the rewriting of the play the deaths remained a problem that was not resolved until the dress rehearsal.

John wrote of a plan for the two-act ver­ sion: “ I have left out the death scenes . . . I have given them a lot of thought over the past few weeks and have tried to uncover my motivations in writing them. Frankly I believe they were part of what you call the ‘what-shall-I-do-next’ syndrome. Again, I was aware that I was writing a play for a Competition and I wanted to impress the judges with something both intriguing and different. (Judging by readers’ reactions, I certainly achieved this).

However, despite these two motivations, I believed that the death scenes were related to some of the main concerns of the play, especially as they touched on what you call ‘those sad disparities of life — between aspirations and fulfilment’. I also wanted to give the play a quality of ironic retrospectivity. The scenes were carefully structured so that Houses O’Halloran and Miss Siss died last, their long-livedness showing the pervasive longevity of IrishCatholic Jansenism. I also wanted to show Breda’s ‘death by water’ as signifying something free about her, even in death. I could go on and explain each of the other deaths in similar symbolic terms, but I’m afraid this letter would end up resembling an Eng. Lit. essay.”

Although I was worried by the stylistic shift the deaths involved, I had found them very moving when I first read the play, and I felt John was underrating their power: one of the concerns of the play is death, that other happy and holy occasion; as Lucy Wagner wrote in a perceptive review of the play ( T-A, October/November 1976) ‘there can be no hopeful ambiguity in our view of them at the end because we know they all die victims — of the Church and the deformities of character it has wrought in them’.

By the time we started rehearsal on 6 September, Act I had been rewritten in much the form it is now; I had rashly told John that I thought Act.II would be main­ ly a scissors-and-paste job. We spent three hours halfway through rehearsals putting the pages of Act II together, omitting the death scenes. A week later we tried acting out the deaths, then improvising them; and then, in John’s absence, we cut the original half-hour to about five minutes so that we could omit the scene if we felt it didn’t work.

Fortunately, John was happy with this drastic surgery; as it happened we didn’t try running the play without the deaths.

Because AH A H O up to that point is very funny, the audience tended to laugh at the deaths, and they were never for me as moving in performance as they had been when I first read the play — but some peo­ ple found them so. Although I should be interested to see a production of the play without the death scene, it is for me in­ tegral to the concerns of the play; struc­ turally it prepares the audience for the shift in action into drunkenness, the shedding of social skins, and violence.

The play would benefit from a rework­ ing of the opening pages — Mary was, in the first draft, an accomplished pianist, and John had to accommodate the fact that no actor-pianist was available — and could perhaps be trimmed a little.

Working on AH A H O was one of the happiest and most exciting times I have had as a director. There is a special pleasure in working on a new play, and helping to shape it: and I was lucky to have the cast (five of them local) and crew I did.

I like the play very much — no, I love it.

There are a lot of loveless plays about, and it is easier and less exposing for a playw right to score points off his characters than to love them. Which is to draw attention to one of A H A H O’s great strengths: it is full of love and compassion for its people, yet it is quite unsentimental.

A Happy and Holy Occasion was first per­ formed by the Hunter Valley Theatre Company at the Arts/Drama Theatre, University of New­ castle, on 1 October 1976 with the following cast: Mary O’Mahon, Nancy Tarran Denny O'Mahon, Robert Alexander Christy O’Mahon, Stephen Clark Rev Fr Thurlogh O’Gorman, Vic Rooney Tocky Keating, Tony Sheldon Vincent de Paul O’Halloran, Michael Taper Breda Mulcahy, Kerry Walker Cecilia McManus, Jacqueline Simon Directed by Terence Clarke. ¡c)John O’Donoghue, 1976. All rights reserved.

All enquiries to the Hunter Valley Theatre Company Limited, Cnr. The Terrace and Tyrrell Street, Newcastle, NSW, 2300.

John O’Donoghue was born in Mayfield in 1929, the eldest of seven children. He was educated at Rosary Convent School Waratah; S. Columba’s College, Springwood; Balmain Teachers College; and the University of New­ castle. He has taught in Walgett, Broken Hill, Lismore, and Newcastle. He spent 1956-58 overseas, teaching principally, and spent a time in Ireland; he lived for some months in his father’s village in Tipperary. Since 1972 he has been a Lecturer in English at the Newcastle College of Advanced Education. His lifelong in­ terest in writing began with a piece in the Young Author’s Page of the November 1941 edition of The Annals o f Our Lady o f the Far East, for which he received 2s6d. Since then he has had many occasional pieces published in both the Newcastle and Sydney Morning Heralds.

His first full-length play, Coffee on the Levee, was submitted to the London Observer 1956 play competition, and remains unperformed; his second, a short play Dear S. Joseph and Dear S. Anne Make Dadda a Trammie as Quick as You Can, was written in 1966 and given a moving reading by New Theatre in the Workers’ Club Dungeon.

AUTHOR’S NOTE The author would like to stress that although there could have been an autobiographical reason for a party to be held in his home on the night of Friday 13 February 1942, nevertheless no such party took place. The play is an im­ aginary exercise: no character bears any rela­ tion to any person living or dead. This par­ ticularly applies to the character of Mary O'Mahon, who is as far removed in word and deed from the author’s mother as could be im­ agined. Neither is Miss Siss meant to represent in any way the author’s grand-aunt Maria Nolan, who first wrote down the ballad of ‘Shamus O’Brien’ in May, 1881; nor is 'Houses O’Halloran meant to represent the author’s grandfather, John Nolan, who used often recite the ballad.

Slcf Cue The lounge room o f the O' Mahon family in Mayfield West, a suburb o f Newcastle.

Cabinet wireless, lounge chairs, sideboard, piano. Pictures prominent o f the Sacred Heart, Our Lady o f Perpetual Succour, St Therese o f Lisieux. Clock.

Mary O’Mahon comes on stage and seats herself at the piano. As she does so the dis­ tinctive, wailing note o f the C om ­ monwealth Steel whistle is heard loud and clear. It is obvious that Mary does not hear the whistle. A moment later her husband, Denny O’Mahon comes rushing in, knot­ ting his tie.

Denny {quickly): What whistle was that?

Mary {as though coming out o f a dream): Whistle?

Denny: The Com. Steel whistle! It just blew!

Mary: I didn’t hear it.

Denny: Didn’t hear it? You must be deaf! I want to hear the 7 o’clock News.

Mary: It’s gone 7 o’clock. It must have been the 7.30 whistle you heard. You’ve got your whistles mixed.

Denny: I must have. I was in the bathroom. Funny, you can hear that whis­ tle all over W aratah-M ayfield; we’re almost right on top of it and we don’t always hear it.

Mary: Since we’ve bought the clock and the wireless, it hasn’t been so necessary to make sure we hear the whistles.

Denny: I suppose you’re right. {Pause.) I wanted to hear how things were going in

Singapore. We’ll have to wait for the 10 o'clock News now.

Mary {not too concerned): Oh! Denny: The situation’s pretty grim. The men on the coke ovens were talking about nothing else all day today.

Mary: Father will be sure to have heard the 7 o’clock News. He'll be able to give you the story.

Denny: That’s right. Houses will know. {Pause.) Won’t be long now before he’s here. And the others. What are you doing, Mary?

Mary {somewhat sarcastically): I’m play­ ing the piano. Or trying to.

Denny: I suppose there’ll be some singing tonight.

Mary: I hope so. We’re not just going to sit and look at each other all night.

Denny: I might sing a song myself.

Mary: Good heavens, Denny. Spare us.

You know you haven’t got a note of music in you. And you’re as flat as a pancake.

Denny: I’ll sing a song about my old village. {He sings in a fiat, reedy voice.

Mary looks at him askance.)

There’s a spot which I adore, It lies not far from Galtymore, It nestles in a vale so green, A beauty spot in Ireland, Ballyporeen! Oh, Ballyporeen!

What’s the matter, woman? What are you looking at me like that for? It’s not so bad.

I’ve got a good delivery, but a rough passage.

Mary: You know you’re the only Irishman

I’ve ever met who hasn’t got a sense of tune.

Denny: What about Tocky Keating?

Mary: Oh, my God! I can just imagine what he sounds like. Look. If you feel you must sing, get Breda to sing with you.

Denny: Perhaps I’ll make do with what I’ve just sung. Let’s say I’ve sung my song for the night.

Mary: Good.

Denny: You’re sure everything’s ready now Mary. Our guests will soon be arriv­ ing. It’s gone half seven.

Mary: Everything’s ready. Or will be.

There’s only a few things I have to attend to.

Denny: Have you made the scones?

Mary {impatiently): Not yet! I’ll make them later. It’s too early to put them in the oven.

Denny: Have you made Miss Siss’ lamingtons?

Mary: Yes. They’re made.

Denny: Have you made Miss Siss’ barley water?

Mary: I’ve made it but I haven’t strained it yet.

Mary attempts to return to the piano but becomes aware that her husband is ex­ amining her domestic handiwork with a fine tooth comb. She turns impatiently to him.

Mary: Look Denny! Stop fidgetting! The house is as clean as it’ll ever be. I’ve swept, washed, polished and dusted until my arms are sore. I’ve worked my fingers to the THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 23

bone. I can’t even play the piano any more. Christy: Uuuggghhh! Mum you’re strang­ Denny: I th o u g h t th ere m ight be ling me. (He loosens the tie somewhat.) something you’ve overlooked.

Mary: Must make sure it doesn’t slip.

Mary: Don’t worry! Everything will meet Denny: He’s going red in the face. Here, with Miss Siss’ approval. let me loosen it for you.

Denny: I wasn’t only thinking of her.

Christy: That’s better. Now I can breathe.

Mary: But you were mainly thinking of Denny: You’d better run along and get her. your hair done.

Dennv: I suppose I was.

Mary: Put a straight part in it and you’ll Mary: She’ll have to take us as she finds look beautiful. us. Anyway we didn’t exactly invite her. Denny: I’ll go out the back for a while, I'll She threw out some broad hints that an in­ get Tocky to help me put some galvanised vitation would be acceptable. iron over the air-raid shelter. We could get Denny: She said she would like to be here a storm later tonight. on such a happy and holy occasion. Christy: Can I help, Dad? (.Desperately) My God! I hope she doesn’t Denny: No! No! Of course not! I don’t recognise Breda. want you getting your clothes soiled or Mary: You’ll have to warn Breda. your hands dirty.

Denny: Don’t worry! I will! (He starts to Christy: You don’t think we’ll need the air­ look around the room.) I wish we had raid shelter, do you, Dad? wallpaper on the walls. And new lino on Denny: I hope not. But everyone’s digging the floor. them.

Mary: The rug hides most of the lino.

Mary: Of course we won’t need them. If Denny: We could do with a new rug too. the Japs come over dropping bombs, we'll Or even wall-to-wall carpet. They say have our airmen to defend us. that’s the coming thing!

Christy: Well, we won’t have Phillip Mary (intrigued): Wall-to-wall carpet?

Stephens to defend us. He’s been killed.

Denny: Yes. They lay the carpet right to Dennv (shocked): What! Phillip Stephens? the skirting boards. Even on parts of the Killed? floor where you never walk. It’s the com­ Mary (shocked): Where did you hear this, ing fashion.

Christy?

Mary: Wall-to-wall carpet. I’ll believe it Christy: I heard it this afternoon. when I see it.

Everyone’s talking about it. His mother Denny: It must be expensive . . . Where’s got the letter this morning. He was killed Christy? in a dogfight. His Spitfire was shot down Mary: He’s in the back room getting over the English Channel. ready.

Denny: Ah, the poor boy. God rest his Denny: Christy! Christy! soul. He couldn’t have been more than Christy (off): Coming! twenty. Young to die.

Mary: Having a son a priest is worth all Mary: How is Mrs Stephens taking it? the wall-to-wall carpet in the world.

Christy: They reckon she ran round the Denny (reassured): You’re right Mary! yard screaming when she heard the news.

You’re right!

Denny: Poor woman! Her only son! It only Denny: Ah! There you are! Almost ready. seems yesterday he walked past here in his Get a move on now. Pull your socks up. Air Force uniform.

Straighten that part in your hair. Just look Mary: He looked beautiful! Beautiful! at your tie there.

Denny: He called out to me: “ I'm off to Mary: Come here, Christy.

Canada, Mr O’Mahon. I’m going to train Christy (while his mother is arranging his to be a fighter pilot.” “ Good luck, tie): Dad, Tocky Keating’s out the back. Phillip,” I yelled back at him. And now He’s been there for a few minutes now. he’s dead. What a dreadful way to go. Shot Denny: He’s probably too shy to come in down in an aeroplane. just yet. I'll go out and have a yarn with Mary: It’s a beautiful way to die! him before I bring him in.

Magnificent!

Mary: You can keep him out there as long Denny: What are you on about Mary. It’s as you like. horrible. A sad, dreadful way to die.

Denny: Mary, try and be pleasant to Mary: It’s a beautiful way to die. A Tocky this evening. For my sake. beautiful death. At least he lived. Up, up, Mary: Oh my God! It’s like being pleasant up! Hold it, hold it, hold it! And then, to a snake! Any way the boot’s on the down, down, down! He had his moment of other foot. It’s about time he tried being joy. He lived! pleasant to me. For a change. You’d think Pause. Both Denny and Christy are dis­ I was Dracula the way he looks at me. I turbed by M ary’s strange reaction. Denny can never work out what I’ve done to of­ decides that Christy should no longer be fend him. present.

Denny: He’s shy. Especially in the com­ Denny (quietly): Christy, run along now pany of women. and finish getting ready.

Mary: There’s more to it than that. He’s a Christy goes. Long pause. mean, moody, nasty little bugger!

Mary: Aren’t you going out to see Tocky?

Denny: Mary!

Denny: Mary? I wish you wouldn’t take Mary: Sorry. (To Christy) That’s no way those strange notions. for the mother of a future priest to be talk­ Mary: What strange notions? ing, but Tocky brings out the worst in me. Denny: All that talk about young Stephens (She pulls hard at the knot.) There. dying a beautiful death. It sounds queer; 24 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

peculiar. Especially in front of Christy.

Mary: What’s it matter? It’s what I think is true. I think he did die a beautiful death.

Noble! “A short life in the saddle, Lord; not long life by the fire.”

Denny: I still wish you wouldn’t go on the way you do. N ot to n ig h t M ary!

Remember Miss Siss is coming. It’s her first visit to the house. We want to make a good impression on her .

Mary: And I suppose you think I’ll spoil the impression.

Denny: You will if you keep spouting those strange notions you’ve got about young Phillip Stephens’ death.

Mary: What about Miss Siss’ ‘strange notions’? Especially where death’s con­ cerned. They don't call her ‘the Angel of Death’ for nothing, the old vulture. Always swooping down on some funeral and in­ sisting on twisting the cheek of the corpse.

What about that for a strange notion?

Denny: She's just making sure the corpse is dead. She’s got a horror of people being buried alive.

Mary: Good God! She’s buried alive herself!

Denny: She’s a fine old Catholic lady: a pillar of the Church. If she'd been a man I’m sure she would be a Papal Knight by now.

Mary: And she’s also very wealthy.

Denny: Yes. And that could be to our ad­ vantage. She could be of great assistance to Christy. Provided we do nothing to up­ set her.

Mary: Well I certainly wish she wasn’t coming tonight. Bossy old bugger that she is, money and all.

Denny: Mary! That’s the second time you’ve used that word tonight. You used it in front of Christy.

Mary: He’ll hear worse later on.

Denny: What do you mean?

Mary: In the confessional. All the juicy sins women will have to tell him.

Denny: Mary! There you go again. For God’s sake, don’t talk like that this even­ ing. You’ll spoil the whole night.

Mary: It looks as though I’ll have to but­ ton my mouth and be a good girl. No naughty words; no strange notions.

(Sighs.) Denny, could you leave me alone for a minute to relax. You go out and talk to your mate Tocky.

Denny: Be nice to Tocky when I bring him in.

Mary: Oh my God! Tocky and Miss Siss!

What a pair!

Denny diffidently exits. Mary glances at the piano nervously, unable to bring herself to touch the keys. Then Christy bursts in.

Christy: Mum, Father Thurlie’s coming through the front gate.

Mary (flustered): Oh! Oh! Bring him in, Christy! Meet him at the door! And — Christy! — his name is Father O’Gorman, not Father Thurlie!

Christy: But everyone calls him Father Thurlie.

Mary: You are to call him Father O’Gor­ man.

Christy exits. Presently O ’Gorman

appears at the doorway with Christy. He watches Mary.

O’Gorman: Play som ething for us, Paderwiski. Play on.

Mary: Oh Father O’Gorman. I don't play anymore.

O’Gorman: A fine pianist like yourself.

You’re a true artist. You have the hands of an artist.

Mary: I have the hands of a housewife with six kids. Always scrubbing away on the washing board!

O'Gorman: Ah, but you’ve still got your touch! The long, soft fingers are still there.

Don’t you think so, Christy?

Christy: I don’t know. Mum hardly ever plays now, Father.

O’Gorman: Ah! And I was hoping you’d accompany me. (He sings) 'Oh little town of Mayfield West’.

Mary: Oh, Father O'Gorman you’ve changed the words.

O’Gorman: That’s because they’re more appropriate, Mary. Especially on such an occasion as this.

Mary: Do you really think so, Father?

O'Gorman: Fm sure of it, Mary. Sure of it.

He sings again Oh little town of Mayfield West, Beneath the smoke-filled sky.

This party's sure to be the best, To farewell dear Christy.

Christy: That’s great, Father Thurlie!

Mary: Christy! What did I tell you? Fm sorry, Father. I expressly warned him about calling you Father Thurlie.

O’Gorman: Father Thurlie? T here’s nothing wrong with that. Everyone calls me Father Thurlie.

Mary: I don’t think it shows respect.

O’Gorman: You can call me Father Thurlie yourself, Mary, if you like.

Mary: Oh Father! I don’t think I could ever bring myself to call a priest by his Christian name.

O’Gorman: What are you going to call Christy when he’s ordained? Father O'Mahon? Of course not. You’ll still call him Christy, or Father Christy. Won’t she, boyo?

Christy: I suppose so. I don’t know.

O’Gorman: Of course she will. So why don’t you call me Father Thurlie, Mary, and be done with it.

Mary: I don’t think I could bring myself to do it. 1 still think it shows a lack of reverence.

O’Gorman: Ah! Talking of reverence, where’ll I put this? I’ve brought a few con­ vivial bottles along.

Mary: Christy, put the bottles in the laun­ dry with your father’s other drink. And tell your father that Father O’Gorman is here.

0Christy exits with the bottles.) Denny’s in the backyard with Tocky Keating.

O’Gorman: Tocky Keating’s here?

Mary: Yes. The life of the party himself is here. Do you like him?

O’Gorman: It doesn’t do for one Irishman to comment on another Irishman.

Mary: Why’s that?

O’Gorman: Because they have a habit of telling the truth. I’d rather say nothing about Tocky.

Mary: He thinks Christy’s too young to begin studying for the priesthood.

O’Gorman: He’s young right enough.

Twelve years of age is young. But the Holy Father seems to think that boys of that age are capable of deciding if they have a voca­ tion. I don’t suppose we can fly in the face of the wisdom of the Holy Father.

Mary: How old were you when you went away?

O’Gorman: I entered the Seminary on my sixteenth birthday, and I was ordained on my twenty-fourth birthday.

Mary: Your mother must have been proud of you that day.

O’Gorman: She was. She was! She was!

Mary: And sad when you sailed for Australia.

O'Gorman: Indeed she was. She called it the Australian Mission. Thought I was certain to be martyred by the natives.

Mary: Well you looked hale and hearty when I first met you in . . . 1929, wasn’t it?

O’Gorman: Yes . . . Yes. It was about that time. Somewhere round then. Aahh.

Long, awkward pause. O’Gorman walks away, resumes bicycle clips. Mary changes the subject.

Mary: What are you going to sing tonight, Father?

O’Gorman: I’m thinking I might surprise everyone and try my hand at a little bit of Italian opera. You know, an aria. I’ve always fancied myself as an opera singer.

(He strikes an operative pose and gives forth with a few bars o f ‘II Mio Tesoro’.)

Now, how does that strike you?

Mary: Beautiful, Father, beautiful. But no one will understand a word of what you’re singing.

O’Gorman: No one ever understands a word of Italian opera. Ah, well. Best I stick to my usual: ‘Mother Machree’ or ‘The Rose of Tralee’.

Mary (laughing): Or else ‘Hail Glorious Saint Patrick’.

O’Gorman (coming in immediately) Hail glorious Saint Patrick, dear Saint of our Isle, On us thy dear children bestow a sweet smile.

He leans towards Mary and bestows a dazzling smile on her. She responds fulsomely to his charm.

Mary: Oh, Father O’Gorman! (He checks her.) Oh, Father Thurlie. You’re in magnificent voice. You’re a lovely Irish tenor.

O’Gorman: Lovely Irish tenor? Who? Me? Or the voice?

Mary (chastely): The voice, Father. The voice.

O’Gorman: Ah, for a moment I thought it was me that was lovely.

Mary blushes. Pause. Voices off.

Mary: That’ll be Denny and Tocky. I'd better get into the kitchen. I’ve still got things to attend to.

She rushes out. O’Gorman goes to the piano and idly picks out a tune with one finger. Denny and Tocky come in. O’Gor­ man and Denny exchange greetings. Tocky cool in response to O’Gorman.

Denny: Sorry I had to leave you in here by

yourself, Father. I’ve just been showing Tocky some white leghorn pullets I’ve got.

I’m going to feed them up and kill and dress them for Easter.

O'Gorman: Well, I hope you don’t forget me.

Denny: Oh, I certainly won’t. (Coming over to O’Gorman, quietly and urgently) Father Thurlie. Thanks a million for what you’ve done. Your help’s much ap­ preciated. Much appreciated.

O'Gorman (not wishing to be reminded): Forget it, Denny. Forget it. It's nothing.

Embarrassed pause.

Denny: Well, how are things going, Father?

O’Gorman: Oh, you know. So-so. Fiftyfifty. It’s no use telling people your troubles. One half is pleased and the other half doesn’t care.

Denny (genuinely puzzled): Troubles?

What troubles can a priest have?

O’Gorman (searching, sighing): Oh . . . oh.

Priestly troubles, I suppose.

Denny: Oh! Get out with you now, man.

What troubles can a priest have? You’ve got a great job. That’s what I keep telling Christy. It’s as good a career as you can get. You get up in the morning, say mass, read your breviary during the day, a few funerals, prepare your Sunday sermon, say the rosary at night and then go to bed. You couldn’t have it better.

O’Gorman: It's a little more involved than that.

Denny: You’re free of the main worry anyway — having a wife and family to sup­ port. That’s the killer. Nothing but bills, bills bills! Your hand’s in your pocket all the time. But the main worry is you don’t know how big your family is going to be.

We’ve already got six kids and Mary’s only thirty-three. She’s got a good twenty y e a rs’ m ore breeding left in her.

Desperate!

O'Gorman (thoughtful): Yes. Yes. It’s a problem. A problem all right. (Pause.)

Would you like to hear what my main problem is at the present moment?

Denny: Father, if I can be of any assistance, I’m only too willing to help.

What’s your trouble?

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 25

O’Gorman: Denny? I’m thirsty.

Denny (relieved): Oh, that’s a problem I can easily fix. Sorry. I should’ve offered you a drink before this. I'll go out and get a few bottles of my home brew. I hope you like it.

O'Gorman: It’ll be the nectar of the gods.

I’m sure of it.

Denny goes out. Pause.

O’Gorman: 1 think we’ll get a storm. It’s very muggy.

Tocky (Jlat, Cork accent): It is very muggy. Has been all day. I had to take eight salt tablets today. I was sweating that much. Didn’t want to get dehydrated.

O’Gorman: Eight salt tablets. That’s a lot of salt tablets.

Tocky: I was taking one an hour. It gets hellish hot on the blast furnace.

O’Gorman: The blast furnace? I thought you were on the coke ovens.

Tocky: I asked them to shift me. The fumes were interfering with my tubes. The blast furnace is not much better.

O’Gorman: Is Denny still on the coke ovens?

Denny has entered with bottles and heard the question.

Denny: Yes. I’m still on the coke ovens.

They wouldn’t give me a shift.

O’Gorman: Tocky tells me he took eight salt tablets today.

Denny: There was a desperate run on salt tablets over there today. I took five myself.

I had rivers of sweat running off me.

(Laughing) You should come over some time, Father. It'd improve your sermons on hell.

O’Gorman: Well, they say the initials ol the Company are well chosen: BHP — Bloody Hot Place.

Denny: Doubly well chosen. Not only Bloody Hot Place but Bloody Huge Profits. But precious little’s coming our way, eh Tocky?

O’Gorman: I t’s all controlled from Melbourne. They get the profits down there and all we get here in Newcastle is the smoke and the soot.

Denny (handing out drinks): Well this’ll help wash some of the soot and dust away.

I hope you like my brew.

O’Gorman: Well, here’s to the Blessed Trinity.

Tocky: The Blessed Trinity?

O’Gorman: Yes. We three Irishmen.

Tocky: I’ll drink to that. To the Blessed Trinity!

He is about to toast O ’Gorman when both become disconcerted by Tocky’s splutter­ ing. Tocky has already tasted the beer.

Denny: What’s the matter, Tocky?

Tocky: Kerosine! The beer’s got kerosine in it.

O’Gorman (tasting): It has too.

Denny: You’re right. It’s my fault. I brew­ ed it in some old kerosine tins.

Tocky: It tastes dreadful! Ugh! Kerosine!

Denny: I’m sorry. I did the best I could to get rid of the whiff of kerosine. I scoured and scalded the tins for days.

O’Gorman: Don't let it worry you, Denny.

After we’ve had a few we won’t even notice it. In the meantime let’s offer it up for the 26 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

holy souls in Purgatory.

All Three (raising their glasses): The holy souls in Purgatory!

They drink, grimacing.

O'Gorman: That should get a few of them out. I tell you what. I’ve brought some bottles of Pilsener. Why don't we mix the Pilsener with the home brew?

Denny: Grand idea. That’s thinking. I'll go and get a bottle.

He goes out.

Tocky: Nectar of the gods! Huh! He sits on the piano stool with his back to the piano, arms stretched along the keyboard cover. He places his glass on the cover. You’d think that on an occasion like this they'd have bought a few bottles of proper beer.

O’Gorman: He’s having a hard time, Tocky. He’s been up for a lot of expenses lately.

Denny comes in with the Pilsener.

Tocky: Where'd you get the Pilsener?

O’Gorman: Waratah. Breda Mulcahy puts it aside for me.

Tocky: Is she still at the Top Pub? O’Gorman: She’s at the Bottom Pub now.

Tocky: She’s like a yo-yo. She moves from one to the other. Here this ought to fix it.

(Hestarts replenishing the glasses.)

O’Gorman: Ah! That’s more like it.

Denny (noticing Tocky’s original glass is almost empty): Well, it couldn’t have been too bad, Tocky.

Tocky: You work up a thirst at the works.

Denny: Yes. It’s all sweat and dust over there. For us anyway. There’s no future for a Catholic over there.

Mary enters carrying a crystal jug.

Mary: I’ve made Miss Siss’ barley water.

Denny: Ah, that’s grand, Mary. Here, put it here.

He bends over to clear a space on table for jug. As he does so, Mary fiddles with the seat o f his trousers. This is noticed by Tocky.

Denny: What are you doing, Mary?

Mary (laughing): Hold still, Denny.

You’ve got fluff on the arse of your trousers.

Denny: Mary!

Mary (giggling): There. It’s right now.

Denny looks rather sheepishly towards Tocky and O ’Gorman. Tocky scowls and turns away. He takes his glass from piano top. Drinks, then noisily slams glass down on piano. Mary sees this and is furious.

Mary: Hey! You’ve got a hide. Get that glass off my piano.

Tocky: What’s up with you?

Mary: I don’t want beer glasses on my piano.

Tocky: Your piano?

Mary: Yes! My piano! I don’t want beer slopped all over it. You’ve already spilt some. God knows what you’ll be like before the night’s finished. Sit over there.

It’s safer.

Tocky is pointed to another chair. He goes with bad grace.

Denny: You haven’t spoken to Father O’Gorman yet, Mary.

Mary: I spoke to him when he arrived.

You were in the yard. We had a little chat.

(To O’Gorman) Christy’s dying to show you his things, Father. He’s like a young girl engaged to be married. He calls his suitcase his glory box.

O'Gorman: Glory Box! Ah, the old hope chest. (O'Gorman rises.)

Mary: Would you like to see them, Father?

O'Gorman: Yes, I’d be delighted Mary. I’ll be back in a moment, lads.

He goes out with Mary. Long pause.

Tocky: Her piano! Who does she think she is?

Denny: I wish I had noticed what you were doing.

Tocky: You would have told me to move?

Denny: Anything for a peaceful life, Tocky. Especially where her piano is con­ cerned.

Tocky: Her piano. What are you talking about? She’s married to you. It’s your piano.

Denny: You're only talking with words, Tocky. She brought the piano with her to the marriage. It’s her pride and joy.

Tocky: But it’s your piano. Not hers. And you should have stuck up for me.

Denny: Tocky! As long as you stay away from the piano everything will be fine.

(Pause.) How’s the beer now?

Tocky: It’s not much better.

Denny: Here. Have some more Pilsener.

Better? (Tocky nods.)

Denny: It should be. You’ve got about ninety-five percent Pilsener in your glass.

Tocky: Why didn’t you get a few quarts of draught beer?

Denny: I couldn’t afford it. I had hoped some of the guests tonight would have brought a bottle or two along. Anyway I’m sure Breda will bring something.

Tocky: Breda’s coming?

Denny: Yes. You don’t object?

Tocky: No. No. You have a perfect right to invite whoever you like.

Denny: I wonder if Houses will bring something?

Tocky: You’ll get nothing from Houses, father-in-law or no father-in-law. He’s still got the first sixpence he ever earnt.

Denny: He’s not the only one. But he is tight with his money. They don’t call him Houses for nothing — he owns rows of them — but you’d swear he didn’t have a penny to bless himself with.

Tocky: Houses makes me sick. You’d think he was Irish the way he goes on. I know the first thing he’ll say when he com­ es through that door: “ Erin go bragh!”

Australians pretending to be Irish. Houses isn't an Irishman. He’s just a loud­ mouthed Australian.

Denny: But he is of Irish extraction.

O'Halloran! He reckons he’s descended from one of the first families of Botany Bay. Tocky: He acts like a damned convict too.

Blood will tell. The things you hear about him.

Denny: What things?

Tocky: They reckon you can’t throw a stick anywhere in Newcastle without hit­ ting one of his bastards.

Denny: That’s a little exaggerated, Tocky.

Anyway he’s been a widower for many Tocky: That’s none of my business. If you chose to go and marry O’Halloran’s years now. daughter and father a whole brood of Tocky: That doesn’t excuse him.

Denny: It’s a wonder you and Houses children on her then that’s your lookout. don’t get on better. You think the same You’ve made your bed. Now lie in it.

Denny: Tocky. Tocky. You’re hitting politically.

Tocky: I admire his politics; it’s his morals below the belt. It’s easily seen you’re a I don’t go for. (Pause.) Who invited Father single man. You know nothing of married life.

O’Gorman?

Denny: Mary invited him. Now what’s the Tocky: And I don’t intend to know matter with him? You can’t say he’s a anything of it either. I’m happy living the loud-mouthed Australian. He’s as Irish as single life.

Denny: Well, good luck to you if that’s you and me, Tocky.

Tocky: I know. I know! But I’m sure if he your vocation. had remained in Ireland his demeanour Tocky: It is. It’s not the same as the call to would have been more serious, more the religious life, the highest form of voca­ religious, as befitting a priest. I don’t like tion. But it’s the second highest. the way he carries on: laughing and singing Denny: And marriage is the third and round the piano and joking. He’s not my lowest. idea of a priest. And it’s true what a lot of Tocky: Exactly. The Church says so.

Denny: Ah well. Christy’s been called to his parishioners say about him. the top rung. It’s a great honour. You must Denny: What do they say?

Tocky: He spends too much time with the know how it is, Tocky. Every Irish family wants to have at least one son a priest and children of Mary.

Denny {laughing): Next thing you’ll be there hasn’t been a priest in my family saying is that you can’t throw a stick since an uncle of mine was ordained way anywhere in Newcastle without hitting one back in 1910. It’s been a long time between drinks. of his bastards.

Tocky (secretive): I’m not saying anything. Tocky: Things are different in my family.

I’ve got loads of cousins and uncles priests.

Denny: What do you mean?

Denny: This uncle of mine is now a mon­ Tocky: I’m not saying anything.

Denny: Well whatever you think, Father signor.

Thurlie’s been quite generous. He’s given Tocky: That’s nothing. I’ve got a cousin who’s a bishop. me £10 to help with Christy.

Tocky says nothing. Denny repeats the in­ Denny: There’s no denying it, Tocky.

There’s a power of ecclesiastical blood formation.

As I say, he’s given me £10. He knows running in the Keatings. It’s a wonder you what a struggle I’m having. The £10 has never wanted to go in for the priesthood been of great help to me. It’s been a great yourself. financial strain outfitting Christy for the Tocky: I did.

Seminary: soutane, surplices, stocks, Denny: You never told me that before. collars, biretta. To say nothing of other What happened? things. I had to buy him six towels. Six, Tocky: The old parish priest back home Tocky, six! There’s not six towels in this reckoned I didn’t have the head for the house for the whole family. And then Latin. there’s the fees on top of everything else. I Denny: Ah, you need a mighty head on lie awake at night wondering how I’m go­ your shoulders for the Latin. No use going on with it unless you can pick up the Latin. ing to make ends meet.

Tocky: No cross, no crown. Your reward Still. You don’t need any Latin over on the will be great in heaven for the sacrifices blast furnace.

Tocky: That’s right. And you don’t need a you are making.

Denny (very earnestly): And your reward lot of brains on the coke ovens either.

Denny: Ah well. What’s it matter? Some could be just as great too, Tocky. of the saints couldn’t even write their own Tocky {on his guard): What do you mean?

Denny: What do I mean? I’ll tell you what names. {Pause.) You’re sure you couldn’t I mean, Tocky. I’ll come straight to the help in some little way, Tocky? point. Tocky, you’re my best friend, my Tocky: I’m quite sure. bosom buddy. We arrived in Australia Denny: Tocky, we’ve both been in work together and we’ve been together ever since 1934. I know you’re banking close on since. I had hoped, Tocky, that in con­ £4 a week. I reckon you must have close to sideration of this that you would have been £1000 in the bank by now. Tocky, you’re the first one to make some small contribu­ almost a rich man. tion to helping me with my expenses. I Tocky: I have commitments with my didn’t think I would have to ask. {Tocky money. squirms.) Tocky, could you see your way Denny: What commitments can you have, Tocky? clear to giving me £5?

Tocky: You know I want to go home to Tockey:£5!

Denny: Please, Tocky! Well, if not give, at Ireland. After the war. I hate Australia and I hate Australians. I don’t know least lend?

Tocky: £5! £5! Good heavens, man, you’re whatever possessed me to emigrate to this not serious! That’s more than a week’s god-forsaken country. Or anyone else for that matter. It should have been left to the wages! £5!

Denny: I earn the same wages as you and blowflies and the Abos.

Denny: What if Hitler wins the war?

I’ve got a wife and six kids to support.

Tocky: What difference will it make?

Ireland’s neutral. De Valera’s kept Ireland out of the war. I'm sure Hitler won’t mind me buying a little farm in Kerry. In any case I think Hitler’s a very misjudged per­ son. It won’t worry me if I have to live un­ der the banner of the shamrock and the swastika. As long as I get my little farm.

Denny: But £5 won’t break you.

Tocky: I’ll also need money for when I die, for Masses to be said for the eternal repose of my soul. It’s all right for you but I’ll have nobody to pray for me when I’m gone. You have a family and a son, who (you hope) will offer up Masses for your soul free of charge. I won’t have that.

Denny: What about your uncles? And your cousin the bishop?

Tocky: You don’t expect them to pray for me for nothing! And a bishop doesn’t come cheap.

Denny: I’m sure Christy would give you good value in years to come for £5 now.

Tocky: I don’t think Christy’s a good in­ vestment.

Denny: Whatever makes you think that?

Tocky: I don’t know. He just doesn’t strike me as having a vocation.

Denny: Well you’re the only one to hold that opinion. The nuns at the Convent say that Christy is born for the priesthood.

Tocky: Maybe. Maybe. But he’s too young to know his own mind. A boy of twelve doesn’t know what he wants to be.

Denny: Tocky, it was the Holy Father himself who decided that the Minor Seminary should be established. The idea is to bring them in young, to protect them from the world, to shield them.

Tocky: Shield them! They certainly need it here. It’s a godless country. But I don’t think it’s any use. The place is rotten with temptation.

Denny: There’s temptation in Ireland too, Tocky.

Tocky: Not as much. Ireland’s a religious n atio n . T h a t’s why I d o n ’t th ink Australians make proper priests.

Denny: Australia has to have its own native clergy, Tocky. You can’t expect Ireland to keep on supplying the world with Catholic priests. There’s just not (1904-1977) crooner

"Bing Crosby a Catholic! Fancy that! I'll have to listen to him a little more Houses

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 27

enough Irishmen to go round.

Tocky: More’s the pity. Still, Ireland can be proud of what she’s done to spread the faith. Ireland has a spiritual empire, mightier in the sight of God, than the British empire.

Denny: True, Tocky. But it doesn’t bring in as much money.

Tocky: It’s a spiritual empire. It’s not con­ cerned with the things of this world.

Denny: That’s exactly what I am concern­ ed with at the very moment. The things of this world. Tocky . . . you couldn’t . . . could you . . . ?

Tocky: No. Denny: You’re a hard man, Tocky.

Tocky: I have my principles.

Denny: You know. Sometimes I think you’re a . . . You’re a . . . a . . .

Tocky: I’m a what?

Denny: Sometimes I think you're a dead — ! (Denny whispers the word to Tocky behind his hand. The word should not be seen by the audience. They guess it by Tocky's reaction.)

Tocky (really shocked): My God! I never thought to hear a word the like of that pass your lips. You’re starting to talk like a foul-mouthed Australian. You’re really slipping. I’m ashamed of you, Denny. I can hear that kind of language any time of the day over on the blast furnace. I never expected that I’d hear it in a Catholic home, especially a home where the eldest son is about to begin his studies for the priesthood. You want to take a grip on yourself, Denny. Next thing, you’ll be eating meat on Fridays.

Denny: I'm sorry, Tocky. I got carried away.

Tocky: You want to learn self-control.

Denny: It's my nerves. I’m at my wit’s end trying to work out how I’m going to make ends meet. Mary! Mary!

Mary (off): Yes? Denny: Will you bring me a Bex powder?

(He turns and notices Tocky’s glass on the piano.) Good heavens, Tocky. Get your glass off the piano. (Tocky does so reluc­ tantly.)

Tocky: You know how you could put an end to all your troubles?

Denny: How? Tocky: Sell the piano! You’d get £50 for it.

Denny: Oh, mother of God. Do you know what you are saying?

Tocky: You don’t need it. You’ve got a wireless. You can get all the music out of that.

Denny: You may as well ask me to sell Mary. You just don’t understand, Tocky.

He is shaking his head when Mary brings in a box o f Bex and a glass o f water.

Thanks Mary. Good Lord, there’s only three left in the box.

Mary: You took four with you to work this morning and you’ve had two since you’ve come home. And I’ve had a couple myself.

Denny: They soon go. Have to get another box in the morning. (He tips the powder onto his tongue and washes it down with beer. As he does so he waves Mary away.

She goes out.) That’s better. (Pause.) I won’t pester you any more, Tocky.

28 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

Tocky: You’ve been very persistent.

Denny: You’ve worn me out. It’s like get­ ting blood out of a stone.

Tocky: Look, Denny. I don’t want to dis­ appoint you. And I don’t want you to think any the less of me. You know how things are. I’ll lay my cards on the table. I’ve said I don’t think Christy will make it. But if, by the grace of God, he does then you can rely on me. I won’t be found wanting. I promise that on the occasion of Christy’s ordination in twelve years time, I will mark his elevation to the priesthood by the gift of a gold chalice. And the chalice will be blessed by the Cistercian monks of Mount Melleray.

Denny: A gold chalice! Gosh! That’s wonderful, Tocky. Wonderful! You’re more than generous.

Tocky: In twelve years time.

Denny: Yes. In twelve years time. Ah, things are not as bad as they might look.

The promise of a gold chalice and I already have £25.

Tocky: £25? I thought you only had the £10 O’Gorman’s given you. Where’d the other £ 15 come from?

Denny: Breda gave it to me.

Tocky: Breda! Breda! It’s a pity she didn't double it and then you could say you had your thirty pieces of silver. Oh, my God! That’s the limit! Fancy accepting money from Breda, money to be used in the education of a priest. It’s almost sacrilege.

You know how Breda makes her money.

Denny: As far as I’m concerned Breda earns her money honestly as a barmaid at the Bottom Pub over in Waratah.

Tocky: You’d believe anything.

Denny: I believe in the old Irish proverb: “ Have money. Have it honest if you can, but crooked or straight don’t be without it” . But as far as I’m concerned Breda’s money is straight.

Tocky: Breda’s a trollop. A harlot!

Denny: Easy now. Easy!

Tocky: She hasn’t darkened a church door in years.

Denny: Tocky, I’ve known Breda since I came here. As far as I’m concerned, she’s a damned sight better Catholic than a lot of Catholics who think they are pillars of the church. (Pause.) She should be here soon.

And the others: Houses and Miss Siss.

Tocky: I suppose you’re hoping that they’ll come good with some of the green stuff.

Denny: You can say that again. I hope they get the hint.

Tocky: I suppose Miss Siss will want you to tell the story of the murderer going to confession?

Denny (resignedly): I suppose she will.

Tocky: That story bores me.

Denny: It bores you? What do you think it does to me? I must have told it to her twen­ ty times at least. She always wants to hear it.

Tocky: And Houses will be reciting ‘Shamus O’Brien’ no doubt.

Denny: For sure. She’ll want to hear it.

Tocky: It lasts over half an hour.

Denny: It’s sixty-five verses long. We’ll just have to put up with it.

Tocky: I can’t abide Houses reciting

‘Shamus O’Brien’. He makes me sick to hear him going on with it, pretending to be Irish. He makes a fool of himself. I know the first thing he’ll say when he comes through that door: “ Erin so Bragh! Erin so bragh! ‘Tis a grand evenin’! ‘Tis a grand evenin’ ” . Just mark my words.

Denny: He only means it as a bit of a jape.

Houses (off): Erin go bragh! Erin go bragh! ‘Tis a grand evenin! ‘Tis a grand evenin!

Tocky (aside): What did I say? What did I say?

Houses enters.

Houses: How are you, Denny my boy. I bought a little something to wet your whis­ tle. (He hands Denny two bottles o f beer.)

And how are you, Tocky, me old cobber from Cork?

Tocky: Grand evenin! It must be 90 degrees out there!

Denny proceeds to pour Houses a beer.

Mary enters.

Mary (kissing her father): How are the children, father? Have they settled down all right?

Houses: They’re fine. Your sister Kathleen has them under some sort of control.

They’re playing Jap and Aussies. The Aussies are winning — in our lounge room at least. Did you hear the 7 o’clock News?

Denny: We missed it. We got the Com. Steel whistles mixed.

Houses: Well, things don’t look good in Singapore. The situation’s pretty grim.

And pretty confused. It’s hard to make out just what's happening. We'd better make sure we don’t miss the 10 o’clock News.

We should get a better picture of how things are developing then.

Denny: What will happen if Singapore falls?

Houses: I don’t like to think. Australia could be next on the list. You’ll have to join up, Tocky.

Tocky: Can you imagine me in the Australian army?

Houses: You’re young enough. And you’ve got no ties. You’re not a family man. If things get really crook you’ll be con­ scripted.

Tocky: Conscripts!

Houses: Did you hear the news about young Phillip Stephens?

Denny: Yes. Christy told us. It’s very sad.

Houses: Sad all right. Thanks (Taking drink from Denny). You know it only seems yesterday I saw him walking down the street, off to his first day at high school. Just a little boy of twelve, proud as punch, his whole life ahead of him. He was dressed in his school uniform, brand new. “ I'm off to Boys’ High, Mr O’Halloran,” he said to me. Ah, it only seems yesterday.

And now he’s dead.

Mary: His mother has taken it bad, I hear.

Houses: I bet she has. Nice woman, Mrs Stephens. And Stephens himselfs not a bad bloke. Different people to us, but still nice.

Denny: He’s very young to die. And so far away.

Tocky: Yeah! That’s what gets my dander up. Just when he’s needed out here he goes

and gets himself killed in England. This is a real keystone of a war, you know. It’s all Churchill’s fault. Churchill’s a bloody keystone.

Tocky: What’s a keystone?

Houses: H aven’t you heard of the Keystone Kops? Mack Sennett? A keystone’s a bloody idiot, and that’s what Churchill is — a bloody idiot! He doesn’t like Germans! That’s what his trouble is.

There’s no need for Britain to go ganging up against Germany. All Hitler wanted to do was to fight the Russians — fight Com­ munism. Britain should be fighting with Germany. Everything’s arse over tit.

Hitler’s now gone and joined forces with Tojo. What they’ve got in common I’ll never know. Hitler should be fighting the Japs. Mind you I don’t trust Churchill. He doesn’t like Australia or Australians. He’s never been to this country and he never will. Not after the mess he made of Gallipoli. That was his bright idea. You’d need brains to think that up. And now I believe he doesn’t want the 9th Division to come home from the Middle East. He wants to off-load them in Burma. He wants Asian Gallipoli this time. Australia can go down the drain as far as Churchill’s concerned. That’s what gets my blood up!

When I hear of Australian airmen being killed in England.

Tocky: They can’t get killed out here.

There’s no aeroplanes for them to be killed in.

Houses: W e’ve got a squadron of Wirraways somewhere. Huh! Flying grasshoppers! Things is really crook. No Air Force to speak of, no 9th Division, the 7th Division looks like being captured, and the Prince o f Wales and the Repulse sunk last month. We might all have to join up.

However, we’ll know more when the 10 o’clock News comes on. No use holding a wake. Let’s enjoy ourselves.

Denny: You’re right, Houses. We’re not at a funeral.

Houses: Yes, it’s Christy’s night. Where is he?

Mary: He’s with Father O’Gorman in his room.

Denny: Christy! Christy!

Mary: I’ll get him. (shegoes off.)

Houses: Well here’s to Christy.

Others: To Christy!

Houses (spluttering): What’s in the beer?

Tocky: Kerosine.

Houses: Kerosine!

Denny: Just a whiff. From one of my tins.

Here, top it up with this. From your own bottle.

Houses: I’ve never tasted a good home brew in my life.

Tocky: You’ll poison us all before you’re finished, Denny.

Houses: Ah, that’s better. (Christy, Mary and O’Gorman enter.) Ah, here’s the young man himself! Hello Father. Come here, Christy! I have something for you.

Mary: Go to your grandfather, Christy.

Houses: Christy, my grandson. Tomorrow you put your hand to the plough. May you keep it there through the heat of the long summer day until you have ploughed a

long, clean, straight furrow. Until you hear the sacred words said over you: “Thou art a priest forever according to the order of Melchisedech” . And then you’ll arise a young Levite: “a priest forever” , because it can never be changed. Never! Never! Once a priest, always a priest. Ah, ‘twill be a grand day the day you are ordained. May we all be spared to see you elevated on your day of glory, the day when the holy oils are placed on your body. But it’s a long way off yet. Twelve years. Ah, but the years fly. However you’ll be more in­ terested in the events of tomorrow: your first train ride and your first sight of the truly magnificent city of Sydney. Here’s two shillings for you to spend in the Big Smoke. Buy youself an ice cream or two.

Denny (to Mary, barely unable to hide his disappointment): Two shillings!

Houses: But that’s not all. Not by a long shot. In twelve years’ time, on the occasion of Christy’s ordination, I hope, D.V., that I’ll not be found wanting. I intend to mark the occasion by the presentation to Christy of a gold chalice.

Tocky: I’m giving the gold chalice.

Houses: Oh! Well in that case I’ll give a gold monstrance. How’s that?

Denny: A gold monstrance! That’s very generous of you, Houses. Very generous.

Houses: Think nothing of it. (to Christy) There’s a grand little man, now. Run along and help your mother. I’m sure she’s got things to do in the kitchen. The lads and me, we’ve got men’s talk to be getting on with.

Mary and Christy go. The four men sit themselves at ease.

Kathleen tells me, Denny, that you’ve in­ vited Fred Mulcahy and old Miss Siss here tonight.

Denny: Yes. They should be here by now.

Houses: Breda would have been working till after six and Miss Siss has probably found some church somewhere running a Friday night Benediction. It’s not the first Friday of the month is it?

Tocky (sharply — he keeps the nine first fridays): Last Friday was the first Friday of the month.

Houses: So it was. So it was. (Pause.) I’m looking forward to seeing Breda Mulcahy.

I haven’t seen her for a few months.

O’Gorman: She’s in fine form.

Houses: She hasn’t started going to mass again, has she?

O’Gorman: No. She hasn’t returned. Yet. Houses: There’s no getting away from it.

She’s a magnificent animal.

O'Gorman: She’s certainly a fine figure of a woman.

Houses: She’s a beautiful creature. I wish I was a few years younger. Some of the stories you hear make you jealous. I was only talking to Bocker Brennan the other day — you know Bocker? — he drinks at the Beauford. Well, Bocker was telling me he spent a night with her and he reckons . . . what’s the matter, Tocky?

Tocky: Nothing!

Houses: Well Bocker reckons Breda’s got more movement than a Swiss watch!

O'Gorman (laughing): “ More movement

than a Swiss watch” ! Bocker’s certainly got a colourful turn of phrase.

Houses: He has that. You can’t help laughing at him. (Pause.) That’s a shrewd move of yours, Denny, inviting Miss Siss.

There’s no harm in being on the right side of the ledger where she’s concerned.You still tell her the joke about the murderer going to confession?

Denny: Yes. She still wants to hear it. I first told it to her six years ago.

Houses: Don’t let it worry you. It’s like me reciting ‘Shamus O’Brien’. She first heard me recite it thirty years ago. It doesn’t pay to be on the wrong side of her.

O’Gorman: Is that the story about the murderer who went to a Presbyterian minister and then an Anglican and both threatened to call the police?

Houses: That’s it. And then he found a Catholic priest. “ I’ve committed murder, Father.” “ How many times, my child?”

O’Gorman: That is a hoary old one. Why does she find it so amusing?

Houses: Buggered if I know. She nearly kills herself laughing every time Denny tells it. She cackles away: “That’s one in the eye for the Protestants!” Mind you, Denny does tell it well. Plenty of actions.

O’Gorman: Arrogant old crone! She’s only making a stage Irishman out of you, Den­ ny. You want to tell her you’re sick of tell­ ing the joke.

Houses: He can’t do that. He’s got to keep on the right side of her. You’ve heard the old saying: “ He who makes a spinster laugh, will get in her will at least a h a lf’.

O’Gorman: “ He who makes a spinster laugh, will get in her will at least a h a lf’.

No. I’ve never heard that old saying.

Houses: That’s because I just made it up.

But you get the point. Denny’s the boyo who can make her laugh.

Denny: But that doesn’t mean she’ll leave me half.

Houses: No. But she could acknowledge you in her will. She could leave you a little something: a small consideration for all the joy you’ve brought into her life.

Tocky (as though reading from a will): “ And to my good friend, Dennis Patrick O’Mahon, because of his funny story (1864-1963) Archbishop of Melbourne

"Mannix will be Australia's next Cardinal."

Tocky Keating

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 29

about the murderer going to confession, I leave all my property in W aratah, Mayfield, Tighes Hill, Islington, Wickham and Carrington.” Hah! Hah! She won’t leave you a thing. Not a blessed penny!

Not a brass razoo!

Houses: Don’t be such a keystone, Tocky.

Face the facts. She’s got to leave it to someone! She can’t take it with her. And, for God’s sake, she’s getting on. She must be nearly seventy. And she’s really wealthy. I reckon I can put my hand on a quid or two but I’m a bloody pauper com­ pared to her. She’s got plenty. Her father left her the lot, and if anyone could turn a deener into a quid it was old Frank McManus. But I think she could teach her old man a thing or two. She’s a lot shrewder, more cagey. She’s got a better eye for spotting an opening. I believe she even has shares in BHP! Now what do you make of that!

Denny (really impressed): Shares in the BHP! Whew!

Houses: Shares in the BHP! How many Catholics do you know in this town have shares in the BHP? Denny: I’ve never met anyone, Catholic or Protestant.

O’Gorman: That’s because you mix among the workers. Anyway, if a Catholic has any spare capital he usually puts it into proper­ ty: pubs . . . or houses.

Houses: Yes. Yes. I suppose you’re right.

But it just goes to show that she must have spare spare capital. Shares in the BHP! She must be rolling in it. And she’s got to leave it to someone!

Denny: Yes. She’s got to leave it to someone!

Tocky: Or something!

Houses: And this is where you come in, Denny boyo. After she’s left money for Masses to be said for the repose of her soul and bequests to charities such as the Mater Hospital, the Deaf and Dumb Institute and the Murray-Dwyer Orphanage, there’s no reason why she shouldn’t remember you and put a little something your way: a small consideration — say, a thousand pounds.

Denny: A thousand pounds!

Houses: Well, five hundred. If you play your cards right.

Tocky: She won’t leave you a blessed farthing. (Getting up) I’m going out the back.

Houses: Don’t light a match, Tocky.

You’ll blow up. Remember you’re pissing kerosine! (Tocky scowls as he goes out.)

Tocky’s getting worse. Has he ever smiled in his life?

Denny: He managed a grin some years ago whep he picked up a ten bob note in Hunter Street.

Houses: Gloomiest Irishman I’ve ever met.

What do you reckon, Father?

O’Gorman: He’s serious all right. Too serious.

Houses: Anyway don’t take any notice of him, Denny. You keep telling your joke.

Remember the 500.

Denny: Yes. Yes. 500. I’ll tell you what.

I’ve got a little extra touch to add to the 30 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

joke tonight. The Catholic priest the murderer goes to is an Oblate of Mary Im­ maculate and after his name outside the Confessional Box he has the letters OMI. The poor fellow can’t work out what the letters OMI stand for. After a while he reckons they must mean: Only Me Inside.

Houses: Terrific, Denny! Terrific! Only Me Inside. That’ll have her rolling on the floor. I tell you what. That joke’s like a bottle of plonk. It improves with age.

Breda Mulcahy enters. She overhears the last remark.

Breda: Improves with age! Like me. (She is a full-figured, sensuously beautiful woman o f about thirty-five.)

Denny: Breda!

Breda: Howy're, Denny love. I’ve brought a little something along.

Denny: That’s very kind of you.

Houses: Hello Breda. How’ve you been keeping?

Breda: How are you Houses, you randy old bastard! Are you pissed yet, Thurlie?

Denny (cutting in): My God! Will you look at this! Two quarts of draught beer and two bottles of whisky!

Houses: I hope it’s Irish.

Breda: Oh, my God, Houses. You’re not on the Irish kick again, are you? You’re no more Irish, Houses, than I am. We’re both dinky-dies.

Houses: I like Irish whisky.

Breda: It’s Scotch. Get Father to bless it.

Try and not change it into water, Thurlie.

O’Gorman: I’ll do my best.

Denny (while O ’Gorman mock blesses the bottles): Thanks a lot, Breda. After all you've done — you really shouldn’t have.

Breda: Forget it, Denny. We only live once.

Christy enters.

Denny: You’ve been very kind, Breda.

You’ve been marvellous.

Christy: Hello Breda.

Breda: How's Christy? How’s my darling little man? Father Christy! Mind me fag.

Christy: I’m real good, Breda.

Breda: You’re looking very spruce.

Denny: Thanks to you, Breda. You must be tired after your walk over from Waratah. Would you like a cup of tea?

Breda: You can get me a whisky if you like. (To Christy) Where’s your mum?

Christy: She’s making scones.

Breda: Tell her I’ll give her a hand in a minute. (Christy starts to go.) Here take this. (She ‘secretly’ gives Christy a pound note.)

Christy: A pound note. For me! Gee thanks Breda. I’ve never had a whole pound to myself before.

Breda: I have a little something else for you, Christy, but I’ll give it to you later.

After I’ve had a few drinks.

Christy goes. Denny gives Breda her drink.

She sits next to Houses who has a lecherous look on his face.

Houses: I was talking to Bocker Brennan last week.

Breda: Oh, were you, Houses? I suppose he told you that in bed I’ve got more move­ ment than a Swiss watch. (Breda’s forthrightness wipes the leer from Houses’

face.) The next time you see Bocker, tell him, Houses, that he’s got a big mouth.

And that’s the only thing that’s big about him.

Tocky enters.

Oh, my God! Look who’s here. If it’s not Deirdre of the Bloody Sorrows! The playboy of the southern world himself!

Micky O’Miserable! Paddy O’Pathetic!

How are you going, Happy?

Tocky: I’m all right.

Breda: Heard any good sermons lately?

Tocky: 1 have that.

Breda: I bet they were all about purity. If it wasn’t for sex the Catholic Church would collapse.

Tocky: It’s a great pity you didn’t take some of them in yourself.

Breda: And then I could be as holy as yourself? Old chastity belter!

Denny: Breda I wonder if I could warn you. Miss Siss will be here any moment now.

Breda: Miss Siss! Not that Miss Cecilia McManus!

Denny: The same! She asked to be invited.

Breda: Saints in heaven! Not that old bag.

The one th a t. . .

Denny: The same woman, Breda. The same woman.

Breda: Whew! This should be an in­ teresting evening.

Denny: Breda. It’s ten years now. She won’t recognise you. And she’s probably forgotten.

Breda: 1 haven’t forgotten.

Denny: Breda, for my sake, could you . . .

Could you not do anything to upset her.

I’m sure she won’t recognise you. Certain­ ly not by name.

Breda: O.K., Denny. I’ll try. For your sake. But let’s hope she doesn’t upset me.

Remember I am Breda Mulcahy. I am myself.

Denny: Another thing, Breda. She’s bound to ask you what Church you go to.

Breda: Church!

Denny: Would you mind saying the Star of the Sea on the Hill. She rarely goes there now. It’s not one of the churches on her beat. She finds the hill too steep.

Breda: O.K., Denny. The Star of the Sea on the Hill. I’ll tell her I crawl up Brown Street on my hands and knees for the holy souls in Purgatory.

Denny: Don’t overdo it. She’ll smell a rat.

O’Gorman: Father Pat Ryan is the Parish priest and Father Bernard Heffernan is his curate. You’ll need to know that.

Breda: Paddy Ryan, P.P.; Bernie Heffer­ nan, curate. Got it.

O’Gorman: Oh, and Friday night is Housie night.

Breda: Shit, I feel like a parishioner already.

Christy (running in breathless): She’s here!

She’s here!

Mary (entering): Miss Siss is here! Christy says she’s coming through the front gate.

Denny: Meet her at the door, Mary, and bring her in.

Mary goes out. Obvious agitation. Denny arranges chairs. He straightens Christy’s tie. The men line up.

Breda {amused): Saints in heaven! A guard of honour! A bloody guard of honour! Ex­ cuse me! I’ll go out into the kitchen for a while.

The guard o f honour nervously watch the door through which Miss Siss will enter.

After some moments she makes her sweep­ ing royal entrance followed by a meek Mary. She is a tall, imperious woman: thin, emaciated, with a cruel & crafty look on her face: a withered, leathery, vinegary edition o f Daisy Bates. All defer to her, with the possible exception o f O’Gorman.

Miss Siss: Good evening, my friends!

All: Good evening, Miss Siss.

Miss Siss: It is an honour to be here on such a happy and holy occasion.

All {ad lib replies): It is indeed an honour for us to be here with you {etc.).

Miss Siss: I am sorry I am somewhat late but I am in the middle of a triduum and had to go to benediction at the convent.

One must not forget one’s devotions. I prayed for you all.

All: That’s very kind of you, Miss Siss.

Miss Siss: I also prayed for the happy repose of the soul of young Phillip Stephens, news of whose death reached me earlier this evening.

Houses: A very charitable gesture on your part, Miss Siss.

Denny: Especially as it was such an un­ timely death.

Miss Siss: There is no such thing as an un­ timely death, Mr O’Mahon. Man is always old enough to die. In the midst of life we are in the midst of death. Death is the only certainty we have in this life. “ It is ap­ pointed unto man but once to die! and after death the Judgement” . Once to die!

We only have one life, one death, one judgement, one eternity. Thus the four Last Things should ever be before us: Death, Judgement, Heaven and Hell. “ Remember Man, thy last end and thou shalt never sin.” If one keeps this firmly in mind then death is nothing to be feared. It should be a happy and a holy event.

Houses: That’s very true, Miss Siss, very true.

Miss Siss: However, it is to be sincerely hoped that, despite the violence of his death, young Stephens breathed forth his soul in the peaceful embrace of His Maker.

From all reports we can be thankful to know that he is well and truly dead. There are no doubts on that score. He was in­ cinerated when his plane crashed.

Denny: Ah, poor boy. So young to die.

Miss Siss: He is now in the grip of eternity, Mr O’Mahon, and sighing will do nothing for him. All we can do is pray for him. I suggest that now is a good time to do so.

Shall we recite the Requiem?

Houses: The Requiem?

Miss Siss: Yes, Houses, the Requiem!

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Incline Thine ear, O Lord, unto our prayers, wherein we humbly implore Thy mercy upon the soul of Thy servant, Phillip Stephens of Mayfield, whom Thou hast commanded to pass out of this world. That Thou mayest place him in the region of

peace and light, in fellowship with Thy saints. Through Christ Our Lord.

All: Amen.

Houses sits, grabs beer, but finds others still standing and stands again, sheepishly, as Miss Siss continues.

Miss Siss: Mary, Mother of God and Mother of Mercy, pray for us and for all who have died in God’s embrace.

AH: Amen.

Miss Siss: Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord.

AH: And let perpetual light shine upon him.

Miss Siss: May he rest in peace.

AH: Amen.

Miss Siss: And may the souls of all the faithful departed, thorugh the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

They all make the sign o f the cross, in­ toning with Miss Siss as they do so with the words: Requiesct in pace.

Miss Siss continues in silent prayer for an unreasonable time. She crosses herselj again.

Miss Siss: I shall now greet each of you in turn. Mr O ’Mahon! {Denny comes forward) Mr O’Mahon, may I say how pleased I am to be in your home for the first time.

Denny: Me and M ary are greatly honoured that you could come tonight, Miss Siss.

Miss Siss: A poor home but a holy one. Do not let poverty worry you, Mr O'Mahon.

The poor are very dear to the heart of our Divine Lord. As my dear father used to say: “God must love the poor, otherwise he wouldn’t have made so many of them” .

Remember the old saying “ No cross, no crown”? {Denny nods rueful agreement.)

You will, no doubt, be telling the story of the murderer going to confession.

Denny: If you want me to.

Miss Siss: I do! I do! It’s my favourite fun­ ny story. It always makes me laugh. You should know that by now. {She moves on to Houses) My old friend, Vincent de Paul O’Halloran. How are you, Houses?

Houses: I’m very well, Miss Siss.

Miss Siss {craftily to an old crony): Houses, I notice you have some land for sale. I saw your advertisement outside your little shop in Mayfield. How did it go now? Yes, I remember. “ Land for sale.

Sure and begorrah, ’tis a little bit of Killarney. You only have to tickle the soil with a stick and ’twill laugh with a harvest of shamrocks.” Houses, Houses, where is that land?

Houses {sheepishly): Hexham.

Miss Siss {laughing in her own inimitable cackle): Hexham! Hexham!

Houses: Hexham!

Miss Siss: Near the swamps?

Houses: Close by.

Miss Siss: And it will grow shamrocks?

More likely mosquitoes, Houses. Big Hex­ ham Greys. {Pause.) However, I admire your advertisement. I like it, I like it. It’s very original and very crafty.

Houses {beaming): Thank you, Miss Siss.

Thank you.

"Les Darcy was the flower of the Hunter (1895-1917) Valley. The Australian power in his Middleweight fists came and Heavyweight straight from God." Miss Siss.

Champion

Miss Siss: You’ll be reciting ‘Shamus O’Brien’ this evening, Houses?

Houses: If you want me to, Miss Siss.

Miss Siss: Of course I want you to, Houses. You do a stirring job on it. {She starts into the first verse).

Just after the war in the year ninety-eight, As soon as the boys were scattered and bate, Houses {completing the verse): ’Twas the custom whenever a peasant was got To hang him by trial barrin’ such as was shot.

There was trial by jury going on by daylight.

Miss Siss {interrupting): Marvellous, Houses. Marvellous. It does the old blood good to hear you. I’m looking forward to the other sixty-four stanzas. {She pats Houses on the shoulder and moves to O’Gorman.) And how are you, Father O’Gorman? Well, I trust?

O’Gorman: I’m very well, thank you Miss Siss.

Miss Siss: I am pleased to see you here tonight, Father. The presence of a priest adds tone and dignity to an occasion such as this. No doubt you will be singing some lilting Irish air this evening. I’m looking forward to hearing you. {Shepasses on im­ mediately to Tocky.) Thomas Oliver Keating. How are you, Tocky?

Tocky: I’m extremely well, thank you, Miss Siss. I’m on top of the world.

Miss Siss: You, Tocky, will not be perfor­ ming as you have no talent for enter­ taining. But never mind. I know you lead a clean, wholesome life and Our Blessed Lord is well pleased with you. {She bestows a pat on Tocky’s head. Tocky ’smiles’.) However, it is this little man here, Christopher John O’Mahon, who is the mark of our esteem here tonight, the THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 31

reason for us gathering here together on such a happy and holy occasion. Come here to me, Christy. I have something for you.

Christy is pushed forward by his father.

Christy O’Mahon, you are twelve years of age! Some would say too young to begin your studies for the priesthood. Absolute rubbish. For it was exactly one hundred years ago that another boy the same age as yourself began his studies for the priesthood. I speak of Patrick Francis Moran, who, when he was twelve years of age, was taken by his uncle, the saintly Cardinal Cullen of Dublin, to begin his studies at the Irish College in Sydney and the first Cardinal of the Australian Episcopate. As a young woman it was my great honour and privilege to kiss Moran’s ring. It was the greatest thrill of my life.

He was the saintliest man I have ever set eyes on. No man ever carried himself with more dignity and bearing; no man ever looked more a Prince of the Church. He was every inch a Cardinal.

Houses: Every inch a cardinal. Born to wear the red hat.

Miss Siss: Not only was Moran Irish but his years in Rome had made him what is called ‘Romanitas’. Who knows, but one day you too, Christy, will proceed to propaganda College in Rome, and of you the same will be said as of Moran: you are Romanitas.

Houses: Christy could be in line for a red hat.

Who knows what the future holds?

However, for the moment, make Moran your mentor. To help you in this, I have decided to give you a little going-away pre­ sent. (She beckons to Mary fo r the missal.)

Mrs O’Mahon . . . (Mary brings the hand­ bag.) No. The missal . . . here, Christy.

Treasure this. It is a picture of Cardinal Moran. Use it as a marker in your missal. {Pause). You haven’t thanked me, Christy.

Denny: I think he’s so pleased, he’s lost for w ords, M iss Siss. C h risty , y o u ’re forgetting your manners.

Christy: Thank you, Miss Siss. It’s very kind of you. Ah . . . ah. It's a lovely pic­ ture.

Miss Siss: However, that is not all.

Denny (hopefully): Not all?

Miss Siss: No. It is not all. In twelve years time I intend to honour the occasion of Christy’s ordination by the gift of a gold chalice. A chalice studded with rubies and sapphires and diamonds!

Denny {very apologetic): I’m afraid Tocky’s beaten you Miss Siss. He’s giving the gold chalice.

Miss Siss {somewhat riled): Well, in that case I’ll give Christy a gold monstrance studded with rubies and sapphires and diamonds.

Denny {even more apologetic): I’m afraid Houses has beaten you, Miss Siss. He’s giving the gold monstrance.

Miss Siss {Resourcefully): Well, never let it be said that the daughter of Francis Xavier McManus was outbid. If the gold chalice and the gold monstrance are not 32 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

mine to give, I shall nevertheless make up for it by presenting Christy with a collec­ tion of three gifts.

All): Three!

Miss Siss: Yes. Three! First I shall give Christy a small silver pyx for carrying the viaticum to the sick.

Denny: A silver pyx! That’ll be much ap­ preciated, Miss Siss.

Miss Siss: Second. I shall present Christy with a complete set of vestments. And by complete, I mean complete. He shall want for nothing: amice, maniple and stole; alb and cincture; chasuble and dalmatic; tunicle and humeral veil. And embracing every liturgical colour, every season of the year.

Miss S iss’ bountiful generosity and manifest knowledge meet with enthusiastic approvel.)

And third!

Denny: No, Miss Siss. No! You’ve given enough already. You’ve been more than generous. You’ve been kindness itself.

Miss Siss: And third! {She will brook no hindrance to her magnanimity) Third! I shall give Christy something which I'm sure no one else will be able to match: something which every young priest enter­ ing the ministry should have. {She waits dramatically before administering her donative coup de grace) I shall give Christy a small parcel of BHP shares!

She lays them in the aisle. Tocky and Houses are thoroughly routed. She basks smiling in the thunderstruck consternation her announcement has made. Denny his voice emotionally wavering, turns to Tocky.

Denny: Tocky, do you hear that! My boy is going to be a shareholder in the BHP! A shareholder! {He picks Christy up and joyfully swings him around.) He’s actually going to own shares in the Broken Hill P ro p rie ta ry C om pany L im ited! A shareholder! Oh, my God! Tocky {dryly): You'll have to work hard now to see that the shares don’t drop in value.

Denny {vehemently): I will! I will! I’ll work like a nigger. I’ll give the coke ovens some larridoo!

Miss Siss {coldly): I wish some of the other shirkers over there would do the same.

Houses, have you heard the latest? The un­ ions are agitating for a forty-hour week.

Houses: It’s the Labor government. Curtin and his mob of Communists.

Miss Siss: Forty hours a week! As it is they don’t work two full days in a week and they’re wanting more time off. It’s quite disgraceful!

O’Gorman: I wouldn't put it quite like that.

Miss Siss {turning on him sharply): Well how would you put it, Father? It seems to me th a t you d o n ’t have to be a mathematical genius to work out that if there are twenty-four hours in a day, then there are forty-eight in two days, and that if the workers are working forty-four then they're not working two full days. It’s a very simple calculation. What they’re do­ ing with the other five and a bit days is a

mystery to me.

O’Gorman: Simple calculation or not I do know the workers are working eight hours a day, five days a week, plus four hours on Saturday.

Miss Siss: You can certainly twist things, Father.

O'Gorman: I'm not twisting anything. I’m simply stating the facts.

Miss Siss: “Stating the facts” . As a priest 1 think you should face the facts that the workers have so much free time, and that the devil finds work for idle hands.

O’Gorman: I sometimes think that all in­ dustrial troubles would cease if the workers could be made shareholders.

Miss Siss: Shareholders! That’s Socialism!

Houses: It’s worse. It’s Communism!

Miss Siss: It appears that you’ve never read th at famous encyclical Quadragessimo Anno?

O’Gorman {wearily): I’ve read it. I’ve read it.

Miss Siss: Well you appear to have missed its message. Father, let me remind you what the Gospels say of those who waver: “ If the salt lose its savour, wherewith shall it be salted?" {She points her walking stick at O'Gorman.) However, this is a festive occasion: a happy and holy occasion. Let’s forget trade unions and all other un­ pleasantness. I think a cup of tea would be in order.

Denny: Yes. Yes. Certainly. Tea! Mary!

Tea! {Mary goes out.) Won’t be long. Can I treat you to a glass of barley water in the meantime, Miss Siss?

Miss Siss: That’s very kind of you, Mr O’Mahon.

Denny begins to pour the barley water.

Breda unconcernedly walks in with a milk jug and a sugar bowl. Miss Siss stares at Breda as though she is an apparition. Den­ ny nervously becomes aware o f this.

Breda: There you are, Denny love.

Denny: Miss Siss, this is Miss Breda Mulcahy, a friend of the family. She’s been helping Mary in the kitchen.

Miss Siss {slowly): Miss Breda Mulcahy.

Breda: That’s right.

Miss Siss gazes earnestly at Breda as though trying to place her.

Miss Siss: Have I seen you before somewhere? {Breda shrugs.) Where do you attend mass?

Breda: The Star of the Sea on the Hill.

Miss Siss: Ah, St Mary’s on the Hill! It’s a beautiful church, although I little frequent it these days. I’m afraid Brown Street is a little too steep for my old legs.

Breda: It is steep, but I . . .

Denny (getting in quickly): Breda finds the hill no trouble.

Miss Siss: Of course not. She’s young and sturdy. Who's the parish priest there now?

Breda: Father Patrick Ryan.

Miss Siss: That’s right. Old Paddy Ryan.

And who’s his curate?

Breda: Father Bernard Heffernan.

Miss Siss: That’s right. Young Bernie Heffernan. Not a bad pair.

Breda: We have Housie on Friday nights.

Miss Siss {impressed): Excellent, Miss Mulcahy! Excellent! You seem a very

good parishioner. (Suddenly) Where do you live?

Breda (momentarily stumped): I . . . I live in Parnell Place.

Miss Siss: Parnell Place! A pleasant enough area, although unfortunately nam­ ed. Parnell was never one of my heroes.

But you do get the sea breezes there.

Where do you work?

The men watch in consternation but Breda saves the day with a bit o f quick thinking.

Breda: I work at Scotts. In the haber­ dashery department.

Miss Siss: Very good. A very respectable firm. I always think Scotts Corner is the real centre of Newcastle.

Visible sigh o f relief from Denny. Breda has come through ‘Lady Blacknell’s in­ quisition’ with impeccably flying colours.

Well, Miss Mulcahy, you’re very lucky to be a Star of the Sea parishioner. The Star of the Sea has a beautiful view, a wonder­ ful position. Mind you, not as good as that Protestant building on the other side of the street. We slipped up badly there in letting the Protestants get the best position. But at least the Star of the Sea is finished, which is more than can be said for Christ Church Cathedral. The Protestants have been working on it for sixty years and it’s not completed yet.

Tocky: Never will be.

Miss Siss: The Star of the Sea may not have the grand design of Christ Church Cathedral but it is nonetheless a charming

mouthed astonishment.

M iss S iss: Y ou’re sm oking! M iss Mulcahy!

Miss Siss: Yes. Would you care for one?

Miss Siss: No, thank you! I do not smoke!

Breda: Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and help Mary in the kitchen.

Breda goes, winking at the obviously worried Denny. Long pause.

Miss Siss: Mr O’Mahon. That woman — not only has she the tobacco habit, but she paints her nails. (Denny moves away.)

M iss Siss (sten to ria n voice): Mr O’Mahon!

Denny: Yes, Miss Siss?

Miss Siss: That woman! Mr O’Mahon, I (1885-1945) Prime Minister of Australia feel I’ve seen her before somehwere.

'John Curtin hasn't touched a drop Denny: I . . . I don’t know where that in years. Here's to John Curtin —a great Australian." could have been. ________________ Father O'Gorman Miss Siss: Som ething about her is little church, with, as I say, a magnificent familiar. (She searches in her mind. Denny view, a sweeping vista. From it you can looks abashed.) look out over the whole city of Newcastle: Then Mary and Breda enter with teapot, Nobbys, the harbour, the steelworks at scones, etc.

Port Waratah. ( Very confidentially) I have Breda: Grub’s up! shares in the BHP, Miss Mulcahy, and to Denny: I think supper’s ready. Father, will me there is no more heart-warming sight you say Grace? than to stand on the steps of St Mary’s and They all rise. to see the smoke pouring from the O’Gorman: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. steelworks’ chimneys.

Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which Breda has taken out a cigarette and lit it. through Thy bounty we are about to She blows a cloud o f smoke towards Miss receive. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Siss. Miss Siss gazes at Breda in open­ They get on with the business o f supper.

Oriti»ofs2(cf Cite THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 33

The Year’s Theatre

SUKVEYT7 Timely Upheaval Katharine Brisbane N.S.W. To my mind there has been a radical and far-reaching change in the Australian theatre over the last twelve months — or at least evidence of a change of thinking with far-reaching implications.

The old barrier between art and com­ merce is breaking down. Inevitably it has not happened by the commercial theatres becoming more cultural but by the art theatres becoming more commercial: but this time at last the art theatres have something to be commercial about.

The timely origin of this upheaval — in October 1976 — was the Industries Assistance Commission’s Draft Report on assistance to the performing arts.

The draft, when it appeared, sent a rip­ ple of horror through the performing arts.

It sent the Australian Opera flying to the Utah Mining Company and made boards of directors at every level look again at their policy and progress. The cause of the panic was not so much the report itself but the summary which took the headlines. At the top was the recommendation that sub­ sidy be phased out over five years at the rate of twenty per cent a year.

In the resulting storm the Prime Minister made a hasty rejection of the idea and things calmed down a bit. But from the results we have seen this year, the thought that survival might depend even­ tually on sources other than government subsidy has taken root. Long-term think­ ing is perhaps putting too fine a point on it: let us say, rather, that our theatre com­ panies decided that in 1977 they had better find ways of making money.

The Draft Report and the Report that was delivered to the Prime Minister in April were much more interesting and con­ siderable documents than the daily press made out. In the final report the idea of phasing out subsidy was modified but the premise on which it was based is argued through cogently. And that is that culture is not the privilege of the few. Our culture, as it points out, is our national character and not what we should like to be or what we should like others to think of us.

Left, top: John Gaden’s benefit night — a warmly sentimental occasion.

Bottom: Tony Sheldon’s concentrated tenacity in Nimrod’s Inner Voices.

not without interest that the Melbourne and Sydney productions of David William­ son's The Club were pre-scheduled for transfer and tours before the play opened.

(The Club now playing at Nimrod goes to the Theatre Royal in February.)

The Melbourne Theatre Company has The flagship approach involves three inherent expanded into the Athenaeum with a elements of discrimination — towards a few programme of popular classics; the Old selected art forms, towards a few favoured com­ Tote has moved into the Seymour Centre panies and towards live performances. This dis­ crimination, it was argued, is justifiable on the firstly with that comedy industry called grounds that these arts bestow the greatest The Norman Conquests to be followed by cultural benefits; the selected companies are the a programme from those attention-getters most advanced in the ‘pursuit of excellence’; Jim Sharman and Rex Cramphorn. And and live performances represent the essence of the performing arts by providing a measure of the Tote has taken up touring again — Big immediacy or inter-personal empathy between Toys to Melbourne and Mothers and performers and audiences which cannot be Fathers to Adelaide in January.

What the I AC did was to challenge the foundation on which the Australia Coun­ cil’s policy — and that of the Australian Elizabethan Theatre Trust before it — was based: the pursuit of excellence, or as the report calls it, “the flagship approach” . I quote from the introduction (p4):

achieved otherwise.

But the very nature of culture is such that no particular performing art or activity can be shown to generate more benefits to the com­ munity as a whole than any other. For example, there was no evidence that, within music, opera is more ‘cultural’ or more publicly beneficial than, say, chamber music or a whole range of serious rock or jazz music, or that within dance, classical ballet is intrinsically more worthy than a whole range of other dance forms.

As is shown later in this report, the ‘pursuit of excellence’ — while desirable — is not in itself an automatic justification for public assistance . . . The alternative philosophy, which underlies the assistance measures proposed by the Com­ mission, is that embodied in the IAC Act. It reflects the community values and broader, more even-handed approach being applied to assistance policies for activities in all sectors of the economy. Inherent in this approach is assistance that is equitable to the community as a whole and thus requires assessments of the benefits which the performing arts provide, or have the potential to provide, to that community.

When a policy was laid down by the Theatre Board in 1968 the establishment of ‘flagships’ — that is regional theatre companies of the first quality — was the first priority. In the list drawn up for that purpose of existing theatres in Australia, the chain of commercial theatres was ex­ cluded. It has remained excluded ever since — and it was, in fact, this creeping doubt about such exclusion that led to the IAC inquiry.

The first result of the IAC Report was the setting up of a Community Arts Board.

The second result is foreshadowed in an aggressive new commercialism within our subsidised theatre companies.

The collapse of the JCW production arm following the IAC’s refusal to recom­ mend subsidy was no more than a delayed inevitable. In its place new entrepreneurs are springing up with new tastes and a fresh eye for a bargain. An obvious exam­ ple is The Elocution o f Benjamin Franklin, in which pie a remarkable number of producers have had their fingers. And it is

There have been smaller tours this year too, like the Australian Performing Group’s The Hills Family Show, which as a by-product enabled Sydney theatregoers to see Max Gillies’ distinctive performance in A Stretch o f the Imagination. And Nimrod’s season of Much Ado about Nothing to Adelaide. And in the commer­ cial field Parachute Productions have opened the Playbox in Melbourne again to popularity and in Perth have had an un­ broken record of success with their resuscitation of the old Regal Theatre.

All this is just a sample of the kind of movement at last beginning to occur ap­ parently spontaneously among theatres.

Perth, Hobart, Brisbane and to a lesser extent Adelaide are still isolated and too little remains known in the bigger cities of their theatre work. But at least there are openings. Gone at last is the door kept so obdurately shut for so long by the JCW monopoly against the idea of a commercial product of our own.

Appendix F of the IAC Report makes a sad obituary for JCW. Considering the effects of the Government’s refusal to assist the chain in the short term the Com­ mission found the major effect would be the presentation of fewer attractions “dur­ ing the next six or nine months” and the displacement of some 58 technicians whose skills were in demand by other theatres. As it has turned out those six or nine months have been an opportunity for others and the JCW influence upon the theatre over a hundred years has in 1977 already become history.

I don’t want in this article to single out performances in anything more than a per­ sonal way because I do not travel as much as I used to and my theatregoing is highly selective. For me the most memorable day in the theatre in 1977 was unquestionably the performance of The Doll Trilogy at the Russell Street Theatre last February.

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 35

The Year’s Theatre

SUKVEY77 Another warmly sentimental occasion was John Gaden’s benefit at Nimrod before he left for New York, at which again I saw a rare performance. This and the return of Patrick White to the theatre late last year and the resultant birth of Big Toys makes me feel — an illusion perhaps — that we are beginning to learn how to value our artists in the theatre at last.

On the other side of the coin this year I also mourned the death of George Landen Dann in Queensland, one of our neglected playwrights who deserved better of his country. His parting was alleviated a little by the touching performance of In Beauty it is Finished at La Boite Theatre in April only weeks before he died.

The Lower Depths at the Opera House, marathon as it was, has set a new standard of classical production for the Tote in which the Roumanian director Liviu Ciulei drew new qualities from the actors.

My disappointment of the year in terms of expectations raised was A Chorus Line.

My favourite all-round production was Rodney Fisher’s no-nonsense direction of The Club for the Melbourne Theatre Com­ pany — and the most endearingly theatrical performance that of Frank Wilson as Jock. He vies with the sheer glow of Sandy Gore as Nancy in Kid Stakes and the concentrated tenacity of Tony Sheldon in Inner Voices at Nimrod for the performances I look back on with greatest affection.

It has been a good year on the whole which has done a lot of stirring; and one of the most valuable aids to the new circula­ tion has been Theatre Australia itself.

Long may it grow and prosper.

Successes from Sydney Garrie Hutchinson Victoria___________ A measure of the state of theatre in Melbourne is that three of the most successful shows were from Sydney. It is true that they wouldn’t have come here if they weren’t successful there, but it’s also true that no production from Melbourne made any impression anywhere else.

We had Reg Livermore’s amazingly energetic musical comical epic pastiche Left: APG’s Statis Group — Sue Ingleton, Rob Meldrum and Ros de Winter in their The Y oung Peer Gynt.

that provided perhaps the youngest general audience of the year with exactly what they wanted. Entertainment. Loud soft rock.

Spectacle. Humour. Gentle accounts of a woman’s lot. They certainly had their money’s worth: something like three hours on stage at a pace that would frighten Ron Barassi.

I can only admire his skill and devotion to duty, at the same time as I wish he would cut the show by a third to rid it of some dead material. However he is the best stage performer of songs you don’t know we have. And even his individual dancing style is easy on the eye.

Reg has perhaps his only rival in per­ sonality pulling power in Gordon Chater.

In Spears’ Elocution o f Benjamin Franklin he was getting close to 400 performances by the time the Melbourne season closed.

That again is an astounding feat of en­ durance and show biz professionalism.

The play itself, though, has perhaps suf­ fered from being a hit in that no one, es­ pecially Spears, will tamper with it.

Because it’s so successful as it is. I think there is an amount of rewriting still to be done. Maybe the frigid second half needs something to match the pyrotechnics of the first.

Patrick White is no Livermore or Chater. He is a much statelier monument than they. The Tote’s production of his Big Toys was rather mysterious, seemingly reliant on the charisma of a literary heavyweight to supply the subtext absent from the script. I don’t for a moment think that Big Toys is the greatest thing since Ray Lawler, though they have more in common than the breathless pundits of White’s greatness might imagine.

It was excellent that a commercial management took the thing on (a pat on the back for Kenn Brodziak — I hope he didn’t lose too much money) but the analogy (Big Toys, puppeteers, strings, old boy networks, conspiracy) on which the whole edifice rests is touchingly banal, and not really much to do with what is going on in Australia. White seems to have joined the Francis James-Donald Horne-Don Chipp pixie politics party.

But in spite of all that the show did make a lot of Melbourne efforts look a bit weak at the knees. Sharman’s touches of expressionism , and the exceedingly mannered performances he extracted from the actors were refreshingly opposed to the amiable, thoughtless naturalism that per­ vades the Melbourne Theatre Company.

Here at least was a director with an idea he had the guts to follow through.

The year at the MTC was dominated by

the dead weight of productions at the Athenaeum. They showed that however classical a play might be, however rich in Truth or even Beauty, it has no chance against a company who is determined merely to get it on. And however popular these classics might be, they are not worthy versions; they are provincial productions.

Things, however, were much better at Russell Street. Here David Williamson’s The Club took the MTC by surprise and refused to become unpopular. The MTC also refused to let a popular hit escape the constrictions of their programming by shifting it to say the Comedy and touring it around the country. Instead it had an ex­ tension at Russell Street and expired on Grand Final night. A gift horse was looked squarely in the mouth and had its teeth ex­ tracted. It was a good show and all.

Linda Aronson’s The Fall Guy and Mick Rodger’s Marivaux, also worked well, and Robin Ramsay’s quirky Lawson piece, The Bastard From The Bush was much better than the sentimental Lawsonophiles gave it credit for.

The most satisfying event, though, was the staging of Lawler’s Doll Trilogy. The plays are good, as long as you think of them as written when The Doll itself was written; the director, John Sumner knew what he was doing, as did the actors. And it marked a moment rare in the theatre anywhere, a moment which gave the whole company a reason to be. It was the highpoint of the history of the MTC. For the APG 1977 appeared to be a fragmentary period, mainly because very little seemed to happen in the Pram Fac­ tory. But when you add up the total of what APG persons did, then it is, as usual, interesting, and extensive.

The Soapbox Circus wing toured around the country pulling audiences with their mixture of music, circus and politics; the vaudeville section restored the Hills Fami­ ly Show and through a permutation came up with the excellent musical Back To Bourke Street (now at the Last Laugh); the pessimists appeared in an eclectic series of plays, including Yesterday’s News about mercenaries, The Uranium Show and bits from Kroetz, Heathcote Williams and Sam Shepard; the Stasis group moved on from Peer Gynt to Antony and Cleopatra.

All in all lots of things were done, but there didn’t seem to be a sense of purpose for the group (if it is one group) or a reason to be for the Pram Factory.

The commercial theatre’s main claim to fame was the movement of the obvious hit The 20’s And All That Jazz from its cunTHEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 37

The Year’s Theatre

SURVEY77 ning late night tryout season to the main drag. This pastiche of good songs and monologues plainly filled an entertainment gap, and with a bit of luck might be follow­ ed up. The worst of the commercial theatre was spotlit by Douglas Fairbanks Jr in The Pleasure o f His Company. It wasn’t.

Other groups deserve to be taken seriously too. The Alexander Theatre Company and Peter Oyston staged a cou­ ple of syllabus plays: The Crucible and The Cherry Orchard which at the least con­ tained a few ideas, even if they were ponderously arty. Groups at Melbourne University produced a number of good things: David Kendall’s Richard III, Colin Ryan’s The Painted Devil and a very im­ aginative Peter Pan. James McCaughey and Theatre Projects did a version of Brecht’s Baal — a play which I had previously regarded as unproducable. It isn’t and it even made sense.

For the ‘fringe’ though, I guess that the tenth anniversary at La Mama was the highlight. Old plays, old faces, fun and games reinforced the importance of La Mama in the scheme of things, and the popularity of the place too. May it con­ tinue to prosper.

T heatre R estaurants continue to flourish, and we at Hoopla managed a modest production of Dorothy Hewett’s Golden Oldies at the beginning of the year, obtained the Playbox in the middle, and at years end are looking forward to 1978.

As is everyone else. Something new!

Something different! More imagination!

More guts! More work!

Light but not Fantastic Don Batchelor Queensland Brisbane audiences have just about tamed the theatre. The result is that ninety five plays out of a hundred will do nothing for your pulse rate at all, except, perhaps, to slow it down. This appears to be what many people want. A sizeable proportion of local theatre-goers seems actually to be there as a rest cure! You can see them dotted around any auditorium, heads slumped forward, shoulders gently heaving in a slow satisfied rhythm — completely entranced.

You might think a bunch of soporifics like this wouldn’t notice if you slipped in the occasional disturbing or demanding 38 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

play. Don’t you believe it! Unerring in­ stincts and the suburban telegraph soon sniff out any off-beat stuff in the line-up.

Just look at the QTC this year; they open­ ed 1977 with For Years / Couldn't Wear M y Black and played to 76% capacity.

Hobson’s Choice built this figure to 84%.

With The Merchant o f Venice there was yet another increase to 90% capacity. It looked like a very good year at the boxoffice.

Then came The Last o f the Knucklemen and in a trice attendances were almost halved. So much for the argument that people want a more immediate theatre that they can relate to. In fact to relate is the last thing they appear to want. And it’s not that it was a bad time, nor is it the rejec­ tion of a particular Australian play. The QTC consistently does poor business with Australian plays.

If you think it may have something to do with the QTC ambiance (and there is a case that the SGIO Theatre is not a con­ genial space for plays of this type) what does one make of the reception given to the much vaunted season of Queensland playwrights at La Boite early in the year?

It was rightly hailed as a highly significant and laudable venture by people close to theatre. Publicity for the season was ex­ cellent. The advertising budget was three times the average; yet ticket sales were discouragingly low — 33% of capacity in fact.

Without doubt, La Boite has presented the most vital and enterprising set of plays in Brisbane this year. It is very much a here and now place, involved in local matters and reflecting the contemporary scene. Yet, lively, apposite and consistent though the play policy may be, there are still problems in carrying the bulk of the audience for more serious material.

Whatever the self-image of La Boite might be, their audiences, no less than those at the QTC, have this year shown a decided preference for the light-weight. The boxoffice leader at time of writing was Bullshot Crummond, sold as a “ riotous parody of 1930’s B-grade detective movies” . It was, I agree, delightful, as was Grease; and both did good business.

But the show which really spun me round was Seneca’s Oedipus. Not only a superbly whole production, but a powerful and timely reminder of neglected values in language. Yet, for fifteen performances the total audience was less than one thousand.

An amateur company can afford audience neglect in the pursuit of quality. However, transfer these numbers to the SGIO Theatre and you would not fill the place twice. Any professional management that

went ahead under such circumstances might properly be called irresponsible and foolish.

Subsidy is intended partly to encourage enterprise in play selection; but the bounds between enterprise and rash indulgence are set, in the end, by the audience. QTC patrons have shown that for them the line is drawn at shows like Knucklemen. Alan Edwards has learnt his lesson well. His ap­ proach has been to woo his audience. In choosing the repertoire the balance is towards reassuring the regulars. He would see this as establishing a base before set­ ting about the business of educating and leading.

In former years there was usually one play calculated to challenge — Pinter’s Old Times is a case in point. This year Knucklemen was considered disturbing enough. There is evidence that in taking this line Edwards may be creating a monster for himself.

Several former subscribers have in­ dicated that they gave the QTC away because the plays were dull. Such people are admittedly the few, but they represent the hope for a more dynamic set of offerings. The remaining clientele have in­ dicated at feed-back sessions that they want more of the same. As one young per­ son put it the night I was there — “if I want a play that extends me, I can always go to La Boite” .

Apologists for the cautious QTC ap­ proach to programming can always point to the bitter experience of Twelfth Night Theatre. In the good old days at Gowrie Hall it played roughly the role that La Boite now does. Up on Wickham Terrace you saw the new plays, experiments in production, and challenges to reactionary social attitudes. It was Twelfth Night that fought the battle for Norm and Ahmed against bigotry in the government. It was Twelfth Night that took on narrow­ minded moralists in the church over Patrick White’s Ham Funeral.

Look at the same company under the same director now. This year’s pathetic fa re in c lu d e s D a n g ero u s C o r n e r , Something’s Afoot, Mrs Warren’s Profes­ sion, Spider's Web, Season at Sarsaparilla and Aren’t We All. There are many reasons for this extraordinary retreat, but the root cause was the move into professionalism. This would have been quite enough without the additional burden of a new building to pay for. The old, faithful, open-minded audience was too small to sustain all this. The need for numbers was immediate. Time was against gradual cultivation of a larger following

The Year’s Theatre

SUKVEY77 along the old lines.

Though, for a while the management tried to keep faith with its former prin­ ciples, market pressures soon asserted themselves to the degree that the company is presently locked in a struggle for sur­ vival. Subsidising bodies are demanding that an audience be found and the talk is all dollars and debts with drama con­ sidered only as a means to pay the bills.

Substantial amounts are put into impor­ ting TV names to dress up the product. For Aren’t We A ll it was Paul Mason. “ He looks younger than he does on the screen” cooed the lady beside me “ Yes . . .” came the reply “and have you noticed that he’s wearing built up shoes?”

This sort of thing is being handled much better at Her Majesty’s where they under­ stand packaged presentation. Indeed, one of the success stories of the 1977 season has been the rejuvenation of straight com­ mercial theatre in Brisbane. Who would have expected the two young independent managers, Peter Davies and Russell McVey to show JCW’s how big a market there was up here for stuff like Boeing Boe­ ing and even for Marcel Marceau, both of which had to extend. After a decade of neglect, during which time it was often black or showing movies, Her Maj is triumphantly back on the national circuit.

Here again audiences have asserted their tastes.

Certainly the Arts Theatre sees no virtue in asking too much of their patrons — as one Arts supporter put it “ You’re not allowed to say heavy drama round here” .

To a large extent this is a response to audience preferences. The box-office success this year was How The Other H alf Lives. The Shifting Heart may have at­ tracted more custom but many of the sales were to school groups. If there was a “heavy” play at all in 1977, it would have to be Who’s Afraid o f Virginia Woolf?, a play that lost its teeth some time ago.

For the rest there was Charley’s Aunt, Abelard and Heloise, The Golden Legion o f Cleaning Women (another Aussie play that drew the smallest crowds for the year), Chase Me Comrade, Night Must Fall, East Lynne and The Pajama Game.

Not many surprises in a settled almost complacent policy. It is instructive to see what happened when independent groups presented a good production of Peter Barnes’ Noon Day Demons and Leonar­ do’s Last Supper in the theatre early in the year. They drew audiences that seldom topped ten people.

Camerata deals with this situation by structuring the whole operation round an­

ticipated audiences of about sixty. In con­ sequence they work on a shoestring. This allows them to pursue a policy of presen­ ting “ plays of high artistic quality rarely seen in Brisbane” . So we got Tom, A Winter’s Tale, The Seagull, Little Eyolf, 'Tis Pity She’s a Whore, Anouilh’s Medea and A Slight Ache. The result is a somewhat academic selection of material with a strong tendency towards the darker side of the repertoire. No danger of split­ ting your sides.

Earnest though it is, Camerata serves a useful function in the spectrum of Brisbane theatre, and perhaps its approach points up the most clearly stark fact, that you can only follow a consistently serious policy in programming if you are prepared to do so to a coterie of followers. Only in this way can you escape the tyranny of a highly un­ imaginative general audience.

A Change of_______ Direction_________ _ Karl Hubert_______ Tasmania In 1977, the Tasmanian Theatre Company becam e an e n tre p re n eu r — and a successful one at that.

The significance of this development was that it reflected a change of direction in the policies of professional and to some extent also amateur theatre in the Island State.

The professional stage diversified; amateur theatre, which is playing an im­ portant role in the entertainment of the Tasmanian people, showed greater interest in musicals and comedy, and also classic drama.

This change was brought about by audience dem and for m ore varied theatrical fare. In the case of the TTC this was more than a small State professional theatre company could provide. The trend also affected the State Ballet.

The signs had been there for some time but it was the artistic director of the TTC, John Unicomb, who recognised them and acted. And it was not the first time that the company acted as an entrepreneur; however, last year that function gained in importance. Interesting results should come from it.

One is the effect Sydney, Melbourne, and Adelaide styles and production techniques will have on Tasm anian

audiences. The somewhat insular outlook should modify and audiences should accept innovation and even experiment more readily.

The fact that some of Australia’s best acting talent will be seen regularly on the stage of Hobart’s Theatre Royal and in Launceston and Burnie, should influence amateur theatre. And the TTC will be in a position to bring more productions of the revue variety which do so well in Tasmania.

In July it commissioned a satirical revue from Tim Gooding, The Incredible Optimissimos, which was staged in Hobart, Burnie, and Launceston in NovemberDecember.

It could be of some interest to establish what has brought about this change in Tasmanian audience taste. Television un­ doubtedly played a role.

Another is that more and more young people are entering the ranks of regular theatre-goers and their outlook is different from that of the “old guard” .

Entrepreneuring has advantages and in view of the steadily mounting production costs could become attractive to mainland theatrical companies.

A few years ago, entrepreneuring on this scale would have been a risky undertaking; one remembers when America Hurrah scandalised Hobart.

The Elocution o f Benjamin Franklin, last year’s first entrepreneured production, brought some angry reaction. However, even the most severe critics of per­ missiveness and stage nakedness could not really fault Gordon Chater’s acting.

The Elocution became an artistic as well as a financial success.

The Marian Street Theatre production of Tarantara! Tarantara! which followed almost immediately the Elocution did not quite match the latter’s success. But then, Gilbert and Sullivan are not everybody’s cup of tea.

From 24 August to 3 September, the musical recollection The 20s and all that Jazz, which had had a good run under the J.C. Williamson Productions banner at Her Majesty’s Theatre in Melbourne, was staged at the Royal in Hobart. Starring John Diedrich, John O’May and Caroline Gillmer, it had a good season.

There followed the Melbourne Theatre Company’s production of David William­ son’s The Club. This had been playing at the Russell Street Theatre where the season had been extended. It attracted the Australian Rules element in addition to regular theatre-goers and hopefully, the former will have caught the theatre bug.

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 39

The Year’s Theatre

SUKVEY77 The season had been sold out weeks Jack H ibberd’s A Stretch o f the Imagination, starring Max Gillies, played ahead of the opening night and it was a at the Royal from 31 October to 5 huge success.

Hobart missed out and this brought November. Other plays by Hibberd The Les Darcy Show and Toast to Melba had some harsh comment from southern been seen in Hobart before. It was the first Tasmanian lovers of ballet, many of whom time that the TTC presented a production travelled north and after paying $17.50 for a seat stayed overnight which added to the from Melbourne’s famous Pram Factory.

The company’s new policy, which prov­ bill.

The question asked was whether the ed so successful, will continue in 1978.

The activities of the professional Tasma­ Australian Ballet has the responsibility to nian Puppet Theatre in 1977 culminated in visit Tasmania more often.

The 1977 visit was the first in four years.

Momma’s Little Horror Show which was dealt with in some detail by Launt Thomp­ It was argued that the Australian Ballet is subsidised by the Australia Council and son in the July issue of Theatre Australia.

What the company’s artistic director, since Tasmanians too pay taxes, the Peter Wilson, brought here was a little national company should visit the state. technical marvel, possibly more closely This raised another question: Should related to avant-garde musical theatre Australian Opera recommence its tours of than puppet theatre.

Tasmania? At present, Tasmanians who It was steeped in symbolism and in this want to see opera must travel to point the influence of Takeshi Hoshino Melbourne or Sydney. The last visit by the was evident. Hoshino, who is a director of Australian Opera was about five years ago Tokyo’s PUK Theatre, spent some time and the reason for the stop was the with the TPT and his influence on its expense. thinking was marked.

Tasmanian opera lovers would be quite The PUK style is related to Bunraku prepared to accept productions which can and traces of Bunraku now can be found in be mounted with a handful of principals; the TPT style. chorus and orchestra could be made avail­ Peter Wilson likes to think that there is able locally, although the Australian no end to what puppetry can do with the Opera apparently would prefer to use its help of stage technology, but there are own musicians. limits, of course. It is doubtful whether Tasmania’s State Ballet is based in technology can create the electrifying at­ Launceston. It has nine dancers which mosphere of legitimate theatre, nor can limits its capacity to stage major works. In tapes ever hope to replace the orchestra.

1977, the artistic director, Kenneth Another great moment in puppetry was Gillespie, planned for diversity. The July John Blundell’s production of Tiger Peter program which was presented in Burnie, which was staged at the Royal in August Launceston, and Hobart brought the and subsequently toured the State. “bout ballet” Rocky by Schuster, Le Pas The play, by Hanna Januszewska, is de Quatre by Dolin with revised choreo­ regarded as a classic. Blundell, who is one graphy by Gillespie, Graeme Murphy’s of the world’s leading puppeteers and Pandora and Titipu Forever by Gillespie. directors, used six actors, masks, and eight Guest prima ballerina for the company’s foot stick figures to tell the story of a little production of Romeo and Juliet in boy and his adventures.

November was Lian Rutherford from the Blundell is the director of the puppet Basel Stadttheater in Switzerland. theatre at the Midlands Arts Centre in Bir­ Titipu was the revised Mikado which mingham and he toured for the Australia was shown at the Australian Festival of Council’s theatre Board.

Dance in Canberra.

Ballet in Tasmania in 1977 tended An important development took place at toward dance theatre and this chiefly for the University of Tasmania where the practical reasons with the finances and size Nightcap Theatre with the help of the of the Tasmanian State Ballet Company Apprentice Theatre staged classic drama; the chief considerations.

Jonson’s Volpone, Congreve’s The Way o f Tasmanians too like to see grand ballet the World, Measure for Measure and and the chance came in July when the Twelfth Night by Shakespeare, and John Australian Ballet visited Launceston and Milton’s Conius. gave five performances of the Merry Widow.

The Hobart Repertory Theatre Society staged Cabaret, based on Christopher Left: Momma's Little Horror Show by Isherwood’s Berlin Stories. The produc­ Tasmanian Puppet Theatre. tion exceeded what may be expected of an

amateur stage. Robyn Moore, now in Sydney, played the leading role. Among the many productions which the society staged in 1977, Cabaret easily was the best.

Three small companies presented in­ teresting productions during the year.

The Riverside Arts Club presented The Rape o f the Belt on Hobart’s Eastern shore.

The Hobart Theatre Club staged Nan Giblin’s production of the musical Lock up your Daughters and the Anglesea Theatre Club staged intimate comedy.

The Anglesea Theatre Club was founded in 1868 by members of the British Army’s 2/14 Regiment o f Foot, and this makes it one of the oldest amateur stages in A ustralia. In that year the gallant gentlemen presented two plays The Char­ coal Burners and My Precious Betsy at Hobart’s Theatre Royal. Although the ac­ tivities of the club have been intermittent since that time, it is at present strong and is looking forward to the future with con­ fidence. A theatre restaurant opened at the Explorer Motor Inn, located on the top of Knocklofty in West H obart, in September. The first program, was Not on the Level.

Some Progress Tony Baker S.A. Any discussion of theatre in Adelaide in a Festival off-year inevitably must centre on the South Australian Theatre Company, now not only State supported to the tune of more than $800,000 but regulated by statute as well. For the SATC the conclu­ sion is inescapable, if banal: 1977 was a mixed year.

But in this critic's view at least, the best of the year came from interstate under the auspices of the Festival Centre Trust which runs the Torrens bank complex. This was the John Bell-Nimrod production of Much Ado About Nothing set in a Sicilian circus in the 1800s and performed here in The Space, the Festival Centre’s experimental theatre. It had a verve and a vitality about it which the SATC has not been able to match.

The Trust had a generally good year itself proving that it has emerged as an enterprising entrepreneur in its own right despite the loss during 1977 of Anthony Steel as its director. (He remains into 1978 as artistic director of the Arts Festival THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 41

The Year’s Theatre

SUKVEY77 proper). It was joint or sole entrepreneur for about a third of the performances in the Festival Centre for its official year to 31 October last. Another comforting statistic was that attendances were overall up by ten per cent in this third full year of operation.

The Trust can be unashamedly commer­ cial; for instance the year began with Paula Wilcox in My Fat Friend, a piece of pure West End froth. Edward'Woodward was then imported for a joint production with State Opera of H.M.S. Pinafore and Callan filled the house nightly.

Woodward’s performance was treated unkindly by some local critics as being low key which suggested more that they re­ main happier with a sledgehammer than a rapier than that the actor’s subtle inter­ pretation of the role was in any way at fault.

But it was by no means all box office gogo for the Trust. Into The Space went, among other good things, the Pram Fac­ tory's Hills Family Show from Melbourne and the local Adelaide Theatre Group production of Ripper, a tuneful musical based improbably on the doings of Jack the Ripper, and a worthy if not inspiring season of plays by local amateur groups.

Worthy, too, was the ongoing series of free entertainments in the amphitheatre and around the city organised from the Centre as part of a community arts programme.

By and large, then, the Trust had a successful year even though the impression was growing by the end of it that the monumental, multi-coloured Hajek en­ vironmental sculpture unveiled amid pomp and circumstance by the monarch in this jubilee year was a flop, exposed to wind and sun and ignored by the happy crowds who were supposed to frolic around it.

A good year, too, for State Opera now with a permanent home in its Opera Theatre, the former Her Majesty’s bought by the State Government, and permanent offices in a row of converted cottages just around the corner, Pinafore gave it a solid popular success but the artistic achieve­ ment was also considerable.

Responsibility for this was in the hands of a triumvirate, an arrangement that for once seemed to work without undue fric­ tion, of musical director Myer Fredman, general manager Ian Campbell and pro­ duction director Adrian Slack.

They took The Secret Marriage to the Perth Festival to applause all round and a production for Adelaide later in the year of Don Giovanni showed the company’s em erging stre n g th s and rem ain in g weaknesses. A particular strength was 42 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

John Wood, a man of fine voice who can also caper most pleasantly and add welcome zest to opera.

South Australians spent the customary amount of time during 1977 talking about the need for alternate theatre and then largely ignoring the little that was available. But something actually happen­ ed as well with formation of the Stage Company with Don Barker as chairman and a small subsidy with which to begin work. The initial line-up was impressive.

Actors such as John Noble and David Hursthouse had given good account of themselves elsewhere and Brian Debnam impressive during 18 months with the SATC as assistant director.

Which brings us back to the State com­ pany and, especially, to Colin George in his first year as its artistic director. Those who had criticised the company for pedestrianism in the past — and not always fairly — had no complaints about the pace of innovation. In short order, the SATC presented a couple of classics, a revue, a neglected modern work, some new Australian writing, play readings and a musical that was deliberately aimed at seducing the middlebrows into the Playhouse.

There were plenty of new faces, too. The familiar mainstays of the past, Edwin Hodgeman, Daphne Grey and Leslie Dayman were augmented by George with the likes of Ruth Cracknell, Brian James, Kevin Miles and, for a while, Dorothy Ver­ non, in private life Mrs George. Behind the scenes Ron Blair, Rodney Ford and Michael Fuller performed the same func­ tion.

A new look quickly became apparent.

School fo r Scandal, George’s first produc­ tion, was a stylish affair that used a thrust stage to bring audience and performers closer together. Rodney Ford’s design did the same thing with foam rubber rakes and their doxies, grotesques after the manner of Gilray, leering down from boxes along the sides of the theatre.

Even George’s violent attack on a critic who had had the temerity to question his choice of play could not detract from the fact that it was the best thing the company had done for a long time. Newcomers and veterans sparkled and they also worked ex­ ceedingly well together. The Cherry Orchard, which followed, did not reach quite the same heights but was a re­ assuringly professional contrast to some of the self-indulgences of the past.

It would serve little purpose here merely to continue to catalogue of the year’s ouput. In an annual assessment it is the

gestalt that counts. But perhaps the mid­ point came with a production of Annie Get Your Gun. It creaked a bit after all that time but it got bums on seats and, perhaps, a few posteriors hitherto unaccustomed to the Playhouse. But Annie also established anew, and at times almost embarrassingly, the validity of the belief that actors can’t sing and singers can’t act.

But, the gestalt. The SATC, and here one specifically includes its Magpie Com­ pany theatre in education team under Roger Chapman, is rather bigger now than last year. It is also rather better. By no means a revolution in Australian culture.

But some progress.

Good, but not Great Margot Luke W.A. It has been a good,, though not a great, year for theatre in Perth. The peaks were spread evenly at the rate of one every eight weeks or so, which is probably as much as can be expected with four or five new productions per month. The established theatres did not change their style — in fact, they became more emphatically themselves: the Playhouse continued to misjudge the ingredients for popular and critical appeal, the Hole-in-the-Wall again delighted with its mixture of shrewdly a lte rn a te d fun, o ff-b eat and grim challenge, and the Greenroom’s lucky dip of fringe drama produced a great deal of good quality.

A major innovation was the brazenly successful arrival on the scene of the Regal, at Subiaco, a converted cinema now dedicated to the revival of Com­ mercial Theatre.

On the campus front, the departure of David Addenbrooke in May has left the controversial WAIT reduced to lowprofile student productions, whereas the revitalised UDS at the University of WA put on a couple of memorable productions under professional direction, and a number of excellent lunchtime events that were so badly publicised that they might have been forbidden rites.

Australian plays made up approxi­ mately one quarter of the year’s offerings, more or less the same as last year.

Music theatre (three lots of G. and S. in various guises, as well as various dramatic crossbreeds) proved with effortless ease how the general public really wants to be

The Year’s Theatre

SUKVEY77 entertained.

The Playhouse suffered from a run of bad luck, which set in early in the year.

The Old Tote’s production of The Plough and the Stars was presenting a trial run as its contribution to the Festival of Perth, and failed to set the right note expected of distinguished visiting companies.

The WA National Theatre Company’s own contribution to the Festival was The Miser, for which the “star attraction’’ was to have been John le Mesurier of tele­ vision fame, who had to give up at a late stage of rehearsals due to ill-health. The fact that resident actor Leslie Wright’s performance was outstandingly good did not persuade audiences to come flocking.

During mid-year school-holidays the theatre was host to a particularly tacky presentation of Snow-White with real dwarfs, put together by the Rudas Organisation, a tired, old-fashioned knockabout romp, suitable for the village hall, but not for a National Theatre. It was a sellout.

The regular programmes with three exceptions were a solid diet of mediocrity, either inherent in the plays or in the unfor­ tunate casting — Absent Friends, Other­ wise Engaged, Treats, Double Edge and The Brass Hat. There is, of course, a subtle division between successful and unsuccess­ ful rubbish, but if, as in the case of the S ta te ’s N ational T heatre, one feels honour-bound to play down the show-biz aspects, then one ends up with things that achieved commercial and critical success in England, either because of local relev­ ance, or resonance, or perfect-fit actors, and without these favourable circum­ stances even the potentially good plays Absent Friends and Otherwise Engaged fell flat.

It is no co-incidence that, apart from the revival of the 1937 ultra-well-made play, Steinbeck's O f Mice and Men, the most satisfying productions were Williamson’s The Department and Buzo’s Martello Towers. (All, except Double Edge, direc­ ted by Aarne Neeme.)

The Regal, of course, does not have the inhibiting obligation to attempt “sound­ ness” and audience appeal in one neat package. Neither does it have to keep a resident company in employment. It went out to woo the public with a mixture of fun and star appeal. Same Time Next Year, M y Fat Friend and Doctor in Love relied as much on personalities from televisionland (Graeme Blundell, Tim BrookeTaylor, Judy Nunn, Robin Nedwell) as on their vivacious slickness. Tarantara! and The Twenties were well-tested mini­

musicals presented by wholly “ imported” Eastern States companies, and the one item that presented any kind of challenge, The Elocution o f Benjamin Franklin, rode in on a wave of shock-value, excellent pre­ publicity, and stayed by sheer force of quality and the amazing Gordon Chater.

The Greenroom lay dormant for the earlier part of the year and then, in April, refurbished and slightly more airconditioned, opened with the devastating Ashes, a powerful, though unbalanced play, which is primarily remembered for Pippa Williamson’s moving performance.

The highlights of the season here were undoubtedly Alma de Groen’s witty Going Home — a beautifully paced bit of direc­ tion by Andrew Ross, and the double bill made up of Romeril’s Bastardy- and Fugard’s Im m orality — sharp, hard hitting and haunting. The theatre con­ tinued its practice of giving at least one local writer a showing, and in October presented Bob Clarke’s uneven but lively and observant play Southern Ape. It also continued to be a showcase for at least one example of British alternative drama with Yesterday’s News, thus offering a good representative selection of work to a steady, faithful, minority audience.

For variety and enterprise in pro­ gramming, the Hole-in-the-Wall won hands down. The single most impressive play was, perhaps, Eugene O’Neill’s gigan­ tic Long Day's Journey Into Night, guest directed by Ray Omodei, with a cluster of superb performances by Neville Teede, Margaret Anketell and Gerald Hitch­ cock. Sharing the honours in the high­ lights stakes was Stoppard’s Travesties, with a virtuoso performance by Edgar Metcalfe. Most original new play was surely Alegria’s Crossing Niagara, which combined subtle metaphysics with enor­ mous imaginative appeal. Programmes to encourage more timid playgoers included the Shaw double Man o f Destiny and Flaherty VC, and the admirable triple bill of Australian plays Going Bananas. For those with stronger stomachs there were Nowra’s powerful and harrowing Inner Voices (guest director Mike Morris), and an Australian first — Marlowe’s Edward the Second. For the enterprising and insomniac playgoer there were also latenight presentations — Stravinsky’s Sol­ dier's Tale with mime and music, and Judy Nunn’s solo telephone monologue of Cocteau’s The Human Voice.

Early in the year, as part of the Festival of Perth, there was Jim McNeil’s prison drama How Does Your Garden Grow?, guest directed by Aarne Neeme with fine

performances by Alan Cassell, Rod Williams and Martin Jones. There was also the Brecht/Weill musical Happy End which was lively but really needed a pre­ dominantly singing cast, which it didn’t have. With the exceptions mentioned, all productions were directed by John Milson.

In student drama, after David Addenbrooke’s fantasmagorial swansong with a wildly camped-up Midsummer Night’s Dream at the WAIT Hayman Theatre, the magic deserted that area and descended on the University of WA campus. Notable here was John Milson’s austerely beauti­ ful production for the University Dram­ atic Society at the New Dolphin of Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral, and later a super-trendy but charming As You Like It, directed by Ray Omodei. The talent displayed here among the students (who do not have the benefit of a theatre arts course) far outshone the presentations by their opposite numbers at the West Aus­ tralian Institute of Technology (who do).

One of the least-appreciated areas of the UDS activities was a series of lunchtime productions which ought to have been crowded out with both students and outside theatregoers. They ranged from the eighteenth century Polly Honeycombe (George Colem an) via S trindberg’s Creditors, to three contemporary Aus­ tralian plays: Paul Ritchie’s Are You there, David, Max Richard’s one-woman monologue Cripple Play (very strongly played by Wanda Davidson), and the extraordinary Rites, by Maureen Duffy, a piece of black humour set in a Sydney underground ladies’ restroom. (Excellent production here by Allanah Lucas).

Looking back over the year the pattern shakes down to a mosaic of consistently high standards in many areas and moments of individual brilliance. The out­ standing director was once again Graham Maclean, both with his work at the Holein-the-Wall (notably the set for Edward the Second) and the Australian Opera Company. On a more modest scale the ingeniously economical sets of Jas Cart­ wright at the G reenroom must be mentioned, where again and again a minute area had to be restructured to give the illusion of space, each time in a totally new way.

Guest directors shone, and resident directors defined their strengths and weak­ nesses more precisely. A part from Omodei’s two widely differing con­ tributions (O’Neill and Shakespeare), Edgar Metcalfe helped My Fat Friend to sparkle with the kind of professional panache this kind of brittle work needs.

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 43

The Year’s Theatre

SUKVEY77 Aarne Neeme was again impressive in the Australian plays, but rarely succeeded entirely with the commercial comedies and th rille rs , when one often has the impression of wasted talent, like a race­ horse being harnessed to a primitive waterpump. Andrew Ross (also Youth Director for the Playhouse) was clearly the right man in the right place in the Greenroom, where his most successful work was done with Ashes and Going Home. John Milson’s sense of style dominated at the Hole in a Jekyll and Hyde way — either concentrating on charm and sparkle (the Shaw play and Travesties) or attacking the deeper layer of the imagination, (Crossing Niagara and Edward the Second).

Acting honours arose in some unexpec­ ted places. While one expected fireworks from the v isito rs G ordon C h a te r, (Catherine wheels), Tim Brooke-Taylor (little sparklers), Old Tote (nothing), the real impact came from familiar per­ formers maturing or extending their range.

Notable here was Peter Rowley, return­ ing to Perth after some years, and suddenly revealing great versatility, playing the deadbeat in R om eril’s Bastardy, and a couple of comic grotes­ ques in Martello Towers and Treats, (both totally different but equally funny).

Leslie Wright, too, was allowed a break from his rough-diamond image (though still retaining this in Brass Hat to the point of caricature). His performance in Yester­ day’s News as the smooth stockbroker showed a whole dimension of his range that is too rarely used. Of the women, Joan Sydney broke new ground in changing herself physically, and with a new, slimmer image, her stage personality has subtly altered, adding dignity to moments of pathos and refining her comedy.

The actor with the greatest number of opportunities to dazzle was Robert van Mackelenberg, with roles as diverse as the sinister Japanese in Happy End, Napo­ leon in Man o f Destiny, Blondin in Crossing Niagara, Edward the Second, and the manic husband in the Going Bananas playlet entitled The Flaw. This actor has an intelligent, nervy approach to his roles that adds intensity without ever toppling over into the hammy.

Alan Fletcher, although uneven, was the most promising newcomer, in particular his Orlando in As You Like It, whilst single performances of excellence were Gerald Hitchcock in Long Day’s Journey, Jeff Kelso in Inner Voices, Robert Faggetter in O f Mice and Men, and a truly eccen­ tric Jacques (As You Like It) by Karl Zwicky.

44 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

William Shoubridge: Dance Survey 1977 Unless something of overwhelming im­ pact happens in the next few years, the years 1976/1977 will go down as the period in which the dance scene in Australia faced one of its greatest shakeups ever.

One wonders when and if the dust finally settles, things will ever be the same again.

With almost constant changes in per­ sonnel (especially Artistic Directors) there is a general apprehension as to whether anything lasting will ever be achieved because the foundations of good work (a settled security for a couple of years together) are conspicuous by their absence.

We have seen the departure of Robert Helpmann and Anne Woolliams within practically a year of each other.

Back in late 1975, the Adelaide based Australian Dance Theatre was disbanded under its former Director, Elizabeth Dalman. It was kept in abeyance for a year and then in 1977 rose from the ashes under British born Artistic Director Jonathon Taylor.

It became, by way of convenience of both states, the offical state Dance Com­ pany of both Victoria and South Australia, an exigency brought about by the financial collapse and disbandment of the 30 years old Ballet Victoria in 1975/76.

In Sydney, the Director Jaap Flier, who had previously resigned from ADT in Adelaide, and who had served a good pur­ pose by imbuing a certain professionalism into the Dance Company (NSW) resigned from that company as Artistic Director in 1976 and the young Australian Ballet dancer Graeme Murphy became leader of the company.

As far as the dance scene in Tasmania, Western Australia and Queensland is con­ cerned, little of great moment seemed to happen there and very few professional performances were mounted, but more of that anon.

The question is, have all these changes brought young, fresh life into the dance in this country or have they merely served to create uncertain ground, a situation wherein dancers have got sick of making the effort and have decided that the only place worth trying is a dance company in England or Europe, leaving the scene here to totter along as best it can?

One must remember that throughout the world, dancers are forever leaving this and that company and going off to widen their

scope and incorporate new, or at least in­ terestingly different trends.

It’s a position brought about by being intensely self-disciplined, and, having the spectre of a very short performing life before them, wanting to cram as much into it as possible.

But a good and innovative, active dance company is based on repertoire, and of having its dancers already knowing the repertoire so that new works can con­ tinually be slotted in. If you have a cons­ tant and great turnover of personnel, the pieces have to be retaught anew and the building process bogs down: This is the trouble constantly facing the Dance Company and the ADT, the tur­ nover is large and seemingly unstoppable.

The situation is probably made much worse for the other smaller state com­ panies.

With the growing appeal of the Dance Company and ADT, dancers from the smaller companies will gravitate towards them, for the same reason that they will sooner or later want to go overseas; new works, new interests.

But at least 1977 has seen good, con­ structive work being done by those two major state companies.

The ADT still has to assert itself in the mind of the public, but its audiences are steadily growing, as are the Dance Com­ pany’s. People are becoming aware that modern dance is not at all protracted, tor­ tuous, or self congratulatory.

Both companies are building their hones on choreographers springing up from within. I know that a good or great choreographer is probably one of the rarest beings in the modern performing arts, but even if the majority of works created are of journeyman level, derivative and undefined, they show signs of effort and impetus towards something unique.

Witness Andris Toppe’s Toccatta for the Dance Company.

There’s innovation as well, a concern for things over and above the ingenious tying up of steps, viz Ian Spink’s choreo/political work Two Numbers or the rarely seen and now disbanded Dance Exchange in Sydney and Melbourne, pushing the terms of dance and movement to their limits and frontiers.

The ADT already is formulating an “image” that sets it apart from the other companies, even though it is still frantical­ ly trying to extend its repertoire.

It p erfo rm s B ruce’s W ings and Weekend with as much conviction as ever Ballet Rambert did. Taylor’s Star's End is Fire, Earth, Air, Water

The Year’s Theatre

SUKVEY77 as electrifying as it was when Ballet Vic­ toria first performed it. In November of this year th at com pany staged its choreographic season in the Space of the Adelaide Festival Centre, all of its pieces drawn from the choreographic efforts of its own dancers.

The Dance Company (NSW) continues with its public performances of works in its studio theatre at Woolloomooloo, giving a first airing of new works, which can then be worked on, defined and/or elaborated on before they are given a showing in a major city theatre season.

The Dance Company is showing more cohesion and group feeling now than it was this time last year or in 1975. When it did Tetley’s Pierrot Lunaire and Circles, the steps were performed well enough, the audiences in the know where happy to see these pieces at long last, but it didn’t seem to project. It was a sketch of the real thing.

Now there is a spontenaity and deter­ mination in practically everything it does: Glimpses, Fire, Earth, Air, Water, Gather­ ing o f Vagrants, Two Numbers, Tip and so on.

What makes it work now is a feeling of group identity and that feeling is due in no small part to Graeme Murphy. He’s a per­ son who wants to make the company unique but to maintain its heterogeneous nature, not having it typecast with one manner of choreography.

The feeling of trust and encouragement he imbues makes for an open-ended affair and can only be constructive in the long run. If only the reactionary and conser­ vative Sydney audiences would realise what a hive of activity and creativity is go­ ing on within this group.

On other fronts we have the laudable ex­ ample of the Choreographic Festivals presented yearly in Canberra. The mere fact that all the professional dance com­ panies in Australia can come together and present newly created works made special­ ly for them, share ideas and compare stan­ dards, bodes well for the future.

The Queensland Modern and Contem­ porary Dance Company has returned from its (self-financed) trip to the Edinburgh Festival where it was described by John Percival, dance critic of the London Times as “the best amateur dance company I have seen anywhere” .

One only needs to add the rejoinder that they could do a lot better stuff and far more of it if they were financed sufficiently by the Queensland Government to turn completely professional.

Of the West Australian Ballet and the Tasmanian Ballet, there is little I can say, 46 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

not having seen them, but apparently, from those who did see them at the 1977 Dance Festival in Canberra, they were an able and disciplined body of dancers only shackled by the lack of really interesting ch o re o g ra p h y . A gain an exigency doubtless brought about by the timidity of their audiences and the lack of something definite to say in their choreographers.

The Australian Ballet, though, is the company that personifies for many people, wrong though that assumption may be, the Dance in Australia.

If it is a true barometer of the health of dance here, things don’t seem to be that rosy for the future.

There are going to be a lot of resig­ nations at the end of 1977, Kelvin Coe, their star male dancer among them. At every first night performance the air is thick with back room politics and filled with daggers figuratively drawn.

Anne Woolliams, having finished the new Swan Lake (and what a box office smasher that is going to be for them) has resigned, Dame Peggy van Praagh, the founder, guide and “ Friar Lawrence” of the Company has returned as Artistic Director.

Yet this is only a stop-gap measure. Van Praagh is only there to keep the Company together, give it some cohesion, stop it from being totally disheartened and essen­ tially to train “a former dancer of the Company” to take over as Director in a year's time. Just who this is going to be nobody is saying. But it shows that there are no offers being made to able and capable people from overseas, who have shown their talents already in the field of Artistic Directorship.

Apparently the reason is that few of them will accept the terms of the contract, or rather one especial clause of the con­ tract which states in effect that the Ad­ ministrator can over-ride any decision made by the Artistic Director. It is this pernicious clause, in itself a denial of the very office of Artistic Director that is ac­ ting as the stumbling block towards getting a good or even great dance director from overseas.

It is yet another example of the Ad­ ministration, headed by Peter Bahen, sticking its nose into affairs that are none of its concern.

Granted, all decisions concerning works and repertoire should be made in consulta­ tion between the Director, Administrator and the Board, but we have the case of the sudden disappearance of Asker's Mon­ key’s in a Cage from the Adelaide season (and its sudden reappearance when Woolliams raised the ruckus after her

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The Year’s Theatre

SURVEY77 abrupt resignation) to make us wonder whether the company is being ruled in terms of artistic progression or the terms of the auditors ledger.

I really don’t know if the Board of Directors is deaf or dumb or both in this case. Surely they read the papers, surely they sense the unease and disquiet in the Company?

It’s high time an overhaul of the Board was made, and new selections made on the vote of the dancers and the Company’s audiences.

There must be a sympathetic Board with an eye towards artistic excellence and an A dm inistration th at minds its own business, for a company to grow in strength. The situation at the moment in the Australian Ballet is practically un­ tenable; it is disheartening its dancers and hardly puts the company’s audiences at ease.

oration of his overseas reputation as an innovative adm inistrator who moves mountains before breakfast and abhors the very idea of letting grass grow under his feet. The low-key premonitions of winds of change which I reported in my interview in the November issue of Theatre Australia became instantly full-blown on the first Hemmings working day at the helm of the AO — Tuesday, October 4, the Monday having regrettably been a holiday — when he unveiled his plans for the 1978 Sydney opera season.

But the most significant aspects of his press conference were not the explicit ones, exciting though many of the specific plans for 1978 and the hints for 1979 and beyond are; just as the most far-reaching aspects of his assumption of national operatic power — for that is what being general manager of the Australian Opera implies — go far beyond the obvious personality differential between this brusque, busi­ nesslike Englishman and his suave, music­ ally talented, Danish predecessor.

David Gyger

In order to place Hemmings’ arrival on the Australian opera scene in perspective, it is necessary to go back 21 years — to the establishment, in 1956, of the hermaphro­ ditic parent of the Australian Opera, the Elizabethan Trust Opera Company. The ETOC was formed almost at the same moment in Australian history that Joern Utzon's design was being chosen for the Sydney Opera House, and the gradual transformation of his dream into pre­ stressed concrete and glass and off-white tile during the 50s and 60s and early 70s served as a perpetual nagging reminder of the fact that suitable performing com­ panies would have to be found — or rather developed — if the complex was not to become a colossally expensive white ele­ phant as soon as it was completed, and Sydney to become a laughing stock in world cultural circles.

Without a doubt the most important Aus­ tralian operatic event of 1977 took place off stage, not on. It was the assumption of control of the national company by that live-wire of an Englishman-by-way-of Scotland, Peter Hemmings — who re­ placed John Winther at the helm of the Australian Opera on October 1.

It will of course be a year or more before the full impact of the Hemmings era is upon us, so far in advance must most of the creative planning in this most complex of the performing art forms be done; but even before he had officially assumed power Hemmings had given strong corrob­

It was fortuitous for the cause of opera in this country that what was always intended to be a comprehensive per­ forming arts complex (with precedence over opera clearly given even in the terms of the original design competition to con­ certs and large-scale drama) somehow got lumbered with the inaccurate name that it did; for there is no doubt that this accident or downright error, whichever you prefer, was a major factor in the phenomenally rapid rise of the Australian Opera from nothing to at least the periphery of inter­ national standards in the mere 17 years between 1956 and 1973. Nor is it surpris­ ing, in view of the long-standing historical

Opera Survey 1977

link between the Sydney Opera House and the burgeoning Australian Opera, that in the very process of striving to do itself and the nation proud by staging an impressive opening season on Bennelong Point the company should have deviated, in the short term, from strict attention to its national franchise.

Nevertheless, two major flaws in long­ term policy became deeply ingrained into the operations of the Australian Opera in the heady days of the early 70s, when the Opera House was about to open, eco­ nomic times were good and the first Federal Labor Government in more than 20 years was doing everything in its power to foster a new sense of national pride, particularly in the arts.

It was perfectly understandable — even perhaps desirable — when John Winther took over the reins of the Australian Opera practically on the eve of the opening of the Opera House, that the company should concentrate on mounting an impressive opening season there almost regardless of cost; and that, having quite quickly proved it was possible to stage effective opera there, even on a large scale, it should play there most if not all the year and con­ centrate on developing itself into a truly great performing institution, national in the sense of being a symbol of national achievement in its chosen art form rather than in the sense of manifesting a physical presence throughout a large and sparsely populated land.

Had times continued to be as good as they were in 1973-74, when everything sold out and governments were amenable to a new and prestigious cause, such a policy might even have been tenable long enough for a world-class AO based in Sydney to be augmented by a second world-class AO based in Melbourne and even eventually a third world-class AO based in Adelaide; though whether it would have been desir­ able for all to be administered from a central Strategic Opera Command firmly embedded in the bowels of the Sydney Opera House is a highly debatable point.

But times have changed so much in the past few years that it is no longer worth speculating about such things; not only are funds not available for the continuation of such burgeoning development but very careful husbandry must be practised if we are even to maintain the level of opera activity already achieved.

The twin flaws in long-term policy which arose during the early 70s, of course, were that the AO became committed to too many performances and not enough tourTHEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 47

The Year’s Theatre

SUKVEY77 ing: too many performances for its artists to cope with without massive overtime and the inevitable drop in artistic standards that results from overwork; not enough touring to fulfil the national role its massive Federal funding obliges it to accept.

Hemmings’ thoroughly logical, though superficially insane, solutions are to reduce the number of performances dramatic­ ally, reduce or at least stabilise prices by no longer charging the earth for big-name international stars like Sutherland and Te Kanawa, embark on a massive sub­ scription sales campaign, and increase sub­ stantially the amount of touring. The AO will be in residence at the Sydney Opera House for 26 weeks in 1978, and stage 11 operas there — much the same figures as for 1976 and 1977. But it will give only 100 performances, a reduction of more than a third from the 1977 figure; and the cost savings, not to mention the artistic bene­ fits, should be immense.

But such fundamentals are only the beginning of the Hemmings prescription for what has already been labelled Stage III of the development of the Australian Opera by its chairman, Charles Berg.

Stage I was the build-up to the opening of the Sydney Opera House in 1973. Stage II the years since during which the company, without any major increase in its strength, has forged ahead artistically, sought out and conquered the difficulties of the Sydney Opera House, acquired sufficient stature to put itself on the world opera map and look like staying there.

Perhaps inevitably, Stage I was a time of great administrative turmoil, as the burgeoning AO too often for comfort went through hierarchical upheavals worthy of the most improbably bizarre of operatic plots. Stage II was the Winther years, though of course most of the opening Opera House season was inextricably set before he arrived on the scene. And now, with Peter Hemmings just having taken over the helm, we stand poised at the thres­ hold of Stage III. How will the Hem­ mings year be different?

It is safe to predict, I think, that they will be at least as artistically provocative as the Winther years; those who rejoiced at the departure of Winther on the grounds they would hopefully be spared new, diffi­ cult and/or unfamiliar works obviously are not acquainted either with Hemmings the man, his track record with Scottish National Opera or his expressed senti­ ments on the subject of repertory. They will also see a much higher Australian Opera profile outside of Sydney, but with­ 48 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

out implying a reduced profile on Bennelong Point. More productions will be designed for touring — which means tour­ ing by air. Not only interstate, but to New Zealand, Hong Kong and Manila which are already being seriously mooted for im m inent visits. And there will be markedly better relations between the national company and the regional ones than in the past: a decentralised kind of development, if you like, to contrast with the centralism of the Winther era.

Lest it be thought I am aligning myself with some kind of knock-Winther-nowhe’s-gone campaign, though, let me hasten to add that — in exactly the historical con­ text in which they in fact occurred — the Winther years were quite probably the best thing that could have happened not only for Sydney and the Sydney Opera House and A ustralia’s international cultural reputation, but for the long-term cause of opera in Australia.

For indefensible as it may have seemed to people in other States for the AO to sit in Sydney over-catering for the opera public of one city augmented by the inter­ national sight-seeing public, these overly sedentary years have undeniably pro­ voked a good deal more rapid escalation of artistic standards in the Australian pro­ vinces than could have been achieved had the company been paying “ proper” atten­ tion to its national commitment. Other States, all but left to their own devices by the national company, have been forced to develop their own companies or do without opera. It is worth asking quite seriously, at this particular moment, whether South Australia, Queensland, Western Australia and Victoria would now have as strong State companies as they do had the AO toured as widely as it should have during the early 70s.

Anyone who thinks perhaps they might would be well advised to contemplate, for a moment, the plight of New South Wales.

Yes, plight; for it is the only Australian State without an official State opera com­ pany. Sydney’s several minor companies do much on a shoestring or less; but they live so deeply in the shadow of the con­ tinuing presence of the AO that none can aspire to the sort of prestige already achieved by several of the State com­ panies. The closest to a NSW State com­ pany is Canberra Opera, which does in fact visit some of the larger NSW country centres in addition to servicing the nation’s capital; it could even, with sufficient care­ ful nurturing, yet become the NSW equiv­ alent of a regional company in the not-toodistant future.

Everywhere in Australia, over the past decade, governments have been prone to pour money into cultural complexes of which the Sydney Opera Hose is only the most spectacular. Perth and Adelaide already have such complexes; Melbourne is getting one, albeit with excruciating slowness; Brisbane has one on the drawing boards. In Adelaide, in November last, we even saw a State Government which already had the most utilitarian per­ forming arts complex in the country, if not the most beautiful, buying another theatre as a permanent home for its opera com­ pany. But in most places (South Australia under Dunstan being the notable excep­ tion) the politicians have been a good deal less interested in funding the companies necessary to bring such complexes to life.

But whatever the reasons, the Winther years have seen the development of the State opera companies in most parts of Australia to the point where it is feasible for Hemmings to talk, as he does with increasing confidence almost from week to week, of joint seasons involving the AO and regional companies, to be sold as package deals to subscribers. To talk — and really mean it, so far as one can tell — of meaningful AO assistance to the regional companies through lending them principals, technical staff, sets and/or costumes. And even to contemplate seriously (e.g., publicly) the possibility of bringing State Opera of South Australia’s 1978 Adelaide Festival production of Sir Michael Tippett’s A Midsummer Marri­ age to the Sydney Opera House.

Looking back at 1977, from the grossly over-simplified vantage point one must in an article such as this, it was the year in which regional opera in several cities showed real signs of coming of age. I per­ sonally saw productions in Adelaide, Bris­ bane, Canberra and Melbourne as well as Sydney; and no longer felt obliged to preface every review of a non-AO produc­ tion with the qualification — implied if not explicitly stated — that “of course, it wasn’t fully professional standard, but The AO had a pretty good year too, and will have a better 1978 — if a very dif­ ferent one. And the most important event of the year, as I said right at the start, was the switch of helmsman at the Australian Opera — not because it signified a dump­ ing of John Winther and his policies, but because the advent of Peter Hemmings symbolises the end of one important era in Australia’s opera history, and the begin­ ning of a new and even more exciting one.

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Counter Bookings for all attractions open on Monday,

February 13 at Opera House Box Office and agencies.

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 49

Geoffrey Hutton on The Star System

Twilight of the Gods In the years after the Flood, when I was a fledgling Film critic, I learned about the star system, then at its peak. Hollywood had sold movies on names from its earliest days, and those who could speak English survived the change from the silents; the others disappeared. The big names I recall were Gloria Swanson, Joan Crawford, the Continental queens — Garbo and Dietrich — and variously talented or untalented ac­ tors — Gable, Colman, young master Flynn and others I forget. Films were sold on names; you went to see the star and identify with her (him). The films were known as “vehicles” , something for the star to take a ride in. If the writing and direction were good, that was a bonus.

My instructor in these matters was the local boss of Hoyts, not a bad man I'm sure, but as angry as a high priest when one of the gods in his pantheon was criticised.

After all, millions had been spent in creating personae for these people, some of whom were reported to be very ordinary.

Whole magazines described their private lives in interviews they had never given.

They were valuable properties. “ Last week you said a character actor stole the show” , the Hoyts man would say. “ We don't advertise to get people in to see a support player. It's the box office that talks sense, not you smart alecs.”

Naively I asked him what was a star, when did an actor turn into a celestial body? “ A star is somebody with their name above the title,” he said. “Greta Garbo in The Painted Veil, not The Painted Veil with Greta Garbo. If their names are underneath the title they’re only Featured Players. Get it?”

Moving to the world of the live theatre was entering a different world, a world of people not shadows, people you could see leaving the stage door, you were sent to in­ terview or even met at the bar over the road. I used to slip into rehearsals to see them working with the director and ad­ justing to the rank and file of the cast.

A measure of team work is essential on the stage, even if the star is a personality actor. The bit part actors are working to get as much effect as they can without the fear that they will be clipped out in the cut­ ting room.

In the 1930s the Australian stage was in the intensive care ward after being run over by the talking pictures. The long battle to establish a professional, subsidised theatre had not even begun. For the repertory ac­ tor there was nothing to fall back on except radio, so there was no continuity of ex­ perience or training.

The commercial theatre would hold auditions, pick a supporting cast for a new production and send the unsuccessful applicants home. The jobs lasted as long as 50 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

the show, or with luck, the season of shows. Actors with ambition and staying power headed for the West End. In a theatre run on the star system commercial managements worked on the tried policy that leading players must carry the brand, Made in Great Britain or the USA. Apart from the talent drain, the effect on the Australian theatre was, of course, crippling. There was nowhere to learn the job of acting except with somebody like Gregan McMahon or Brett Randall, im­ ports themselves who had stayed behind to work with the natives. Doris Fitton fought her lonely battle in Sydney with exemplary courage but without what the military call logistical support.

The picture had not always been so bleak. When it emerged from convict days the Australian theatre inherited the prac­ tises of the English stage in the period of the actor-managers. George Coppin and his wife, Mrs Watkins Burrows, came from Liverpool in the 1840s to set themselves up on the stage, at the ticket box and in real estate. J. C. Williamson, also with wife, Maggie Moore, followed in 1870. They were performers, directors and business men. They made money and sometimes they lost it.

When they made it they imported big name actors, like Gustavus Vaughan Brooke, a Shakespearean actor of the traditional school. A stream of visiting celebrities followed the affluence of the 1850s, culminating in a tour of “the divine Sarah" Bernhardt who played Sardou to audiences which were too polite to admit that they couldn't understand French.

We associate the period with ham — the big voice, studied gesture, the tendency to “tear a passion to rags” — but we can only guess. Plays were rushed on the stage with very little rehearsal time. Acting was a trade and the star was the thing. The object of the managers was to get bums on seats and the star system was the most obvious way to do it.

But for all the colonial attitude of this derivative theatre, popular plays began to be written and produced in Australia, and popular stars emerged. Bland H olt’s melodramas were not designed to appeal to the snobs, nor were the mixed bills, in­ herited from London, with a comedy, a melodrama, a few dances from the band and a farce to end it all. Nellie Stewart, the girl from Woolloomooloo, was the reign­ ing queen of a succession of Australian stars, a charmer with a talent for every­ thing from high drama to musical comedy.

There is a tendency to disregard all this as old hat, but it was the new blood of the theatre which dug back in search of folk heroes. Nellie Melba was the greatest star of them all, the most famous Australian in

history. Opera lives on the past and glorifies the specialist so she was an ideal subject for Hibberd’s lively sketch. She blazed the trail followed by scores of singers who have populated the opera stages of Europe and America ever since.

Melba was a star, not an earnest performer in a team. So is Joan Sutherland. The director has become more important in re­ cent years but he has to bow the knee to the prima donna.

In the drama the rules are different.

Casting back I can find native-born stars only in the popular musical theatre — Madge Elliott and Cyril Ritchard, the charm couple who had made their names abroad before being invited home, Gladys Moncrieff — “our Glad” — whose Maid o f the Mountains kept on bobbing up until it became a joke, and June Bronhill whose high-riding career began too late.

The scene today may be healthier. The subsidised opera and ballet companies are national and they encourage what are known as “ resident artists” who don't have to go barn-storming abroad before being accepted in their own country. The regional theatre companies, also propped up by official patronage, have never en­ couraged ego-trips. We have lost players of star quality, like Keith Michell, Leo McKern, Zoe Caldwell and Patricia Conolly. Others like Jill and Diana Perryman have resisted the temptation.

The playwright and the director have mov­ ed up the social scale. For all their specialised performers the ballet and opera sell the work, not the star performer.

This approach is almost certainly good for the theatre. The adulation showered on stars like Marie Tempest, who was said never to have appeared in a worthwhile play in her life, belongs to an era which we have no wish to revive. At least, I have none, and I saw her once exerting her charm on a West End audience with its clapping hands at the ready. Personal magnetism is an added force to an actor, allied to dramatic intelligence which was not always considered necessary. Are we in danger of losing one by being absorbed in the other?

A few years ago I had the embarrassing experience of sitting on a platform next to Michell who was presenting some awards for Best Actor, Best Actress, and so forth.

As a member of a critics’ panel I had a hand in judging the year’s prize-giving and felt something of a stooge. We had seen more plays than most others and were handed Olympian powers of decision about something which, in the end, was a matter of opinion.

At the time Michell was playing in a potted Shakespeare programme with Googie Withers. They were both highly ac-

complished and used to the limelight, but 1 was shaken to hear him say that it wasn’t The Bard who counted, it was Burbage.

Not those words scribbled on sheets of paper but the great actor-manager who gave them body and got the crowds in. The star was the thing, not the play.

This is something I have never believed and never shall. If Burbage had spent his time playing Peel or Greene or even Beau­ mont and Fletcher he would have been forgotten like a lot of other strutters and thunderers. Perhaps he would have filled the Globe for a while as so many name players filled Australian theatres in the 19th century, but we would have had to look up their names to know who they were.

The Star system is not dead in London, where a handful of knights and dames (and Lord Olivier) help to maintain some sort of hierarchy in the more conventional sec­ tors of theatre. Nor is it dead in New York where all kinds of theatre from Broadway to off-off-Broadway seem to pulsate side by side. But Melba’s advice to give ’em muck would cause more raised eyebrows today than it did when she was at her peak.

The day of the matinee idol and the scratch company dominated by a trumpet voice like Wolfit’s seems to be over.

If we want B grade stuff we can get it for the price of the electricity on the Box. From the late 1940s up to the 1960s we were visited by a series of prestige com­ panies from England and we flocked to see Olivier, Gielgud, Richardson, Lewis Casson and Sybil Thorndike, partly because we saw them in films, partly because the Old Vic and the Shakespeare Memorial — now more grandly the Royal Shakespeare — were great names in themselves. Even if the company had been thrown together for the tour audiences felt they were buying some sort of guarantee of excellence.

It was an experience worth having for theatregoers who had not seen the West End stage or the festivals around Great Britain. They offered a yardstick, something to measure our own performers and performances against. Their produc­

tions of the classics were also remarkably cheeky and irreverent at times, adding some yeast to the dough in the local bakeries. These grand tours seem to have been one more victim of cost-inflation, the wearying of the British taxpayer at paying to export British culture and, of course, the subsidising of indigenous ballet, opera and drama by Australian governments.

The submergence of the leading player into a team never became a reality in these traditional companies. The arrogance of the star who directs his own play without submitting to a second opinion has been exposed by many critics. Repertory com­ panies in the old style, which would per­ form a short list of plays, switching them from night to night and using different players in the leading roles have never quite caught on in this country. Even with a cast of highly professional players there are some who naturally fill the more demanding and dominant roles.

Alexander Woollcott, I think, told a story of one of Broadway’s great ladies, Kate Cornell, who decided to form a reper­ tory company in which all would be equal, everyone would have a big role and nobody would feel too important to take a walk-on part from time to time. She approached a well-known veteran and asked him to join.

He did not care to play second or third fid­ dle and demurred. “ I am not going to be the star” , she assured him. “ Nobody will be. One day I may be playing Cleopatra, the next I may just be carrying a tray.” “ I know what will be on that tray” , he muttered, “John the Baptist’s head” .

This is a hearsay story, told in my own words because I can’t remember it exactly.

In the professional, subsidised theatres which now flourish in what were the wastelands of this country, we get to know certain performers, not only the largerthan-life Frank Thrings (sorry, there is no plural), but the all-round professionals who can move from character acting to personality roles when the occasion demands.

Since mass entertainment has been handed over to TV, the cinema and Rugby League clubs the situation is likely to re­ main that way. The national ballet and opera companies rotate their stars as much as possible, within obviously narrow limits, but they present themselves under their collective titles. In discussing a new play I hear people say, “ Have you seen the new Williamson? What did you really think about the Patrick White?” Not so much the actors but the writers. In films, of course, it is the directors. In the attacking groups, the theatres of participation and propaganda, it is the event. To be trendy you say, “ It was a happening” .

The “new vaudeville” is at heart in­ tellectual, even if it is not a literary theatre.

It is lively, noisy and full of shocks, but it is not mass theatre like the old vaudeville, which was a blend of vulgarity, senti­ mentality, acrobatic skills and sheer per­ sonality. It was the descendant of the old music hall and it depended on its funny men. There was always one star whose job was to capture the audience and hold it.

We cannot expect to see another Mo fit­ ting into the format of the Pram Factory or the Nimrod. There must be some about but they have nowhere to play.

In an attempt to attract mass audiences from TV, theatre managers have tried borrowing pop figures so that they can be seen in the flesh. This attempt at trans­ vestism only pays off if they know the tech­ niques of the stage, which many of them obviously don’t.

When genuine teamwork occurs on the stage it can be immensely exciting, involv­ ing the audience as well as the players. The cult of personality can be as stultifying in the threatre, I believe, as it has been in politics. Except in ballet (Nureyev and Fonteyn) or in opera (Sutherland) I can’t see much chance of the star system raising its head again in this country because the theatre is working in different directions.

But the ancient Romans had their stars, two centuries of English theatre have left an honour role of names and little else.

And the Elizabethans had their Bur­ bage. The ghosts may walk again.

" J

THE O LD TOTE DRAMATHEATRE TU O Sydney

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Shakespeare, JANUARY 2 - FEBRUARY 7.

Shakespeare's wonderful vision of the supernatural and the earthly on Prospero's magic island.

PARADETHEATRE T in o C 'A T Anzac Parade Kensington

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and the CANARY

John Willard. FEBRUARY 8 - MARCH 21.

A comedy-thriller to keep you on the edge of your seat.

Bookings: By phone or personally at the Parade Theatre (663 6122), Anzac Parade, Kensington.

Opposite University of N.S.W. By mail, to The Manager, Parade Theatre, P.O. Box 1, Kensington 2033.

ALL SEATS: $7.60 (eves.) $6.60 (mats.) plus booking fee, 40c.

EXCELLENT PARTY CONCESSIONS, STUDENT AND PENSIONER CONCESSIONS. FOR ALL ENQUIRIES, PLEASE PHONE 6636122.

52 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

John McCallum Billings, Broadsheets and Brochures

It is ironic that we call theatre pro­ grammes and posters (and magazines) theatrical ephemerae when the theatre itself is such an ephemeral art form. From an historical point of view they are often all we have left to record the performances — and for this reason are avidly collected by libraries and research institutes.

A book such as Isadore Brodsky’s Sydney Takes The Stage is packed with il­ lustrations of old programmes, handbills and advertisements. There are over 10,000 programmes, from Melbourne theatres, in the collection at the Latrobe Library, and thousands more in other libraries around Australia. Old programmes do not yet seem to command the high prices in the rare book market that old plays do, but that will no doubt come.

As every theatregoer knows a theatre programme is a collection of adver­ tisements for restaurants and fur coats, and little summaries of the achievements of the cast. (For example, where but in a theatre programme would you learn, of Bob Ellis: “An ex-Seventh Day Adventist who votes Labor, he once had a poem read on ‘Quality Street’ and covered the King of Tonga with ink.”)

It tells you how long you have at interval to get to the bar (a more important service in the old days when you had to get to the nearest pub and back) and usually some background information on the play or p layw rig h t. A lan E dw ards, of the Queensland Theatre Company, claims to read his programme from cover to cover, including the ads; and presumably most people find themselves reading theirs in idle moments, for much the same reasons one reads the back of cornflakes packets.

Like cornflakes packets, however, there is not often a lot of good reading in programmes. Most theatres assume that it is not the place for extended essays on serious subjects raised by the play, or even brief articles. At best the programmes are pot-pourris of interesting or amusing snippets; at worst they are nothing but ads and a cast list.

Undoubtedly the best programmes in Australia — best in the sense of having entertaining and informative reading matter— are those produced by the South Australian Theatre Company. Under the general editorship of Margaret Day, these are like little handbooks to the play and production; witty and slightly quirky so that there is no sense of being informed patronizingly for one’s own good. They are entertaining and, in the case of The Cherry Orchard, produced in April 1977, quite

moving, if a bit preoccupied with Chekhov’s sickness and death. I like the anecdote of the American serviceman who exclaimed after a performance, “Cripes if I'd known there was going to be all this fuss I would have bought it myself in the first act.”

Wit is a bit light on generally. The programme to Down Under, at the Stables Theatre in Sydney in 1976, stands out almost on its own. Apart from the already quoted comment on Ellis, the succinct biography of Lorna Lesley must rank as a masterpiece of that art — here quoted in its entirety: “ First appeared on the ABC wearing Bri Nylon Pyjamas and riding a camel. She has since devloped her talents and now plays country virgins.”

The opportunity in a programme to im­ part odd little scraps of information or useful knowledge is not always fully used.

The crusading zeal which must have led the National Theatre in Perth to devote the whole of their admittedly short pro­ gramme for The Department to the sec­ ond law of thermodynamics is sadly lack­ ing elsewhere.

A now notorious example in Sydney is the programme for the Tote’s production of White’s new play Big Toys. As a reflec­ tion of the disappointment some people felt with the play the programme consisted entirely of tall thin pictures of the cast and production staff; you could read it before you got your change. (The only interesting thing in it was the fact that although there was no costume designer the fashions had been styled by Victoria Alexander: a hint of the vacuous preoccupation with glamour found in many programmes.)

The pictures of course can be an appeal­ ing part. The S.A.T.C., again, used to have big cardboard fold-out programmes which, while not m adly in fo rm ativ e, had nevertheless some splendid artwork — in­ cluding a four-colour centrefold for Old Times in 1976. There is also a slight tendency to use the poster, suitably folded, as a programme. In the secondary role of historical document the pictures can be of great value.

The major subsidized theatres are the only ones, on the whole, who even pay lipservice to the idea of informative pro­ grammes.

The M.T.C. and the Old Tote usually throw in a few paragraphs and pictures giving social background if it is a period play, the M.T.C. perhaps having a slight edge in Finding out-of-the-way but in­

teresting things. The Q.T.C. programmes seem almost to be club newsletters, with a continuing ‘Dear Theatregoer’ column written in a very chatty personal style. The National Theatre in Perth, the poorest of the major companies, has very simple programmes — a limitation sometimes gloriously transcended by the zaniness of what they choose to include.

The commercial theatres tend to con­ centrate exclusively on the personalities of the performers, with full page portraits and som etim es chatty theatre-new s columns at the back. The smaller theatres on the whole restrict themselves to cast lists and biographies, with the occasional director’s statement on the play. The APG comes up with some mad stuff, such as the biographies of the Hills Family.

The irony of all this is that programmes seem the perfect means of educating audiences in the way most theatres would like. At the critics’ forums which we are always having there are often complaints that limited space in the big newspapers precludes the general educative role most critics see as part of their job. A 16 page programme would seem to have the oppor­ tunity to overcome that difficulty, even allowing space for credits, ads and lists of the board of directors.

In an extreme form an example of the possibilities is a programme of the N.S.W. Conservatorium of Music for a production in June 1974 called Noh/Theatre, “a per­ formed analysis and contem porary application of the traditional Japanese Noh Theatre in words, movement and music.” The programme was 20 pages of densely packed notes and charts, apparent­ ly to be consulted in conjunction with the performance. This was unusual in being a performance with a specific educative function, but there is no reason why the principle could not be applied in theatres where the current vogue for Entertain­ ment rules. Not that programmes should become heavy academic pills to swallow, but simply that, as connoisseurs of all types know, knowledge of what you’re en­ joying makes it all more fun.

The programme for a recent Sydney University Dramatic Society production of George Darrell’s The Sunny South used contemporary newspaper articles to create vividly the theatrical atmosphere within which the play was first presented. A sim­ ple, entertaining Australian melodrama thereby became also historically in­ teresting, suggesting some of the richer traditions of Australian theatre which might rewardingly be drawn on today.

THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 53

NEW SOUTH WALES A R T S C O U N C IL OF N EW S O U T H WALES (31 6611) The Dale Woodward Rod Puppet Workshop (Primary schools tour, Hunter and north-west districts, from 6 Feb).

Modern Mime Theatre (Primary schools tour, south coast, from 6 Feb).

Doolan, by Richard Tulloch, with Jeni Caffin and Ray Anderson (touring primary schools, Hunter and north coast districts, from 6 Feb, in association with the Australian Theatre for Young People).

I Suppose I'd Better . . ., by Michael Cove (touring senior secondary schools, Hunter and north coast districts, in association with the Australian Theatre for Young People, from 6 Feb).

Wayne Roland Brown, multi-instrumentalist (schools tour, infants to secondary level, western districts and western Riverina, from 6 Feb).

Jan Carter, classical guitarist (touring secon­ dary schools, metropolitan, central west and south coast districts, from 6 Feb).

Stax o f Sax, the Contemporary Saxophone Quartet of Sydney (schools tour, infants to secondary, Sydney metropolitan area, from 6 Feb).

Bob Tillman and Friends, ventriloquist show (infants and primary school tour, south coast, Riverina and metropolitan areas, from 6 Feb).

M y Country, poetry reading by Leonard Teale (schools tour, infants to secondary level, Riverina district, from 6 Mar).

AUSTRALIAN OPERA (26 2976) Sydney Opera House (2 0588) Concert Hall: The Merry Widow (Lehar) in English: 2 Feb, 4 Feb (mat), 6, 8, 9 Feb, 11 Feb (mat). Conductor, Richard Bonynge; producer, Lotfi Mansouri; designer, Kristian Fredrikson.

With Joan Sutherland as the Widow, Ron Stevens or Pieter van der Stolk as Danilo.

Nabucco (Verdi) in Italian: 17, 20, 23 Feb, 25 Feb (mat), 28 Feb, 3 Mar. Conductor, Richard Bonynge or William Reid; producer, Bernd Benthaak; designer, Tom Lingwood. With Robert Allman as Nabucco, Orianna Santunione as Abigaille.

AUSTRALIAN THEATRE FOR YOUNG PEOPLE (699 9322) Workshops at N.I.D.A. (Saturdays, 10 a.m. to 1 p.m., from 11 Feb).

Armidale 78, regional schools tour of four plays (Armidale and north west districts from 20 Feb).

BALMAIN BIJOU (82 0198) Let M y People Come, music and lyrics by Earl Wilson Jr, original production by Phil Oesterman, Australian production by Peter Batey (continuing).

ENSEMBLE IN THE ROUND, Milsons Point (929 8877) The Prisoner o f Second Avenue, by Neil Simon, directed by Hayes Gordon, with Brian Young (to early Feb).

54 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 197S

GENESIAN (827 3023) Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott, directed and designed by Margaret Rieneke (to end Jan).

MARIAN STREET (498 3166) P S ., revealing aspects of Edith Piafs life in Paris. Devised by Libby Morris, directed by Alistair Duncan, with Bunny Gibson (from 3 Feb).

MARIONETTE THEATRE OF AUSTRALIA (357 1638) A litji in W onderland, adapted from an Australian book based on Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland by Richard Bradshaw, directed

by Richard Bradshaw. (Schools performances, music room, Sydney Opera House, from 7 Mar).

MUSIC HALL THEATRE RESTAURANT (909 8222) Lust fo r Power: or, Perils at Parramatta, written and directed by Michael Boddy, with Alton Harvey, John Allen, Anne Sender (con­ tinuing).

MUSIC LOFT THEATRE RESTAURANT (977 6585) The Toppano Family, with Lee Young. A new revue (from 1 Feb).

NEW BONAPARTES THEATRE RESTAURANT (357 2555 or 357 2596) Lady Jane Who?, written, choreographed and directed by Maggie Martin (continuing).

NEW THEATRE (519 3403) The Pirates o f Pal Mai, a topical satirical musical by Mona Brand and John Upton (con­ tinuing).

NIMROD (69 5003) Rock-ola, by Tim Gooding, directed by Richard Wherrett, designed by Brian Thomson.

With Kris McQuade, Jacki Weaver, Robin Ramsay, Tony Llewellyn-Jones (14 Jan to 26 Feb).

Curse o f the Starving Class, by Sam Shepard, directed by Ken Horler, designed by Larry Eastwood (from 5 Mar).

Downstairs: Everyman, by Rudi Krausmann; and Stubble and Marxisms, by Moya Hender­ son; directed by John Bell (28 Jan to 12 Mar).

Theatre Royal: The Club, by David William­ son, directed by John Bell, designed by Tom Bannerman. With Jeff Ashby, Drew Forsythe, Ron Graham, Ron Haddrick, Ivar Kants, Barry Lovett (7 Feb to 4 Mar).

OLD TOTE (663 6122) Drama Theatre, Opera House: The Tempest, by William Shakespeare, directed by Ted Craig, designed by Brian Nickless and Hugh Colman.

With Michael Craig, Jon Ewing, Ray Duparc, James Condon, Ralph Cotterill, Celia de Burgh, Russell Kiefel (to 14 Feb).

Miss Julie, by August Strindberg; and Black Comedy, by Peter Shaffer; directed by Ted Craig (from 1 Mar).

The Cat and the Canary, by John Willard, directed by Peter Collingwood, designed by James Ridewood (from 8 Feb).

OSCARS HOLLYWOOD PALACE THEA TRE RESTA URA NT, Sans Souci (529 4455) Fasten Your Seat Belts, by Don Battye and Peter N. Pinne, musical director Garey Campbell, costume designs Bill Goodwin. Cast of five singer/dancers (from 4 Feb).

A.C.T. CANBERRA PLAYHOUSE (49 6488) Tintookie Man Peter Scriven’s Puppets (6-18 Feb).

CANBERRA THEATRE (49 8211) Steptoe and Son Down Under (9-11 Jan).

Australian Opera season (27 Feb — 19 March).

H IBISCUS THEA TRE RESTAURANT (51 3131) Cruise o f a Lifetime by Ron Fraser and John McKellar. Directed by James Hutchins, with Robert Corowra, Doug Williams and Deborah Gordon.

LA K ESIDE HOTEL 5T H FLOOR THEATRE RESTAURANT (47 6244) We’re Just Good Friends musical dinner/show devised by James Hutchins with Mary Vincent, Winston Williams and Frank Jones.

THEATRE THREE (47 4222) La Boheme by Puccini directed by Ross McGregor (22 F eb— 18 March).

QUEENSLAND ARTS THEATRE (36 2344) Oh Dad Poor Dad M am a’s Hung You In The Closet And I ’m Feeling So Sad by Arthur Kopit, directed by Fred Wessely (9 Feb — 11 Mar).

CAMERATA (36 6651) The Just by Albert Camus, directed by Gerry Ford. Cast and final dates to be arranged.

HER MAJESTY’S The Elocution o f Benjamin Franklin by Steve J Spears, directed by Richard Wherrett, designed

by Larry Eastwood, with Gordon Chater (28 Jan — 14 Feb).

M y Fat Friend by Charles Lawrence. Eric Dare production with Paula Wilcox.

LA BOITE (36 1932) Small Change by Peter Gill. Cast and director yet to be arranged (2-25 Feb).

Q UEEN SLA N D THEA TRE COM PANY (21 5177) W inner of the Q ueensland P layw rights’ Competition. Name of play, director, cast etc. to be announced. (25 Jan — 11 Feb).

VICTORIA AUSTRALIAN PERFORMING GROUP (347 7153) Front Theatre: A Mad World M y Masters by Barrie Keefe, directed by Wilfred Last (from Jan 5).

HER MAJESTY’S THEATRE (663 3211) A Chorus Line, original production conceived, choreographed and directed by Michael Bennett; co-choreographer, Bob Avian; book by James Kirkwood and Nicholas Dante; music by Marvin Hamlisch; lyrics by Edward Kleban; choreography and direction created for Australia by Baayork Lee and Jeff Hamlin.

Cast of 30 (from Jan 13).

THE HOOPLA FOUNDATION Playbox Theatre (63 4888) A litji in Wonderland — The M arionette Theatre of Australia’s new production of “ Alice”-in Australia (from Jan 23; 2.30 p.m. and 7.45 p.m.).

LAST LAUGH THEATRE RESTAURANT (419 6226) Back to Bourke Street with Evelyn Krape (con­ tinuing).

ME L B O U R N E T H E A T R E C OMP AN Y (645 1100) Athenaeum: Breaker Morant by Kenneth Ross. Directed by John Sumner (from Jan 31).

Russell Street: Dusa, Fish, Stas & Vi by Pam Gems. By arrangement with Parachute Productions (from Jan 26).

PILGRIM PUPPET THEATRE (818 6650) Alice in Wonderland produced by Burt Cooper (from Jan 5; Tues. to Fri. 10.15 a.m. and 2 p.m.; Sat.: 2 p.m.).

WINDSOR REGIS THEATRE RESTAURANT (51 6979) Broadway Babes musical written by Challinor and Mann, with Robert Essex, Jillian Archer, Ron Challinor, Colette Mann & John Cousins (continuing).

TASMANIA THEATRE ROYAL (34 6266) Closed throughout January.

Tasmanian Theatre Company Season (mid end Feb). To be announced.

TASMANIAN PUPPET THEATRE (23 7996) Holidays till mid January Little Tiger Peter (26 Jan — 25 Feb). School season starts March.

SOUTH AUSTRALIA DALEBROOK PLAYERS (383 8996) Port Noarlunga Theatre: The Late Edwina Black (1-14 Feb).

GLOBE THEATRE (223 8257) Let’s Twist Again by Rob George, directed by Brian Debnam Festival Production (23 Feb — 18 March).

ICON THEATRE (223 8505) Little Theatre, Adelaide University: Luna Park — late night festival revue (25 Feb — 19 March).

MAYFAIR LIGHT OPERA (277 2090) Annie Get Your Gun by Irving Berlin (opens 3 March).

Q THEATRE (223 5651) Tonight at Eight Thirty by Noel Coward (18 Feb — 25 March).

ST JUDES PLAYERS (295 1279) The Comedian by Henri Gheon, directed by Henry Menear (last week in Feb), St Peter’s Cathedral.

SOUTH AUSTRALIAN THEATRE COMPANY (51 5151) Playhouse: Oedipus Rex and Oedipus at Colonus, directed

by Colin George, masks and costumes designed

by Tanya Moiseiwitch, set designed by Richard Robert. (Opens 25 Feb).

Playing in repertory during Festival with Magpie TIE Co’s Uncle Hector and the Bohemians.

TROUPE at the Red Shed (79 5130) Don't Listen to Gouger written and directed by David Allen (22 Feb — 11 March).

WESTERN AUSTRALIA CIVIC THEATRE RESTAURANT Cinderella directed by Max Kay, choreography, Brian Smith (16 Jan — 5 Feb: 10.30 and 2.30).

HAYMAN THEATRE (WAIT campus, Bentley. Booking; Festival Of­ fice 325 3399) Perth City Ballet: Dancers at an Exhibition (6-11 Feb).

WA Theatre Company: Jumpers by Tom Stoppard, directed by Tony Nicholls (15 Feb — 11 Mar).

HOLE IN THE WALL (381 2403) Dracula by Bram Stoker, directed by Edgar Metcalfe (continuing).

Late Night Show: Ronnie Teeth’s Gum Jungle Club devised and acted by Ronnie Teeth(pseud.

Identity unrevealed) (8-18 Feb).

As We Are a one-woman show by Beverley Dunn (14-25 Feb).

NEW DOLPHIN THEATRE (325 3399) WA Ballet Company: Bokhara, Cage o f God, Tancredi and Clorinda, O Karitas, Don Juan.

Under the Artistic Direction of Robin Haig (1325 Feb).

NEW FORTUNE THEATRE (325 3399) University of WA Performing Groups: The Wakefield Mystery Plays directed by John Milson, with Peter Carroll (10-25 Feb).

OCTAGON THEATRE (325 3399) WA Opera Company: The Rape o f Lucrezia by Benjamin Britten, directed by Brian Crossley (8-17 Feb).

Hole in the Wall; Chinchilla directed by John Milson (22 Feb — 4 Mar).

PERTH CONCERT HALL Chichester Festival Theatre Company: Othello by Shakespeare with Keith Michell, Roy Dotrice and Nyree Dawn Porter (4-11 Feb).

PLAYHOUSE (325 3500) The Norman Conquests by Alan Ayckbourn, directed by Steven Barry (3 Feb — 6 Mar).

REGAL THEATRE Puppet Company Philippe Genty (13-25 Feb).

Music, Drama, Dance, Opera & all ancillary subjects.

A new bookshop, dealing exclusively with the performing arts, is now open.

We have a more comprehensive range than has ever been available here before.

We are happy to do special orders.

232 Castlereagh St, Sydney near Bathurst St. Phone Patrick Carr on 233 1658

The Performing Arts Bookshop THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978 55

WANTED

A NEW PLAY by an Australian AUTHOR for inclusion in the LIEDER SOUTHERN REGIONAL THEATRE COMPANY’S 1978 season.

Must be full length, as yet unperformed and submitted before 30th April.

If selected, will be professionally directed and presented for a minimum of eight performances.

Sydney managements will be invited and current royalty fees paid.

The artistic director’s decision on acceptance will be final.

Send manuscripts to LIEDER S.R.T., P.O. Box 488, Goulburn, N.S.W. 2580.

Project supported by the Australia Council.

YOU

should belong to Australian Association of Theatre Technicians (NSW Division Ltd) If you care about theatre If you w ant to know more about theatre If you w ant to progress in theatre or even if you just w ant to socialise and come to the m o n th ly meetings and share yo u r interests............

SEND NOW:

Judy Barry WRITERS’ AGENT

for FREE NEWSLETTER & MEMBERSHIP DETAILS to: The Secretary, A.A.T.T. 14th floor, 77 Pacific Highway, North Sydney 2060.

Representing HARVEY UNNA & STEPHEN DURBRIDGE LTD

Authors’ Agents — London

“The Penthouses”

25a Yarranabbe Road Darling Point Sydney NSW 2027 Phone: (02) 328 1875 Telex: 24482

or phone: 922 4494

MUSICALS FOR AMATEUR SOCIETIES AND SCHOOLS J.C. Williamson Theatres Limited holds the amateur rights for many popular musicals, including great shows of the past with music by Lehar, Friml, Romberg, Jerome Kern, Victor Herbert and Lionel Monckton. Every one of these shows has been a success on the professional stage. Why not have your school or Amateur Musical Society do their own production of one of them? You can choose from many wonderful shows including the following:—

BR IG AD O O N THE S E N T IM E N T A L BLOKE M A ID OF TH E M O U N T A IN S

THE ARCADIANS THE DUCHESS OF DANZIG SALLY THE RED MILL HIGH JINKS

P A IN T YO UR W AG O N THE D ESER T SO NG THE M ERRY W ID O W

THE CHOCOLATE SOLDIER THE FIREFLY THE LILAC DOMINO VERONIQUE THE GEISHA

MAN OF LA M A N C H A T H E N EW M O O N OUR M IS S G IB BS

A COUNTRY GIRL THE GAIETY GIRL VIKTORIA AND HER HUSSAR A WALTZ DREAM FLORADORA

KATIN KA GOING UP THE QUAKER GIRL WILDFLOWER VERY GOOD EDDIE

For further information contact (Mrs.) V. Burke, A. Mus. A., Amateur Rights Department, Her Majesty’s Theatre, P.O. Box K360, HAYMARKET, N.S.W. 2000. ’Phone: 212-3411.

Costumes for the above shows and many others are available from J.C. Williamson Hire Department, Cohen Place, Melbourne, 3000.

Bookings accepted 12 months in advance. For free quote ring Melbourne (03) 663 2406.

Overseas subscription rates All other countries AS70.00 AS25.00 Bank drafts in Australian currency should be By air forwarded to Playhouse Press Pty. Ltd.; 114 New Zealand, New Guinea AS45.00 Cremorne St., Richmond, Victoria 3121, U.K., U.S.A., Germany, Greece, Italy AS50.00 Australia.

Surface mail

56 THEATRE AUSTRALIA FEBRUARY 1978

Information services:

M & L C a s t in g P ty . L td .