Images © EddiDespite numerous endeavours, this was my first time at the IPAC (Illawarra Perfroming Arts Centre), a somewhat incongruously impressive entertainment complex in the doof-doof heart of the rotten state of Denmark; er, Wollongong, a topographically-blessed place, but better-known for beer, tatts, fights and Harleys than European theatre. That said, the IPAC transpires to be an ironic oasis of culture, much akin to the most excellent civic library and gallery that abide nearby. Comfy, capacious, well-equipped & resourced: essential qualities for staging a work as challenging as Franz Kafka's absurdist play (well, novella), Metamorphosis, as re-conceived and staged by Vesturport Theatre and Lyric Hammersmith Productions. Australia, let alone provincial Wollongong, barely knows how lucky it is to be in receipt of such innovative, standard-setting genius: one of the key beauties and values of an overseas production coming to town being one can measure local efforts against some other benchmark, beyond other local efforts. On that basis, while homegrown theatre by no means falls short, this Icelandic effort does show, rather starkly, we should avoid too much self-congratulatory chardonnay-quaffing and keep up the good work, to avoide the ignominy of being left out in the Arctic winter.
One can't talk about this production without mentioning the upstairs-downstairs set, which is, almost certainly, the best I've ever seen. One is constantly re-referencing, looking for the trick, the optical illusion, given credence by (the 'hero') Gregor's bedroom being turned, as it were, ninety degrees, so that his bed, for example, is affixed to what would otherwise be the back wall. With false panels, detachable props, fittings and fixtures and deliciously dark Grimmesque lighting, the effect, from curtain-up, is riveting. So much so, one could almost live without the pointed comedy, commentary & values of this seminal play, as well as the surreal, circus-clownlike, acrobatic performances. Almost.
We shouldn't be surprised by the surprises in-store for audiences of this production, since the resumes of the participants read as if dreamed. To take but one of the co-director's as an example: David Farr is Associate Director of The Royal Shakespeare Company; most recently directing The Winter's Tale. For many high-achieving theatricians, this would be more than enough, for one lifetime, but far be it from Farr's point-of-view, apparently. After all, he's already served as artistic Director of the Lyric Hammersmith, where his productions included The Odyssey, water, Spyski and The Birthday Party. He wrote and directed The UN Inspector, for The National Theatre. Enough already! Not for Davo, whose other projects have included Coriolanus (award-winning, mind you), A Midsummer Night's Dream & Tamburlaine. He's written, not one, but several plays & is published by no less a publishing entity than Faber & Faber. Leave it alone! Uh-uh. He writes, regularly, for Spooks, for the BBC and, to top it all off, he's working on a screen play, for Focus Features.
And, I kid you not, without going into the envy-inspiring details, it's not only composers Nick Cave & Warren Ellis who sport to-die-for CVs.
Farr and Gisli Orn Gardarsson adapted and directed: full marks (12/10), not least for bringing such a distinguished ensemble of creatives together both on & off-stage.
Cave & Ellis were inspired choices for the soundtrack, which is light, unobtrusive, yet always there and quietly, darkly contributive. Sometimes fragile and beautiful, it culminates in a full-blown song; classically Cave.
I've already paid genuflecting homage to the pivotal, primary efforts of designer, Borkur Jonsson, who has been fortunate enough to enjoy the thoroughly empathic lighting of Bjorn Helgason; indeed, Helgason's work has redoubled the impact of the set. Nick Manning has done a fine job of sound, too.
All the actors are to be congratulated for their comedic sensibility and larger-than-life, exaggerated, caricatured, almost cartoonish characterisations: Ingvar E Sigurdsson, as father; Edda Arnljotsdottir, as mother (her effortless tumble over the tabletop was delightfully Chaplinesque); Unnur Osp Stefansdottir, as Greta; Jonathan McGuinness, as Herrs Stiethl & Fischer; but, above all, the athleticism and expressiveness of Bjorn Thors, as Gregor, he of eight or so legs.
What am I talking about? Well, this. As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic vermin. It's the opening sentence of Die Verwandlung, as it was originally known; translated, of course, from German. Imagine your disquiet, on awakening, one of these days, only to find yourself a giant cockroach, reviled even by your own family. Of course, this was, roundly, Kafka's own experience, well, given a little metaphorical licence. He was, even amidst his own, the quintessential outsider; outcast; fringe-dweller. A Czech, living in the (then) heady, high-living days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But even as a Czech, he was German-speaking. As a would-be German, though, he was a Jew. And, as a Jew, he was non-observant (in fact, disbelieving). A well-baked recipe for alienation and general i-yi-yidom.
Beyond that and the genuinely funny script, there is the ominous, eerily prescient (the novella was written in 1915), looming sense of the hyper-reality of Jewish, Gypsy, gay, black & communist alienation that was to come, embodied in the revulsion of Gregor's near-and-dear to his revealed 'personality' and disposition; their subsequent cruelty and neglect. one can almost hear the jackboots, feintly, in the background.
For Australian audiences, too, our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to see the relevance and resonance, in light of the extreme alienation of our indigenes.
Thus, all at once, Metamorphosis is an amusing, disturbing and provocative play, lent the theatrical equivalent of being touched, or tarred, with, say, Dali's brush, or Leary's drug-infused rants. It's, unquestionably, a shining and important play, which has already shown meaningful endurance well into another century. It's also, thanks to this team, very possibly, the finest, highest expression of theatre to which I've yet borne witness. If you appreciated, for example, the unmatched genius of Jan Svankmajer's Alice, you're bound to adore this Metamorphosis. If you don't, you're probably a bloody big dung-beetle. Or not.
Sydney Theatre presents a Lyric Hammersmith and Vesturport production
METAMORPHOSIS
By Franz Kafka
Adapted & Directed by David Farr and Gísli Örn Gardarsson
Venue: Sydney Theatre, 22 Hickson Rd, Walsh Bay
Dates/Times: April 22 to May 2 Wednesday – Friday 8pm; Saturday 8pm; Tuesday April 28 at 6.30pm
Tickets: $30–$75 (Booking fees may apply. Concessions available.)
Bookings: (02) 9250 1999 | sydneytheatre.org.au
