Sydney Reviews

Johan August Strindberg wrote A Dream Play at the turn of last century. It was radical then, in its suspension of temporal and spatial anchors; not to mention the disconcerting splitting, merging, multiplication, condensation, dissolution and evaporation of characters. We're not in Kansas now, Toto.

Its significance is hard to overestimate, since it proved to seminally influence the emergence of expressionism and surrealism. In approaching it, it's interesting, if inessential, to know that Strindberg spent countless hours studying and experimenting with the occult. Whether or not this in any way predisposed his psychotic 'inferno crisis' is open to conjecture, I suppose. Chicken? Egg? Or coincidence? Still...

In Eclective's 'surreal re-imagining of Strindberg’s canonical text', it is radical still. But less substantial. Consider the words of Strindberg, as quoted by creators, designers and producers Rachel Chant & Alanna Proud. 'Anything may happen; everything is possible and probable. Time and space do not exist. On an insignificant background of reality, imagination designs and embroiders novel patterns, free fancies, absurdities and improvisations.' Of their own work, Chant & Proud say this: 'Hybrid Dream traces the fragile line between dream and reality, as the artists are swallowed by the dream logic that invades and blurs both worlds'. (Swallowed, I fear, is right.) And, 'the artists beg the audience to anchor them in this world as they travel, without intent, between parallel states of consciousness. But which world is this?' Who hasn't had moments, or days, like that?

This is, as Chant & Proud contend, a project that encourages, demands and exploits a multifaceted union of disciplines; artistic and technological. A convergence of cutting-edge media; live music, art, soundscapes and physical theatre are interpolated and collapsed, to transport the audience on a perilous, but richly-rewarding journey to the very centre of Strindberg’s strange interiority. Dream? Nightmare? Both, as any trip through the dimly-lit tunnels of the unconscious must be. Alice in Wonderland runs smack-bang into Freud and Jung.

Well, that was the general idea. But Hybrid Dream invokes none of the potency or poignancy inherent in Strindberg's original. Where is the class struggle? The interrogation of gender roles? The critique of materialism? If it's there, I can't see it. There may be allusions to Strindberg's more personal preoccupation: the disintegration of a marriage. Maybe. There are certainly expressions and exclamations of confusion, anxiety and insecurity around the fragility of relationships (including with parts of the self) which resonate not only with Strindberg's life and psyche, but with the universally experiential. But that's about it. Beyond that, to claim this work as a re-imagining of Strindberg's is a conceit; one probably designed to imbue it with intellectual, dramatic and thematic distinctions it possesses not. The discretion to claim Strindberg's play as 'divine inspiration', rather than seek to appropriate credibility for their own work by touting it as a 're-imagining', would prove, by far, the better part of valour: the new work should've been allowed to stand on its own two feet, without this academic baggage. Just as curatorial notes can siphon all the spirit out of a profoundly moving painting, directors notes too often prejudice and demean the very work they set out to contextualise. It's pretentious and transparently so.

This isn't a rant against intellectualism, per se, merely a plea to writers, devisors and directors not to endow work with qualities which it may not possess, or which, for many patrons, do not exist, are of no interest, or are nigh-on impossible to discern or discover. It is the emperor's new clothes of theatre practice and needs a stake driven through its still-beating heart.

With that caveat, I applaud the enterprise of these two sassy, young theatrical entrepreneurs, who have collaborated to produce a theatrical experience worth having, on its own merits. It is both immersive and evocative, insofar as it goes; (which isn't nearly far enough, nor nearly as far as it could've gone, or can still go). It won't so much nag with the burdensome ideas with which Strindberg grapples and would have us do same. Rather, it predisposes a more generalised and perhaps even more worthy philosophical reflection on the nature of spacetime and reality.

But to boast that what has been achieved has been achieved in around 70 hours of workshopping is an idle, self-congratulatory boast, viewed from inside the work. While, no doubt, an exhilirating and visceral challenge for the participants, the time invested appears to have stunted its growth and potential, which is only semi-realised. The opportunity, of course, still exists for more workshopping and a restaging. Looked at as a work-in-progress, a work of promise, allows one to afford it, the creators and collaborators more kudos. But as a finished work, it fails to achieve the levels of drama, surprise, shock and awe that typify and inhabit dreams. There is too much repetition of movement (which could benefit from some choreographic nuance) and too much of the textual material is pedestrian, aimless and pointless. It needs a higher investment of energy all-round. And the whole approach is too linear, the very antithesis of 'dream-logic': the rants and raves make too much sense, if you will, without generating the lurid colouration and hallucinogenic ideation implicit to the dream state.

The aspects that are successful, and promising, include the musical components, especially the extended trumpet solo by Ben Horsley. Indeed, the soundscape works very well, overall; so much so that if one were to retain it and the wall of 'live art' (ostensibly a montage of haunted, haunting faces), it would be a worthy experience in its own right. The notion of multiple video projections is a worthy one, that makes the fabric of the dream that much more substantial. But, again, the content needs more diversity, intensity and creativity. The truth is, most of the theatre and quintessential aesthetic is embodied in the audiovisual elements, relegating the actors to a lesser status and one far lesser, I imagine, than was intended. Credits to sound designer, Joseph Dutaillis & new media artist, Grant Stewart. Lighting design, by Jamie Exworth was also creditable, but could've been more dramatic and certainly tighter in execution. Imogen Dodwell, Jonny Dutaillis, Lizzie Gibney, Richard Hilliar, Ben Horsley, Rhia Parker, Alanna Proud, Tristan Randall & Joanne Villacruz proved enthusiastic performers, but need more vigorous, hands-on direction. Similarly, more concerted, thought-through decisions need to be taken to make what is a bold, challenging mode for staging work as well as it can. Huddling the audience in an approximately central position in this large space might've looked good on paper, but sightlines are very compromised, to the point where I noted many of the audience simply gave up on seeing what wasn't right under their noses, just as they surrendered to static sitting positions, rather than comply with the swivelling the work demanded in order to be comprehensively apprehended. The sightline issue could've been easily solved: leaving spaces between the black-painted drums which served as seats would've also been more confronting for the audience, catching us off-balance and putting us in a more vulnerable mindset, conducive to the dream space.

In the end, Hybrid Dream doesn't fuse as many disciplines or media as the name and unequivocally-stated intentions imply it will. It is an admirable experiment; conceptually laudable; a brave embarkation; but a work not quite ready for an audience. It's far from stillborn, but it is premature.


Eclective Productions presents
HYBRID DREAM

Created, Designed & Directed by Rachel Chant & Alanna Proud

Venue: PACT Theatre | 107 Railway Parade, Erskineville NSW
Dates: 11 – 15 August, 2010
Times: Wednesday – Friday 8pm, Saturday 3pm & 8pm, Sunday 5pm.
Tickets: Standard: $25, Concession: $15 (+ booking fee)
Bookings: www.eclectiveproductions.com