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JOHN MCCALLUM
PUTTING IT BACK TOGETHER AND GETTING IT ON THE ROAD AUSTRALIAN THEATRE IN THE 21ST CENTURY
The 2 0 1 0 P h i l i p P a r s o n s M e m o r i a l L e c t u r e
B e f o r e I start I would like to pay tribute to Philip Parsons. He wa s m y
m e n t o r w h en I was a student in the early 1970s. He taught a pione e r i n g
c ou r s e i n 1 9 72 – that golden year of the New Wave revolution. It was a co u r s e
t h a t y o u c o uld never mount in the new corporate university climate no w . I t
i n v o l v e d t w o complete productions of classic plays, and all the backgr o u n d
s t u d y t h a t i s needed. We didn’t have a theatre back then at UNSW bu t o n e
o f u s h a d a Porsche so one night very late after rehearsals three of us t o o k
i t f o r a s p i n and climbed over the Cyclone wire fence surrounding a bui l d i n g
s i t e o n c a m pus and stole 7 sheets of Gyprock and took them down in the b a c k
o f t h e l i t t l e car (I hope you’re picturing this) to create a black-box st u d i o
w h i c h i s s t i l l being used by students today. Philip came in the next mo r n i n g
a n d s a w o u r nice new walls and said, ‘I don’t want to know where that c a m e
f r o m , b u t l e t’s start working.’
P h i l i p ’ s greatest legacy, apart being an inspiring teacher and sta r t i n g
C u r r e n c y P r ess with Katharine and all the rest of his achievements, w a s
h i s l i f e l o n g attempt to build bridges across the gaps that then divi d e d a n d t o s o m e extent still do - the teaching and the theatre profession s . H e
w a n t e d p e o ple from across the performing arts to come together and s h a r e
k n o w l e d g e s . Inspired by him this is something I have been trying to d o f o r
m a n y y e a r s . There are other divides that have been bridged, somet i m e s
p a t c h i l y , i n the decades since he came to Sydney to teach us, and som e o f
t h o s e I w i l l return to later.
A n o t h er preliminary note: The title of this lecture refers, obviousl y , t o
t h e o l d s h o w-biz-inspired expression, ‘We’re getting our act togethe r a n d
p u t t i n g i t o n the road.’ But I like my image better, because what I wa n t t o
a r g u e t h i s a fternoon is that all the components we need, to create exc i t i n g
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Curr e n c y P r e s s I S p e e ch e s O n l i n e 1 J o h n M c C a l l u m I P u t t i n g it Back Together and Getting it on the Road: Australian culture in the 21st century
t h e a t r e t h a t will draw in our past and help us move on into the future , a r e
l y i n g a r o u n d us like pieces of a beat-up car on the side of a dusty r o a d ,
w a i t i n g t o be picked up and put together for the next part of the journ e y .
A t i t l e I toyed with for a while, though, is ‘Theatre wasn’t mean t t o
b e e a s y . ’ A s a teacher and critic I have for better or worse always se e n i t
i s a s m y j o b to tell it like is not like I want it to be. But now I am tire d o f
a u d i e n c e s who just want a good night out, and tired of theatre comp a n i e s
w h o o n l y w ant to provide them with that. Theatre wasn’t meant to be e a s y .
W e d o n’t make nearly enough demands on our audiences. We let t h e m
g e t a w a y w i th murder – whinging and whining incessantly that all the the a t r e
t h e y s e e i s ‘too difficult’, ‘too confronting’ or ‘too depressing’. Thes e a r e
e x p r e s s i o n s I would like to see banned from all discussion of the theatr e , t o
b e r e p l a c e d with ‘too easy’, ‘too bland’ and ‘too cheerful.’ I know ther e a r e
b o x - o f f i c e constraints and funding restrictions but just for today I w o u l d
l i k e t o s e t t hose aside. Confront the audience, I say, and if they don’t li k e i t
t h e r e ’ s a l w a ys the movies. I will return to this theme later, too.
I ’ d l i k e to start with three personal stories. After that I will ta l k o f
s o m e o f t h e tools that we have lying about that we are not using, and t h e n
I ’ d l i k e t o s uggest that we should pick up those tools and use them to b a s h
t h e a u d i e n c e over the head.
T h e f i rst personal story concerns my first experience of epiphany i n t h e
t h e a t r e – w hen I first got it, first knew what all the fuss was about, firs t f e l t
i t i n m y g u ts. It was a producti on of Othello at Sydney’s Old Tote The a t r e ,
w i t h A l e x a n der Hay and Ron Haddrick. My parents took me – I was 13. To t h i s
d a y I r e m e m ber staggering out of that theatre ‘banged’, in the words o f t h e
g r e a t A m e r i can poet e.e. cummings, ‘with terror’. I couldn’t believe that t h a t
m a n w o u l d actually go through with killing her. Still can’t. I’ve since b e e n
t o l d t h a t t his was generally considered to be a rather poor productio n . I t
w a s c e r t a i n ly what I now might think of as old-fashioned, hammy per h a p s ,
i n a p o k e y little theatre, with nothing of the transformational theat r i c a l
v i s i o n t h a t I ’m about to argue ought to be the goal of our theatre in the 2 1 s t
c en t u r y . T h e point, for all the theatre-makers here, is that you can n e v e r
k n o w w h a t long-term effect you’re going to have. That was 45 years a g o
a n d I c a n s t ill see him snuffing out that little candle and the whole w o r l d
s u d d e n l y g o ing dark.
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T h e s e cond story is more trivial, but I still remember the moment viv i d l y .
B y 1 9 7 9 I ’ d grown up during the exhilarating times of the New Wav e o f
A u s t r a l i a n t heatre in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and had started wr i t i n g
a b o u t i t . A t a forum at what was then the Australian National Playwri g h t s
C o n f e r e n c e , Bob Ellis, who used to prowl around at the Conference prep a r i n g
n o t e s f o r his witty conferenc e-dinner-speeches, made a joke about t h e
a b s u r d i t y o f any Australian playwright setting a play in Russia or Parag u a y .
H e w a s r e f e rring to the early work of Stephen Sewell and Louis Nowra. L i k e
m a n y p e o p l e then I was tiring of the narrowly strident nationalism o f t h e
N e w W a v e and so I was shocked to hear gales of sympathetic laughter f r o m
t h e a u d i e n ce. The point, for all the theatre-makers here, is that you c a n
n e v e r k n o w how important your striking-out into new territory will one d a y
b e c o m e . S e well and Nowra went on to become two of the most impor t a n t
a n d e x c i t i n g playwrights of the last part of the last century. Ellis’s joke w a s
m a d e 3 1 y e ars ago and I can still feel the prickle of shame I felt then, t h a t I
a d o r e d t h e work of these two new young writers.
T h e t h ird story is much mor e recent. In 2006 I went to the old Perform a n c e
S p a c e o n C leveland Street, just down the road from here, right nex t t o
C u r r e n c y P r ess, to see a show by a new company named, oddly, ‘My Da r l i n g
P a t r i c i a ’ . T h ey had set up a convoluted maze of a set that led us progress i v e l y
t h r o u g h p a s sages and tunnels, from a 1950s night-club down into dark r u r a l g o t h i c s c e n es of early Australia, scenes that had first been evoked on t h e
s t a g e b y t h e now mostly forgotten early 20th century Australian playwr i g h t s
t h a t I h a d b een researching for my book. I will never forget the exper i e n c e
o f c o m i n g u p out of those dark inner spaces onto a high platform wher e w e
l o o k e d d o w n on the bodies of the performers floating like the ghos t s o f
d r o w n e d p i oneering women in a pool of tangled reeds. That was only f o u r
y e a r s a g o , and the point, for all the theatre-makers here, is that the m o r e
n e w p e r f o r mance tools you discover the more important it is to go ba c k t o
t h e p a s t , t o re-witness it and to re-configure it in all the theatre that y o u
c r e a t e . W e f orget our past at great cost. As Mark Twain said, ‘History do e s n ’ t
r e p e a t i t s e l f, but it rhymes.’ We need to hear those rhymes now.
P u t t i n g it back together
I w a n t to argue in this bit that after a century of theatrical stumb l i n g ,
d r i v e n h i t h e r and yon by now forgotten practices and arguments, and a cen t u r y
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o f b e i n g b u ffeted by theatrical winds from over the seas – Williamson a n d
M u s g r o v e , Gilbert and Sullivan, Olivier and Leigh, Stanislavksy and Stras b e r g ,
a n d , i n t h e l atter decades, Jacques le Coq (whom my friend and colleague D a v i d
W a t t h a p p i l y calls Jack the Cho ok), and, more recently, Thomas Osterm e i e r
– I w a n t t o argue that all these influences on our theatre, but especiall y t h e
m o s t r e c e n t ones, have left sh iny tools lying around in the desert o f o u r
c u l t u r e , a n d that in this new century it is time to pick them up and m a k e
them ours.
A f t e r a century of being theatrical bower-birds picking up the b r i g h t
b l u e b i t s o f world culture we now have the skills, techniques, dramat u r g y
a n d t h e a t r i cal vocabulary to revisit our past and use it to move on. T h e r e
a r e d o z e n s of plays written by visionary Australian writers in the early p a r t
o f t h e l a s t century that could never be done then, because the preva i l i n g
l a r g e l y n a t uralistic forms and conventions simply couldn’t cope. We nee d t o
f i n d a w a y o f bringing together the discoveries of the post-dramatic the a t r e
– t h a t a c t u al events in the shared space of performance have an immed i a c y
t h a t m i m e t i c theatre can never hope to have – with the urgent need tha t w e
a l l s t i l l h a v e to experience dramatic stories. We need to create in our th e a t r e
a n e w b a l a n ce between actuality and representation.
W h e n a playwright calls for a mighty avalanche to sweep away a l l h i s
c h a r a c t e r s i n the final Act, as Ibsen did in 1899 in his last play, Whe n W e
D e a d A w a k e , the 19th century spectacular theatre could do it because i t h a d
t h e s o r t o f money and resources that Hollywood has now. But for most o f t h e
2 0 t h c e n t u r y the naturalistic theatre was wringing its hands. ‘Omigod!’ , y o u
c a n h e a r t h em cry, ‘where are we going to get all that snow?’
W h e n a story calls for a damaged boy in a rowing boat on the S w a n
R i v e r t o f l y up into the stars, as Tim Winton’s story did in Cloudstreet , t h e
t h e a t r e c a n do that now. Neil Armfield did it, with a hanging boat a n d a
d e s c e n d i n g array of naked lightbulbs. Several people said to me after t h e y
s a w t h a t l e gendary production, ‘I don’t know how he got the boat to fl y ! ’ I t
d i d n ’ t a c t u ally fly. They just thought it did. That is the magic of theatr e .
I t ’ s b r illiant, but easy to do, partly thanks to belated impact in t h i s
c ou n t r y o f the great early Soviet Russian director Vsevolod Meyerhold , o n e
o f B a r r i e K o sky’s great influences. It’s partly the rediscovery of Meyerh o l d ’ s
c on c e p t o f s tylisation and partly his then extraordinarily visionary ‘noth i n g 4
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u p - m y - s l e e ves’ presentational approach, which ante-dated Brecht by m a n y
y e a r s . S t y l i s ation and the Meyerholdian grotesque are two of the tools l y i n g
by the road.
L e t ’ s p ick them up.
A s i m i lar, frankly theatricalist, ‘nothing-up my sleeves’, approach w a s
r e d i s c o v e r e d during the New Wave of the late 1960s and early 1970s by a n e w
g e n e r a t i o n drawing for the first time in Australian drama on the tradi t i o n s
o f p o p u l a r theatrical culture – the music hall, vaudeville, burlesque a n d
t h e c i r c u s . These are theatrical tools that are being re-used now for m a n y
t r a n s g r e s s i ve purposes, particularly in the new burlesque.
L e t ’ s p ick those up too.
T h e r e is also the question of excess, something that the natura l i s t i c
t h e a t r e , w h ich in this country dominated the 20th century, loathed , a n d
w h i c h b o t h the 19th century and, I hope, our times love. I wrote in my b o o k
a b o u t a n e g lected early 1920s play by the otherwise drab supposed pio n e e r
o f 2 0 t h C e ntury drama Louis Esson. It was called Shipwreck and his w i f e
H i l d a , w h o i n many ways was more of a pioneer than he was, left it o u t o f
t h e t r i b u t e volume of his plays because, she said, its excess didn’t quite s u i t
h i s t e m p e r a ment. It is a wonderful gothic bush melodrama, with echo e s o f
E u r i p i d e s a n d Racine, set on a wild cliff overlooking the Great Southern Oc e a n ,
w i t h a h i n t erland of blasted country cursed by a massacre of indige n o u s
p e o p l e . W e could so do it now.
E x c e s s is good. It sharpens our attention and focuses our mind s o n
i m p o r t a n t i ssues. So let’s also pick up that tool and that spirit.
B e f o r e I move on to how we can now use these and other too l s t o
c on f r o n t t h e audience, I should note some of the old divisions that h a v e
b e g u n t o b r eak down since Phillip Parsons embarked on his great campa i g n .
T h e d i stinction between p rofessional and amateur.
T h i s w as one of the biggest issues in the 1950s when the non-comme r c i a l
t h e a t r e w a s first looking to go professional, with the slow introductio n o f
p u b l i c s u b s idy. Many of the old established amateur companies, suc h a s
S y d n e y ’ s I n dependent Theatre, which had been around since the late 19 3 0 s ,
w e r e o u t r a ged when new parvenu companies such as the Old Tote The a t r e
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w e r e a n o i n t ed and the old companies were passed over.
I n t h i s new age of indie t heatre and co-ops, what on earth does t h a t
d i s t i n c t i o n mean? Let me acknowledge and then skate over the outrage t h a t
w e a l l f e e l t hat professional actors often have to perform now without w a g e s
j u s t t o k e e p working at their craft. A few years ago I saw Ron Hadd r i c k ,
t h e I a g o i n my theatrical epipany in 1965, performing in an indie sho w a t
B e l v o i r D o w nstairs. The old distinction between professional and ama t e u r ,
s u p p o s e d l y based on ‘standards of excellence’, has now clearly broken d o w n .
T h e d i stinction between mainstream and alternative
T h i s i s an old dichotomy, dating back to the early 1970s, when J o h n
B e l l f i r s t d e fined ‘alternative’ in relation to his new company, the Ni m r o d
T h e a t r e . N eil Armfield kept the spirit of Nimrod alive, with Compa n y B
B e l v o i r , w h i ch has occupied this building ever since Nimrod folded and t h e r e
w a s t h a t s p l endid public campaign, partly led by Patrick White but suppo r t e d
b y m a n y p eople, which saved this great theatre that we are gathere d i n
t o d a y . N e i l built up a feeling of family and community here that include d t h e
a u d i e n c e a n d made it a pleasure simply to walk into the foyer.
A n o t h er moment of theatrical epiphany for me was Neil’s stun n i n g
H a m l e t h e r e in 1994. It was ‘set on the stage’, as Neil has always said w h e n
a s k e d w h e r e he is going to set a new production of a classic, but we wat c h e d
i t i n t h e c o n text of the break-up of the old Yugoslavia. Richard Roxburgh w a s
a m a g n i f i c e nt Hamlet but Geoffrey Rush was Horatio, always on stage, e v e n
w h e n n o t i n the action, silently observing with compassion and bewilder m e n t
a o n c e g r e a t family tear itself apart. His look said it all. ‘What on eart h a r e
t h e s e p e o p l e doing to each other?!’ We were thinking that about the Bosn i a n s ,
t h e S e r b i a n s and the Croats at the time. It was a decisive production t h a t
t u r n e d C o m pany B into something much more than ‘the alternative’.
N o w , under Ralph Myers, this great company is simply called ‘Belv o i r ’ ,
a n d i s d o i n g a season next year that includes the sort of popular classics t h a t
t h e S T C u s e d to do – an Ibsen, a Chekhov, a Shakespeare and that Lawler p l a y
- t o g e t h e r with a swathe of new Australian plays. Meanwhile the STC, u n d e r
A n d r e w U p t on and Cate Blanch ett, is mounting a left-of-field season n e x t
y e a r t h a t s e ems to have colonised what in my old days we would have c a l l e d
a N i m r o d o r Company B repertoire. The two companies seem to have swa p p e d
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Curr e n c y P r e s s I S p e e ch e s O n l i n e 1 J o h n M c C a l l u m I P u t t i n g it Back Together and Getting it on the Road: Australian culture in the 21st century
r o l e s . S T C ’ s classics next year include two Brechts, one of them obscure , a n d
a B o t h o S t r auss.
I f i n d this astonishing and strangely exhilarating.
T h e r e are other major blurrings of the old dichotomies. There i s a
t o t a l l y n e w understanding now of what it means to be ‘live’, bridging th e o l d
r e p r e s e n t a t ional dramatic theatre and what used to be called ‘contemp o r a r y
p e r f o r m a n c e’ and is now the ‘post-dramatic’ theatre that I referre d t o
e a r l i e r . N e w media, including the new social media, are now routinely us e d i n
p e r f o r m a n c e. In a Version 1.0 show someone with a camera streams im a g e s
o f t h e p e r f ormers and the audience live back into the space. At the Sy d n e y
T h e a t r e p e o ple in the audience are invited to tweet their thoughts to t h e i r
f o l l o w e r s d uring the show.
A n o t h er division that has become blurred is the old excellence/ac c e s s
d e b a t e t h a t dominated funding arguments in the early to mid 19 8 0 s ,
s u r r o u n d i n g the rise of the community theatre movement. Excellence a n d
a c c e s s w e r e assumed to be incompatible in those distant times but t h e
r i s e o f C C D and social theatre, embodied in the success of Big hART, w i t h
s u c h p r o j e c t/productions as Stickybricks, Njapartji Njapartji and the re c e n t
N a m a t j i r a h as totally blurred that old distinction. Those of you who we r e n ’ t
a r o u n d i n t he 80s, and who saw Namatjira recently, will have no inklin g o f
w h y ‘ e x c e l l ence’ and ‘access’ were once thought to be incompatible.
T h e p oint of all this is, yet again: we have all the tools in place n o w ,
w e j u s t n e e d to put them toge ther. We have a theatrical and perform a n c e
v oc a b u l a r y that is capable of anything. We have Meyerholdian au t e u r
d i r e c t o r s . W e have stylised theatrical design and performance styles, cap a b l e
o f d e a l i n g w ith the most outlandish demands of writers such as Henrik I b s e n ,
E u g e n e O ’ N eill or Patrick White. We are finally over being constrained a n d
h a v e d i s c o v ered the delights of excess. We have instant access to po p u l a r
c u l t u r e a n d we have new electronic media, live on stage. And, with all t h e s e
t h r i l l i n g t o ols in place, we have a dramatic repertoire that we have sca r c e l y
b e g u n t o e x plore.
I ’ m n o t just taking about the Australian repertoire that I trie d t o
d e s c r i b e i n Belonging. Why doe s no-one ever do the Jacobeans, the Sp a n i s h
R e n a i s s a n c e or the German Romantics? I teach a course at UNSW c a l l e d
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Curr e n c y P r e s s I S p e e ch e s O n l i n e 1 J o h n M c C a l l u m I P u t t i n g it Back Together and Getting it on the Road: Australian culture in the 21st century
‘ B u i l d i n g a Repertoire for the Contemporary Stage’ in which students r e a d
a s m u c h a s they can manage of the repertoire and plan an imaginary se a s o n
o f c l a s s i c s . Every year they come up with plays they love that are very r a r e l y
s e e n o n t h e Sydney stage: Ford’s ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore (which Malth o u s e
a n n o u n c e d recently will open their season next year), Calderon’s Li f e I s
a D r e a m , L ope de Vega’s Fuente Ovejuna, Kleist’s The Prince of Hom b u r g .
M a n y o f m y students are surprised to discover that they love Tols t o y ’ s
e x t r a o r d i n a rily grim play The Power of Darkness. The list goes on an d o n .
I e v e n h a d a student a couple of years ago who was passionate to do a f u l l
8 - h o u r p r o d uction of both part s of Goethe’s Faust. She’d read it and l o v e d
i t a n d i n s i s ted that it should be done complete and uncut. The things t h a t
y o u n g p e o p le come up with con tinue to astonish me.
T h e s e are all great, huge, wonderful plays. I know they are big to m o u n t
b u t , a g a i n , we have all the tools in place now. We can adapt them, styli s e o r
c a r n i v a l i s e the playing style and stage their great vision, urgently, fo r o u r
t i m e s , w i t h out a hint of the dull respect that I encountered so often w h e n I
w a s g r o w i n g up as a theatregoer in the 60s and 70s.
B a r r i e Kosky led the way, especially with his legendary productio n i n
2 0 0 6 , T h e L o st Echo. And here I’d just like to remind you that this magnifi c e n t ,
g r o u n d - b r e aking production was put on by the STC, under Robyn N e v i n ,
a s p a r t o f their normal subscription season. It wasn’t a special fes t i v a l
h i g h l i g h t , a lthough it felt like one. In it Kosky and his collaborator on t h e
t e x t , T o m W right, who has always revisioned the classics in challenging w a y s ,
p e r f o r m e d huge stories from Ovid’s Metamorphoses and included, almost a s i f
i n c i d e n t a l l y , an utterly brutal complete production of Euripides’ The Bac c h a e
a n d a n a s t o unding and confronting staged version of Franz Schubert’s s o n g
c y c l e W i n t e rreise.
B e n e d ict Andrews has followed in Kosky’s path, with his g r e a t
c on d e n s a t i on of 8 Shakespeare history plays in The War of the Roses, a l s o
i n c o l l a b o r a tion with Tom Wright. This was a stunning example of the n e w
m a r r i a g e o f actuality-theatre and story-telling. People who saw it spe n t a s
m u c h t i m e astonished at what the director was making his actors endu r e a s
t h e y d i d t a k ing in the magnifice nt story that those plays tell. The exper i e n c e
o f t h e s t o r y and the experience of the performance were brought toge t h e r
a s t o u n d i n g l y.
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Curr e n c y P r e s s I S p e e ch e s O n l i n e 1 J o h n M c C a l l u m I P u t t i n g it Back Together and Getting it on the Road: Australian culture in the 21st century
F or m o r e t h an an hour, many of you will remember, that magnificent go l d e n
r a i n f e l l o n still standing actors who were simply speaking the text of Ric h a r d
I I . S o m e o f them fainted. In the final act, also for more than an hour, a s h e s
f e l l o n t h e same actors, as the characters they were playing kept dying a n d
b e i n g b u r i e d under the ash. A distinguished older actor, whose work I h a v e
a d m i r e d s i n ce the early 1970s, phoned me later, outraged, to say ‘I c a n ’ t
b e l i e v e w h a t he put those actors through!’ I didn’t say this at the time , a n d
I w i s h I h a d, so I will now: ‘Sure, okay, but what did he put the aud i e n c e
t h r o u g h ? ’ We have all the tools in place. We can do this. We can do anyt h i n g .
W e c a n t a k e our theatre into th e 21st century. So why aren’t we?
A t t h i s point I have to start talking about the audience.
C o n f r onting the audience
B a r r i e Kosky’s production of Euripides’ The Women of Troy at the S T C
i n 2 0 0 8 w a s one of the most harrowing nights in the theatre that I h a v e
e ve r s p e n t . It was too harrowing for many – some people I love and res p e c t
r e f u s e d t o s ee it and there were apparently many walkouts every night. W e ’ r e
t a l k i n g a b o ut a show with no interval, so walking out is a big statemen t .
F o r t h ose of you who don’t know the play, it shows the grieving wo m e n
a f t e r t h e f a ll of Troy waiting for their enslavement by the Greeks, le d b y
t h e i r f a l l e n queen, Hecuba. The story inspired Shakespeare in one o f h i s
m o s t f a m o u s tributes to the great power of the theatre, when Hamlet i s s o
a s t o n i s h e d by the performance of the Player King that he exclaims, ‘W h a t ’ s
H e c u b a t o h im or he to Hecuba that he should weep for her!?’
K o s k y revisioned this great classic in brutally confronting terms, w i t h
r e f e r e n c e s to the war in Iraq and Guantanamo Bay. His Chorus was a tr i o o f
b r u i s e d , b l o odied and abused women, but he cut the speeches that Euri p i d e s
h a d w r i t t e n for them and replaced them with beautiful music. They w e r e
s i n g i n g s u b limely in the face of all this savagery. And then, and this i s t h e
p o i n t , h e h a d them shot! At the end of the performance a sullenly profess i o n a l
p r i s o n g u a r d, who has been packaging up the raped women into cardb o a r d
b o x e s a n d s hipping them off for the Greeks’ pleasure back home, takes o u t a
g u n a n d s h o ots the Chorus which has been the only source of beauty in t h e
w o r l d o f t h e production. You don’t kill the Chorus! You kill the protagon i s t s ,
t h e l e a d e r s , the individuals, but in classical Greek tragedy you don’ t k i l l
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Curr e n c y P r e s s I S p e e ch e s O n l i n e 1 J o h n M c C a l l u m I P u t t i n g it Back Together and Getting it on the Road: Australian culture in the 21st century
o r d i n a r y p e ople. It was a deeply shocking moment for me, because it ra n g s o
t r u e . B e c a u se, of course, we do now, in modern warfare. I went back t o s e e
i t a g a i n . I t ook my daughter and her partner. I wanted to put people I l o v e d
t h r o u g h t h i s terrible and cathartic experience. And they felt it.
A n d s o here is another point, for all the theatre-makers here. If y o u
c h a l l e n g e a nd confront your audience in the visceral space of live the a t r e ,
i f y o u r e f u s e to pander to their desire to be merely entertained, then s o m e
w o n ’ t c o m e , and some will walk out, but some – the ones you want - w i l l b e
c h a n g e d f o r ever.
I w a n t to conclude with an attack on the type of theatre audiences w h o
c om p l a i n a l l the time and who are doing so much damage to our the a t r e ,
b y n o t g o i n g out more to the movies. I know that our theatres need to p a y
a t t e n t i o n t o the box-office, but really, some of the people you have to pl a y t o
a r e s i m p l y dreadful. We have all seen them sleeping off their dinner, do z i n g
n e x t t o t h e ir wives, through shows that are utterly electrifying and m i n d s m a s h i n g . T hey could just as easily be sleeping in a cinema or in their lo u n g e
r o o m s . I t w ould be a lot cheaper. I think we have to be much more e l i t i s t
a b o u t w h a t we expect from audiences. We need to say to them, ‘If you d o n ’ t
g e t i t , a n d don’t want to try, then stay home!’
I t s t i l l astonishes me when people say things like ‘oh, Barrie K o s k y
i s j u s t a n e gotistical bad boy out to shock.’ He is clearly, to anyone w h o
i s p a y i n g a ttention to what he is doing – with his mixture of pop-cu l t u r e
p l a y f u l n e s s , visceral theatrical effects and serious classical learning - o n e o f
t h e g r e a t e s t directors of our times. When they walk out of a new Ste p h e n
S e w e l l p l a y like The Three Furies, claiming not to understand it. He has b e e n
o n e o f o u r greatest playwrights for over 30 years – one who has kep t r e m a k i n g h i m self, moving on triumphantly, always leaving behind people w h o
f i n d h i m d i f ficult to become difficult in a new way. When they refuse t o g o
t o a P e r f o r mance Space festival at Carriageworks because they might n o t b e
a b l e t o s i t s leepily in the dark in upholstered seats. If you go to the the a t r e
y o u a r e s h a ring a space – surely you want sometimes to get up and m o v e
around.
W e a l l understand, I hope, the expression ‘mind-fucked’. It refers to t h a t
e x p l o s i o n t hat we sometimes feel in our heads after some exciting pe r s o n
h a s b e e n t a l king with us. It refers to that feeling when our boring ever y d a y
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Curr e n c y P r e s s I S p e e ch e s O n l i n e 1 J o h n M c C a l l u m I P u t t i n g it Back Together and Getting it on the Road: Australian culture in the 21st century
t h o u g h t s - t hat endless internal monologue that keeps distracting us i n o u r
e ve r y d a y i n teractions - have been messed up in thrilling, enlightening a n d
o f t e n t h r e a tening ways. We need something like in for our theatre in t h e
2 1 s t c e n t u r y.
I m e a n theatre that messes with your head, your emotions and y o u r
s o u l . I h a v e been a university teacher and a critic for more than 30 y e a r s
a n d i t h a s a lways been part of my job to explain, as far as I can make it o u t ,
w h a t i t i s t hat theatre-makers are trying to do. But all the best theatre a n d
p e r f o r m a n c e that I have ever experienced has been theatre that, in the s p a c e
a n d i n t h e moment, has messed with my head. I can only try to expla i n i t
l a t e r . U n d e r standing? – that’s for later. Emotion? – that’s for later. In t h e
t h e a t r e y o u have to feel it first in your nerves, bones and flesh.
A t e a c h of the three intervals in The Lost Echo, I walked out physi c a l l y
s t u n n e d , d i s sociated from my sense of myself. Great theatre, live in the sp a c e ,
h a s a n a f f e c t-level that is so high that you feel it in your body. Great th e a t r e
d o e s n ’ t h a p pen on a stage, and it doesn’t happen in our heads. It happe n s i n
t h e w h o l e r oom. It is something in the space that you are physically sha r i n g
w i t h t h e p e rformers. You laugh, get tense, sweat, flush hot. You can f e e l i t
i n t h e p r i c k ling of your skin or as a knot in your stomach. All the ph r a s e s
t h a t w e u s e to describe great performance – belly-aching, spine-ting l i n g ,
g u t - w r e n c h ing, heart-stopping, breath-taking – refer to biology. Before i t i s
u n d e r s t o o d or felt it is experienced in the body.
T h i s s ort of theatre is difficult, it is challenging. But difficult is g o o d .
C h a l l e n g i n g is good. That is what theatre and performance should be. If y o u
d o n ’ t l i k e i t then visit the ‘uplifting’ museum theatre of clever Pul i t z e r
P r i z e - w i n n i ng lounge-room com edies about people having trouble with t h e i r
r e l a t i o n s h i ps; sit bereft at home on a Saturday night lamenting the pas s i n g
o f T h e B i l l ; get a Gold Ticket to Hoyts and sink into a plush chair with t h e
3 D g l a s s e s and the popcorn; or float down in merry laughter, as the g r e a t
t r a n s g e s s i v e American comedian Bill Hicks said just before he died, onto t h e
c om f y s o f t scrotum cushion of Dick-Joke Island.
I f t h e atre can’t do more than that then I’ve wasted my life. The n e x t
t i m e I g o t o a show I want to be theatre-fucked.
T h a n k you, John McCallum
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