Late Night Haiku For A Fucked Up Species

Ruin

The slaves of their God,
Creator of life and love,
Or Satan's minions?

Imagine No Batshit Crazies

What the fuck is going on in the world? Idiots in a desert calling on  holy war in the name of some guy in a book, and idiots in other parts of the world killing innocent bystanders in the name of the idiots' agenda.

Sadly, the civilised part of the world has no other option to respond to this idiot, psychotic aggression. And nothing good will come of that.

But what else? What else does the civilised world do in the face of this archaic, barbaric idiocy?

Nothing good - absolutely nothing - has come from  religion that you can't get from compassion and common sense. Why are we as a species so superstitious? And how as a species have we seemed to degenerate into such levels of hatred, genocide and probably suicide? What is wrong with us?

Above, there is a lovely clip from John Lennon. I think he understood.

I've included, below, a lost verse from this great song of love and peace.

Imagine no batshit crazies,
It's blissful if you try,
No idiocy to deal with
You just poke 'em in the eye...

When The DJ Drops Your Jam

In light of not having anything happy to write about during these shitty (but in a first world problems kind of way) times, I give you this. I absolutely fucking hate this style of music, but absolutely love the pairing of this footage (the kid, I believe, was reacting to another piece of music) and the hellish tune. It makes me smile.

Looking forward to a fun weekend of debauchery with easy-going friends.

Peace.

Junk

I enter the cafe, walk through to the back and hang my bag on the rack and immediately hear the front door being knocked on. It squeaks open. A customer already wanting a coffee, fuck it. I don't agree to make coffees until I am at least 95% set up because it can just put you on the back foot very quickly. You spend time making coffee when you should be setting up, you will get another customer who also wants an early coffee and it's just a bad way to start the day. Which is why I leave the lights off and keep the door shut until I'm ready to start.

But I forgot to close the door. And there's this guy in a hoodie already inside the darkened cafe.

"We're not open yet," I tell him as I walk towards him.

He's hanging onto the open door, because if he lets go, I realise, he'll fall over. He's a smackie so high he's almost falling asleep on his feet.

"Okay - get out," I tell him, waving him out. Just then The Dreaded One arrives after parking the car. She sees the guy and stops, wondering what the hell is going on.

Then the guy says something. Says the same thing again. I notice that he's clutching some money in one fist and some empty tupperware containers in the other. He says that thing again. It's a question, and suddenly I wonder if he's not a smackie but someone with physical disorders in need of help.

"Sorry - what are you saying?"

He says that thing again, and now I understand.

"Any job vacancies?"

He is totally a smackie, totally whacked, and he's asking me to give him a job. It's funny and tragic. I tell him no, there are no job vacancies as I guide him out. The Dreaded One comes inside and I lock the door. I watch our whacked out friend make his teetering way up the road and into the day. There's a part of me - the into-the-abyss part of me - that envies him for his blissed out, fucked up state of mind.

But mostly I feel grateful that I am mostly okay, and that I have a little cafe to set up and a day of work ahead of me.

You Bet You Are... The Many Voices In Abbott's Head

"I'm going to shirtfront Mr Putin, you bet you are - I bet I am."

The most intriguing thing for me about this recent bit of idiocy from our PM is the 'you bet you are' bit. What on Earth is that all about? What is actually going on in this guy's head? Was this another voice in his head backing him up? Does he have multiple personalities in his head in constant discussion with each other and this bit of dialogue accidentally slipped out?

Maybe the full, uncensored quote could have gone a little like this: "I'm going to shirtfront Mr Putin, you bet you are. Ooh by crikey you are sooo going to shirt-front that bear-cuddling fag, and Tone, my man, when you shirtfront someone they know they've been shirtfronted. You bet they do. You know they do, don't I... erm who's speaking now? Me, I am, and I don't want a pansy shirt-fronting, I want to bend Putin over and poke him from behind like that cellar scene with the gimp in Pulp Fiction, man that was a hot scene, I really liked that scene... didn't we? You bet we all did." 

Or something like that.

Team Awesome Is Awesome

Have had a few worrying weeks in the cafe. One of our workers, knowing we have been quietly stressing, gave us a bottle of wine to say thanks or cheer us up or whatever. She went to the pub across the road where we sometimes drink and asked the guys behind the bar which kind of wine we drink.

I think we chose well with our current team.

Conversations With Our Customers: I'm Beth Patterson, Bitch

We certainly seem to get our share of performers in Grumpy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome.

I was packing away the outdoor furniture for closing yesterday when this intriguingly kooky looking chick with an American accent asked if I needed help with carrying the table. I told her I was okay and went inside. She followed me inside. I asked what she wanted. She said she wanted to recharge her phone and have something to eat. I looked at the outdoor furniture stacked upside down  - a pretty good sign that we are closing up - and said  "I'm sorry, but we're closed."

She apologised and left, and something about her intrigued.

She came back in this morning and I apologised about yesterday's confusion. No problem. She ordered some breakfast. She read one of my Grumpy columns on the clipboard menu as she ate. I always watch for a reaction. Much blankness until a certain point when she opened her mouth in a silent, still, laugh. A good reaction.

She  said she enjoyed her meal, said she enjoyed my writing, mentioned writing of her own. Conversation ensued. From what I could glean, she seemed to be a writer, musician, performer, here on tour from New Orleans.

Sometimes people can be well-known even though you know nothing about them, and asking them what their name is so you can Google them can be awkward. But I asked what her name was so that I could Google her.

"I'm Beth Patterson, bitch."

Pretty fucking funny..

Anyway, I Googled, and yeah, she's good. Amaaaazing bouzouki player and gorgeous voice. She seems like a bit of a nutter too. Awesome.

Once, The Musical, A Review.

Once

Reviewed by Lee Bemrose



I have to start out by admitting that I don't like musicals. The last one I went to was six or so years ago and it was an accident. Musicals just seem a bit stupid, with their singing-instead-of-saying approach to story telling. What I want from theatre is just a good story well told. Song and dance? Bah.

Having said that, one of my most well known dirty little secrets is that I am a total sucker for a good romantic comedy, and as far as that goes, it doesn't get much better than this.

I think where Once stands apart from your garden variety musical is that it is about music. My usual seething hatred of musicals isn't justified here because this is not about people spontaneously bursting into song and dance for no logical reason, it is about music and the love of music. When the characters sing and dance here, it all feels more natural than in other musicals. The story is so clearly told and thoroughly engaging that you could forget you were watching a musical, if the music wasn't so damned good.

Once is about a guy and a girl. Well, two girls, really. Guy is a broken-hearted busker about to turn his back on his music. Girl sees that he is about to do this but feels so passionately that his music and song-writing is great that she encourages him to do whatever it takes to get back into it. The romantic tension between them is the stuff of all great romcoms, but the outcome is what stays with you and makes this so memorable. Once is a story, perhaps, about three kinds of love: selfish love; unrequited love; and selfless love. This last one is the main one here - the most noble kind of love- and it's a bitter-sweet thing.

The stage is a bar in Ireland, and the show starts with audience members up on stage ordering drinks and standing about as a couple of performers start jamming on a variety of instruments and singing seemingly impromptu songs. It's how you imagine traditional Irish pubs to be. It's a good way to entertain those of us who arrived on time while we wait for those who didn't arrive on time. Gradually, the audience exits the stage to go to their seats, the lights go down and our story begins.

It opens with a song of melancholy, and our man (Tom Parsons) can sing. (And strum and act, sometimes all at the same time. He's good looking too. Bastard). But as soon as Girl (Madeline Jones) takes to the stage, there are laughs. She is a quirky and forthright Czek, a fellow music lover. She knows what's ticking in Guy's heart and she quickly becomes an important part of his world.

The leads are both well drawn, engaging characters, and as they slowly get to know each other, we get to know them and their very different worlds. There are multitudes of other characters – all warm, engaging and funny – played by head-shakingly talented actor/musicians. The casting process for this must have been an interesting experience.

Every musical instrument bar the theremin appears to be in the show, all played with precision to create feelings of warmth, melancholy, humour and fun. Lots of fun. The actors at all times appear to be absolutely enjoying themselves and playing their instruments. It's a wonderful thing to see. It's probably unfair to single anyone out from such an impressive ensemble of mostly local performers, but Amy Lehpamer perhaps best demonstrates this joy that I'm talking about; she shined brightly when she had her floor-stomping moments with her violin.

Once is a big, slick production, again not the kind of thing I'm usually drawn to. I'm usually found at banged up little theatres who put on edgy independent productions. I like risk takers like recent Fringe dwellers Stephen House and the Mellow Yellow crew.

But without reservation, I loved Once. It's a good story well told, with some wonderful tunes.

On at Princess Theatre, Melbourne until... erm... not really sure. But it's on now and you should definitely go see it. It's good. Really good.

Read about the show and buy tickets here.

In The Shop Of Infinite Sadness

Hello.

Hello.

How you?

I sad.

Oh.

How You?

I sad too.

Oh. How sad?

Hmm. How to say... I sadder than yesterday.

Oh.

But not as sad as I will be tomorrow.

Ah. That is sad.

No, that is not sad.

It's not sad?

No. It is happy.

How so?

This is the least sad I will ever be.

Ah. You are wise. This is the least sad I will ever be too.

Oh. Okay then. Bye bye.

Bye bye. I see you again tomorrow.

Yes, see you tomorrow. Bye.

See you.

Once, The Musical

I don't generally go to musicals. They usually annoy me. But this one has something about it... just ticks a lot of boxes. I'm about to head in now and see the Melbourne preview. I am quite excited and expect I'll be writing one of my gush reviews. I can feel it in me waters.

Laugh. Just Laugh. If You Don't Laugh, You Won't Laugh

I don't know another industry that is so open to criticism by absolutely any knucklehead as the hospitality industry is. (Aside from Hollywood). Who writes detailed reviews for social media of librarians or cab drivers or security guards? Why does the hospitality industry have to cop it?

And there are sites everywhere that give voice to illiterate, moronic, anonymous criticism from bitter trolls, and small businesses have to just sit back and take it with no right of reply. It's so wrong. Constructive criticism is a great thing. Just being negative while you hide your identity is not.

We're struggling a little at the moment, but we have to deal with this anonymous twat. This is his diatribe and my response to it. My response isn't posted in full on the website in question, which is frustrating because I thought the way to the thing of whatever was humour... I'm getting increasingly tired of this world.

All I ask is that if you are publicly slamming me, use your own photo and your real name. Otherwise, shut the fuck up. Your opinion is nothing unless you are prepared to stand behind it.

Have some integrity.

Here's this, for what it's worth:

Little cafe of terribleness

Doesn't like it

Diner from Melbourne • paul-fergs • 2 reviews

The food is quite uninspiring and the coffee is very bitter to the point of tasting burnt. The guy making the coffee certainly lives up to his nickname "grumpy" and never cracks a smile, but i kind of feel he needs to break away from that tradition if he's working in a customer service industry as he just comes across as rude. As for his co-owner, she seemed friendly, but when asking for water on the table, this never arrived even though the cafe was quiet, which reduces the chances of her being caught up in the hectic nature that cafes can sometimes become. As well as this, they are a bit too quick to clear your plates and cups which is a pet hate of mine as it feels as though you're being rushed out the door.So in summary: The coffee tastes cheap and there's better food quality and customer service in the surrounding cafes. This place would probably fit nicely in a rural area where there's less choice and people are not as aware of how fantastic coffee can taste when done well.

My reply to this idiot, who doesn't have the initiative to stand up and get the water for himself when the getting the water thing has gone awry for him...

You're kind of right when you say Grumpy never cracks a smile, but only kind of. Technically speaking, he rarely cracks a smile. He is someone for whom smiling and indeed laughing is a genuine response to the external stimulus of happiness, and like many people his mood-integrity is set to quite a high level, thus making the facial contortion that indicates genuine happiness to be a rare thing. This does not mean he is actually unhappy or as you suggested rude, he is just in a constantly ponderous, thoughtful mood. He is mostly quite happy, it just takes a lot for him to burst out in smile.

Unfortunately, he was born with an ugly head (we can't help but wonder how you neglected to mention this in your wide-ranging “review”). The ugliness of his features, the natural severity of his countenance even when his mood is so frequently mild and placid, has plagued him since childhood. He has spent his life explaining to friends and family and strangers that nothing is wrong, that he is not upset or angry, that no his best friend or pet budgie hasn't just died. He just has naturally severe features. It's quite the curse.

The thing is, when Grumpy does smile... on those rare and worthy occasions when he does crack a grin, it is a thing to behold. The heavens open and the angels sing and all the unicorns and fairies and dragons (the happy kind) throughout the magical kingdoms frolic together in unbridled joy.

And when he laughs – a far rarer thing than a simple crack of a grin – the sweetest cello sounds like crushed gravel by comparison. The angels and the unicorns and the fairies and the happy dragons are silenced in awe. So many musical notes of mirth spilling from such a butt-ugly head is like a... a rainbow emerging from a cat's arse. It is purely and utterly astonishing.

But criticism has been taken on board and Grumpy will attempt to crack a grin more often; the singing of angels is not heard nearly enough these days.

Reasons To Be Pretty, Review

Reasons To Be Pretty

By Neil Labute

Reviewed by Lee Bemrose



Local on-again-off-again theatre company Mellow Yellow are on again, with their Fringe offering Reasons To Be Pretty by American scribe Neil Labute. But don't dally about – it's a short season with only a few days still to run.

Mr Labute is responsible for some pretty powerful scripts for screen and stage, usually pulling apart relationships and poking at the soft, sensitive innards of gender politics. Black comedy is his thing, and he's a writer with such an unflinching eye and ear for what makes us tick that he can make you squirm as easily as he can make you laugh.

Reasons To Be Pretty looks at our obsession with our appearance. It might not be yours or mine, but it is society's obsession. (Equally, it might well be yours and mine, or someone you know).

The play follows the relationships of four friends/workmates/partners - Steph (Steph Lee), her boyfriend Greg (Jason Schwab), Greg's workmate Kent (Sam Burns-Warr) and his girlfriend and co-worker Carly (Dayna Boase). As well as obsession with appearance, the play also examines loyalty, integrity and what binds us in relationships and friendships, and what can cause divisions.

The play starts with a pretty comical fight after Steph confronts Greg over a perceived insult. She heard that he said something less than flattering about her physical appearance, and she is livid. It's kind of comically over-the-top, yet I'm sure we can all relate; we've all be involved in arguments that mean everything at the time but seem ridiculous after the event.

That Steph takes what Greg said so much to heart seems a little unrealistic... yet this is exactly how arguments and disagreements can unfold in what can quickly become the domestic battlefield. The staging of this scene is inventive, utilising the quirkiness of the space in The Wilde to create a voyeuristic feel, as though we are overhearing a neighbour's domestic screaming match.

Greg and Kent seem thrown together rather than being real friends. Again, this often the case in the workplace. You don't have any choice in who you work with so you make the most of it. They are very different people, Greg quiet with hints of intelligence in his reading material (this could be read as affectation) and Kent being a very similar character to the one he played in this very space last year in David Mamet's Sexual Perversity in Chicago. That is, a pretty callous, superficial Typical Macho Guy. I really want to see Burns-Warr play a different role because he does this one so well you could almost believe that he's like this in real life. He does bastard really, really well. Chappeau.

Dayna Boase as Kent's girlfriend does a good job of playing a complex character – physically beautiful (just check that sexy smirk on the poster for the show), you expect confidence, but vulnerability is just under the surface, with manipulation also not out of range.

This is not feel good theatre. It is engaging and sometimes funny, generally a little sad in the way that we and our weird little ways of dealing with each other can be sad. It is also highly recommended.

Reasons To Be Pretty is on at The Wilde, 153 Gertrude Street, Fitzroy until October 4.

A String Of Memories. (Luckiest Fucker There Ever Was)

Big night. It was a big night. Daylight now and a headful of crashing thoughts that are either dreams or memories. What actually happened? That girl with the eyebrows, that conversation, that thing that was so fascinating, that bit when you found your stride and your talk caused hilarity... was it real or creations of the dream engine?


Luxurious stretch. A groan of pleasure and relief. Dodged a bullet. There will be no hangover today, just more of the same. It's almost lunchtime, almost booze time, almost time to start the ride all over again. More talk and more laughter because it's all so short and carp diem, motherfuckers.

You're in the second bedroom again. Starfishing it in your own bed, this pillow the best fucking pillow in forever.

Your eyes hummingbird open and you see a string of memories droop-hanging on the wall. There is Santorini and Andalucia and Ann and Annye. There is Gaudi and The Acropolis, Vesuvius and Via del Amore with its locks of love and promises so pure. There's a golden tunnel in an almost forgotten Italian coastal town (was this where Gore Vidal lived?) where you once saw an A-list Hollywood actor. There is a dance festival called Boom where you've danced and swum naked and laughed with friends. Twice. And you could make it three times, maybe more before you die.

And back to those blues and whites of Santorini and that sunset that seems impossible. Your lover next door. She who made this string of memories, and hung them drooping on the wall.

The barbarians are bearing down, but right now in these slow trickling moments, you know you have seen amazing things and have a string of memories that no one can take away.

And you know you are the luckiest fucker there ever was.

The Game Of Human

I think the beings playing the game Human Fuckwittery have recently taken the game to a new level. It's like... create an intelligent species... separate them by land and sea... give some poor lands and others rich lands... introduce religion... introduce another religion... make these religions conflict... bring in racism and sexism and then oh how great is this we fuck them up with politics... invent media... give the media power... destroy traditional media and replace it with social media because we have the technology... make envy a major thing... give technology and social media to the backwaters of civilisation who prey on the hopeless and the bitter and the confused who in reality simply want to feel a part of something... give these humans idiot rulers making idiot decisions that condemn the rest of them to a bleak future... let loose the maniacs and the conspiracy theorists who believe in nothing and everything and who will continue to do nothing but question and question whilst wrapped in their smug stupidity that does nothing enlighten or protect.

These beings playing the game of Human Fuckwittery, they must be having a great laugh right now.

LAX by Alyx

One of our workers sings and makes music. This is one of her songs. I think it is gorgeous. She is lovely and very funny, and today we had a lengthy discussion about the individuality of sneezing, and it was very funny.

Greatest thing ever is to have a good laugh while you are work. It brings everything back into perspective. I feel very lucky to have bumped into this particular human.

Grand Budapest Hotel

Finally saw this last night. What a wonderful movie. Am looking forward to watching it again. Such good storytelling, so many talented actors having fun with their roles, such overall excellent film making.

Happy Father's Day

Apparently it was Father's Day today.  Meh.

A Tip: Treat Good People Well

One of the reasons The Dreaded One and I started our own cafe was because we both had terrible experiences at roughly the same time of working for awful employers. We're hard workers, it's just how we roll. And we were treated like shit and taken for granted. At roughly the same time, we both said enough, and quit.

We both decided that if we were working this hard, we should be doing it for ourselves. That way, we can choose the people we work with, choose the music we want to listen to while we work, and we can do nice things for the people who choose to work for us, like having the decency to give them the tips they have earned.

We are now still working hard. We're very much hands-on. It's a bit of a struggle. Who knows what's going to happen.

But you get these little, lovely moments, these small gestures that mean a lot to you. You get good customer feedback. You get the random positive online review. You enjoy a lengthy conversation with someone who has chosen to work for you, and they're talking and you find yourself thinking I'm really glad I met you. You're pretty fucking cool. Whatever happens in the future, right now I like you a lot.

And if you're really lucky, these employees you quite like will describe you as pals, and will want to hang out and have drinks with you after work hours.

And they will bring this up with you prior to you giving them the previous couple of months' tips.

I think we're getting some of this thing right.

Stephen House Interview, Almost Face To Face

Stephen House, Almost Face To Face.

 
Written by Lee Bemrose

Almost Face To Face is the latest dramatic monologue from peripatetic award-winning writer/performer Stephen House. It's been a couple of years since the South Australian drifter performed his quite powerful Appalling Behaviour here, so I caught up with him to find out what he's been up to in that time, what drives him, and what to expect from his latest work.

So, what have you been up to since your last visit to Melbourne?
 My last show, Appalling Behaviour, kept touring. I did an Adelaide return (local council shows), a Tasmania Theatre Company season and a season at The Street Theatre in Canberra. I then spent some time in Sydney. I did an incredible writing development project with some blind artists at Tutti Ensemble SA, and had an extended stint in Whyalla SA doing a community youth theatre project for D-faces Youth Arts. Then as I often do… I disappeared from Australia and spent many months in Bali, Thailand and India – travelling, writing and existing.  

How was Appalling Behaviour received in those other cities?

The Hobart and Canberra seasons were both very successful and had incredible responses and reviews. It was wonderful to see it sit in a bigger company program at The Street Theatre (where it saw its 100^th show). It always astounds me how that show pulls people in and sees them discuss what it means to them and what it says about our current world. It still feels like it’s an important theatre piece for the here and now. And that’s rewarding. Also, it was selected for publication by The Australian Script Centre. 

Have you ever taken Appalling Behaviour overseas? Or is it something you would contemplate? 
Well no, I haven’t, but just recently I’ve been in a conversation with a company in New York who are keen – which would be awesome. Also, for the last year or so I have been chatting to a company in India who are also keen. And if I do take it overseas next year I’m pretty sure I’d head to Edinburgh Fringe. I’ve never done an Edinburgh Fringe. So yes, it is kind of looking like maybe travelling overseas in 2015.  

How long has travel been important to you?

I’ve been pretty much on the road since living in the back of my station wagon for a few years when I was an 18 year old hippie surfer. And I still am on the road (not in the back of the car... well, not too often these days). That’s about 35 years travelling. Fuck… where has my life gone! I’m always travelling. Though I do have occasional bouts where I settle in somewhere for a few months a time.  

Why is travel so important to you?

I feel alive, challenged, inspired, amazed, free, on the very edge (sometimes), and excited. I’m addicted to being on the road, often alone, but not always. I love new people that come into my world for an hour, a day or night, or a month… or forever – crazy, beautiful encounters that come along, like unexpected gifts. But also sometimes I feel isolated, lonely, frightened, confused, excluded, and wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life. But all the feelings that go with just disappearing into the world and sometimes not knowing where I’m going are real, and make me feel so very much like I am living life.  

In what circumstances do you feel excluded?Just now and then in another place in the world, watching locals go about their familiar lives, it hits me that I am often an outsider, a wanderer, a nomad… this isn’t my place, or my home or my way. I have flown in like a migrating bird stopping off on a long flight to somewhere else. Excluded kind of; but that doesn’t always mean feeling bad though, sometimes it means just being on the outside of, looking in. It can also be empowering, to not be a part of something.  

Do you feel you are more creatively stimulated when in a foreign country?

I’m quite creative wherever I am. Even in my new Melbourne life (a room I just scored in Brunswick Street), I will feel inspired, I’m sure. I often have a current project I’m working on when I travel. I’ve just come back from several months Indonesia and Thailand. I was learning lines for Almost Face To Face while I travelled. I was also thinking about my novel (still in thinking and writing stage). Often when I’m in another place I do have a new idea, so take a few notes. In fact the first draft of Almost Face To Face, was written years ago on an Australia Council Irish literature residency, then put it away and forgotten about. Sometimes it takes me years to get back to something that sprung into my mind while travelling around somewhere. 

You don't exactly do the tourist thing when overseas, do you. Typically, what do you do when in a new city? What kind of experiences do seek out?

I’m generally looking for somewhere new that I want to live for a while, or returning to a place from before. I have a few regular stops. One is Rishikesh in India. In Rishikesh, I do Yoga classes with amazing masters, I wander alone along the banks on Ganges and bathe in her clean icy holy waters – direct from the Himalayas. I wander through dense city throngs and lose myself, completely. I catch up with old local mates, meet travellers from all over the world, and I write, think, and wonder. In big cities, I usually have different routines than in quieter places (more art, music, theatre, partying etc.) After Melbourne I’m heading back to Bali, where I’m making a life. My days there are often writing, swimming and surfing, and wonderful mates from all over Indonesia… and the world, other nomads. I also try to work out how the hell I’m going to survive! But don’t get me on to that! How the hell am I going to continue to survive, like this? 

Your new play... tell us a little about it.

A fragile travelling writer arrives in Dublin after a devastating stint in Paris. His trip to Dublin is not without a few dangerous elements. He quickly falls into a chaotic underworld, inhabited by off-beat characters, and finds himself living in a small upstairs room with a woman trapped there by the way her life has gone. But he ventures out on to the street and falls further into the hidden underbelly of Dublin. His creative muddled and indulgent life sees him fall into this new world and write it all down (again). But nothing comes without repercussions and consequences, and he is finally forced to face up to what he has become in life. It’s a play about having the courage to move on from what is no longer needed or valid, and having the empathy and understanding to realise that not everyone else can do that. Some of us are trapped by who and what we are, and always will be. And that’s ok. The play hits that home, I think. 

So how autobiographical is it?
There is a part of me and my story in every work I create. Even Appalling Behaviour had more elements of me in it than people could ever know. There are parts of me and my life in all of my plays, and there are parts that grew from those parts and took their own life. My characters are not me, but they are a big part of me and my life, and I’m a big part of them and their life. But I never reveal too much about what (exact) part is me and real. I fall into worlds and write about them. I utterly live the worlds I write about.

What kind of play is Almost Face To Face? Drama? Comedy? Other?
It’s a drama with elements of stream of consciousness story-telling and streaks of dark comedy. But others are better judges of that than me.

Given that Almost Face To Face is set in Ireland, a country famed for its story tellers, do you thing you will take it to Ireland?I would love to take it to Ireland, and have thought about it. If fact regarding your question, the story telling tradition of Ireland had an effect on the style of this play and my inspiration for writing it. I performed a story telling type piece in Dublin many years ago. That experience has always stayed with me and had an effect on me as a writer performer, as did my time living in Ireland.

The dramatic monologue (it is what you do, isn't it?) would appear to be the most difficult form of story telling. Why do you do it when you could simply write a story to be read or a play for actors to perform?

Each time I embark on this journey with this form, I think why, why, why? It is so hard to crack. You can’t tell, not completely. It needs to be crafted in a way that some things are told, some are discovered and that the story filters out through a range of forms working together. Maybe the reason I do it is that it is such a challenge to get right. I love literary challenges. I never know if it is working until I get it in front of an audience. Its okay if they don’t like it (not everyone falls into the unusual worlds that do), but if they are with my story and engaged, then it has worked. That’s what I aim for. That they follow my story and want to know what happens. Dramatic Monologue for an hour alone on stage is a real challenge. Ah, scary! Why am I doing this, again?

What kinds of people will Almost Face To Face appeal to most?

I like to think that it’s a moving, human, sad and sometimes funny and beautiful story bubbling out of the underworld of Dublin. I think (and hope) that most people who see it will be taken on a real ride, somewhere special. My work is written for everyone; not only those who like to take risks. People that are interested in the human experience and condition should go with this work.

Do you have a line or passage from the play that encapsulates its spirit?

I don’t know if it encapsulates the spirit of the play but it encapsulates that moment of the play, and it’s a piece that often brings tears to my eyes, performing it…

Don’t’ go, he says. His call is like a knife in my heart. I so want take him away from this and them – from all that I am and have been too… find some of what is dragging me to escape and try for change and offer it up to him. But I can’t… I just don’t know how to give him anything at all, except money… I’m incapable… because I am struggling so hard to somehow help myself… to try to not be what I‘ve been for so, so long… that I have nothing left to help him along. And I’m nearly an old man. Fuck, what happened? Where do the years go?

Almost Face To Face is part of the Melbourne Fringe Festival. Season is at La Mama theatre from September 17 - September 28, 2014.

Master Class, 45 Downstairs, Review

Master Class

Reviewed by Lee Bemrose.



Initially, I confused Maria Callas with Diamanda Galas. The latter, I thought, would be a great subject for a play. When I realised my mistake I was a little disappointed because although Maria Callas did indeed lead an eventful life and was obviously worthy of celebrating in the form of a play, I don't really like opera. And after reading the press release properly, Master Class was going to contain some singing. Oh Dear. I wasn't sure about this. I mean, opera, really?

Right from the start, however, this play cast a spell. It's a loving tribute to La Divina, very funny, warm, and gives great insight into what it takes to be a great performer, to really excel at any creative vocation. I loved the writing, the acting, the structure of the story and – get this – the singing. Not ever having been to a live opera performance I have no idea why I thought I didn't like opera. The power of this kind of singing is extraordinary, and I do believe I'll be following up on this epiphany.

In 1971, after her career had peaked, Maria Callas conducted a series of master classes at the Julliard School in New York. Maria Mercedes takes to the stage as Maria Callas, an imposing, demanding figure oozing confidence, an acute sense of self and an enviable reserve of quips, one liners and comebacks. The character comes across as hard, driven and passionate. At times she seems more passionate about the artistic process than the feelings of her students (we, the audience, are addressed as her students), but there are moments where a couple of the students stand up against her and prove their talent when their tutor softens. You can't be this passionate about creativity and be a complete ice queen.

As the students finally get to sing, memories are triggered, actual recordings of Maria Callas are cued in their aural sepia tones, and Maria Mercedes does a wonderful job of revealing what it was like to be Maria Callas: to grow up poor through the Second World War; of what it was like to struggle with her weight, her craft and the importance of her perfectionism. We hear of her relationship with Aristotle Onassis and of what it was like to triumph against the odds to become La Divina. It's all quite nostalgic whilst remaining current and relevant to anyone unfortunate enough to want to succeed in the arts. These more personal, nostalgic sections are perfectly counter-balanced by the frequent laugh-out-loud ones.

And so we come to that singing. Other cast members were Cameron Thomas, kind of a piano-playing sidekick, and Georgia Wilkinson, Robert Barbaro and Anna-Louise Cole as the students in the spotlight. It was a revelation to me to be so close to fellow human beings with access to such rich, stirring vocals. Clearly there is a magical recipe of natural talent and rigorous training at play here, and these voices, mere human voices, have the power to stir emotions. It seems I don't dislike opera as much as I thought I did.

45 Downstairs was the perfect venue for this story to be told. It's a very open space, much like a small lecture auditorium, making the whole experience quite evocative of being back there, back then in the presence of La Divina.

Bravo.

At 45 Downstairs, Flinders Lane, Melbourne until August 28.