Finnish, First Reading

So. I wrote a play, and here we are, me between two talented theatre people who apparently liked the script enough to want to help out, and in front of a few friends who were curious enough to come along to the cafe to hear the thing. I was only reading because the guy organised to read couldn't make it and I had no time to find someone else. Was I nervous? I've never read a damned thing of mine in public, so yes, I was a little bit nervous, especially as I've seen and reviewed the stage performances of the two people either side of me, and as performers, they are a little bit awesome. Pretty fucking awesome, actually.

It was quite a strange experience. The two words I kept repeating as my mantra when writing were Personal, Universal.

Meaning that I want it to feel so very personal, which it is. But I want it to have universal appeal, which I think it does. There is much truth and honesty in the subject matter, but also some fiction. It's three dialogues between three people, none of which ever happened. The essence though, the essence of the dialogues, is so very real.

It was strange that I ended up doing the reading. I know I wasn't of the calibre of Dayna and Steph, but I think I did okay. There was a funny moment for me... my character reads a very short story to another character, and I was so focused on the lines I was reading at the moment that I forgot about this part. This short story, Love You, See You Soon, it always fucks with me emotionally. Oh no, I thought, this story is coming up...

My character got to the story, and he let go. I let go. I read one of my most emotional short stories to a small audience with enough feeling to bring tears to the eyes of some of those listening, but without tearing up myself. I don't know what happened there, but I was relieved. A little bit of magic happened.

What happens next with the play? I don't know. I've entered it into a thing and it would be nice if it won that thing, but I have to be realistic and think about what to do if it doesn't do well in the thing.

Yesterday morning I woke up anxious and depressed and thought fuck it, we did the reading and that was fun, I'm done with this play. Then I watched the recording a friend had made of it, and I was back. In the recording, there was more laughter than I remembered, because I was focused on the reading. I think the drama works too. Watching Steph when she was not reading, her face and her giggles were like a barometer of what was going on in the play.

I don't know what happens next. Other than I know I have to start writing the next play.

Q & A With Tilly Legge, Lightning Jar's Venus In Fur

TILLY LEGGE

By Lee Bemrose

Lightning Jar Theatre is a newish independent theatre company based in Melbourne.  Their current production is Venus In Fur by American playwright David Ives. It’s a play within a play, based on an apparently fictional novella from the late 19^th Century, which as it turned out was more autobiographical than author Leopold von Sacher-Masoch might have wanted readers to believe, as well as giving us the word masochism. Australian Stage caught up with Lightning Jar’s Tilly Legge as she takes on the commanding and demanding role of Vanda.

                                     

How long has Lightning Jar Theatre been around and how did it come into being?

Lightning Jar Theatre was formed in 2016 by Hannah Greenwood, Dylan Watson and myself. We wanted to create more of the sort of theatre that we want to see. It had kinda been on the cards for the three of us for some time, it was just a matter of waiting for the right play to present itself.

I understand lightning jars are a vessel for preserving fruit... how did this become the company name?

It’s a subtle reference to a line in The Dreamer Examines His Pillow by John Patrick Shanley. The lead character Donna is trying to explain the emotions she feels raging inside her; she says to her ex-boyfriend, “There’s lightning screwed in a jar in here!”. We thought the image was great and represents what we love seeing on stage! It’s also an homage to how Dylan and Hannah met; they worked together on this play for an acting masterclass back in 2012.

What is your role at Lightning Jar?

We’re all the co-artistic directors. It’s a very collaborative effort. All responsibilities are shared between the three of us.

What's Lightning Jar's mission statement or ethos?

We want to create theatre that is exciting, fresh, moving & entertaining.

We want to celebrate writers, new & old.

We want to make you feel, make you forget, make you shift uncomfortably in your seat, make you laugh.

We want to be the reason people see more theatre.

How many plays have you produced so far?

This is our second show, following Aaron Posner’s Stupid Fucking Bird in 2017.

Stupid Fucking Bird was a wonderfully engaging production. What aspects of that play attracted you to it.

We loved its irreverence and at the same time deep respect for the source material - The Seagull by Anton Chekhov. It was a modern look at a classic, brimming with humour and pathos but also full of heart. It also had quite a lot of direct address to the audience which really brought the audience into the world of the characters. The metatheatrical elements of the play meant we could get away with some things that we may not have been able to with a more conventional script, especially from a budgeting perspective! We were honestly so surprised no-one had done it in Australia yet. It had so many successful runs in the US and we just felt we’d hit a gold mine when we came across it. It’s really one of those plays where an audience will have a good laugh and then WHAM! Hit right in the feels.

And the new production Venus In... actually, before we get to that, Venus In Fur or Venus In Furs? I'm confused. Please unconfuse me.

Venus in Fur (2010) by David Ives is about a playwright/director who’s adapted the book Venus in Fur (1870) Leopold von Sacher-Masoch for the stage. There’s a bit of translation debate about whether the title to the original book is plural or singular. Our version is plural but the one they talk about is the play is singular. Go figure!

Right. So Venus In Fur – what drew Lightning Jar to this particular play?

It’s pretty simple really; Venus in Fur is a great script. There’s a reason it was the most performed play in America in 2012/2013 - It’s an absolute cracker! It’s funny, it’s clever, it’s incredibly topical. The three of us are actors but we don’t want to choose plays just because there’s a role in it we want to play. It’s got to be a great story that deserves an audience.

Is the play simply fun or is it deep and making a statement?

It’s a bit of both really. Ives’ plays are always so whip-smart and he writes great dialogue; we joke that he’s (Aaron) Sorkin on Stage. It’s certainly entertaining but it does take the audience to a place they didn’t expect. Not only have all our audiences so far stayed seated for a few minutes after curtain to absorb what’s happened, they’re often then rushing out together to have prolonged discussions about what takes place. It’s great to make the audience think like that and want to discuss the play’s themes long into the night. We were heading out after a show one night last week and ran into a group of audience members at a bar that were doing just that!

I can't help thinking about the subject matter of the play and the current climate of sex and power play in Hollywood and indeed politics and culture generally. Is the play an observation or comment of what's going on now?

Well... it is, but it really is coincidental. The play was written in 2010 so not as a direct response to recent developments in the industry, although certainly it seems influenced by what many people knew occurred in the business but didn’t want to discuss. There have been jokes about the “casting couch” and what that implies that we’ve all heard, but as they say, there’s truth to every joke. Clearly Ives had his finger on the pulse! What’s occurred to us during rehearsals is how different a production of Venus may have looked like back when it was written compared to what we’re creating here. There has to be a certain amount of attention paid to themes that may not have been 8 years ago.

Leading up to opening night, what was the vibe like at rehearsals?

So nervous and excited! Previews were such a great way for us to warm to having an audience. We feel we’re in a great place to have some packed houses!

How do Tilly and Vanda get along with each other? What does each of you think of the other?

Vanda is an absolute firecracker - great fun at a party. Just don’t make her mad! What does she think of me? Well hopefully she thinks I’m doing her justice!

We should come and see Venus In Fur because...

You’ll be thoroughly entertained – by the end of the play, once you get over the initial dumbstruck stupor that most people seem to experience, you’ll be busting to grab a drink and discuss what you just saw. “So does that mean that she-?” And “So was it really…?”

Season runs at 45 Downstairs, 45 Flinders Lane, Melbourne until March 24.

Marciano & Ananas

Yet again, another friend and kindred spirit leaves me. I love this human. I enjoyed our brief time together so much. Marciano is sunshine. Every minute spent with her, it was a pretty perfect minute. There just weren't enough of them.

One By One

Today's happy thought: We are all going to die. But not all together. Our deaths will happen slowly and sadly, one by one.

Outside Visiting Hours

Those late night demons,
Those 4am demons
Those 4am demon voices
That wake you,
And keep you awake
With their all-knowing Truth,
With their relentless
Telling you
And telling you
And telling you
And judging you...

Those late night, 4am demons,
They are manageable
During visiting hours.
But when you start to notice them,
And hear them,
And listen to them
During your wide-awake hours,
After your visiting hours.

And they keep telling you
And telling you
And telling you things
And judging you
In a voice louder than
The voices in the visiting hours...

When this happens,
There is no escape.

Specks In This Cosmic Storm Of Chance

This is us, New Year's Day 2018. The Dreaded One and me, we made it through a struggle of a year. I don't really know how I made it. The urge for non-existence was strong early in the year. That urge never really leaves. It has always been part of me. It gets close, and it fades away.

But the survivor in me has never given into that urge. Partly because I know moments like this are possible in the future. Grumpy and The Dreaded One, they seem to be making each other happy again. When we're good, we totally fucking rock. After all this time, we still make each other laugh, and we still hold hands.  Humans and that freakish chance encounter thing... The Dreaded One was born three days after me in San Francisco. I was born three days before her in Sydney. What are the chances of us bumping into each other years later? What are the chances of us liking each other enough to eventually love each other for all these years? We're all just specks in a cosmic storm of chance.

And Marciano on my right in this picture is a perfect demonstration. She wrote the perfect job application for the position of working with me in the cafe. Perfect because it spoke to me. As with a previous co-worker, April, I kind of knew from those words on the page that something was there. Some beautiful connection. I was right both times. Both have become treasured friends.

Today was Marciano's last day. I have enjoyed every minute of her company.  We share a gentle, quirky sense of humour. We have made each other happy. We have hugged a couple of times a day, but today's last hug was a long and tight one, and I don't mind telling you that when she said into my shoulder, "Lee... my big brother"... well I might have teared up a bit.

What are the chances? What are the chances that a person born in Uruguay 25 years before a person born in Sydney will bump into each other in Melbourne one day and share such a silly sense of humour and become such close friends? What are the chances, in this cosmic storm of chance?

Finnish, Is Finished

12 months after starting it, I have finished my play, titled Finnish.

It shouldn't have taken me this long. It's only 85 or so pages of writing. But in parts, it is intense, and this has been an intense year. Such extremes of love and the questioning of love, self doubt that brought me to the edge of some very dark places because the person I love most... I had hurt her and she wanted to hurt me. She achieved that goal. I realised that I am, this late in life, still as lacking in self-confidence as I was as young boy. When I was a young boy, my self-confidence was destroyed. Unlike a lizard's tail, it seems your self-confidence never grows back. You cover up this lack of self-confidence late in life... you learn some tricks. But when it gets kicked out of you again, you realise that you are still that lonely little boy.

Writing this play was a coping mechanism. Writing this play was a way of trying to understand things. I really didn't do anything wrong. I loved outside of the accepted parameters of love maybe... meaning just that I love my friends. I have few friends, I am solitary man, but sometimes these random strangers break through and I find myself seeing these individuals fully, understanding them fully, accepting them fully, and loving them fully.

And that is what my play is about. It's about the nature of love and friendship. It's about can society accept alternative forms of love and friendship.

Can a 50 year old man have a beautiful friendship with a 25 or 30 year old woman without it being about sex or lust. This a valid question. It's also about the nature of love. What, exactly, is love, and how do we judge love. Maybe love can be pure, even though you are judging it from your world view. Just because you think love is about lust, it isn't necessarily so. Sometimes love is just about acceptance. You just accept them, and you embrace them, because you love them. Love is a mystery.

So I've finished a play about love. It's maybe the rawest thing I've ever written, and I tend to go for raw. I write to make myself cry or to laugh, and I have done both in writing this thing.

Just like in the closing of the third act of the play, I have no idea what happens next.

We Are Dreams

I sometimes wonder what would happen if the essence of us wasn't contained and restricted by our skin and bone and the miracle of our inner organs and that mystery that is our brain. What would happen if we were not trapped in this physical skin-prison? What would happen if the skin-prison released us? We would just be out there, swirling thoughts and swirling dreams, swirling with each other, together.

Never individual.

Blackrainbow When He Was Young And Pretty

These two guys were friends when they were teenagers. They have drifted into old age, and drifted apart.

You are more beautiful than you realise. Live now.

Betty Grumble Interview

Betty Grumble

By Lee Bemrose

If you haven't experienced Betty Grumble, you should. If you think you could come up with a creation like Betty Grumble, you can't, unless you are Emma Maye Gibson, because Betty is the most unique force of Sex Clown you will ever behold. And she is here to delight and entertain you and save the world with her fierce love and loving anger.



First up, thank you for taking the time to answer yet more questions. Do you ever get tired of answering questions about yourself? Or do you enjoy this part of the process?

I enjoy the experience. The conversation that art creates should have many tendrils across many mediums. Debate and dialogue encircle practice and we do love a good yarn.

Does the introspection of being asked questions about the nature of your character affect the nature of your character?

It depends on the line of questioning, the mood, the moment. Sometimes you feel strong enough to free dive deep down into your guts for some hard truths. Sometimes you just wanna wriggle across into some solitude. Asking questions about being asked questions is proving trippy today… But I like it.

I have to confess that I chose an email Q & A over a face-to-face because the prospect of meeting Betty Grumble in the flesh is kind of intimidating. Do you find Betty is generally an intimidating presence? Why/why not?

Betty can have that effect. She is a large energy, a fleshy, sensual beast. Some people are drawn into her laugh, some are arrested by it. She allows space for all of these responses and they are all valid. She is monstrous in her way, simultaneous war mask and children’s toy. Betty is going to mean different things for different experiences of the world. The overriding response is ‘give us a squeeze’ but the tension of Grumble’s inner workings - her love and anger - her comedy and horror - gives birth to a storm of energy. She’s a primal one, so I can understand how locking eyes in the jungle with a mythic maiden may induce a quiver. She’s a lover though, first and foremost, there’s always time to sniff each other out. No shame in watching from a distance though… Or not at all.

This is for both of you: What does Betty think of Emma Maye, and what does Emma Maye think of Betty? What aspect of the other do you like/dislike etc. Please answer as though the other was not in the room.

Emma Maye has always spoken about Betty as a survival mechanism. She’s an invocation of the sacred Glamour Spell that has long histories stretching through drag and shamanism. Emma Maye laughs and weeps alongside Betty. Betty gives Emma Maye space to see herself. The mask says ‘look at me’ but also, ‘don’t look at me’. It’s not a mirror so much as a water source, which reflects but you can also submerge into and swim in the other. You have to respect it though, as it can take you under… Performance Art & Sex Clown legend Glitta Supernova calls this phenomenon ‘SHOWCOSIS’. There are healthy and unhealthy cases of Showcosis, where like with any magic, you can go too deep or too far from the spirit into ego. ‘Alright, I’m ready for my close-up, Mr Demille.’ The stage is powerful, you have to respect it. Betty loves Emma Maye, she’s been watching her for some time.

Do you ever have creative differences? If so, how do you resolve these differences?

We have a pretty good symbiotic relationship. You could probably trace a battle of aesthetics through photographs of earlier performances to now. We work a lot with taboo, I think we have learnt a lot about listening to instinct and the world around, together. We have made mistakes together. We try not to chastise each other for it, it’s part of the process. We are open to learning. We are also proud of each other.

Your new show is called Love & Anger. The word I most associate with love is hate. Why Love & Anger?

Anger can be righteous. It’s a moving energy. I feel like hate has arrested itself. It’s stuck. As women, we are often told to ‘calm down’, that we are hysterical or crazy. I think women have a lot of anger, and its justified, we have lived and are living in an ongoing femicide. The feminine spirit has been under attack. The anger we have is in response to this, in can help us, empower us, protect us, ready us for battle, it can also connect us to the sisterhood. The anger doesn’t eat itself or go rancid, it constantly renews itself because it’s so connected to love energy. We are only so angry because we are so full of love, because we know innately how things can be and that the balance is out.

What kind of things stir feelings of love in the heart of Betty Grumble?

Nature, GAIA BABY YEAH. Oh, ole Grumble bum is always perving on the world around, loving that kookaburra cracking itself up on the branch of the white gum. The wind whipping around your thighs, the breath of fellow dancers on a dance floor going in and out. Tenderness incarnate in the human spirit, the resilience of people, the difference in people. I LOVE IT. Betty loves to move and be moved, she loves fantasising about the endless possibilities, thick musical beat, her biological and logical family. Animals, the ecosystem. CAVES! RAIN! It’s raining as we write this now and we want to throw ourselves into the day, mouth open. Love is lurve and love and love and love.

And anger?

People who try and control other people’s bodies… Or the body of the Earth. Fuck you. Fuck a government so corrupt and conservative they don’t even bury their bigotry, they air it with the kind of arrogance we though we left behind post WWII. Enemies of Grooviness - EAT SHIT.

What are your thoughts on hate?

Hate is going to be born out of fear or trauma. Hate is something we need to face and talk about. There’s too much hate disguised as justice. Not everyone needs to live the same life, but we need to live freely, the lives we desire and deserve. Identify those stepping on the throats of others.

You use the word ecosexual, and there is a theme of the impact humans are having on our fragile ecosystem in your work… what do you think is the fate of humankind?

Part of me believes in the ‘volunteer human extinction program’… That we will suffer the consequence of our selfishness as a species and rightly so… Part of me wants the revolution of consciousness to bring us into harmony with the cosmos. Can it be? I find comfort in the idea that Utopia is in the Struggle, that there is a space for us to live in the here and now in the reaching for the groovier future.

Emma Maye - do you ever forget you are not behind your Betty mask and do or say something that is pure Betty in off-stage reality?

No.

Do you think it would be healthy for everyone to have an alter-ego?

I think its healthy for people to play. Our child spirits need to live in us, too many have been stomped out. It’s all dress ups.

I understand that the name Betty Grumble was inspired by Emma’s grandparents. What would they think about your shows?

Realistically they would be shocked. Now they have passed into the spirit realm, I think they would find it all very funny. I think my Aunty, Lynda Gibson would be laughing the hardest up there, she is a big inspiration to me and I think processed the world a similar way to how I do. She was their daughter and I’m their grand daughter, it’s all connected.

Do you ever see faces in the audience that are genuinely shocked by what they are seeing?

If I’m lucky!

Part of the reason I want to see Love & Anger is to find out if this performance really is as hilarious and outrageous as I remember the last one being. What kind of experience are we in for this time?

Thank you! This is an ongoing womanifesto I say, so you can expect a similar approach to the body and fun, of seriousness colliding with surreal stupidity. You can anticipate seeing Betty shift in different ways, there is a deeper autobiographical approach to this go at it. I’m proud to bring this ceremony to Melbourne, the last run was very loving and I think we are going to make a lot of fun and noise together.

Finally, can you (either of you) tell us something about Betty Grumble you’ve never told anyone before?

She gets scared sometimes. 

AnaNA Siniestro

Today in the cafe... I don't really need another nickname or alter ego or personality, and yet...

This is my much loved current co-worker, Martina. I call her My Favourite Martian because of the anagram of her name. She is a treasure. She is a great worker, is great company, is a friend, and every day when she brings her sunshine personality into the cafe - as with The Dreaded One's assistant Jodie - I feel incredibly grateful that fate brought us together.

But the nickname thing. I'm learning Uruguyan Spanish, and apparentlyy my nickname is Anana Siniestro.

Sounds cool, huh? It's got a rhythm. It's got a beat. You can chant it... AnaNA Siniestro... AnaNA siniestro... AnaNa siniestro...

So primitive. So tribal.

So what you are probably wondering, if you do not speak the Uruguyan version of Spanish, does it mean?

It appears to mean "Weird Pinapple." Or maybe "Sinister Pineapple.

So. There you go.

Just Be Kind To Each Other

I don't like Christianity. Certainly don't like Islam and its current place in the sunshine of evil. Without the fairy story of Islam, there would be no evil Islam.

Alas, there is Evil Islam. ISIS exists because of Islam.

Religion has done more harm than it has done good. Religion has contributed nothing more to the human cause than common sense has. Common sense and respect for our fellow humans and other species, that's all we need. Not some 2000 year old prophet. Not the imaginary son of an imaginary god.

Just a sense of decency.

Fuck religion. Just be nice and, you know, kind to each other. It's so fucking simple.

And yet I've been in various parts of the world, Indonesia and Istanbul, and and I've heard the call to prayer and been moved by such beautiful sounds. The words being sung mean nothing to me, yet the sounds are so beautiful.

And now in my new home, I hear the Sunday bells of the nearby Christian church.

Again, such beautiful sounds, sounds without meaning, but such beautiful sounds.

Why can't religion - stupid religion - why can't its meaning resonate as purely as its call to prayer and its bell chimes do?

Be kind to each other. That's all we need to do. Just be kind to each other.

Peace, Hugs & Harmony In The Workplace

Beauty in our banged up little cafe... Recently two people applied for the position of Grumpy's helper. One person had superior coffee skills. The other had few coffee skills, but she had something. Both are lovely people. The Dreaded One advised that I should look after me, and so my head went with the person with the coffee skills.

Funny, though, my heart was wishing that the other person had scored the job. There had been a moment during her trial shift when I glanced across and she was looking in the other direction, not knowing she was being watched - drew in a big, slow, eyes-closed breath, and breathed it out again. She was feeling so completely at home in our little cafe. I really wanted to be able to give her the job because she was miserable at the restaurant she was working at. I'd ask her about it, and she would deflate as she talked about it. The cafe, however, seemed to make her happy. Properly happy.

Complications and complications and although I gave the coffee skills person the job, and although I know she would have been great and I would have enjoyed working with her, she turned the offer down.

So now this sweet stranger from Uruguay has the job. We work well together. The Dreaded One and Heart-Shaped Lollipop Girl adore her. The customers love her. I have chosen well, again.
But the beautiful moment... today after a long-weekend because of a football game, I asked how her weekend had been.

"Oh," she told me, that never faraway smile emerging, "The weekend was so long. I missed coming into the cafe."

And Then You Are Gone

No one asks
Because you seem sorted,
Your own place,
Your own love,
Your own friends
You seem sorted.
You're okay,
You're fine
You seem sorted
And fine
And okay,
You seem to be all of these things

No one asks.

And then you are gone.

Forever Love

I want to go
He said
I really don't want
You to go
She said
But I need to go
I said
Please don't go
She said
I don't want to go,
I said
Even though
For the longest time
I've wanted to go.

And now I have gone
So you have
She said
You have gone forever
I miss you and love you
And somehow
He whispered back
From the forever
I miss you too
And I'll miss you forever
And ever,
My forever love.

Hugs

Today in the cafe... so it begins again; the search for Grumpy's next front of house sidekick. I've had such a dream run of beautiful souls. There have been ups and downs and mostly friendships and hugs.

The hugs have become a feature lately. New workers early on just embracing the daily hug or two. It's quite beautiful. Hugs in the workplace. Beautiful. Just fucking beautiful.

And I find myself wondering what has happened over the last couple of years. I am solitary man. I don't consider myself obviously open to hugs because I am Grumpy.

But there are hugs. Lots of hugs.

When I was in my 20s, I remember being with friends who had been friends for a long time, and they hugged, and I remember smiling and being quietly envious... would I ever have friends who would hug me so easily? Because I am Solitary Man, I'm just not someone people hug, not for my whole life. These people, I thought, are lucky people.

Something has changed, apparently. The hugs come easily these days. Solitary Man, the huggers have found him.

And I'm cool with that. Now I'm a lucky people too.

I See Invisible People

I look around and see all the invisible people. The people who made the bridges and the roads and who made the internet work. I see the invisible people who made telephones and remote control devices and velcro and zippers and GPS and bridges again... can you imagine if you were the one who had to build that bridge? That great arching bridge?

Sorry to go on about the bridges, but seriously, some of those bridges...

The medicine, the gaffer tape, the glass and the metal, those fucking skyscrapers with their cocktail lounges and time itself, the measurement of time. Specs that allow us poor visioned to see, all these invisible people made all these things. The young soldiers who gave their lives for our easy lives and our freedom.

Just saying, cheers to all the invisible people. All the invisible people who are around us each and every day.

Down On Eddy Street

Down On Eddy Street.

It's sunny down there, down on Eddy Street, Tenderloin. Saddest place I've ever been. Hotel's good, with my view and my privilege and my escape plan, and my temporary status as a tourist.

They shout at each other, down on Eddy Street. There's drama, always fucking drama. I watch the sadness and drama unfold beneath that giant mural of the guy and his microscope, looking microscopically at his own heart, ripped it seems by his own hands, from his own chest. He's really checking this heart thing out, and I wonder what he makes of it all.

I see two people, down on Eddy street. Fucked. Fucking fucked. Their lives are fucked. They are fucked. Right now they are chemically fucked and the hedonist that I am thinks good on you, you've found a way of being fucked on the streets of Tenderloin, San Francisco. Good on you. It's not the Summer Of Love, but good on you.

I watch, fascinated, from my privileged place, as he does this basically, fundamentally beautiful thing: he takes his filthy rag from his filthy bag, and she screams what the fuck are you doing? He says kind words and goes about his task. But what is he fucking doing? One corner of his filthy rag goes up on ledge, stabilised by a heavy can. A luggage bag stabilises the next corner on the same ledge. On the ground, stumble and stagger, a sun couch folded forms the third corner, and I see it now.

He tucks the fourth corner through the pop-up handle of the luggage case (lost or theirs – who knows?), and there is shelter of sorts against the sun.

And it strikes me that I am actually seeing beauty. This broken man is doing the decent thing, that thing we all aspire to: he is providing shelter for someone he loves, down on Eddy Street.

They pull their things inside the shade he has made. Sanctuary, in a harsh part of town in this wealthy city. They scramble inside, and others stumble by, some glancing inside, most stumbling carelessly by, focused on the own pointlessness of their own pointless day.

The guy's legs pop out from the beneath the shelter he has so carefully constructed on this shitty pavement down on Eddy Street. Why go perpendicular, I think from my Ivory Tower, when you can stretch out horizontally?

Then a cop, a young guy with a take-away coffee, he stops and peers properly inside. There are words, a shake of his head. No way, his body language says, no fucking way. You can't do this, you have to move on.

Eventually the guy who built the shelter, he kind of stumbles from his shelter, down on Eddy Street, and he pulls up his trousers and buckles up his belt. Cop leans on the street sign as he waits for these losers to pack up their stuff. The girl finally emerges, shade cloth is pulled down, things thrown into bags as thoughts are shouted, and they get on with their day. Not here, not today.

Not down on Eddy Street.

At Gold Beach

At Gold Beach

At Gold Beach, Oregon
Somewhere nearby,
Fires burn.
Heavy smoke darkens the light,
And in the hazy smoke,
Shapes of things loom.
The summer looks like winter
Smoke like mist
Above us
A blood red sun
Scatters fire on the ocean
Later
A blood red moon
Stares accusingly down.

In the dark
In the forever black dark
I listen to the waves
Crunch insistently against the sand
And I think about the light.
I want the light
She wants the dark
So I lie there in her dark
And think about my light,
I dream about going
Into the light
Into the light,
Into the forever light.

The Vagina Monologues
At The Butterfly Club until August 6th

Reviewed by Lee Bemrose



What I knew about The Vagina Monologues prior to seeing this local production at The Butterfly Club: it's a controversial piece of theatre that has been around since the mid-90s; something about Whoopi Goldberg being involved in one production; there might have been a movie version; it's basically a bunch of women talking about their vaginas.

My preconceptions prior to seeing this production (featuring Dayna Boase, Luci Klendo and Linda Cookson): It is theatre for chicks; it's probably anti-male; even though I quite like vagina's it's probably not my kind of theatre because I'm not a chick; in spite of its longevity and apparent critical acclaim, it's probably really just novelty theatre because how can you have a show that runs for an hour that's just women talking about their vaginas?

(I'd like to add here that the only show I could think of that has also been around for many years and is about penises is Puppetry Of The Penis, in which, as far as I know, some men get up on stage and basically play with their willies. I'm not suggesting for a minute that the underlying political, social and cultural explorations of Vagina Monologues and the blatant childishness of Puppetry says anything relevant about the differences between the sexes... no wait – maybe that's exactly what I'm suggesting... hmm).

What I knew about VM was a result of background noise, and I was pretty correct about it all. As to my preconceptions... pretty much, all completely wrong. These were my interpretations of the facts, and wow, I really was very wrong on all counts.

At this point, I'd like to say that if you consider yourself a thinking male and you've read this far but haven't actually seen VM, take that step and go see it. I found it by turns funny, sad, tragic, entertaining and somewhat – just by the nature of the thing – educational (that's the wrong word... enlightening? I don't know – just go see it and you'll know what I mean).

Written by American playwright Eve Ensler, VM is a selection of a collection of around 200 interviews in which a wide variety of women discuss various aspect of their vagina and experiences being women. There really is a broad range of topics, ideas, histories and stories. This is not novelty theatre. It's important theatre, which is obviously why it has been doing the rounds for so long. Duh.

There were many favourite sections, but I'm reluctant to go into too much detail. There was an alphabetised section in which all the imaginable nicknames for the vagina were covered; the personification section in what would your vagina wear/say etc; there were accounts of women who were variously ashamed or ultimately proud of their vaginas; the c-bomb was reclaimed in dynamic fashion; and much more. All accounts felt deeply personal, coming from existences that most of us are blessed to only be able to imagine.

And obviously, as men, we can only imagine the significant impact on a human-being that having a vagina can have; we can only imagine what it is like to be a woman. At various times throughout, I found myself wondering, really? That has happened? That happened to you? You were made to feel that way? Someone did that to you?

Actually, another preconception I had was that this would be a confronting piece of theatre. I was correct here. In parts it was – albeit poetically – highly confronting, but in the way that the miraculously natural process of a painful birth is confronting. I was happy to be confronted by these very real stories.

The performances were solid as the three performers took on a myriad of characters, each having their moment to shine, all clearly enjoying performing.

I can't compare this production to others, as many probably can, but I do know I found it very satisfying theatre indeed. For me, the best theatre makes us laugh and it makes us cry as it gives us a glimpse into the lives of others. Women will, of course, recognise and definitely empathise. They will attend and will enjoy. I just hope more men go along for this short season, because they will also enjoy some quality theatre. It's definitely feminist in nature (ultimately asking, as it does, is this fair? Or perhaps making the statement, this just isn't fucking fair!), but unless you are sexist, what's the problem with that?