I’ve been going into this gallery since childhood – with varying degrees of awe, crowd-o-phobia and curiosity.

Today was one of those AHA ! moments.

Outside the gallery, are two monumental equestrian sculptures – Gilbert Bayes’ The Offerings of Peace and The Offerings of War.  I  have walked past them – up there in the gods on their massive pedestals – with but a flicker of interest year after year.

Well, today we encountered two of Tatzu Nishi’s wonderful pieces of public space art magic.  The pieces are on display until the 14th of February next year.

I was going to just show you the outside and encourage you to delve – but what the heck – here is one of the interiors.

It massively outdoes the Godfather’s horse head in the bed …….

Fabulous, eh ?

Wait till Warrigal gets his peepers on the wonderful exhibition of 18th and 19th century lithographs – also on display at the NSWG.  I predict a new era in digital mischief…..

Here’s one by Jean-Jacques Grandville (not on display ay NSWG) – even before Waz gets his hands on it !

One of the new wave British comedies – the late night (and much lamented in its passing)  Smack the Pony – is an abiding favourite of mine.

It’s a BBC 4 sketch comedy production that ran between 1999 and 2003.

The title is the female equivalent of spanking the monkey.

The writers and actors include Fiona Allen, Doon Mackichan, Sarah Alexander and Sally Phillips and the role of the hapless male is usually taken by Julian Rhind -Tutt or Darren Boyd. These are wicked, wicked comedians; The humour is a crazy mix of rude, crude and dryly sophisticated humour.  A well-timed raise of the eyebrow or a non-sequitur – so often has me in stitches.

My favourite sketches include the dating agency videos, female competitiveness, the oblivious woman and the pisstakes on music videos that always end the shows.

Swimming pool clip

Bottled Water Contest

Putting on Makeup in the Car

Window Washer

Pashmina

Embarrassing Bikini Line

If huge – and I mean really huge naked breasts offend you, avoid this video clip.

They say the things that make one laugh say quite a lot about a person.  Hmmmm.

The waiting line for Harry Potter was long and was not moving.  There she was – just in front.  A redhead with beautiful wild tresses carefully brushed out into a long mane stretching down to her generous hips.

I caught a glimpse of a front veranda that would do a ski lodge proud.  There was a complete cub scout troop (perhaps ‘troupe’ – as in ‘trained – barely-trained monkeys’) sheltering under that verandah: keeping out of the wind.

She pivoted gracefully on her knee-high black boots on 4inch heels, her black split tunic/dress revealing a fine pair of black stockinged legs.

WILL YOU BE QUIET ! she screamed at Damien. FOR THE LAST TIME, I WILL GET YOU ONE ONLY CHOCK TOP.  GOT IT ?

Damien looked shocked by the force of the blast.  Traces of still-drying spittle flecked his eyebrows.

(thought bubble)  Oooh Wah.  That was a bit of a massive let down.  I exchanged meaningful glances with the first mate.  And she exchanged a meaningful glance with the lesser Emmlet.  Her glance said “See !  That could happen to you at the drop of a hat anytime I get an unreasonable whingy request !”  I sensed simulteously a loss of ennui – by me and an awakening in Damien of the dreadful power of a grandmother in full cry.  Not the peaches and cream kind of grandmother.  The ‘take no prisoners’ kind.

In an instant, I could see that this siren was in fact a rather well coiffed and immaculately dressed pensioner grandmother with a face that offered George Piggins or Wally Lewis several yards advantage (for Mexicans – that allowed Ron Barrassi to claim the epithet of ‘fine-boned’).  For some reason I was reminded of Keith Richards.

(burst balloon here ….)

The line moved and we all filed into the Erina 8 cinema conmplex.  For those in distant lands, Erina Fair is the third largest mall in the known universe.  The car parks are so large that there is a mini-bus to take you from your car to the collection point for the large bus.  You park somewhere out near the Crab Nebula and time-warp into the shops and entertainment precinct (more on the Text Mex Ribs ‘n Steak later).

There was some utter tripe with no plotline, familiar (overly familiar) cast doing the same old Harry Potteresque stuff with spells, potions, dastardly black evil spirits, Alan Rickman doing his impression of an Afghan hound, an old white-bearded wizard dude, some teenage witches and wizards showing as much limply frustrated sexual interest in each other as Tess of the d’Urbervilles, some pyrotechnics (did I mention the Quiddich game) and repeated clips of Harry looking into ink drops swirled in the white wizard dude’s toilet bowl and somehow seeing into the past.  When I look into the toilet bowl, it’s not a very interesting past, and Harry was certainly experiencing more of the same shite.

So for a family excursion we paid $38 for a C- grade movie with popcorn and bottled water (apologies to the good people of Bungendore.  That’s it !  The Wizard’s name was Bungendore !) we had the added entertainment – in fact the ONLY entertainment of the day – from the Pensioner of Erina.

1/2 Star.

A Hearse !  My Kingdom for a Hearse.

The Play – or Doing Shakespeare in 21 Words

“The Sent-I-mental Bloke

Takes ‘is Doreen to a play,

Ee’d rather flit an’ smooge a bit

But kulcher

Makes ‘im stay.”^*

Murderous Horticulture – or Doing Shakespeare in 571 Words

The scene is a major theatrical production – a concatenation of eight of Shakespeare’s nine history plays, spanning the various multi-part plays Richard II, Henries IV, V and VI and Richard III.  A massive and curiously disturbing jewel.  The play is set within a festival, itself facing the sudden unanticipated need to assuage the fears and concerns of a city under economic siege.  Joy and amusement are in short supply. A sense of imminent doom looms large over the city, the play and the soon-to-be long-suffering audience.

Like the interior of a castle, the set is bare. The company is facing hard times and has dispensed with costumes in favour of at-home casual wear, locating the time as twenty-first century K-Mart.

The company has enlisted the services of a major cinematic star very familiar to the audience who will bring stentorian gravitas playing Richard II in the first act.  As Dorothy Parker once said of Katherine Hepburn “She displays all the emotions – from A to B”. She will be eclipsed by a magnificent performance from a company member playing a particularly nasty troll Richard III in the last act.

Falstaff will lose about 80% of his traditional bodyweight despite a lack of production sponsorship from Jenny Craig, becoming rather more portable than portly.

The parts of the Duke of Norfolk, Suffolk, a killer and a murderer (? difference ) will be played by the company bouncer.

There will be death.  There will be much death. More death than the audience can possibly imagine.  In fact, there will be ONLY death.  A marathon slaughter in two parts, each with two acts.

In the third act, the company will (thoughtfully) provide an electronic scoreboard showing the name of the current victim so that the audience will not lose the plot and will have a chance to see whether York or Lancaster are in front – going into the final quarter.

There will be a recipe.

Dramatic Art:

• Begin by taking a golden shower of raining foil strips – standing completely still.

• Take a Wiltshire Stainless shiv and a victim.

• Autograph the victim’s liver with the shiv from behind or in front.

• Take 3,000 litres of fake blood and 800kg of flour.

• Draw a mouthful of fake blood and spit it all over the victim

• Slink around doing those kooky stage-walking movements placing the foot flatly and silently on the floor (not the bouncer who must remain boofy at all times).

• Take a handful of flour and coat the victim with the flour

• Repeat until there are no more victims.

• Baste the audience for about 8 hours, or until there is no more audience.

End with a grey “winter of discontent” snowstorm gently draping a children’s playground for about 2 hours.

Punctuate the violence with short intermissions.

Provide barely-drinkable coffee to help keep the patrons awake.

Coda:

Note:  For patrons averse to infanticide, the princes have walk on parts and drag off parts, and are mercifully (for the audience at least) murdered silently out of sight in the monkey bars.  So, to let only one cat out of the bag; the bouncer did it in the monkey bars with the Wiltshire Stainless.

RIII will call for transport.

“My kingdom for a horse” although, given the liberally-scattered corpses on stage, calling for a hearse, might be more appropriate.

The audience part is whispered: “A taxi, my kingdom for a taxi” rehearsed often throughout the play.

*  Apologies to C.J. Dennis

But last week we were wiped out by Food Court.

Presented as a collaboration between Geelong’s Back to Back Theatre Company and the jazz improvisational trio, the Necks, the production nailed the audience to a most uncomfortable and deeply thought-provoking issue. Horror and cruelty in the lives of disabled people.

More disturbing – if that’s possible was that the drama translated cruelty and maltreatment of what was clearly learned behaviour from the world at large – the food court perhaps – into a kind of “normalcy” amongst this disabled community.

Food Court was conceived from an overheard conversation in a shopping mall. The production ran for two nights at the Sydney Opera House last week – after sell-out shows in Europe in May. We went on the strength of a previous 2007 Festival of Sydney production by Back to Back – Small Metal Objects – which was an altogether different kettle of fish.

Small Metal Objects was set in the public space outside the Customs House at Circular Quay – and the audience (wearing headphones and sitting in a small temporary grandstand) – as well as the mic’d actors mingled with the general public as the comedic drama unfolded. In fact as a production, audience, actors and passers-by reshaped the drama every evening. The play was hilarious, warm and strongly affirming the depth of talent of the disabled actors and their generous poking of fun at able characters in their world – from the businessman trying to buy party drugs to his friend the psychologist – enlisted to help sort out the deal – with the massively disinterested but pleasant enough (and slightly helpful) disabled characters. The duo of Simon Laherty and Allan V Watt were wonderful – reminiscent of Steinbeck’s small quick-witted George Milton and the large disabled Lennie Small from “Of Mice and Men”.

But Food Court was a very different kettle of fish. The Necks laid down a constantly tense and sharp-textured soundscape slowly rising to a crescendo. The drama opened with a bit of good-natured comedy as a female “interviewer” (Rita Halabarec) dressed in gym gear and a sound man prepared for the drama. We waited – and waited as interview teams surely do for the arrival of their celebrated persona. The audience grew restless and when they were joined by a second female (Nikki Holland) also dressed for the gym, the food court dialogue started, the exchange did not go well. There was a lot of hostility, and this escalated when the characters were joined by a third disabled person (Sarah Mainwaring) who refused to speak and became a new victim.

The actors shouted abuse at each other and the obscure speech was surtitled. To the extent that “You fat ! You ugly!” needed visual clues to help with problems of diction, the surtitles added to the stress placed on the audience. A few people in the audience couldn’t endure the onslaught and departed early, but more challenging action was yet to come in a misty silhouetted dream sequence in a forest, one of the characters was forced to strip and dance, and was abused, kicked and beaten. It was clear that there was not going to be a happy ending.

Also disturbing was the finale when the Necks joined the cast on stage for a bow – with the exception of Sarah Mainwaring who had pegged out amongst the line-up and was receiving the gentle care of a stage assistant. (That was pretty much how it felt from the audience perspective too). I hope she feels much better now.

It was a confronting and exhausting experience; a window into a nightmarish world. We lumbered out into the biting cold with plenty of time to reflect and recover from the experience – mindful that theatre is not always cheerful entertainment and that the life of a disabled person can be very far from the beer and skittles world of the Small Metal Objects.

Pics were borrowed from the Back to Back Theatre web site. http://www.backtobacktheatre.com/about

And Small Metal Objects – SMH Arts in Review