The Old Fitzroy's black box grew infinitely, strong and delicate. The stories emerged from dark depths; the depths of the stage and of the human psyche. The stories were crystal that the actors struck and the theatre resonated with their deep, dangerous hum. Prepare to be humbled by thoughtful performances and original scripts.
Tom Holloway's Dead Centre saw Rosie Lockhart take to the stage standoffishly, and quite off centre. An authentic and awkward anxiety felt its way throughout her performance of the Englishwoman who found herself in Australia. Escaping something, maybe. Looking for something, definitely. That such a character, bereft of conventional stage energy, could maintain the audience's close focus is a feat. To wrought the delicate, prissily-spoken words into sublime mirages of the Australian outback...that was something more. A delicate actress and ambitious script rendered something in Dead Centre ineffable. The identities of Indigenous Australia, colonial Australia, and contemporary foreign immigration clash in a cacophonous equilibrium and with slightly upturned lips. A true success of new writing.
Simon Stephens' Sea Wall is carried by Ben Prendergast. He weaves the words in such an authentic web of story-telling that audience is barely aware of the tragedy until they're halfway through its climax. The script is well measured and wrings out the heart's sympathies. It is conventional, yet a local and humbly delivered cry. The audience was moved.
The double-bill is a sixty minute run. A Sydney audience member can't ask for more punchy and fresh a night of theatre. Red Stitch are on fire at the Old Fitz.
