"We live in a culture of collective amnesia," writes playwright Reg Cribb, by way of elucidating the timely themes that shape his visceral play about the black shadow of Australia's history. In a two-act performance, which often swerves abruptly into dreamscapes and flashbacks, Cribb's Thomas Murray And The Upside Down River tells a story of intertwined white and black violent history through the cipher of the cursed Thomas Murray, fifth and final generation of the Murrays to live on his family's land near the Darling River.
Though the story is rooted firmly in the genre of bush narrative, we never feel trapped in the surface mannerisms and slang, but are drawn ever deeper into the scarred psyche of each of the lead characters, their connection to each other and their land and the violent riptide of their heritage, which each one struggles to swim free of.
The performance hinges on the reckless exuberance of Francesca Savige's Lucy Banfield, but the beating heart of the piece is Grant Cartwright's masterful Thomas Murray, whose silences occupy an an almost physical presence in the performance space, breathing down the neck of each audience member. The Stables' minuscule stage works excellently with Dann Barber's set here, with its unfurling planks of wood uncovering a wide river, and deep gashes on the stage.
It's a play that creeps up on you, much like a psychological thriller — in that you don't realise you haven't blinked until the lights come up. The final act is thrilling, almost cinematic, bringing the bubbling tensions to a head in a thoroughly cathartic manner. Skip The Revenant and see this one instead.
