The Brand New Ford by
Ian Scott
La Mama until August
4, 1996 Wed to Sat 8pm, Sun 6pm
Reviewed by Kate Herbert around July 17, 1996
The language of theatre is a cosmopolitan one and Ian Scott,
writer-director of The Brand New Ford, is well versed in all its dialects, both
linguistic and physical. The four members of this eccentric stage family
prattle and prate at each other in rich, complex and allusive phrases.
The starting gate for the content of this play is cars:
grotesque V8's and other revving, noisy, petrol-guzzling motors. Dad (the
inimical Jim Daly) talks like a Fairlane manual. He rants about the bloke over
the road, about his bedraggled dropout son's (Mark Pegler) choice of vehicle.
His wife and daughter (Melanie Beddie, Maria Theodorakis) are uncomprehending
in the face of alternators, carburettors and drive shafts.
The language drives the play. It bubbles and gushes
hilariously or it vaporises absurdly, almost incomprehensibly. It rushed by so
quickly at the start, I wanted to hear it all over again.
The first half is the more successful. It is crisply
constructed, swift-moving dramatically and clearly bedded in its absurdist
style. It surprises and satisfies and it is extremely funny in its observations
of modern living and our mad family miscommunications. All four performances
are colourful and skilled.
The second half is less coherent but perhaps I missed a
beat. It leaps from the absurd into the bizarre; Japanese mass-produced baby
makers, male pregnancy, rapid aging, sudden death. Modern technology goes berserk.
It was confusing but nonetheless entertaining. However, after accepting that I
had no idea where this vehicle was carrying me, I still craved a resolution to
the car theme. Perhaps I was just being too linear in my narrative needs.
The cosy, toasty-warm space at La Mama is always a tight
squeeze and this show almost bursts out the doors as it fills with huge cartons
and scattered bodies. The space is framed effectively, if enigmatically, with
an array of umbrellas (Louise McCarthy) and is lit subtly and evocatively in
darkly moody colours (Daniel Zika).
This piece leaps at the audience and gob-smacks us with its
provocative, naughty wit. Catch a look.
Kate Herbert
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