Written & performed by Gary Day
At Beckett Theatre, Malthouse – Feb 1995 extended
Reviewer: Kate Herbert
This review published in The Melbourne Times after 11 Feb 1995
Go and see Slick. It is worth it. It opens with Gary Day jogging on the spot and the pace barely lets up for 70 minutes of this self-written monodrama. It leaves one breathless.
Tim Burns is locked in the ugly embrace of his partner for life, The Demon Drink, or "Slick", as Tim ambivalently names the grog. He jogs to escape his wretched lot and to "click in" those fabulous endorphins to save his arse from snitching another drink.
Slick is everybody's addiction: alcohol, heroin. Slick's wife, Cigarette, completes the menage a' trois and Tim "goes down on her forty times a day." Slick is anthropomorphised, hiding in corners, jumping on Tim's back without warning. Slick is a sly and plausible rogue who convinced Tim at an early age that he made his life rosier, which he did - for a while.
Day gives a muscular and riveting performance. His jittering, frenetic withdrawals are disturbing, his pain palpable. His reminiscences about childhood, to distract himself and to make some sense of his adult self, are hilarious and witty. Day's writing is pungent, permeated by the stench of weakness and loss. Even most of the poo jokes were funny.
Bruce Myles' vigorous and stylish direction enhances Day's muscular performance. Day's jittering, frenetic withdrawals are disturbing, his pain palpable. Day's writing is witty, pungent, permeated by the stench of weakness and loss. Even most of the poo jokes were funny.
The character's evolution felt truncated at the end. He finds some peace with his abandoned child, but we have not seen enough of the adult to know how far down the tube he has travelled. I wanted to know more of this tortured soul. I loved him by the end. I would have held his hand like Jenny, his childhood sweetheart did.
KATE HERBERT
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