Kelly's Reign, Dec 1, 1996

By Hume Theatre Company

At Theatreworks until Dec 15, 1996

Reviewed by KH around Dec 1, 1996

When writing The Cherry Orchard, Anton Chekhov purposely placed the railway station five miles away so that his naturalistic director Stanislavski, could not use train sound effects. It is a pity Chekhov was not dramaturg for Kelly's Reign.

They "seek to modernise the theatre space" but use a naturalistic set of knocked together wooden huts, woodchips and logs. They abandoned a 1943 "antiquated text" by Douglas Stewart, wanting to update but have created an over-written melodrama. The concern that "women were completely left out" of the original is not addressed. They remain incidental in a play with more testosterone on stage than a gymnasium weights room.

In this production about super-highwayman, Ned, sound effects rule. Constant, taped, out of sync gunfire with period pistols and costumes give an unhappy impression of playground Cowboys and Indians. This, unfortunately is not the only flaw.

The company of fourteen actors and five live musicians have great commitment and energy but the end result is some passable acting in  a very dated style of production. There is an enormous amount of work in this show but they kept breaking cardinal rules.

One stated intention is to "meld the world of film and popular culture" but they confuse film with theatre. Opening with interminable video credits (all in the program anyway) unnecessarily delays the start. Every scene is preceded by video "newsflash" rolling text and voice-over which under-estimates the audience's capacity for gleaning subtleties. Video images were often running invisibly in full light.

The music is enjoyable bush balladry but holds up the action in the 135 minutes. Three co-writers (Michael Hurse, Nicholas Reid, Richard Sutherland) have tried valiantly to touch us but have missed any genuine emotional level.

Both text and performance lack depth. Any dramatic tension is dissipated by noisy overkill of guns, deaths and running about. The director attempts to shock with burnt flesh on video, stunt deaths, boys kissing, but it ends up producing a melodrama with dancin', drinkin', cussin', shootin', yellin' and killin'- all in Irish accents.

I want to be encouraging. Perhaps a shift towards the abstract, which happens for a fleeting moment at the end, could salvage this piece. It is a valiant effort but it has not worked.  

KATE HERBERT