Confidentially Yours, by Deirdre
Rubenstein
Playbox Beckett Theatre until Feb 28,
1998
Reviewed by Kate Herbert round Feb
10, 1998
The dramatic monologue is a perfect
vehicle for both playwright and actor. Deirdre Rubenstein had the luxury of
selecting from texts commissioned by some of our finest Australian writers
including Nick Enright, Andrew Bovell and Daniel Keene.
Being given carte blanche to create their own
quirky characters, they must have thought all their Christmases had come at
once.
Deirdre
Rubenstein, in her solo show Confidentially Yours opens the 1998 Playbox
season. She scampers skilfully and breezily from New Yorker, Mrs. Sonenberg to
the unknown Fleur who lives in the shadow of her famous sister, (Nick Enright),
from Lorna, the blind dipsomaniac tart (Daniel Keene) to Ronnie the tastefully
ageing ballerina (Joanna Murray-Smith).
Ten
characters are interspersed with eight original songs composed by Alan John
(The Eighth Wonder) with lyrics by poet, Alison Croggon.
Rubenstein,
almost without exception, creates, with minimal costume change, a distinct and
discreet persona for each by shifting tone, accent and body. Lorna is heavy,
working-class, angry, jammed blindly behind her kitchen chair as she faces
police interrogation.
Carol
(Debra Oswald) is in perpetual motion as she flutters over her singles' 'date
at 'Dinner for Six while Jane and Paula
(Andrew Bovell) reek of anguish.
It is the
monologues that are the highlight of this production. Enright's delicate,
evanescent New York tale of the heavily sun-glassed 'Mrs. Miller' is a feast of
subtle inflection, fine language and impeccable craftsmanship.
The
problems in this show arise from some unimaginative direction. Rubenstein is
left pacing up and down a corridor of light from stage apron to chair. The
pieces are begging for more evocative design and lighting and some physicality.
The songs need some choreography; not to create a razzamatazz musical
confection, but to give dramatic colour and visual interest to a very long
series of mostly unconnected pieces.
It is a
tall order to create eight new and inspired songs. Waiting Room, a witty
Brechtian cabaret number with a distinctive style and wry humour, is the most
memorable. The predictability of monologue followed by song by monologue
unfortunately it gives an otherwise fine show a washing line effect.
Cutting
four or five songs, and perhaps one or two more monologues, would make this an
even stronger show.
By Kate
Herbert
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