Review: HOUSE OF GAMES Keeps You Guessing at New Theatre

David Mamet's tale of a clinical psychologist curious about con artistry has been revived for a spicy and insightful production at New Theatre. Lured into the dubious House of Games by the plight of gambling addict client Billy, Dr Margaret Ford finds herself entrenched in the schemes of a ragtag group of con artists. Coincidentally, she also finds herself entwined in the arms of the charismatic Mike. It's a recipe for disaster that tastes like a Manhattan.

Flitting between Margaret's pan-am style therapy office and the titular bar, John Cervenka's sets provided a solid framework for the tense action. Deborah Mulhall's costume also fed into the late-eighties time period of the original film. The adaptation to stage by Richard Bean makes swift work of the kind of nuance and cloak-and-dagger of Mamet's seasoned theatregoers are familiar. Direction of Louise Fischer certainly amped up the drama and flourishes of entertainment, but some moments wound up somewhat ham-fisted, some scenes somewhat redundant. The elements that were strong did however truly carry the play into a fun time exploring the underside of human character. The chemistry between Katherine Shearer's relatable lead and Ben Brock's "why-do-I-always-fall-for-the-bad-guy?" bad guy was tangible, and the remarks on active consent gave the piece an impressive hurrah of depth. Rebecca Levy's Carla was someone we could have seen more of, an eleventh-hour treat of solid comedy.

What was also impressive, and perhaps worth commending Fischer's direction for, was how strong the ensemble performed as a group of larrikins no-goods. The performances were balanced, and each actor shined and supported in equal measure which takes a great deal of choreography and vision. Charles Jones' volatility was well portrayed within the confines of the play's universe, while Benjamin Vickers enlarged the heart of the play with his not-so-menacing demeanour. Colin McCarlie's ruddy esteem brought further light and shade, where Mark Langham was brash and hard cuts with a variety of accents which helped stabilise the wobbles in the ensemble's Chicago twang - that's not a critique, Chicago accent is trouble for anyone outside Chicago. Cheyne Finn and Hannah Day spent barely ten minutes on stage, but levelled across the con very strongly.

All round a wholesome, but not necessarily tasteful, night of local theatre.

Images by Bob Seary.

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