Reviewed by Barry Lenny, Wednesday 11th April 2018.
The State Theatre Company of South Australia is presenting
After Dinner, the first play written by internationally renowned, award-winning South Australian based playwright,
Andrew Bovell. Directed by
the company's Artistic Director, Corey McMahon, Bovell's 1988 play takes us back to that time, to a bistro in a Melbourne hotel, where we meet five single people on a Friday night out. Workmates, Paula and Dympie, are there every Friday for dinner and to hear the band but, on this occasion, Dympie has convinced recently widowed Monika to join them. At a nearby table sits Gordon, whose wife has recently left him, waiting for his workmate, Brendan and a friend of his. Brendan's friend, Stephen, eventually arrives, but Brendan, who had organised the evening, fails to appear.
Bovell takes the word 'dysfunctional' to a new level, as we soon discover. Jude Henshall plays Dympie, a self-centred, uptight, control freak, and we soon learn that Paula, played by Ellen Steele, is the only one in the office who is willing, out of sympathy, to go out with her on these Friday nights. Everybody else at work, we hear, cannot stand her. We are not surprised. Monika, played by Elena Carapetis, throws the cat among the pigeons, totally disrupting the evening, openly displaying her emotions, and going against Dympie's wishes. Gordon, played by Rory Walker, is introverted and hopeless, but is opening up and wants to talk about his life, marriage, and failures as a husband. Nathan Page plays Stephen, who is out for a womanising night on the town, and a deep and meaningful conversation is the last thing on his mind.
The 1980s are cleverly captured in the costumes and set design, by Jonathon Oxlade, with music from the era, from
Andrew Howard, and lighting by
Nigel Levings, setting it off, with the social mores of the time also on full display. McMahon, and his assistant director, Alira McKenzie-Williams, have constructed an extremely funny play but, just below the surface, there are the themes of loneliness, separation, and the inability to connect with others. Thirty years on, Bovell's play has stood the test of time well
The play begins with Gordon sitting alone, passing the time by staring at the menus and rearranging the things on the table, nervously waiting for the others. Rory Walker handles all of this 'business' hilariously, getting the audience laughing long before a word is spoken. Dympie is the next to arrive, commandeering a table nearby, the one at which she always sits, and engaging in some 'business' of her own, while trying to avoid eye contact with Gordon. Jude Henshall's mousey and prudish Dympie redoubles the laughter.
When Paula arrives, dressed to impress the men in a hooded dress, we see how little they have in common, and how truly dreadful Dympie can be as Paula tries to break the weekly ritual by suggesting that they move closer to the stage to be able to see the band later in the evening when the crowd arrives. Dympie overrules her at every turn. Ellen Steele's Paula is the antithesis of Dympie, outgoing and wanting to be near the action, ready to dance and have fun. Steele is bright, bubbly and energetic in the role, the irresistible force to Dympie's immovable object.
Dympie thinks that taking the bereaved and mourning Monika in hand will add a third person to her dreary Friday ritual, but Monika, a gift of a role for Elena Carapetis, is ready to celebrate her freedom from a boring marriage, not sit quietly and watch the world go by. She sides with Paula, and Dympie clings on desperately to her crumbling weekly event. Carapetis is ideally cast as the emotionally supercharged merry widow, having the audience in stitches.
Walker keeps the laughs coming thick and fast, right to the end, when his dancing, in the poorly coordinated style of an ill-controlled Thunderbirds marionette, is sure to remind you of people whom you know. He gives us a Gordon who could bore for Australia, in an hilarious characterisation.
Page's Stephen presents himself as a late 20th Century Don Juan, a Lothario of the first order, but all is not as it seems, which gives rise to more hilarity. Page gives his Stephen more front than Harrods, until the façade begins to crack and we discover his little peccadilloes.
One laugh follows hot the heels of the one before, giving the audience barely time to draw breath, until Bovell draws the threads together in a poignant ending. It is not a case of happily ever after, but there is a hint at it being mildly less sad for a brief moment or two, rather like real life.
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