SOS (OVERDUE) REVIEW: RIVER; THE OLD 505 THEATRE; SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 23. Ye ol’ 505, as I like to call it, has just celebrated ten years of performance, both musical and theatrical. It remains an indie icon, fresh and edgy; brave and uncompromising. This, thanks to she of boundless energy and prolific smiles, co-founder & erstwhile Sydney Fringe director, Kerri Glasscock, as well as artistic leading light, Gareth Boylan. It was into this heritage (though that word seems too old school for the context) that Claire Lovering stepped, with her one-woman show, River. I was late into the fray and, hence, late to review it. My only hope in doing so is that it might help promote a return season. Six nights isn’t nearly enough to afford the exposure this promising piece deserves and I’m happy to see it already has a look-in, albeit in Adelaide & Perth, next year. Loneliness is a capricious fate. You never know who it’s going to pick on. A few years ago, on completion of her WAAPA studies, Lovering made the big move from Perth to Sydney. Enmore, to be precise. She found herself all at sea, with no semblance of a schedule. She fabricated a faux timetable, but, knowing it to be just that, failed to adhere. Despite her isolation, she wasn’t predisposed to throwing herself right amongst it. And who can blame her? Even for a native, Sydney can be a big, scary place. One still pervaded by cultural immaturity, in which the male gender, particularly, has not yet transcended, in any really wholesale sense, the primitive ritual of getting drunk, making noise, trouble and boasting about it, as if it’s a competitive sport. But, I digress. Peace. Quiet. Solitude. These were her antidotes for despair. Public, yet private. With people, yet alone. Places where (to borrow from Vincent Gallo’s dark comedy, Buffalo 66) one could span time. While away hours. Op shops, rather than cop shops. The library. But foremost among her discovered hangouts was the Woolies Met 2 Cafeteria, on level three, corner George and Park, opposite Town Hall. It was a comforting exercise, since each of her hangouts had its regulars. Lovering has, I imagine, taken a fair bit of poetic licence, turning her experience into a character outside herself, but which is close enough to be at least a sliver of herself. This is an artful decision, as it buys a profound degree of empathy. He inspiration, aside from the experiential, was a seventies cookbook, which seems guilelessly unaware of the tragic dimension of its title, Microwave Cooking For One. So, she cooked up River. The title is the character. From ten-minute monologue a year-and-a-half or so ago, to a fully-fledged hour, River has matured. Written and performed by Lovering, but, since, rewritten, workshopped and dramaturged by guiding hand, Sarah Giles; the interrogation, going by the outcome, well worth the investment of energy. River relates her tale by way of minutiae; a touching conceit, because, as many of us know only too well, especially with regard to the elderly, the smallest details of life take on greater and greater importance, as it gradually empties out. In times of vacuum, age is no barrier to the incidence of this condition. And so we learn precisely what River orders from the counter, as she sits ensconced in a booth, an island of cosiness in the chasm of impersonality of a sprawling urban landscape. River takes pleasure in the smallest things, such as carefully wrapping her morning tea, to enjoy sometime later. She has perfected the fine art of Vegemite toast and has been meticulously observing an old man, who she comes to meet and share more than sandwiches with. Harry takes her into his heart, home and confidence. In return, she demonstrates the correct way to prepare a chip sandwich. Having little else on which to focus, River becomes almost obsessed with time and routine. And, one day, Harry’s late. Very late. He has become, in fact, the late Harry. It’s a devastating moment of poignancy in which we’re reminded of transience, mortality, how flimsy and fragile our foothold is and how, in the blink of an eye, we can disappear into the firmament from which we came. In that moment, of course, River is returned to her former state of aloneness. Like a package marked ‘not known at this address’, she’s returned to sender. What will become of her? Or the thousands of other lost souls who barely register on our radars, as we go about our oh-so-important business? In relating a deeply personal story, Lovering touches upon a universe of common human feeling. And it’s more than a mere glance, or nod. It’s apparent River, Lovering and River have a heart as big as a whale’s. To say nothing of performative and writing talents to match. If you see another chance, immerse yourself.
Posted on: Wed, 10 Dec 2014 06:41:36 +0000
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