Osamah Sami takes his award-winning memoir, Good Muslim Boy to the stage with energy and heartfelt drive in Janice Muller’s adaptation.

By Caitlin McGrane

It took me several days to process Good Muslim Boy – not because I didn’t enjoy it, but rather because I needed to let it soak into my bones. I found the frenetic energy of the 85-minute play needed to be left to sink in, so I could fully absorb what it was saying.

The play opens in an airport terminal in Tehran, Iran as Osamah (Osamah Sami) is attempting to transport his father’s body home to Melbourne, Australia. Even in this early stage of the drama, his exhaustion is palpable.

Osamah was born in Iran to Iraqi parents, and grew up during the First Gulf War under the Iranian religious regime. Many years later, after they had emigrated to Australia, his father arranges an impromptu trip back to Iran in an attempt to help Osamah reconnect to himself and his family. It’s on this trip that his father suddenly dies and needs to be expatriated back to Australia.

The action flashes backwards and forwards through Osamah’s relationship with his parents, particularly his father – deftly played by Rodney Afif – and his lengthy and deeply painful experience bringing his father home. Nicole Nabout shines as the third player and moves perfectly between characters – from Osamah’s sports-mad mother to a grumpy bus driver with barely a lag.

Set and costume designer Romanie Harper has done amazing work smoothing the transitions between scenes and characters with visual cues, while lighting (Ben Hughes) and sound (Phil Slade) complemented Afif, Nabout and Sami as they moved quickly and precisely around the stage.

For me the overwhelming energy of the play belies its narrative potential. There was so much movement between one disapproving, dismissive Iranian bureaucrat and the next that I could barely keep up with additional details that were meant to add texture to the story.

Comments from Iranian officials about the appalling treatment of refugees in Australia didn’t quite ring true for me because they weren’t given enough time to breathe – Osamah had to move on, had another stamp to get or document signed.

In the end I found myself wishing I was reading the book, so I could absorb everything that Sami needed to say. His story is so profoundly moving that I felt it deserved a more drawn out exploration. But, I still highly recommend Good Muslim Boy for both its pathos and empathy for all its characters (even the disagreeable officials), as well as for the obvious, heartfelt drive that keeps Osamah Sami telling his family’s story.

Good Muslim Boy plays at Malthouse until 11 March.  Tickets can be purchased online and by calling the box office on 03 9685 5111.

Fortyfivedownstairs plays host to exceptional talent in this no-holds-barred performance of female convict behaviour.

By Lucy Dobson

If one’s under the false pretence that Goddard’s This is Eden will be some blatant display of tomfoolery and roly-polies, then let’s address that from the bat. O’ there’ll be laughs shared and shared frequently, however they’ll be accompanied by a brutal insight into the harsh realities and coping methods of the women convicts of Cascades Female Factory in Van Diemen’s Land, some 170 years ago. But we’re not really worried about the details, or are we?

If parts that seethe in sarcastic undertones hit a little close to home, then perhaps it’s time to question why? As the play laments the blameless crimes of a supposedly historic age, there’s a stirring in the gut that does the math, and it’s fresh. Furthermore, there’s blame to be placed and whilst we can only plead our ignorance for so long, there’s a mountain of eyes widening, and I suspect Goddard to be amongst them.

In a time when the world is screaming for an upheaval of all that we declare is no longer satisfactory, This is Eden is a welcome offering. I left fortyfivedownstairs ready to march! But also in my stride laid the knowing feeling that to feed a starving child, many would risk thievery. Goodness, how many people have nabbed a wedge of cheese in their life and I doubt starvation but rather inflation to be the cause. It begs the question does it not?

Directed by Susie Dee, Goddard’s performance exhumed the talents of an actor well trained: from rosy cheeked tour guide to bread and tea spitting loon and her ability to alternate between characters was nothing short of remarkable. The bare bones of Romaine Harper’s simple but expertly created set, along with lighting and sound by Gina Gascoigne and Ian Moorhead respectively, enhanced the mood perfectly, making good use of all that was on offer, audience included!

At parts I felt lost in structure but I assumed this was yet another clever trick played by Goddard and Dee to echo the confusion and tragic mess of it all. If you’d rather stay at home in the comforts of ignorance, then don’t bother, the revolution doesn’t need you! However, if you appreciate top-notch acting and all the feels (laughs included), then head on down to fortyfivedownstairs, you won’t be disappointed.

This is Eden is at fortyfivedownstairs until 25 February.  Tickets can be purchased online and at the box office: 03 9662 9966.

The disappearance of the turn-of-the-century darlings returns to Malthouse Theatre in Picnic at Hanging Rock 

By Leeor Adar

The disappearance of the turn-of-the-century darlings in Victoria’s Macedon Ranges has all the evocative appeal of a timeless classic: young school girls in their bloom disappearing into the harrowing Australian bush in a southern gothic fever dream.

As a young child, I shivered as I saw the great mass of Hanging Rock, where like many Australians I fell for the alluring tale of the disappearance of the women. When Joan Lindsay wrote the 1967 classic, Picnic at Hanging Rock, I wonder if she realised that audiences would come in droves to take a step closer to the mystery that never really was. Or was it? That is the question that rises in Lindsay’s readers and viewers of Tom Wright’s adaptation for stage.

Picnic at Hanging Rock is not the first tale to evoke the power of Australia’s sublime landscape, however its unfurling secrets of untamed nature in the face of impressionable young women barely buckled to their schooling is utterly sensual and unsettling.

Director Matthew Lutton has realised his best work in this timely February production of Picnic at Hanging Rock. Lutton’s cast is par excellence: Harriet Gordon-Anderson, Arielle Gray, Amber McMahon, Elizabeth Nabben and Nikki Shiels use their wiles and voices to such evocative effect that their words and physicality have the power to send the audience leaping out of their seats. This production hoists Lindsay’s language into haunting dramatic storytelling in such a way that I believe I am there with the girls, as the sun sets and the white of their dresses disappear into the rock forever.

Lutton hammers the horror to great effect, as the dark stage bares only an ominous mass of twigs and wood that is suspended above. The cast appear suddenly out of the black, and in the midst of this nothingness, the sounds of nature, women humming and discorded effects play out. A perfect storm strikes the stage by lighting design master, Paul Jackson, sound designer J. David Franzke, and composer Ash Gibson Greig.

Picnic at Hanging Rock is a full-senses feast, and I am both terrified and drawn to the nightmare as it plays out before us. There are ample occasions of wit and excellent delivery from all performers, and Nabben’s turn as Mrs Appleyard is subtle and breathtaking, particularly in her last moments as a failed schoolmistress.

The tightly laced tension of teatime between Irma (Shiels) and Michael (McMahon) after the events on that Valentines Day at Hanging Rock, highlight the absurdity of the excessively civilised in the wake of traumatic events. This theme continues until there is no denying the significance of the schoolgirls’ disappearance and what that means for a society colonising an unfamiliar and dangerous landscape.

If you were fortunate enough to acquire tickets for Picnic at Hanging Rock, you will not be disappointed. The remainder of the run has sold out, and fittingly winds itself up on Valentines Day.

At Malthouse until, 14 February.

Followed by London season at the Barbican, 21 – 24 February.

Red Stitch Actors’ Theatre tackles sensitive issues with decorum and finesse in Victorian premiere of Hir

By Ross Larkin

When American playwright and performer, Taylor Mac, headlined Melbourne Festival in 2017 with his 24-hour show A 24-Decade History of Popular Music; Melbourne theatregoers were largely blindsided by the immersive experience, with comparisons being made to that of a completely engrossing religious or spiritual encounter.

It is, therefore, with much anticipation that Melbourne’s own Red Stitch Actors’ Theatre presents the Victorian premiere of Hir, written by Mac in 2015 and part of this year’s Midsumma Festival.

Hir is about a young man returning home from combat in Afghanistan to find that his mother is more dysfunctional than ever while his father has had a disabling stroke and his sister is transitioning from male to female. The play is a beautiful, disturbing and poignant examination of life on the edge and a family trying to evolve in a reluctantly transitioning world.

Characters identifying as transgender are seldom, if ever, seen in live theatre, and it’s hard to imagine that anyone other than Mac could bring to life such a character with as much respectful authenticity.

Harvey Kaska Zielinski is well cast in the role (as Max), and offers a dignified performance with heart and dimension. Jordan Fraser-Trumble as Max’s brother Isaac, and Belinda McClory and Ben Grant as their respective parents all offer solid and engaging performances – at times loving and humorous, and at others; heartbreaking and completely unhinged.

Director Daniel Clarke tackles some sensitive issues with decorum and finesse and does a superb job of finding the light and shade in the complex world of Hir, leaving its viewers pondering thereafter, making this one of Midsumma’s entries not to be missed – and reaffirming why Red Stitch have made such an impact on Melbourne’s theatre scene.

Hir is playing at Red Stitch Actors’ Theatre, 2 Chapel Street, St Kilda until March 4th. Wednesday to Saturdays at 8pm and Sundays at 6:30pm with a 3pm matinee on Saturday February 24th.
Tickets and bookings: https://midsumma.org.au/program/hir18