Hamlet gets a memorable makeover in a show that is irreverent, angry, and fiercely joyful

THEATRE | Rising festival
Hamlet ★★★★
Teatro La Plaza, Union Theatre, the University of Melbourne, until June 8

To be, or not to be. Ser o no ser. Is that the question? Peruvian theatre company Teatro La Plaza has created a radical reconfiguration of Hamlet performed by an ensemble of eight actors with Down syndrome. It foregrounds the raw fact of being – beginning with a graphic video of childbirth – then proceeds to rebel against the many forces that can diminish being human, or pluck out the heart of its mystery.

A scene from HamletCredit: Courtesy of Teatro La Plaza

If this is a Hamlet that rails against the tyranny of social expectation, the violence of imposed roles and identities, it’s also a livewire assertion of how to be. Antic, irreverent, angry, and possessing a fierce joy, this vision of Shakespeare’s play is calculated to liberate artists and audiences alike from the dead hand of convention, even as it cleaves to the popular wisdom that every actor plays themselves as Hamlet.

Meta-theatrical and post-dramatic devices abound. There’s an overt blending of actor and role, narration and enactment, and a flexible fourth wall that dissolves at whim. The piece might stray from textual faithfulness – an atmospheric recreation of the scene with the ghost of Hamlet’s father, say – into the actors introducing themselves through direct address, or a documentary-style interview with one performer juggling roles as a Down syndrome rights activist and Shakespeare’s doomed prince.

Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy gets a memorable makeover. Conflict erupts when one aspiring Hamlet asks Sir Ian McKellen for advice via video call – delivered in reverberant Spanish – and tries to emulate Laurence Olivier with absurd results. (Watching a clip of Olivier’s “To be, or not to be” is instructive in this context. His mannerisms look stylised and outmoded to a modern eye – a reminder that fashions change, and the performance of “normal” is not fixed, but socially constructed.)

Rescued from clowning by a fellow actor, who takes exception to straitjacketing the speech in a tradition that excludes people with Down syndrome, the ensemble then takes ownership of the soliloquy in a riotous rap version.

Meta-theatrical elements abound in this new staging of a classic. Credit: Teatro La Plaza

The play-within-a-play, too, boldly turns the tables on the expected. In this rendition of The Mousetrap, neurotypical audience members volunteer to play trees in the style of actors with Down syndrome, in a mischievous twist reminiscent of the work of Geelong’s trailblazing Back to Back Theatre.

Poignancy appears in personal, yet always political, guises – one Hamlet would “drown the stage with tears” from a seat in the audience; two Ophelias and a Gertrude share vivid and impossible dreams and desires, or highlight the harsh limits of the roles assigned to them; a silent Horatio (who’s also the figure of Death) ribbon-dances over the tragic freight of the climactic scene.

The arrival of Fortinbras, voiced by one of the performer’s mothers, sees the ensemble spotlit amid gunfire – a poised moment of vulnerability, before anarchic life returns at curtain-call – each actor busting out a killer dance solo. The entire audience is then invited to swarm onstage to boogie with the cast.
Reviewed by Cameron Woodhead

MUSIC | Rising festival
Marlon Williams ★★★★
Melbourne Town Hall, Wednesday, June 4

At its most pared-back, Marlon Williams’ show at the Melbourne Town Hall for Rising was just Marlon Williams on stage, in a bespoke tracksuit, strumming an acoustic guitar or tinkling the ivories of a piano.

Marlon Williams at Melbourne Town Hall for Rising.Credit: Ian Laidlaw

At its most ebullient, it was Marlon Williams, his three-piece band the Yarra Benders, a guest pianist seemingly (but obviously not) plucked at random from the audience, and a 20-piece Maori choir from Endeavour Hill, their voices lifted in sweet harmony on the chorus of some of the more upbeat numbers, such as Korero Maori.

Mostly, it was some variation in-between. But always it was about Williams’ glorious voice, as comforting and embracing as a warm blanket on a cold night, his grace and generosity as a frontman (hands up if you can think of another artist who thanks by name not just their band but also each member of the technical crew – lighting, sound mix and guitar tech), and the islander sounds of his fourth album, the Maori-language Te Whare Tīwekaweka.

In the background hung a large banner version of the cover art from the album, itself a rendering of a charcoal drawing his mother, artist Jenny Rendall, made shortly before he was born. The slenderman character in it, he conceded, looks a little like him.

Musically, the songs lap at the shore of surf music, bark at the fenceline of country, shimmer on the horizon of Pacificana. They’re as difficult to pin down as a New Zealand-raised, formerly Melbourne-based Kiwi musician who has immersed himself in the project of learning his ancestral language and culture and taking it to the world. But they feel instantly familiar, too.

The lyrics were incomprehensible to me – and presumably also to much of the audience – but the sentiment was not. There’s joy, sadness, longing in these songs, a sense of home and the pining for it, and the sense of self that comes from understanding you are about more than just yourself. It’s tradition and future. It’s community. It’s wonderful.

The only thing that could have made it more complete would have been a hangi pit on the stage, with everyone in the audience invited to come up for a taste of roast pig and yam.

For the second time in a week, Rising had delivered something truly special on the musical front. Beth Gibbons and her astonishing seven-piece band blew the roof off Hamer Hall on Sunday night. Williams and his expanding and contracting troupe did likewise to Melbourne Town Hall on Wednesday. What a way to kick off a winter.
Reviewed by Karl Quinn

DANCE | Rising Festival
BLKDOG ★★★★
Arts Centre Melbourne, until June 7

UK choreographer Botis Seva’s BLKDOG takes us deep into the darkly claustrophobic world of the beast that is depression, a world populated by lost souls and spasming nightmare apparitions.

BLKDOG’s strength lies in its unflinching representation of emotional pain in its many registers.Credit: Tom Visser

Inspired by Seva’s own experiences, the piece tracks the black dog across generations, from parents to children. And its strength lies in its unflinching representation of emotional pain in its many registers.

An excellent ensemble of seven dancers mixes street and contemporary forms: krumping, low crouches, slashing arms and flowing solos that pulse in narrow shafts of light.

BLKDOG takes us deep into the darkly claustrophobic world of the beast that is depression.Credit: Tom Visser

The unison sections are a highlight throughout. Their precision makes the effect especially sharp when a single dancer falls away, creating brief miniatures of disconnection.

One striking tableau sees a collapsed dancer revived by another, while the ensemble looks on. It’s an image almost painterly in its composition, and typical of Seva’s talent for sculpting dramatic groupings.

There’s also a disturbing, mechanistic quality to much of the dancing, as in the recurring motif where dancers crouch and scuttle across the floor like wind-up toys, taking small, demonically fast steps.

Violence is prominent. There are scenes of self-harm, of course, but also of harm directed toward others. This is unsettling and it’s not always clear where these fantasies come from, unless they’re a kind of inheritance.

After a while the angst and agony does become a little monotonous. Endurance is the point for the audience as much as the dancers.

There are religious images, where Christ-like figures appear and are embraced. And yet these are acts of desperation and not love. Whatever salvation is sought, it remains out of reach.

When BLKDOG premiered in 2020, it marked the arrival of a bold new vision in dance theatre: gutsy, intense and choreographically original. This work itself is not without its flaws, but its ambition and distinct style still make an impression.
Reviewed by Andrew Fuhrmann

MUSIC
First Voices Showcase ★★★★
Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, Iwaki Auditorium, June 4

Now in its third year, the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra’s First Voices Composer Program remains a vital initiative in encouraging and strengthening the creativity of emerging Indigenous composers.

Aaron Wyatt conducts the First Voices Showcase for 2025Credit: Laura Manariti

The two premieres from this year’s program showed admirable resourcefulness in navigating the challenges of moving from different spheres of composition to a more classical idiom.

Having worked successfully in the field of improvised ambient and electronic works, Jaadwa composer James Howard’s foray into orchestral writing, Nyirrimarr Ngamatyata (To Lose Yourself at Sea) used a classic sea storm narrative as an allegory for his own feelings of dislocation following the unsuccessful referendum of 2023.

Working within the restrictions of a small chamber ensemble of 13 players, Howard made thoughtful use of a varied palette of instrumental colours particularly in the more turbulent part of the work. The clattering keys of voiceless wind instruments and air passing through otherwise mute brass underlined sentiments of abandonment and desolation.

Yorta Yorta, Wurundjeri and Vanuatu man Nathaniel Andrew comes from decades of work in jazz and his first orchestral essay Fragments drew deeply on the power of rhythm not only to generate excitement but to lay a textural foundation upon which other elements can be added.

Beginning with some motoric rhythms, Fragments also showed off Andrew’s talent for melody and countermelody along with a deft handling of instrumental interchange. The propulsive, upbeat rhythmic energy of the middle section resisted morphing into a tango, before the music ended quietly yet optimistically.

Separating these two works, a reprise of Leon Rodgers’ colourful Seven Sisters from last year’s showcase provided a welcome opportunity to revisit his imaginative telling of a Dreamtime story.

Conductor Aaron Wyatt proved a genial and insightful host and directed the ensemble of players drawn from the MSO and the MSO Academy with customary empathy and enthusiasm.
Reviewed by Tony Way

MUSIC | Rising Festival
Beth Gibbons ★★★★★
Hamer Hall, June 1

The stage is lit in cobalt blue. Hamer Hall is flooded with smoke, and the cylindrical lights hanging overhead glow orange and white like lit cigarettes. When Beth Gibbons and her seven-piece band take the stage, there’s no preamble, no small talk. Gibbons shuns the spotlight — tonight, quite literally. With no instrument to hide behind, she stands still, mostly in shadow, gripping the microphone stand. “Falling now,” she sings on opener Tell Me Who You Are Today. “Falling in; Come over; Listen to me.” All her attention is saved for her voice: shimmering, cut glass which doesn’t falter once.

Beth Gibbons performs on stage at Hamer Hall on June 1.Credit: Martin Philbey

Gibbons made her name in the 1990s with her band, Portishead, whose evocative and atmospheric album, Dummy, defined the darker end of ’90s indie. But tonight is all about 2024 solo album Lives Outgrown, her first in 16 years. It’s smoky, delicate and haunting, recognisably Gibbons but earthier than the samples and electronics of Portishead.

Her band members are extraordinary. Almost all are prodigious multi-instrumentalists, juggling guitars, violins, bass saxophone, flute and a broad percussion section. They lead into Oceans spinning plastic, whirly tubes over their heads, which is not only eerie to listen to but also very endearing to watch. The freakout of Beyond the Sun gives way easily to the psych-folk intonations of the beautiful Whispering Love.

The staging is evocative. For Mysteries, one of two songs she performs from her 2002 collaboration with Rustin Man, the stage curtains billow, backlit in lilac, as the band reach the apex of a five-part harmony, and Gibbons steps back from the mic and uses Hamer’s acoustics to their full capacity.

Being Hamer Hall, it’s a seated, reverent audience. There are no phones held overhead, no shuffling through the crowd. Between songs, there’s no sound in the hall except those on stage: the clatter of switching instruments, and the sound of a cap being placed back onto a plastic water bottle. Gibbons talks to us only under cover of applause. If not singing, she frequently stands with her back to us. The mystery is always captivating.

Almost all of the band members are prodigious multi-instrumentalists.Credit: Martin Philbey

An audience buying tickets to ’90s trip-hop legend Beth Gibbons might expect to hear at least a couple of tracks from Portishead’s legendary album, Dummy, and that’s just what they get — two. Roads and Glory Box are both beautifully performed, but Portishead’s spy jazz sound is quite a digression from the rest of the set. They’re crowd-pleasers, and I’m glad they were in there.

The night is for Lives Outgrown, and Gibbons and her band end on the rousing Reaching Out. She thanks us effusively and gives us a double thumbs-up. A sublime understatement.
Reviewed by Will Cox

OPERA
Samson and Delilah ★★★
Melbourne Opera, Palais Theatre, June 1

Samson and Delilah is the quintessential grand opera – large scale, spectacular (with many choruses and two ballets) and requiring superb singers. Melbourne Opera’s production – and music lovers should be grateful yet again for their vision and determination – unfortunately really had only the last.

Rosario La Spina as Samson and Deborah Humble as Delilah.Credit: Robin Halls

The staging was deeply underplayed – deliberately so, according to the director’s program notes, to emphasise psychological aspects (budget constraints might have been relevant). For me, it didn’t work. The sets were far too minimalist, the lighting not even that, though Rose Chong’s costumes were a highlight. The stage was divided into three, with the singers in front, the orchestra behind – which considerably reduced its impact – and the chorus above and behind them.

The outstanding contribution came from the principals, Deborah Humble and Rosario La Spina, and the chorus (which is always outstanding). La Spina’s huge, sweet tenor was ideal for Samson, but the biggest moments belong to the mezzo Delilah, and Humble relished them: sensitive, seductive, superb. Simon Meadows, Jeremy Kleeman and Eddie Muliaumaseali’i were splendid in the minor roles, while conductor Raymond Lawrence was sympathetic to composer and singers.

Despite imperfections, Melbourne’s first Samson and Delilah in 40 years was a real pleasure.Credit: Robin Halls

The opera, which Camille Saint-Saëns (himself quite familiar with marital problems) takes from the Old Testament, tells of the Israelite leader who is seduced and betrayed by the vengeful Philistine Delilah. First performed in 1877, it was slow to bloom because of its biblical theme, but became immensely popular worldwide.

For the shortcomings, director Suzanne Chaundy – a leading force in so many of the company’s recent triumphs, especially its series of Wagner operas – must take chief responsibility. The production was almost introverted, especially the climax where the blinded Samson pulls down the temple of the Philistine god Dagon, killing thousands. The bacchanal would scarcely have offended a women’s temperance union. When Delilah came on stage brandishing Samson’s shorn locks (the secret of his strength, symbolising his vow to God), they looked more like a dead possum.

Yet, despite imperfections, Melbourne’s first Samson and Delilah in 40 years was a real pleasure.
Reviewed by Barney Zwartz

MUSIC
Stephen Hough ★★★★★
Melbourne Recital Centre, June 2

English-Australian polymath and pianist Stephen Hough has taken Melbourne by storm, presenting a Herculean display of virtuosity in a program anchored by two large sonatas in B minor: Liszt’s dizzying monument to ultra-romanticism and Chopin’s finely honed Sonata No. 3.

Stephen HoughCredit: Sim Canetty-Clarke

As if to create some calm before Liszt’s musical storm, Hough presented three miniatures by the once-popular French composer Cecile Chaminade. Like fine porcelain, these were exquisitely coloured and beautifully shaped. Hough particularly evoked the fairytale woodland setting of Les Sylvains with imaginative flair.

Liszt’s sonata proved Hough to be an extraordinary force of nature. He held together all the mania and magic of this pianistic Everest in masterly equilibrium; at times suggesting Elisabeth Murdoch Hall’s Steinway had grown gnashing teeth, while at others intimating an easily shattered fragility.

Like a man possessed he delivered some dramatic elements with superhuman velocity yet was also capable of otherworldly poetry. The final fugue had impressive drive while maintaining clarity of texture.

Another string to Hough’s artistic bow is composition. His own three-movement Sonatina Nostalgica proved the perfect foil for the intensity of the Liszt, with its gentle hints of bluesy, mid-century English pastoralism.

Balancing Liszt’s extraversion, the Chopin had many fine inner qualities. The first movement rang with patrician elegance, carefully contrasting with the elfin delicacy of the scherzo. Creating a memorable high point in the sonata, Hough invested the Largo with superb bel canto lyricism, transcending time and space. His exultation in the triumphant brilliance of the finale avoided self-indulgence and brought the official program to an ebullient close.

Two heart-warming, old-fashioned encores, Sinding’s Rustle of Spring and Elgar’s Salut d’amour, came with a poise that was not only born of sheer control but sheer delight.

As piano recitals go, it really doesn’t get any better than this.
Reviewed by Tony Way

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