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Creativity starves insanity
On the sheer aura of suicide in an email looking for confirmation, a friend found himself in the rather awkward seating of the SBW Stables Theatre on Nimrod Street in Kings Cross.
Hurlyburly. A rampant rip through the 80s, a decade of excess, lines of coke and bags of weed under gaudy suits all garnished with some decadence for measure.
The only familiar name in the cast was Alex Dimitriades. The rest of the cast were only familiar in face. Dimitriades is a rather strong actor, his delivery of Phil sending shivers of fear down the spine. Mere actions and pent up energy liable to explode and take out any one of the members of the audience.
Ed Wightman, Eddie, who starts and ends the show, is a real swinger of facial expressions and acting. The tip from states of lucidity into being totally overtaken by drugs a sure sign of genius on his part.
Normally, listening to people use endless streams of syllables in sentences better fit to short bursts is infuriating. This remains the case as each and every one, except for the near naked Donna, stretches out their dialogue to all sorts of polysyllabic extremes. Aurally tiring if debates are not the kind of thing one listens to.
Second night of watching theatre with American accents and dope smokers. For a reason that is best left outside, the smell of marijuana comes through like a regular fiend at the back of the head. An all too easy sniff and whiff to bring back memories of sitting on the train with a pothead collapsed in the crossover area between two train cars.
2330 is the walk out time for the first night. Getting home sees the final mark on the bedside comicbook shelving set up read 0200. Trains all disappear by the time Hurlyburly wraps up the final fade to black.
Running into three hours, it's a damn long performance to stay up with only to end on a depressing note. That's the eighties.
Soon Van - Saturday, 14 May 2005 - 07:19
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