Dead Man’s Cell Phone by Sarah Ruhl. Directed by Peter Evans. Melbourne Theatre Company, Sumner Theatre, Melbourne until 7 August.
‘Magic Realism’ is a magnificent concept. When it exists in its most startlingly pure, unadulterated form, both the ‘magical’ and ‘realistic’ elements flawlessly blend together to enhance our understanding and appreciation of not only where it is possible to ‘be’, but how it is possible to ‘feel’. Tony Kushner’s Angels in America and Peter Jackson’s The Lovely Bones (from Alice Sebold’s novel) are my definitive examples, to date, of its existence in the theatre and cinema respectively. In both of these examples, the elements – combined – had the extraordinary power to alter my comprehension and experience of time and place.
Obscurity and self-indulgence, the perilous traps into which artists exploring the abstract and surreal metaphysical worlds constantly risk disappearing into, are the arch-enemies of the world of magic realism. To avoid them, every opportunity must be fully explored, resolved and embraced – with clarity of imagination, intellect, heart and soul – to ensure that we’re not able to see the cracks and joins that are required to elevate us to this fantastical metaphysical realm.
Sadly, missed opportunities abound in this deadly, tram-crash of an offering from the MTC. As a result of Mr Evans’s determinedly stage-bound and unimaginative staging, Ms Ruhl’s self-reverential play is revealed to be much worse than it is (although I actually suspect it’s not that great anyway). Even fully-laden jumbo jets eventually (and magically) get off the ground, but Dead Man’s Cell Phone lumbers along the runway courtesy of questionable structure, a teeth-grindingly twee scene in a stationery shop, a overly camp airport terminal sequence accompanied by some unconvincing stage-fighting (even though the man sitting behind me was audibly quite impressed by the sight of two women fighting), and interminable scenes of psychology for pre-schoolers.
Jean (Lisa McCune) is in a Laundromat when she discovers that the reason Gordon (John Adam) won’t answer his cell phone is because he’s dead. When she continues to answer his incessantly ringing phone, she rather conveniently finds herself introduced to his family – all of whom have been scarred by Gordon’s apparent rampant narcissism. And on and on and on it goes.
Ms McCune skips along the pantomime route and never gets under the character’s skin – sacrificing all the wonderful myriad of possibilities for lots of cute, loveable nervously apprehensive acting, which had the audience tittering with affection. The simple fact, however, is that Jean is far from cute. She is a sad, tragic, desperately lonely young woman, and Ruhl’s ultimate sacrifice of her on the altar of impossibly trite and banal romantic convention is utterly disappointing. Sue Jones (as the matriarch of the family) was great – even though I couldn’t help wishing I was watching her play “Auntie Mame” or Arnold’s mother in Torch Song Trilogy (both of which she’d be perfect for). John Adam, Sarah Sutherland, Daniel Frederiksen and Emma Jackson all acquit themselves beautifully within the incredibly limited (and limiting) director’s vision, but after seeing Mr Frederiksen in the equally unfortunate Rockabye, it’s really time for the MTC to offer him something decent.
Claude Marcos’s momentarily clever Laundromat design refuses to get out of the way or effectively transform into anything other than a really expensive props table. That the actors have to wander around moving chairs and tables in the scene-changes like they used to when it was considered creative, becomes really tiring and derails whatever hope there was ever going to be for decent pace. Paul Jackson’s lighting design tries hard to take us somewhere, but never really had a chance because the big, ugly, green-walled Laundromat steadfastly refuses to budge.
Whenever people bemoan the fact that I chose when (and when not to) answer my mobile telephone, I always inform them that “my mobile phone exists for my convenience, not yours”. It’s that simple really. That this little golden rule negates much of Ms Ruhl’s thinly-structured, ‘other-wordly’ and pretentious mumbo jumbo about mobile telecommunications polluting the after-life is just one of the many points at where my interest in the proceedings simply evaporated, never to return. But I did rush home and do my washing.
Pictured: Lisa McCune in Dead Man’s Cell Phone. Photographed by Jeff Busby.
