It’s 2005, and some of Sydney’s most violent riots are about to take place in Cronulla. The Capulets and Montagues are at each other’s throats again, this time in the guise of the Skips vs the Lebs.
The floorboards are creaking and the dust is sifting down between the lighting grid. You can smell the paint freshly laid in crude whorls upon the chipped uneven floor. The decoration is a mélange of surf and sun, reminding us it is our alter-egos that burst with such exuberance upon the unsuspecting sea.
At the back, the man-made backdrop is starkly juxtaposed, a dilapidated and graffiti-marred beachfront kiosk. The actors negotiate wobbly doors and awkward entranceways so narrow that they are forced into single-file exits.
Yet for all this, this hale and hearty bunch have managed to inject renewed vigor into one of Shakespeare’s most groaned-at works. Where this play is most often found lacking, its passion, is in fact this production’s strength. Few theatre companies possess the unbridled fervour and energy it takes to pull this play off. Impulse Theatre Company does it.
Tanya Woodland’s costumes and Allan Walpole’s set are appropriately modern without overburdening the production with contemporary analogy. The direction by Stephen Wallace is proficient storytelling, if somewhat lacking in subtlety.
But it’s really the actors that make this production work. Yes, it’s under-rehearsed; yes, it’s loud-quiet-loud. No, there are no bloody squibs for the fight scenes, but really, what did you expect… CGI?
The florid gesticulations are hallmarks of the “what-we-think-we-should-do-when-doing-Shakespeare” mindset. The screaming and shouting verge on – without ever quite becoming – incoherent. But none of that matters as much as it would normally because this production has what so many lack: heart.
Rainee Lyleson is a wonderfully unpretentious and charismatic Juliet. Her voice, able to convey such interesting subtlety and variety in the earlier scenes, does wrestle with the text somewhat as the play develops to its sombre conclusion. Dan Webber’s beautifully love blind Romeo is about as tear-strewn a performance as one could ask for.
Awkward moments in the opening scenes are made up for by the finale – if not quite conveying the finer moments of Romeo’s dilemma, which, like the kiosk propped up behind him, is entirely man-made.
At times you might even think the actors have been commanded, “Speak not, lest thee wave thy hands about, thusly”. In spite of this, the support cast does a good enough job, held together by Alan Faulkner in a surprising array of roles, showing these young’uns just how it’s done. His presence and stillness bespeak an emotional dexterity and economy lacking in the rest of the cast, with the notable exception of Lady Capulet (Aimee Moffatt-Foster).
It may be rough, but it’s ready to roll ya, and the play’s final moments neatly remind us of why we’re watching: to curb the unbent intolerance that we still find simmering on Sydney’s beaches and in its suburbs…or anywhere, for that matter.
And if that really is your only reason to go and check it out, it’s a damn good one.
