It’s 2020. Tessa and her husband, Nat, and their two children, John and Jill, have moved to the country to escape city-wide lockdowns. Nat has been suffering debilitating bouts of anxiety and getting away from it all was supposed to help. It’s not long before the winds change, winter hits and the family are traumatised again; not because of the global pandemic that still rages, but through the relentless onslaught of thousands of birds.
Daphne du
Maurier’s short story, The Birds, first published in 1953, is an
exquisitely oppressive tale that immerses the reader in the experiences of Nat
and his family trying to survive this upheaval of nature. It doesn’t give any
answers or really strive for them.
Nat has
been injured in the war, but apart from a momentary worry that this is the work
of Russia, du Maurier doesn’t spend a lot of time on explanations. It’s
post-war paranoia, of course. A country still coming out of a period where they
had to black out the windows so that German bombers couldn’t see the lights on at
night.
Alfred Hitchcock’s
film version, released a decade later, changes the story and the setting entirely.
Only the title and the unexplained bird attacks remain. Here the story focuses
on the burgeoning relationship of Melanie and Mitch. Hitchcock isn’t too concerned
with the why either. The bird attacks are heavy-handed symbolism for sexual
tension, and perhaps the assaulting animals are incensed by the caged lovebirds
Melanie brings to the seaside village.
Playwright
Conor McPherson adapted the story to the stage for the Gate Theatre in 2009 and
his version has about as much loyalty to the original as the film. His bird
attack drama is post-apocalyptic.
Last night
at the Malthouse, a new stage version of The Birds opened and while it
has some reverence for the original text, writer Louise Fox has taken her own
liberties, explicitly playing with the loss of control we all felt during the
early months of the pandemic.
Director
Matthew Lutton's latest collaboration with Fox is a kind of bookend to his career at
the Malthouse. His earliest works at the theatre were productions of Moliere’s Tartuffe
and Franz Kafka’s The Trial, scripted by Fox. The Birds is his
last show at the theatre as Artistic Director before he heads off to run the
world-renowned Adelaide Festival later in the year.
Their
version of the story is written for a solo performer, Paula Arundell, upon
whose shoulders the show rests. She must tell us the story and be in the story.
She must describe what’s happening, while also being in the moment. It’s a
tricky balancing act and Arundell delivers the character interactions
beautifully. Tessa and Nat’s interactions flit between touching and abrasive,
especially as the tension rises. It feels like a dance between two people, even though we can see it's not.
She is supported ably by the lighting design by Niklas Panjati, effectively deploying flashes as the house is breached or Tessa is injured. I did wish shadow and darkness were better used as backdrop for the scarier sequences. Sometimes things were a little too clear.
The
whole production is lifted by J. David Franzke’s evocative, haunting and – at times – terrifying sound design. The audience wears headphones to hear subtle
noises or Tessa’s frightened whispers when she was overcome with dread. Franzke’s
work is the absolute highlight of the show.
The
Birds has been
adapted into a radio play several times, including the year it was published. After
the show, I wondered if listening to this same play, underscored by Franzke’s
sound design, might have been more satisfying.
Moments that
should have been bone-shaking were robbed of their power because there was only
so much Arundell could do to describe tens of thousands of birds. Leaving
things to the imagination is good, but there was some cognitive dissonance in a
stage show whose real strength was in our ears, not with what was happening in
front of us.
Fixing the play during recent history robs it of some of its mystery, too. Coupled with a society that is being slowly shredded by conspiracy theories, the notion of “why” becomes central. Fox and Lutton are smart enough never to give real answers, but it’s a shame they give so much time to characters over-analysing things.
While the
conceit of the bird attacks should be open to interpretation, it’s a shame
only du Maurier leaves us to dream ourselves into the situation. Yes, wave after wave of
attacks can be adapted to all sorts of situations, but it’s an elastic metaphor that is ultimately shrunk by specificity.
Nevertheless, Arundell's performance is striking and the flits and squawks in the ears will send a shiver down your spine.
- Keith Gow, Theatre First
The
Birds is playing at
the Malthouse until June 7
Photos: Pia Johnson
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