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The myth of the American West is a lie. The western on film is a collection of folklore that is so steeped in tradition, we tend to think of these stories as historical. The tropes are so well known, that we’re conditioned to believe colonialist expansion across the United States was more explicitly violent and rough than it had been anywhere else. Cowboys and their horses and the weapons in their hands are iconic, but the fiction started to be weaved with fact even as history was happening.
In the
early 1870s, the town of Palisade in Nevada was the site of a hoax, where
visitors to the town were treated to gun shows and bank robberies as the new
train rolled into town. An real-life Westworld.
At the same
time, notorious bison hunter “Buffalo Bill” Cody – one of the most famous
figures of the American West – turned his legend into Wild West stage shows,
travelling the country playing to large audiences, cementing himself in the
American narrative. Though one critic compared his acting to a “diffident
schoolboy”, the shows continued through the turn of the century, even touring
to Europe.
One of his
most famous collaborations was with sharpshooter Annie Oakley, which was later
immortalised in the Broadway musical, Annie Get Your Gun. The song “There’s
No Business Like Show Business” is about Buffalo Bill trying to convince Annie
to join his shows. Truth, as it is often said, is stranger than fiction.
In Ames May
Nunn’s new play, Rumbleskin, the Western is given a further shake-up
through a queer lens, full of tall tales and magic realism. Stories of a
pregnant girl who turns into a monster to eat men’s faces. A woman who turns
into a horse to buck off riders at the rodeo. A stranger who wanders into town,
promising to help with farming, who is accused of unnatural acts in the dead of
night.
I wondered why
these theatre makers were choosing to tell these stories in the American
vernacular, when transposing the work to Australia could also work. But
colonisation in Australia and America’s “manifest destiny” play differently in
the landscape of our histories. Our notions of bushrangers and squatters are a
world away from the cowboy and the settler wagon trains.
Nunn’s text
is deeply rooted in the tropes of the genre, determined to undermine it and
twist it into a kind of fairytale about trans identities and how sharing
stories is both fraught – lies can easily spread – and the only way that truth
can get out sometimes.
The vignettes
in this work are nested inside each other – one person tells a tale and another
person inside that story tells another story – creating an interesting juxtaposition
of reality and unreality. Perhaps the pregnant teen picked up by a truck driver
on an empty stretch of highway is real, but the story he tells about a rodeo
rider and the woman who is also a horse is not true. The deeper we get into the
play, the more layers are uncovered and what is real becomes more difficult to
parse. But that makes the whole experience rich with possibility and the
audience is taken along for a ride that is fascinating and strange.
Sam Diamond’s
patchwork set is evocative, playing with the idea that this history of America
is sewn together through different perspectives. The moving rocky outcrops
create an ever-changing landscape of rough terrain and a land to be tamed.
Giovanna Yate
Gonzalez’s lighting is rich in the way it evokes time and place, sometimes holding
characters in claustrophobic pools of light and other times casting shadows both eerie and compelling. When people start to shed their skins and
wrap themselves in Sam Diamond’s cloaks, Gonzalez allows us to see just enough
to believe the transformation is happening in front of our eyes.
The show is
bookended by songs by composer Jacob Diamond, that capture the feeling of
singing around a campfire, sharing wisdom and telling ghost stories. His work
throughout the show, more songs and musical score, fleshes out the experience that
is a country hoe-down mixed with more spiritual undertones.
The cast had
their ups and downs on opening night. The accents got in the way sometimes and there
were some stumbles with dialogue and missed cues. Each of them had their
stand-out moments, but given they were all playing multiple characters, some of
them were better at one than another. It was an odd experience.
Luke
Wiltshire was captivating as Ditch, rodeo rider with a body covered in scars
that told the story of a life. His work with Ziggy Resnick as Celia was filled
with the possibility of young love, as they travelled across the country, from show
to show to show. Their chemistry was electric. Michelle Perera is magnetic as Rodeo
Ruth – the woman who becomes a horse.
Director
Alonso Pineda keeps everything on track, slipping and sliding between stories,
never letting the audience lose focus on who is who and what is happening. It’s
a tricky juggling act that could easily get muddled without clear direction.
Nunn’s
script evolves and changes much as their character’s do. Rumbleskin is full
of passion for the cowboy millieu and the experience of trans people finding the skins
they feel comfortable in. But the work is also sly, playing with our expectations
and flipping the script on the American West in a new and fascinating way.
- Keith Gow, Theatre First
Rumbleskin is playing at Fortyfive Downstairs
until July 28
Photos: Kimberley Summer
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