Review: When the Rain Stops Falling

I mentioned that I was going to see When the Rain Stops Falling here and here, and so here is the review promised, including a review of the program.  Where to begin…how about the cover?

When the Rain Stops Falling - Cover

Now then, what have we got here?  The right section is the first page you see (unless you’re Japanese or Arabic and read your books backwards, but in that case, what are you doing reading an English book?  Stick to your own damn language!) – it’s quite a nice design, very foreboding, very dark, very brooding, very in-search-of-a-capital-letter.  On the left we have an advertisement for Audi, principal sponsor of the Sydney Theatre Company, because nothing says “Sydney Theatre Company” like a bunch of Bavarian mechanics, does it?  Lederhausens were not part of the dress code, though.  Shall we open the program?  Let’s.  The performance doesn’t start for a few minutes.

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 1 and 2

Here we have some brilliant advertising.  On the left, an advertisement for “First Class Private Suites” on Emirates flights, the model reclining on what looks to be an extraordinarly comfortable lounge/bed, in stark contrast to the buttock-destroying seat you have to endure in the Opera House.  On the right perfume is advertised, “Chloe”, and though I had no idea at the time what aromatic delights Chloe would provide, the woman next to me had obviously fell under the influence of some similar advertisement, my olfactories taking the full brunt of the wafts emanating from her.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 3 and 4

Watch company on the left, Vacheron Constantin – apparently he was 36 when Mozart composed the “Magic Flute”.  And this makes the watch more attractive how?  Because it’s old?  Oh right, the theatre was full of people from the 18th century…now it makes sense.  On the right, Adshel, that wonderful company that has provided bus stops around the city.  Mentioned in the ad is the term “water-harvesting and solar-powered street furniture”.  When was the last time you saw a water-harvesting, solar-powered chaise lounge on the street?  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 5 and 6

Two page brag about what the Sydney Theatre Company has “going on” and “coming up”.  The “coming up” section is just regurgitating what is on their website and in their brochure.  (“Coming up”/regurgitating?  Get it?  Bah.)  Background colour is cream to give the impression of recycled paper so as to cater for the environmental sensitivites of the audience.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 7 and 8

Finally we get to something worthwhile, after enduring the threat of paper cuts for 6 pages.  Left, cast list and other information, including “There will be no interval”.  Known in the business as “if you need to go to the bathroom, do it now”.  (To stand up to go the toilet during a play is more of a faux pas than a mobile phone ringing – especially if you relieve yourself in the aisle.)  This is further enforced by the allusions to water in the title of the play.  Right – slow dance encounters table obstacle.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 9 and 10

Profiles of the actors.  All of them are “proud members of Equity since <year>”.  I don’t know what this Actors Equity is, but it sounds like a cult.  Maybe it’s the actor’s version of the Freemasons.  Carmel Johnson (third person pictured) wins the “longest column” competition.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 11 and 12

Profiles of the non-actors (i.e., the people you don’t see on stage and hence don’t much care about).  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 13 and 14

Writer and Director profiles.  What’s with the serious faces in the headshots?  If I ever get a play staged, I want my headshot to be of me pulling a stupid face.  Mind you, the audience would probably think I had some type of disability if I did that – more publicity!  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 15 and 16

Writer’s notes, and Director’s notes.  Also known in the business as “the group sex pages”.  The amount of group-love that goes on here is unbelievable.  Where’s the gossip?  Where’s the slander?  Where’s the “I hated having him as a director, he ruined my work”?  Sadly it is missing.  Sanitised for your immediate consumption, no reflux.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 17 and 18

Residual group-love from the previous page (like the wet spot on the covers in the morning, or is that stretching the metaphor too far?), and lots of pretty pictures.  Aww.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 19 and 20

More pictures.  How exciting.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 21 and 22

More group-love from the Designer.  That’s Ayer’s Rock upside down at the top, although during the play it looked more like a giant pillow.  Oh, and I believe it’s called Uluru nowadays – have to be politically correct and all that.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 23 and 24

Yet more group-love from the Composer, and Characters and Settings on the top right for the slower people in the audience who can’t follow the play properly.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 25 and 26

A family tree on the left, possibly alluding to the picture of an upside down tree back on page 18 and page 20.  Possibly a bit of intratextuality going on.  How literary.  Sydney Theatre Company credits on the right.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 27 and 28

“About Brink” on the left.  Brink was the original company who produced the play in Adelaide.  They believe in: “diversity = life, slow food = great taste, on the brink = a leap in the unknown”.  What slow food has to do with theatre production is beyond me.  Also on that page is a quote from Julian Burnside QC: “Without the law you can’t have society, without the arts you can’t have civilisation”.  Has he heard of Sparta?  Although I agree with the general point he’s making.  More credits on the right.  Almost there!  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 29 and 30

Sponsors.  And more sponsors.  Really, who cares?  Yawn.  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 31 and 32

All the patrons and donators to the Sydney Theatre Company.  Picking one at random – “Fertility First”, who donated an amount between $1000-$2000.  What business Fertility First has donating to the theatre is beyond me – perhaps they think watching something on the stage increases the chances of an IVF treatment being successful?  Maybe their slogan is “come for the performance, leave having been knocked up”?  Next!

When the Rain Stops Falling - Page 33 and 34

Last page!  Advertised on the right is a chance to win a “romantic trip to Copenhagen”, presumably something that would come in handy if you were traumatised by the play.

And that’s it.  Phew, we made it.  And next time I promise I won’t go through the whole program – if only from necessity because I will run out of jokes on the subject of “art patrons”.

There were many ads at the start, but they weren’t scattered through the rest of the program which I liked.  However, the content of the program wasn’t as satisfying as I had hoped for.  The price?  $10.  The pages are glossy, which adds to the value somewhat.  But what is the final score?  Drumroll, please.  I give When the Rain Stops Falling, the program, 6.5/10.

Onto the play itself.  I thought it was great.  At the start of the play it is raining, and a fish falls from the sky, smashing onto the stage with great force, landing in a small puddle of water and splashing the liquid to both sides of the stage.  One wonders whether the splash has been rehearsed and determined to only splash stage left and right, rather than up stage and down stage – possibly giving the audience a more interactive experience than they would want.

I’m also not ashamed to say that I teared up at a few of the more emotional moments during the play – mind you, they were very manly tears, filled with a large amount of testosterone, and only pooled at the bottom of my eyes, not running all the way down my cheek.  The strange thing I noticed was that only my right eye produced any of that salty sadness.  Does this mean that I’m right-teared?  The set design was minimal but effective, the music was well suited to the action, and the actors all gave good performances.

The story was very skillfully woven by Andrew Bovell (the writer), but I had a few problems with it, mainly that I could predict some of the plot points a few scenes before they were about to happen, which lessened the impact a bit.  Although there is a strange satisfaction that can be derived from guessing what a certain revelation will be before the majority of the audience does – I know I did because it’s very easy to tell when the audience realises something crucial from the assorted oh’s and ah’s and other murmurings.  Perhaps that is why some of the story seemed a tad too contrived for my liking, but this is only a very minor complaint.

As for what it is about – it is the story of four generations of one family, and how the past affects the future, how the future affects the past, and humanity’s response to both the past and the future, our relationship to the planet, our ability for cruelty and compassion, and things along those lines.  If I said much more it would probably give some of the story away, and I definitely don’t want to do that, not after what happened to me yesterday (see here).

Overall, what score do I give When the Rain Stops Falling, the play?  8.5/10.  More details can be found on the Sydney Theatre Company’s website.

The program: 6.5/10.
The play: 8.5/10.

Down, down, down…

After apparently reaching the summit of Mt. Offensive in my last post (aided by my trusty Sherpa Satire), and also thinking that if I’m “shocking” in every single post then I’ll cease to be shocking anymore – this post will be a tad more subdued.  That’s right – subdued.  Let’s let that sink in for a moment.  (But I will go off on a tangent first in which I describe how much I enjoy using the same word twice in a row.  Such as “that that”, or like the above “let’s let”.  And yes I know it’s horrible grammar (probably), but I get a weird satisfaction from it, like I’m sure some sesquipedalians out there do from employing their particular vice.  Sometimes I feel like peregrinating up to their accommodations and defenestrating them.)

But back to being subdued.

Aww, doesn't it just make you want to take a de-worming tablet?

Serenity and calm.  Serenity and calm.  Interesting development with my play, namely that the Australian body set up to help support playwrights (at least I think that was the purpose, although given I know virtually nothing, that may be a very naive assumption to make), has currently suspended submissions for scripts.  Fan-*censored*-tastic.  Here’s a lovely quote for everyone:

NOTE: PostScript is currently not accepting new submissions.  We are currently processing a backlog of submissions and will not be accepting new submissions until further notice.  Please check this website for updates.  Submissions received to date will be processesd as normal.

Wonderful.  Here’s a link for people who are interested.  And yet this shouldn’t be particularly bad news – PostScript is just one program, there are surely more out there?  This would be true, except that half of the theatres that used to take submissions have redirected them to PostScript.  Three cheers for centralised submissions!

But I haven’t even finished writing my play yet, so I’m not allowed to whinge.  Let me get my needle and thread and sew my lips shut.  Has anyone got a straw I could borrow?  It needs to be a small one.

When the Rain Stops Falling, Carpentry Scene

I’m going to see When the Rain Stops Falling at the Opera House on Tuesday night, so that’s something to look forward to.  It’s not all doom and gloom here and Chez Epistemysics!  Nosiree, you’ll find each serving of doom and gloom comes with a generous dollop of a combination of euphoria, spontaneous orgasm, and freshly-baked-cookie-smell.  Speaking of euphoria – one wonders if there is an opposite to manic depression, such as manic optimism?

Anyways, if I’m lucky the rain will stop falling for a few moments so that I don’t have to make the ten metre dash to the Opera House through pouring rain – if anyone knows a way to get to the Playhouse without having to venture out from under cover, I’d be delighted to know.  Unlike when I saw Gatz.  That was an interesting exercise in hypothermia and gale-force winds.  I say “interesting”.  I mean “torturous”.  Imagine being ripped from under the warm covers of your bed in the morning, stripped of all your pyjamas, dumped unceremoniously (but let’s be honest, I don’t think there’s much of a chance of anyone ever being “dumped” ceremoniously) into an ice bath filled with honey instead of water, pulled out after 30 seconds, rolled around on the floor in gravel (such that it sticks to your body), then whacked by complete strangers with large paddles that push the gravel so that it makes indents in your skin, then taken outside, blasted with a hose, and then, to top it off, blasted with hot air that hurts because your body is so cold and can’t handle the heat.  Well, that’s not what it felt like that night at Gatz, but I just thought I’d get you to imagine the above scenario anyways.  Sweet dreams!  (Make sure you lock your bedroom door tonight…)

Oh, and contrary to what you may believe about the last post, I’m not racist.  In fact I’m so not racist that I plan on marrying an Asian girl and adopting children of various ethnicities (Indian, Ethiopian, Danish (the Danish are the silent victims of racism), and a Brazilian).  So there, take that Madonna!