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.

Limerick #1

There once was a struggling writer,
Who one evening became quite a night owl.
A large project was due,
And he hadn’t a clue,
Whether to sleep now or do an overnighter.

Yes I’m tired and not in the best of writing moods, but I’ve posted ten days in a row and I didn’t want to break the trend.  Quite a short post, but then variety is the spice of life (and more expensive than saffron I’ve heard).

Cliches, Writer-Bashing, Paedophilia – Where to Next?

That’s a very good question.  I’m glad you asked it.  What was that?  You didn’t ask it?  Well, I heard you ask it.  How could I hear you when you were only reading this post?  ‘Cause I’m psychic.

What’s that?  You’re still arguing?  Very well, I’ll wait for you to realise your mistake.

You don’t believe in psychics?  Since when does your belief or lack thereof matter?  I have a friend (who may or may not be imaginary).  Let’s call him Pal.  Pal doesn’t believe in Osama Bin Laden.  Does that mean Osama Bin Laden doesn’t exist?  (A bad example, given the fact that the might of America still hasn’t found him.)  Scrub that.  Pal doesn’t believe President Obama exists – everything he sees on TV is just a computer-generated image.  Does this mean that President Obama doesn’t exist?  Of course not.

The Crystal Ball: An essential tool of all psychics. To receive accreditation, a psychic must travel to the North Pole and castrate one of the mythical "Crystal Elephants". These expeditions are usually done in pairs, so as to reduce waste.

So now that we have established that your beliefs have absolutely no effect on whether Obama, psychics, gods, or sentient teapots exist, we can move on with the post.  Finally.  The freedom I find I have upon discovering your irrelevancy is quite wonderful.  Anyways, try not to be so disagreeable next time – you’re ruining the fun for everyone else.  Of course, at the moment there is no “everyone else”, this blog being a tad new.  But I swear by Zeus’ Pubic Hair that there will be more readers at a later date!  Readers who will look back at the archives and think to themselves “who was that idiot who was arguing?”  I tell you this out of compassion – so you can avoid embarassment in the future.  I strive to be a compassionate human being.

(Unfortunately, due to unforseen complications, a picture of Zeus’ Pubic Hair cannot be found.  So instead try to imagine a combination of Harry Potter’s head and Zeus’ groin.  And I don’t mean to suggest that Harry Potter was giving Zeus oral sex or anything, just that the shape of his scar bears a remarkable resemblence to the shape of Zeus’ pubic hair.  Any conclusion you draw from that is entirely your own fault, you dirty, disgusting creature.  Just because Harry Potter is a fictional wizard and Zeus is a (possibly fictional) God doesn’t mean they don’t want to get to know each other before they take it to the next level.  Shame on you!)

So – where to next?  Tangents.  What is a tangent?

An example of a "tanned-gent". Tanned-Gent, tangent. Get it?

Tangents are what make life interesting.  If you spend your life driving down the freeway, but never take a detour, you’ll save alot of money on petrol.  You will also have achieved very little.  On your deathbed (which would be located in the back of a truck if you had spent your entire life traveling), the only thing you will be able to say is “I drove past interesting things.”  Whereas others will have stopped, got out and looked around, you instead drove past it.  Do you want to stop and smell the roses, or do you want to be a victim of a drive-by?  Taking both sets of connotations into account, I’d much prefer the former.  A thorn in the flesh is better than a bullet in the brain.

This topic has been dealt with by another man, namely Robert Frost:

Robert Frost, circa 1910. He must've sat very still for a camera with such a long exposure as "circa 1910".

He wrote a poem called The Road Not Taken.  Here’s the last stanza:

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Powerful words, Bob, powerful words.  It is clear that he is railing against freeway bypasses in this poem.  (It is no matter that freeway bypasses did not exist when this poem was written.  Frost had impeccable foresight.)  His message is clear – take the scenic route.  And pack a camera (as well as plenty of memory cards and the battery charger).  This was explored in the next stanza – a stanza that was lost until I happened to stumble upon it.  This is a rare privilege that you have, to see for the first time the true end of the famous poem:

And as I went down that lonely road
Realising I had forgotten my camera,
I knew that well this did not bode,
For my memories they would soon erode,
And so would life’s paraphernalia.

Isn’t it lucky I managed to find it?  Now the world can fully know the thoughts of Robert “Snowman Bob” Frost.

Medieval Y-Intersection

My advice?  Take the scenic route once in a while.