Vaanie Krishnan

It’s been over a week since S Shakthidaran opened his latest collaboration with Eamon Flack at Belvoir St Theatre, The Jungle and the Sea (playing at Belvoir St Theatre until Dec 18, 2022), the much-anticipated follow-up to Counting and Cracking, to praise from critics and audiences alike. And funnily enough, Shakthidaran’s life actually shares a lot of similarities with my own. We are both Tamil, Hindu and have mothers that were heavily involved in the classical artforms of our culture.  Almost everyone in our community learnt how to sing, dance or play an instrument. Our weekends were filled with music concerts and Arangetrams – derived from the Tamil word for stage (‘arangu’) and ascent (‘etram’), meaning to ascend the stage – some of which were held by Shakthi’s mother through Lingalayam Dance Company. As Shakthi reminds me, this is a “cultural habit that is built up over a couple of a hundred years.” Art for us is for everyone, by everyone – but here in Australia, it is often just for the community.  Every night of Counting and Cracking, Sri Lankan and South Asian audience members would tell Shakthi how surprised they were to see all these other people love the story. “I came to realise that a lot of migrants are their full selves at home or inside their own community, and then when they're out in wider community, or in public in Australian life, they put on a mask and perform a simulated version of themselves.” With so much to unpack, naturally I started at the centre o

When you think of a “true blue” Aussie musical, what comes to mind? Is it a jukebox musical like Moulin Rouge! (2018) or Priscilla Queen of the Desert (2006)? Perhaps it’s Muriel’s Wedding (2017) or the 2014 revival of Miracle City (1996). Are these the stories that represent your Australia? They don’t represent mine. My Australia is a land of contradictions. It’s a beautiful country, a land of sweeping plains where bushfires and floods are rampant. It’s a diverse country, but for many of my friends of colour, it can be one fraught with estrangement. It’s a stolen country, but for my parents who immigrated here in the ’80s, it’s a lucky one. ...a profoundly new Australian musical with songs that are unassuming, hilarious and arresting in their exploration of the experience of those in the margins. Like me, there are many people who have a complicated relationship with being Australian. They don’t fit into a neatly defined box, or mould to the stereotypes that have shaped Australia’s documented history. Vidya Makan is one of them. Inspired to “up-end and re-author the grand narratives of Australian national identity from the perspective of those on the margins”, Makan with co-creator/director Sonya Suares spent three years developing The Lucky Country.  Through thirteen cheerful, humorous, catchy and sometimes sombre tunes, Makan and Suares showcase Australia’s many contradictions. A Chinese-Australian man (Jeffrey Liu/Jëva) working in his family’s restaurant dreaming of movin

Every day, amongst the memes and snippets of video interviews the algorithms living in our phones throw us, we are a witness to performance art happening all around the world. Whether it’s Yoann Bourgeois’ captivating trampoline-based rumination on the journey of life, or the overtly feminist “Dancing to Voicemails from My Ex” trend, anything that can tell a compelling story in a thirty-second TikTok video is an immediate commodity.  This reality has also transformed the way visual art is experienced. Multimedia installation projects like Van Gogh Alive and the multisensory Frida Kahlo: Life of an Icon are mainstays for modern-day arts festivals and a key component of a curator’s toolkit, making art accessible, experiential and – well – Instagrammable. [The dancers'] individual styles of movement become their identity and the heart of the work – connection – comes to the forefront. The origins of performance art, however, date back to the early 1900s – in the then avant-garde movement and world of cabaret – through the nihilistic Dada movement, to the ’70s, where it became a medium for political retaliation within the feminist and anti-war movements.  The form has historically capitalised on the value of shock and outrage, but almost always builds on an intended interaction with an audience. From Carolee Schneemann rolling people through raw meat to Marina Abromovic’s silent conversation with strangers, The Artist Is Present (2010), performance art has always been live, memor

The history of Aboriginal people and Aboriginality in Tasmania is a tumultuous one. The colonisation of our history books provides little clarity on the horrors of oppression, displacement and genocide that led to the claims that Tasmania’s Aboriginal population is extinct. The narrative of “the lost tribe” combined with an assimilation policy that was in place until the 1970s made it difficult for Tasmania’s First Nations peoples, such as the Palawa people, to claim their Aboriginality.  “How might Aboriginal identity manifest itself in Palawa people, when we have been officially pronounced as extinct?” Returning to Belvoir St Theatre with the original cast before heading on a timely national tour, Nathan Maynard’s At What Cost? is a thundering and informative exploration of Palawa’s competing histories, identity politics and the human need to be part of a collective. At once a tragedy and an awakening... essential watching leading up to the voice referendum Boyd (Luke Carroll) is a respected man in the Palawa community, which has recently reclaimed Putalina land (in Lutruwita, Tasmania). He moved there with his pregnant wife Nala (Sandy Greenwood), and his cousin Daniel (Ari Maza Long) followed from Melbourne shortly after. Now, about eight months later, Boyd has been chosen by the Aboriginal Land Council to protect William Lanne, a Palawa ancestor whose remains are returned from a British museum so that he can be cremated through the Palawa traditions and be passed on to h

“...Can I ask you a question? …How come you ain’t never like me?” In one simple line from a son to his father, August Wilson captured the clash of two generations. The generation of fathers that felt that care was duty, and the generation of sons who longed for duty in the form of care. There is much to be said for how far modern concepts of masculinity have come since the 1950s, and yet these complex dynamics still resonate today. Back then, to be a man was to be alpha, to be aggressive, to take up space, to demand – no, to seize respect – which as Wilson reminds us, comes at a price. The father in question is Troy Maxson (Bert Labonte), husband of Rose Maxson (Zahra Newman), who once dreamt of being a professional baseball player before it was made clear that his worth would only ever be determined by the colour of his skin. His frustration and bitterness about where he ended up in life leaves him self-destructive. One by one he pushes those closest to him away, betraying their trust and crushing their dreams with his unapologetic exertion of patriarchy until he is left to face his deepest fears on his own. In his downfall, his loved ones must rise toward healing and forgiveness. [Labonte and Newman] delicately see-saw through Wilson’s prose, giving space for each other to rise and fall Fences is the sixth play in African American playwright August Wilson’s ten-part “Pittsburgh Cycle”. Each play in the cycle documents the 20th century African American experience, one decade

What makes folktales (or fairy tales) universal is their ability to inspire curiosity and imagination, and also serve as cautionary tales. Much like other ancient folklore and storytelling practices, folktales have served a social function for centuries – to convey the moral guardrails of a particular time. As time goes on, they are often adapted to reflect the society and culture in which they are being told. Into the Woods is perhaps the first fairy tale musical that does all of the above. It is just as playful and curious as it is a deep moral inquiry. It is also able to lean on the plots of several of the Brothers Grimm fairy tales of the past while adapting to reflect the period it was conceived in, the 1980s dawn of individualism, by boldly asking: “What happens after we all get what we wished for?”  This company of actors delivers a stellar performance of Sondheim's classic score Thirty-five years on from its Broadway premiere, Belvoir St Theatre and Hayes Theatre Co have teamed up to bring this beloved Stephen Sondheim classic to the Sydney stage. With a stacked cast of some of the country’s best musical theatre performers, there is a lot of joy to be found in this production – but it is hampered by an incohesive vision that leaves the tale’s depths largely unexplored. In the first half we are introduced to Little Red Riding Hood (Mo Lovegrove), Cinderella (Shubshri Kandiah), Jack (from Jack and the Beanstalk) (Marty Alix) and Rapunzel (Stefani Caccamo) as well as the

Esse feels like a chair. What type of chair? A folding chair.  Her sister and brother-in-law do not understand it when she tells them over lunch. If she knew they were going to pay for lunch, she would have ordered the steak instead of her ‘tiny’ meal. The last few weeks of her life have been quite haphazard – she’s lost her job, her girlfriend left her, and she’s become obsessed with the news – but it’s alright, because the internet told her she’s a Ravenclaw. An Australian premiere from Red Line Productions, Collapsible is an existential meditation on what it means to live in a world that is determined to appear put together when it is actually falling apart. Written in 2019, Margaret Perry’s monologue explores modern day anxiety and dissociation through the journey of Esse (Janet Anderson) as she prepares for job interviews. Janet Anderson’s command of expression is enthralling Having suddenly no sense of who she is, Esse starts asking everyone she knows how they would describe her. She clings to the list of words like they are affirmations: smart, bubbly, shy, productive, feet firmly planted on the ground. Her experience is contrasted to that of her family and friends, who all seem to be able to carry on climbing the corporate ladder, building their nuclear families and curating outward perfection while the world continues to burn.  The post-lockdown theatre world has seen a rise in the one-person show, and in many ways, this show might suffer for that, as it is compared

Throughout many classical dance forms that are derived from the Hindu scriptures, the Navarasas are used to articulate the nine expressions of being human: suffering, love, laughter, fear, anger, courage, disgust, wonder and peace. These are the experiences that bind us together, the purest expressions of self that do not have gender, sexuality or race, but are the tools with which we navigate who we are each day. Although they are not considered linear, for centuries they have been the structure through which artists have interrogated the human condition.  It is this ancient practice that Nicholas Brown (Lighten Up) brings to Griffin Theatre Company with his new play Sex Magick as part of the Sydney WorldPride program. Brown uses sexuality and humour to entice the audience – and then punches us deep in the fourth chakra Ard Panicker (Raj Labade) has just lost his job as a physiotherapist for the hyper-masculine Hyperions Rugby League Club after a workplace indescretion. His girlfriend, who he proposed to after two weeks, left him for his brother, and his mother Cindy (Blazey Best), the vice-chairman of the Club is getting re-married, press frenzy in tow. In an act of desperation he applies to be a massage therapist at a metaphysical  health spa, giving Ayurvedic rubdowns  to the privileged green smoothie junkies of Bondi. There he meets Liraz (Catherine Văn-Davies). While Ard gives her a trial massage, Liraz has a vision that opens her eyes to something she can’t unsee – her

There is an unspoken understanding that a work of art or entertainment, like a painting or a film, is inherently a product of its time. When writing about it, a critic would reflect on the personal experiences of the creators; what the art world was going through, and what was happening in the wider world at the time.  ​​With theatre, however, it's a lot more complicated. Live performance is a living thing, its elements and relevance reckoned with and revisited by every new creative team that ascends a revival production. There is no visual indication (like the graininess of the film or the fading gold frame of a piece of art) that indicates to an audience they are revisiting a past time. Here, the critique cannot be solely contextual: it must reflect on the show’s relevance to the new world in which it is performed. The choice to include a full cast of children plays out as devastatingly strategic Traditionalists will lament that a product of its time cannot be changed. Seen most starkly in the world of opera, shows like Puccini’s Turandot and Madama Butterfly continue to be produced by mainstage theatre companies in their original form, and audiences continue to buy tickets, despite widespread criticism of their depiction and appropriation of other cultures.  When it comes to the most recent revival of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, a 1960s musical re-telling of a story in the bible’s Old Testament, the narrative is much the same – generations of audience nos

The creation of a piece of live theatre requires seismic precision towards a defined vision. It’s not enough to simply have the vision, one has to be able to communicate clearly to a team of creatives charged with bringing the vision to life. If just one element of choreography, movement, set design, lighting and sound is not executed to its full potential, your intended message may not reach your audience. The opportunity to execute a vision is rarely afforded to dancers, at least not without significant constraints, and yet it is an integral part of the transition to the role of creative or artistic director.  Bangarra Dance Theatre’s newest artistic director, Frances Rings is aware of that. She begins her tenure by handing over the stage to the next generation of emerging Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander creatives through the Dance Clan artistic development program. ...each piece could not be further from Bangarra’s established stylistic identity The show by the same name not only showcases three short 15-minute pieces from the country’s most talented emerging First Nations choreographers – Sani Townson (Kulka), Glory Tuohy-Daniell (Keeping Grounded) and Ryan Pearson (5 Minute Call) – but also features emerging production artists who have been mentored through the program. There’s composers Brendon Boney and Amy Flannery, set designer Shana O’Brien, costume designer Clair Parker, lighting designer Karen Norris and AV designer Joshua Yasserie. It’s clear from the momen

The Parsi community, who practices the Zoroastrian  faith, upholds a rather distinctive funeral tradition. When the body dies, it is returned to nature – traditionally, it would be left to decompose in the sun and be eaten by vultures and other birds. The soul on the other hand, remains, guided to the spiritual world where it faces judgement before finding its place in the afterlife.  But what happens if there are no vultures? Can your soul leave while the body is still intact? This is the basis of Indian Ink Theatre Company’s Paradise or the Impermanence of Ice Cream (Paradise), inspired by Ernest Becker’s Pulitzer Prize winning, non-fiction The Denial of Death. We meet Kutisar, a chaiwalla (a street tea vendor) caught in the spiritual world indefinitely, awaiting his judgement.  As Kutisar is being assessed by the invisible gatekeeper to the afterlife, we are taken back to various moments in his life. What makes this so complex is that the protagonist and all of the people in his life are played by one actor. Jacob Rajan (The Jungle and The Sea), flits effortlessly between Kutisar, Meera (a smart young girl running a kulfi , or ice cream, shop), Farooq (a leader within the Parsi community), Dr Rao (Meera’s aunt), Vibhu (a scientist studying vultures) and an underground mobster who Kutisar owes money. Amidst it all they are trying to solve the mystery of the missing vultures so that the Zoroastrian ritual can be upheld. It is an extremely complex premise, and a task that sho

One of the most challenging things about adolescence is that we often don’t have the language to communicate what we are going through, nor the practice of being vulnerable enough to convey it. Grief, loss, heartbreak, depression, the inevitability of death – how are we supposed to navigate these experiences? Thomas Weatherall took a practical approach: writing. Many of you may be familiar with his acting chops from playing Malakai Mitchell in the recent breakout Netflix remake of Heartbreak High. It seems like it could be a lot of pressure to follow up his breakout stardom with a one-man-show, until you realise that this show and his quest to “become a writer” came first. Developed from four years of diary entries, Blue is Thomas Weatherall’s deeply moving Australian stage debut as a writer and performer. Mark’s family is impacted by a tragic loss, which starts a canon of events: his father leaves, he falls into a deep depression, and when he resurfaces, he moves in with a new housemate, Effie. Effie and Mark fall in love, but the impacts of the tragedies Mark has experienced linger between them. In the process of moving through these moments, Mark and his mother start writing each other letters. It’s a confessional practice which eventually becomes habitual, something only the two of them share, until one day, he receives one he can’t quite fathom. As a performer, Weatherall is immensely engaging The “coming-of-age” story is such well-trodden territory in film, theatre and

Warning: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised that the following article contains the name of someone who has passed.  For many audiences, the concept of contemporary dance can be difficult to understand. It is, in its purest form, metaphorical movement. The use of the body to describe a feeling or a visual impression.  In Tracker, Wiradjuri director-choreographer Daniel Riley’s first work as artistic director of Australian Dance Theatre, he and co-director Rachel Maza bring together the movement of three dancers (Tyrel Dulvarie, Rika Hamaguchi, Kaine Sultan-Babij), the words of two writers (Ursula Yovich and Amy Sole) and the voice of one actor (Abbie-lee Lewis) to bring to life the story of Daniel Riley’s great-great uncle, Wiradjuri Elder Alec “Tracker” Riley. Alec Riley served the New South Wales police force for 40 years, bridging the gap between the enforced colonial public order system and the ways of the land.  Yovich and Sole’s script recreates the investigations that Alec Riley was involved in, interspersed with dance numbers that bring those stories to life. The text is informative, as if taken from newspaper articles on the investigations. Meanwhile, the emblematic dance numbers convey the feeling of being immersed in water, of receiving messages from country, and of the weight of being disregarded and forced to change your ways.  Along with scenic artist Merindah Funnell, set designer Jonathan Jones has created a 270-degree set that is an inn