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 vision triggers a series of events that lead both of them to Kerela, India, where Ard begins to uncover the lost pieces of his identity and free himself from his conditioning.
Under the guise of a raunchy romp, Brown uses sexuality and humour to entice the audience – and then punches us deep in the fourth chakra with messages about bi-culturalism, identity, presentations of masculinity and intergenerational trauma. It’s just unfortunate that these messages take so long to surface.
The dialogue is biting, fast-paced and critical of the different paradigms it traverses – from the hyper-masculine, heteronormative world of the wealthy rugby club to a white-washed ashram in India. At first Sex Magick is acute in its commentary on appropriation of eastern aesthetics, but it quickly becomes indulgently derisive. Brown’s direction with Declan Greene turns many Indian elements into mockery with jarring accents, comedic treatment of cultural practices, or throwaway comments intended to endear the play to euro-centric sensibilities. This stylistic choice feels frivolous against the grounding structure of the Navarasas, which act as the play’s chapters and anchor Ard’s emotional, spiritual and sexual journey.
Thankfully, this is all redeemed in the play’s second act, in which we see a stark tonal shift as the story becomes a multi-dimensional discovery of identity, heritage and ancestry that adds weight to the gratification that has come before. A considered edit and further focus on the experiences of People of Colour (like the experience of Ard’s father, Keeran) in homophobic, post-colonial India, would have balanced the first act if brought in earlier.
Performer Vishnu Narayanasamy is a centred presence as Anand, a classical Kathakali dancer and friend of Ard’s father, his stoicism and Kathakali performance gives the play (and Ard) some much needed direction. Narayanasamy is enigmatic and alluring in all his roles, just as endearing and dimensional as Ardhanarishvara ("the lord whose half is female") as he is as Anand.
For this reviewer, a person with ancestry in Kerala, it was gratifying to see the complexity of Narayanasamy’s character(s) unfold and Kathakali explored as a connection to identity, as the arts are for many of us. But even among these beautiful moments of self-expression and reflection, there is an inability to resist deflection. In the show’s most emotional moments, comedic interjection from the dominant colonial voice is frequent, which is perhaps a reflection of the reality of the queer, coloured experience – but this continually underserves Brown’s protagonist.
The production elements are otherwise magical. Tantalising lighting design by Kelsey Lee and captivating video projections by Solomon Thomas signal the change in the Navarasas, enhancing sentiment, capturing dreams and transporting us across space and time. At times, visuals are even projected onto smog as bodies writhe in unison center stage. It is a visual feast that streams through the chaos to boldly reclaim sexuality and effaminacy.
Mason Brown’s set design pivots the story through a series of lockers that at times act as windows into Ard’s subconscious, and in other moments reflect the many doors he opens and closes in search for answers. It is no small feat to bring together and make sense of Brown’s world-bending text, and this team does so with clarity and style.
After an endearing performance in Never Closer (25A Belvoir), Raj Labade blesses this production with a tender relatability on which the show rests tentatively. With unwavering commitment he makes Ard’s journey to reclaim his femininity believable, his bodily expressions of trauma and resolution through Kathakali are heartbreakingly precise.
Playing multiple characters, Mansoor Noor provides a truthful performance as the voice of reason for Ard (although his command of the accent at times seems mocking). Catherine Văn-Davies presents great comedic timing and together, Noor, Labade and Văn-Davies have a palpable comfort on stage together. It plays like an ensemble piece, with all three actors given meaty throughlines that allow them to present a different perspective or journey to queer utopia. Blazey Best and Stephen Madsen round out the cast, both memorable in their verbose character roles.
Sex Magick screams of a show that is simply trying to do too much, but there is some order to the chaos. This show is the sexy romp it promises to be, with deeper undertones that will prompt conversation and contemplation if you let it. A great addition to Sydney WorldPride 2023.
Sex Magick plays at SBW Stables Theatre, Kings Cross, until March 25, 2023. Find out more and snap up your tickets here.
