Goodbye Bill

 

When David Lindley died Jackson Browne said he hesitated to put his feelings about David down on paper because that would mean having to acknowledge that David had really gone. I’m feeling a bit like that now about my dear friend Bill. Bill Docherty died on December 12^th.

When I first met Bill he was a friend of my brother’s. They were both studying to be priests at a monastery in Melbourne. Bill and my brother Damien left religious life before becoming priests, and both embarked on a lifestyle that involved catching up on lost time. My first strong post-monastery memories of Bill were visiting a house he shared with other students and consuming huge amounts of marijuana, listening to a lot of Frank Zappa, and engaging in challenging and stimulating intellectual debates about life. As a much younger man the nature of these highly articulate conversations greatly impressed me.

As fate would have it Bill and I would both end up spending a lot of time in Israel. Bill eventually married a Jewish woman and lived there for many years but we first met in Israel in 1981 when he was living on a kibbutz outside of Jerusalem.  Our second meeting was in Ashqelon when we both parents with young children. Our third and fourth meetings were in Jerusalem. I was in Israel attending conferences and Bill was working as a lawyer for an organisation that represented Palestinians in court in their battles with the Israeli state.

And therein lies a tale of who Bill was, and the schizophrenic nature of life in Israel for anyone who cares about the parties on both sides of the conflict. During this time Bill lived in Jerusalem and travelled across to the West Bank each day to work for Palestinians. Each day after work he returned to his Israeli friends on the other side of the conflict.

Despite the fact that it had progressively become more and more of a rogue state that saw itself above the law we both loved Israel. It was this shared joy of the land, its people and the profound experiences it afforded us that saw us grow closer as the years rolled by. When Bill returned to Australia we shared fond memories and a mutual understanding of the complexities of Israel. It left indelible marks on both of us. And both of us had little or no contact with anyone else who had spent much time in Israel.  Israel was our shared story that we both cherished, and that few others understood.

I may write more about Bill’s life down the track a bit. This text is just a brief glimpse of a remarkable story about a remarkable man. Bill was one of those larger than life characters who always seemed to be living life in some kind of action movie where the unlikely becomes more likely, and the impossible becomes possible.  He was indeed a lovable larrikin, but as erudite and articulate a person as you’ll ever meet. He was also a ratbag that you tolerated because of the love that lived within his generous soul.

Bill was a storyteller. The last time I saw him I told him how much I enjoyed his stories over the years, but that I was never sure what was fact and what was embellishment. His reply? “It was all embellishment!” No it wasn’t Bill – we both know that – but you made me laugh one last time.

I loved you mate. And I know you loved me.  Watching your coffin disappear at your funeral was like having parts of me stripped away. And I realised then and there that I had begun the gradual journey to my own end. Offering me one last lesson Bill. Teaching me right to the very end.

Rest in peace chaver yakar sheli (my dear friend).

 

1988 - OzAsia Music Review

 

Space Theatre, Tue 24 Oct

1988 was a big year for Australia. White Australia celebrated its bicentenary. It was also a big year for Dung Nguyen. He emigrated from Vietnam to join his father in Australia.

1988 is an inspiring cultural event. It attempts to portray the Vietnamese experience of migration and resettlement in a strange and foreign land through music, sound, and projected imagery. It is a beautifully intense creation.

It begins with Nguyen sitting on the floor playing a Vietnamese zither (dan tranh), that Asian stringed instrument whose evocative sounds are synonymous with traditional music from East Asia. Slowly the zither invites other sounds to enter: a sparse piano, an aching trumpet, deeply resonant double bass, vibraphone, and various other forms of percussion – most notably a gorgeous bamboo xylophone (dan trung). All the while the projected blurred images are becoming clearer as Nguyen gets closer to Australia.

Nine different musical pieces take us on an ongoing journey through arrival in the new land, sharing feelings of excitement and expectation, disruption and uncertainty, and finally back full circle to a point that feels like resolution; the acceptance of life as a migrant – forever a stranger but who nevertheless finds a way to retain their Vietnamese soul.

This is all done with exquisite collaboration between musicians seeking their space to contribute to the mood of each piece. A range of electronic gadgetry complemented traditional instruments and neatly symbolised the integration of old and new experiences that migration entails.

This was an enchanting performance – deeply moving, ethereal, exotic, a wonderful blend of sounds that may or may not become music, but all of which express feeling.

It concludes with Nguyen back on the floor, plucking his zither, gently humming to himself………

This review also published on The Clothesline.

12 Angry Men - Review (from 2016)

 Holden Street Theatres, The Studio, Wed 13 Oct.

Matt Byrne Media has been churning out consistently good local theatre for years now and they have excelled with this production of Reginald Rose’s timeless jury room drama 12 Angry Men. Appropriately timed to coincide with the madness surrounding the US election and the racist fear-mongering attitudes it is serving up 12 Angry Men reminds us of the fault lines of prejudice that underscore American life.

Matt Byrne at far left. Sadly Matt left this earth in 2021

This production is a superb example of great casting and near faultless ensemble acting. Twelve men of all ages from many and various walks of life are closeted in a jury room to decide the fate of a 16-year-old Puerto Rican boy on trial for the murder of his father. The initial vote goes 11-1 in favour of indictment. The dissenting juror number eight however is not convinced the evidence presented was conclusive and begins a round of discussions that slowly sow seeds of reasonable doubt in his fellow jurors.

The crisp, fast moving dialogue is in turn rational, impassioned and heated and reveals that people have made decisions based on the values they hold rather than on the evidence that is presented. A salutary lesson in Courtroom Law 101.

There is not a weak link among the twelve characters. While some have more demanding roles, they all play their parts to perfection and it would seem unfair to single out any of them for special mention. It is possibly the most even ensemble performance I’ve seen in years.

There were many startling and memorable scenes. The opening scene that sees twelve random strangers awkwardly filing into the jury room for a process that would reveal much about who they are and what they believe, and ultimately decide whether someone lives or dies was beautifully choreographed. A scene late in the play when one of the more outspoken guilty verdict jurors unravels in a tirade of racism was eerily Trump-like.

Ultimately, after a fiery, combative process reason triumphs and justice rules, and shows that those who shout loudest need not always get their way.

Designed and directed by Matt Byrne, this is a classy and immensely entertaining show.

This review also published on The Clothesline.

Kate Townsend (Song #81)

 

Another friend has left us - Kate Townsend. Kate was one part of a wonderful partnership with Dave Clarke and together for many years they ran the Singing Gallery in McLaren Vale, and in more recent years a smaller venue called the Singing Gazebo in Clarendon.  Dave and Kate were rare because when they hosted musicians they made you feel like family. They treated musicians with an amazing grace and respect. They might even feed you. They made sure all was to your liking and that you felt OK. Playing at a venue where Dave and Kate were hosts was a special treat. And ogether they created this wonderful sense of community between the people who attended their shows.

I had known Kate  for quite a while before I heard her sing and it was a wonderful moment when I did first hear her sing, She had a beautiful singing voice.

The song below is called Kate from the Riverbend.  The Singing Gazebo was in Dave and Kate’s home  on a bend in the Onkaparinga River in Clarendon. It was a place that Aboriginal people used to go to long ago and was regarded then as a meeting place. Kate used to mention this in her welcomes to country when you attended gigs at the gazebo. Another lovely little Kate touch was putting names of those attending on tables with perhaps a little bunch of flowers, a pretty tablecloth, or some interesting picture. She always made sure that people were sitting in a place where they could see, where they could hear, and where they would feel comfortable and able to enjoy the music on offer. So Kate – we’re all going to really miss the events that you and Dave have put on together over the years. Thank you so much for making it such a warm and memorable experience. Rest in peace dear Kate.

KATE FROM THE RIVERBEND

Listen

Sit over there - see your name on the table

Or sit back there - talk to our old friend

Here on the riverbend

Glad you could come; glad you were able

To sing and smile and enjoy the show

Here on the riverbend

Long long ago ancient people

Gathered right here to tell their stories

Your welcomes to country warm and true

They made it clear what it meant to you

This place on the riverbend

We saw you smile

We heard you talk

We heard you play

Then we heard you sing

A voice from the trees

Like notes on the wind

Here on the riverbend

A voice so warm like sun in the morning

Made me dream what might be tomorrow

Here on the riverbend

Here on the riverbend

Here on the riverbend

Kate from the riverbend

Michael Coghlan (November, 2023)

Defeated Voice

 

To Peter in Berlin

OK I'm going to dictate this rather than type so this is voice to text at work.

I think some of what I say here Peter might surprise you. I have a lot of - anger perhaps is a bit strong - but certainly a lot of frustration about what's going on with the Aboriginal issue in Australia. Not just about the Voice but there's a whole lot of stuff going on here which you may have picked up on while you were here earlier in the year but as you haven't been here in the lead up to the Voice you wouldn't have felt this absolute bombardment of the Australian public about Aboriginal issues.

Now for the record I voted yes. I thought it was really important that the yes vote got up just to give Aboriginal people the message that they belong here. But what they got is a message that lots of Australians don't think they do belong here. I think it was a monumental cockup by both the Labour and Liberal parties. I think both parties should have stayed out of it and basically said to the Australian people ‘this is not a political issue; this is a personal conscience vote issue’ and they should have stayed out of it. What in fact happened is that it became like an election with Liberal versus Labour and it was a disaster for all concerned.

I think a lot of what happened is that there are a lot of Australians like me who are sick to death of hearing about it. Someone on the ABC wrote today that at a time when we have major problems in this country with education, not enough beds in the hospital system, not enough doctors, not enough houses for people to live in, people are struggling to get enough money to buy food and a whole host of other issues the last thing that many Australians want to think about is the welfare of the Aboriginal people. The timing was disastrous, and it feels to me like we are being force fed a diet of Aboriginal issues 24/7 in all forms of media. Now whether or not other people believe that to be true doesn't matter because the perception is from a lot of people that it's just been rammed down our throats and it's another example like with the whole gender issue. We are being told what to think and you get the message that you can't object to what people are saying or you'll be considered sexist or you know gender-ist, or racist. You’re reluctant to express any dissatisfaction with the prevailing orthodoxy for fear of recrimination and accusations.

 

A simple example of this is that it's a recurring theme now that I see on Facebook and I hear people say it to me and I hadn't said it out loud 'cause I guess I didn't want to appear racist. But - I am sick to death of being welcomed to my own country – at every game, every bit of theatre, every movie,  every talk, every lecture, every everything you are subjected to this tokenistic welcome to country. I know that country in the Aboriginal sense of the word is different to what we mean by country but I think that's irrelevant here in the bigger picture.  The fact is I and a lot of people just don't want to be welcomed to country because it's already my country. And I find myself at these things when they're talking about elders past and present and I want to ask what about my elders? what about the Italians? what about the Vietnamese? What gives the Aboriginal people the right to have this little gig behind every public ceremony just because they were first here? Well it is important, they are important, but I don't think they're that important that they have to occupy you know several minutes of our consciousness every day of our lives. 

A local Councillor the City of Playford, said he thought acknowledgements had gone "overboard".

"I listen to the younger generation who attend university and colleges, it's being read out for every lecture," he said. "I think it's gone a little too far, and for me, I don't think is balanced."

The acknowledgement needed to be "inclusive", adding the words "our people, our forebears that have contributed in building and defending our great nation and way of life".

"This is Australia, we are a great nation, we've got to be thankful and grateful to our custodians," he said.

"But we also have to respect our forebears that have built this great nation, there are many people who've put blood, sweat and tears, sacrificing their lives for this nation."

"In this climate, it takes courage to do this ... some people will see this as some sort of racist attack, and that's far from what it is," he said.

"[The acknowledgement] loses a bit of its meaning when every single meeting, every single lecture, we have this verbatim read out."

And I think there are a lot of Australians - in fact I know a lot of Australians, like my brother, are fed up with the Aboriginal issue. And it is still the case that a lot of Australians think - as the guy who looks after our pool said when he was here the other day - they already get everything for free. They get free healthcare, they get free education, free housing - what else do they want? so I'm voting no he said. So there is still a perception in the Australian community that Aboriginal people do get a lot more breaks than the rest of us. Ironic given that all the poverty and well-being markers still show that Aboriginal people are way behind the rest of the country but the rest of the country still feels like they're getting an easy ride and are not inclined to give them what they see as an even easier ride by giving them something called the Voice which people didn't understand anyway.

 

It's really interesting too that when you analyse the data from the referendum and look at where the majority of yes votes were recorded. It was in the inner cities of Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane,  Adelaide where educated well-off possibly more liberal (as in left thinking) people live. They voted yes. The further you move out from the inner city to the outer suburbs and then out into the countryside and then out into the remote regions the thinner the yes vote gets so it's an enclave of inner city elite thing.  I don't know how you want to describe them and I guess I'm in that category too and I think we’re actually a little bit out of touch with what the rest of the country is thinking. The rest of the country was absolutely conclusive - no. Not interested. Don't care.

 

And I think that care factor is significant here. With the same sex marriage plebiscite - strictly not a referendum - that was put through because everybody knew someone who was affected by the laws as they were then which said same sex relationships can't be legitimate, they couldn't marry, they had no rights so everybody knew there was a practical outcome within their families or within their circle of friends. So people cared. In this context with the Voice it made absolutely no difference to the average Australian whether this thing got up or not. Obviously it did to Aboriginal people but to the average white Australian they didn't give a toss. They didn't understand and didn't care. I don't know what it says about Australia. It feels like a sad empty feeling but what angers me are these two things 1) that politicians got involved and it scuttled the whole thing and 2) read the room. There's a number of people in this country who are sick of - I think it's called identity politics. They want governments to spend time and money on issues that affect all of us – education, health, transport, the economy, food, places to live - they don't want governments to spend their time looking at you know whether or not you're gay or whether or not you're transgender or whether or not you're Aboriginal or whether or not you're autistic. They want the government to focus on problems which affect everybody. Now this is a little bit my interpretation of what's going on but I feel like that's a bit how it's running at the moment.

Some weeks later I found this – seems I’m not alone in my thinking. Don Watson put it this way:

“if the Left wants to regain the ground it lost it needs to give up its fashionable pieties, broaden its reading, examine its own motivation for signs of vanity and self-interest, and stop equating occupation of the moral high ground with doing something useful. It should recognise that identity politics is an option for people whose identities are threatened, but it won’t get you a democracy where all identities are secure. It will get you Trump.” (The Monthly, November 2023)

But I'm sad the Voice didn't get up. It was a good idea. It was a necessary step towards reconciliation, to treaty, to healing - it's now gonna take another decade or two so we’ll be long dead methinks before the Aboriginal question is satisfactorily resolved, if ever. It feels strangely sad and negative and empty today. It says something about Australia that I don't like but I kind of understand why it happened and I just think these inner urban elites and politicians need to read the room and focus on the things that actually mean something to everybody.

 

Ink - Review

Little Theatre
Fri Oct 13 2023

There’s a sadness about this work from James Graham. Many of the ideas behind Rupert Murdoch’s first newspaper seemed quite acceptable.  Socialist even. “Give the people what they want. “ “A newspaper for the people” “Tell stories of normal people”. In retrospect Murdoch’s Sun may well have been a kind of forerunner of social media where the humdrum activities of the rank and file were deemed sufficient to fill a newspaper.

Murdoch was also out to break the hold of the establishment on Fleet Street. He saw himself as a new broom that would sweep old and dusty entrenched attitudes aside. The rest of course is history. From there the local Adelaide boy would take on New York and the world and eventually become an entrenched stalwart of right-wing values, and one of the most insidious influences on contemporary life.

But Ink only takes us through to the end of the first chapter in this remarkable story, when Murdoch’s remodelled Sun outsells its nemesis on the back of the introduction of the page 3 model. And it is a wonderful emotional roller coaster of a ride.  Directors Robert Bell and Rebecca Kemp, together with an extremely capable and large ensemble cast manage to brilliantly convey the manic stress behind the scenes of newspaper production, the exhilarating highs shared when brainstorming ideas for a new approach to journalism, and celebrating success when the ratings come in all good news.  The buzz around these scenes is infectious, and delivered with authenticity and a great sense of fun. Just one of several scenes in this play that are really very funny.

The success of this production is undoubtedly a team effort, but it rests safely on the shoulders of two stellar acting performances by Joshua Coldwell and Bart Csoba.  Coldwell is suitably brash and provocative as Murdoch. He has just enough nerve to ruffle feathers while still maintaining a sense of decency and likeability that allows him to get away with the outrageous. But hats off to Bart Csorba as the real hero of this story, Larry Lamb – the editor Murdoch entrusted to translate his vision into reality. Larry Lamb is the stereotypical newspaper guy. Most of the time he seems just shy of breaking point as he chides, encourages, and berates his staff to deliver the goods – hyper-enthusiastic, hyper-critical, hyper-anxious but always ready to celebrate success. His is a remarkable performance.

Such an entertaining show. As ever the Little Theatre’s split level and multiple entry/exit points were beautifully exploited. The audience loved the scenes where Larry cajoled fellow journos to come along on a risky crazy ride, and the hilarious group creation of the masthead, motto, and the new paper’s first edition.

Things become quite a bit more sober later in the show with the kidnapping of Muriel McKay, the wife of Murdoch’s deputy, and as reports start to filter in of people in high places being offended by this rambunctious new kid on the block. But despite the offence and the ruffled feathers the ratings continued to soar.

As they should for this production of Ink!

This review also published on The Clothesline.

Dictionary of Lost Words

The Dictionary of Lost Words

Dunstan Playhouse
Wed 27 Sep 2023

At first pass the tale of a young woman growing up dreaming of being a lexicographer may not present as a ripping yarn.  But courtesy of some astute direction, wonderfully creative use of an eye-catching set, and uniformly excellent performances from the whole cast The Dictionary of Lost Words is totally engrossing.

We meet Esme as a four year old hanging around in her father’s ‘scrippy’ or scriptorium (a place for writing).  Her father works for an eminent scholar who is compiling a dictionary. With that kind of upbringing Esme was always going to grow up either loving or hating words, and fortunately she realises words can be an escape, a path to alternative realities, and collecting new words and quotations to show their use becomes something of an obsession.

The story unfolds in the late nineteenth century as the suffragette movement is gaining momentum in Britain. Wanting a more independent life than most women, Esme had already decided that marriage was not for her and was potentially a suitable candidate to help further the suffragette cause.

As Esme grows older she begins to accompany her maid to the local market. This turns out to be a surprising entry point to another universe for Esme when she strikes up a friendship with a woman selling hand-made trinkets. Their first meeting was hilarious and quite a shocking exposure to another world for Esme.

The rapid set transformation from scriptorium to market was also a wonderful surprise for the audience. In a trice we move from a stuffy office with desks, paper, people in suits, shelves, to a lively joyous scene with vendors, beggars, flowers, fruit, colour, and noise on streets heaving with life.

However the scriptorium itself held plenty of visual interest. A wall of shelves served as bookshelves, letterboxes, pigeon-holes, library catalogue compartments, and gateways to secret passages. An ingenious projection device variously displayed information about date, locations, words with definitions, abstract backgrounds, visual metaphors to reinforce the messages – it provided another separate but connected filter on events taking place and added depth and mystique to many scenes – brilliant!

Tilda Cobham-Harvey’s performance as Esme was faultless and inspiring – as a child, teenager, and young woman. Her ability to grow – literally – in this role and share her frustrations, joy, love and enthusiasm was authentic and endearing.

Ksenja Logos as Mabel the market tramp deserves special mention for her earthy comic touch and entertaining revelations about the language of the lower classes, but really – all characters played their roles to perfection. And despite their sometimes pompous façade they all had a warmth and humanity about them.

Sometimes it can be subtle, almost unnoticeable moments that elevate a play to another level. There were two occasions when unspoken lyrics from The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond were implied and totally in synch with the events on stage. This production is littered with such metaphorical moments reinforcing the narrative.

A great show. So good to see so many elements of theatre blended into an impressive whole!

This review also published on The Clothesline.