Nicola Gunn wants to be a French actress, despite not being French. She doesn’t speak the language. In the hypothetical film she wants to make – an exploration of a relationship between mother and daughter, she will speak French by learning the words phonetically.
It appears
she wants to be French because she loves the work of Léa Seydoux and Marion Cotillard,
though the translator she’s working with isn’t sure either of those women are
truly great French actresses. In the back and forth about how Gunn might
transform herself, they do both agree that Cate Blanchett overacts.
Gunn’s work
– always slyly comedic, a fusion of theatre and dance, absurdist in many ways –
is always inviting. The early rapport between Gunn and the French translator
(Severine Magois), represented on stage only by a speaker on a stand, is
amusing. Trying to communicate and understand each other’s intentions is slow
going, but part of the charm in the moment is learning how to negotiate and
show intent.
The second
scene, between two tourists in France, talking about the reconstruction Notre
Dame, after the fire of 2019, seems out of left field, until we start to
understand it’s also about creation, recreation and performance. At first, Taka
Takiguchi and Yumi Umiumare are performing performance and when that conceit
slides away, we are both brought closer into their own feelings about the parts
they are playing, but also kept at a distance by the lack of surtitles.
Apologia – originally billed as The
Imposters – is like much of Gunn’s work, strange in the moment and then clearer in retrospect. She seems to delight in keeping the audience off-guard
or, as I felt during this show, in a trance, watching actors act and create
moments that are both truthful and full of the lies of artifice and theatre.
Gunn’s shows often feel like approaching and experiencing an art installation, with no easy
narrative to guide you or anything like a simple resolution to give you catharsis. Though the final scene, entirely without dialogue, the
actors in body suits, carrying large Perspex discs in primary colours, does
feel like a camera lens ratcheting into focus. Creation, collaboration and communication
can feel difficult or impossible, but the basic building blocks are universal.
You might find common ground there.
Emma
Valente’s lighting is gorgeous. Katie Atland’s set is suitably alluring –
bright carpets, solid blocks and a carpeted turntable. Projected text is both
in service of translation but also used in conflict between Gunn and the
translator character. It’s a clever device, that also lends to a sense of
frustration – where am I supposed to look and what do I need to read into these
words and their fonts?
Apologia is strange and compelling and
transfixing, but I was frustrated by some of the repetition in
language and recurring ideas. After Melbourne Theatre Company’s rather
revelatory dissection of first and second languages in English, Gunn’s
contemplation of the difficulty of communication feels a little facile.
- Keith Gow, Theatre First
Apologia plays at the Malthouse until August 18
Photos by Gregory Lorenzutti
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