After pairing together two earlier works of his at Fortyfive Downstairs last year – kerosene and SIRENS, playwright and director Benjamin Nichol returns to the theatre with two brand new plays. Milk and Blood.
Milk is about Mummy, a single mother,
who has a deep connection with her first son, Boy, who she gave birth to at
seventeen. In the opening moments of the play, she speaks of him with the
affection you hope any mother would have for her child, but soon the bond she
describes alludes to a dangerous co-dependency. And now that Boy is eighteen
and in prison for a violent sexual assault, she can only visit him once a
month. The distance is stretching her thin and her other son, Doug, bears the
brunt of her mood swings. She bonded with Boy in a way she never did with her
second child, who she couldn’t breast feed.
When Doug,
still in primary school, starts to act out and become violent to other children,
Mummy starts to wonder if the problem with her sons is her – after years of
defending Boy to anyone who would listen. Doug says he’s just copying what he
sees in her relationships. This is the truth she must reckon with.
The writing
in Milk is rich and full-bodied, creating a layered and complicated
character for Brigid Gallacher to portray. And she takes Nichol’s lyrical
writing and makes it sing. Gallacher has such an effortless, natural performance
style, which fits perfectly with the storytelling mode of the piece. She’s opening
up to us, giving a clear sense of her thoughts and feelings, and soon
struggling with the real truth of the situation. Boy is violent. Boy raped
someone. And yet she still loves him.
This is a
knotty, complicated piece of storytelling that had me leaning closer and
closer, drawn in further and further to Nichol and Gallacher’s clear and
compelling portrait of a mother whose love binds her and blinds her.
Blood is about Daddy, a sex worker who
specialises in being the Dom in BDSM encounters. He makes it clear early on
that his clients are in charge and set boundaries and the true strength of a
good Dom is the after care. Daddy is living with Pup, a young guy who is also a
sex worker, though Daddy is trying to talk him into doing anything else to pay
the rent. Pup doesn’t want to listen.
Soon, Daddy
starts getting random texts from Joe – a man from his past, who he wants to
stay in the past. It’s clear that this person – his first Daddy – is the source
of some trauma. He tries to ignore it and run from it and think of himself as
being okay and in control.
In Blood,
Nichol and performer Charles Purcell have created a striking character in
Daddy, who is so used to taking care of others – listening to friends,
supporting found family, and that after care for his clients – that he’s
stopped looking after himself. After a shocking act of violence, things begin to fall apart and this façade he has put up starts to crumble.
Purcell
commands the stage in both the confessional moments and in the less
naturalistic scenes, where he’s describing and embodying a fight or sex. He moves in
straight lines and there are moments of deliberate physical repetition that shows
us how in control Daddy is of every aspect of his life. Until.
Much like
in Milk, Daddy seems to be worried about the next generation and what he
might pass on. What is Pup learning from him? What might the school boy with
tree trunk arms learn from their various encounters? It’s fascinating territory
to explore.
In both
plays, I felt like I was a little ahead of the characters in terms of where the
story was heading, but and under the sure hand of
Nichol's and the actors’ direction (Gallacher and Purcell are credited as
co-directors for their piece), Milk and Blood are incredible
creations.
Much like
last years’ double, this pair of plays includes black curtains, some carefully deployed
amplification, and some stunning use of
light and smoke. Harrie Hogan’s lighting design is incredibly precise, and minimalist
though it is, the images it helps to create open up these worlds. Connor Ross’
sound design is subtle, almost imperceptible for large stretches. But when the
score makes itself known, it hits you in the chest and the guts.
This is top
notch theatre making. Every element working hand-in-hand. The writing is exquisite.
The performers are at the top of their game.
Unlike kerosene/SIRENS
though, which felt of a piece, strongly connected, Milk and Blood
are works that deserve to stand on their own. Yes, there are preoccupations of
the writer that suggest a throughline, but I’m just not sure about the decision
to pair these shows together. I don’t think the characters being named Mummy
and Daddy was reason enough.
After the emotional wringer of Milk, I wanted to sit with that feeling for a while. And Blood has a power of its own. But it’s a different power and a different play. And sometimes, as at Fringe, it’s nice to binge-watch theatre. But two full-length plays back-to-back with just a small amount of connective tissue felt overwhelming. And a bit of a mind-fuck.
Even though
I loved both plays – separately – so much.
- Keith Gow, Theatre First
Milk and Blood are playing together at Fortyfive Downstairs until September 1
Photos: Sarah Walker
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