Stories speak to us; they whisper, cajole, and, on occasion, shout out to be heard. Join British Fantasy Award winner, Angela Slatter (The Girl with No Hands, Sourdough & Other Stories, Midnight and Moonshine), alongside special guests novelist, Jessica White (Entitlement, A Curious Intimacy), poet Zenobia Frost, and short fiction writers, Samuel Maguire and James Butler, as they share their stories at sea.
When: Saturday 9 March 2013, 3pm
Where: State Library Cafe, SLQ
La Boite, February 26
I first saw Tommy Murphy’s adaptation of Timothy Conigrave’s memoirs half a decade ago. It was a devastating experience then, at Brisbane Powerhouse in 2008. Thus it is that I have no excuse for my rookie mistake at La Boite: I have forgotten tissues. David Berthold returns to direct the story of Conigrave, a Melbourne actor and playwright born in 1959 whose high school love affair would last a lifetime — albeit a tragically short one.
There are two distinct halves to Holding the Man: the youthful comedy of act one, and then the slower march of act two. To say it’s a play about AIDS would be to sell Conigrave’s work and life short; rather, it’s about life: growing up gay in Australia in the 1970s and 80s, being in love, making mistakes, and negotiating family, politics and health.
The frank dialogue sets the pace for act one. Murphy’s script is refreshingly open about sex — enough to cause a few jaw-drops in the audience. We share the stalls with a class of Year 11 drama students in uniform — from my personal experience at a religious high school, this must sure beat any sex education they’ve had to date.
Alec Snow is the right man for the job as Tim; we are immediately on his side as he casually woos the gentle athlete, John Caleo (Jerome Meyer). Murphy has translated their voices authentically to the stage; their sincerity is the quality the play pivots around.
As we dash through the decades, we meet a kaleidoscope of queer archetypes played by a strong supporting cast: Eugene Gilfedder, Helen Howard, Jai Higgs and Lauren Jackson. The cast are made vulnerable by on-set costume changes in amongst mirrors bedecked with stage lights. It’s a good choice — in Holding the Man, everything is exposed.
Throughout this, Tim and John’s relationship develops and wavers. Then the 1980s bring their horrific revelations. Act two slows its pace: while the epidemic rages, each tragedy is deeply personal. The strongest scenes play out as fevered amalgams of drama workshops and medical scenarios — these whirlwinds make our hearts thump with the protagonist’s confusion and fear.
At times, the ensemble seems a little uncomfortable with the staging. But then, Holding the Man isn’t really a play in the round, and this is the Roundhouse Theatre. Still, the discrete elements of Brian Thomson’s design are striking and effective, and Micka Agosta’s uncanny puppetry makes the play’s final scenes resonate. If 2008 is anything to go by, those chills may resonate for years.
It’s easy to look back on the 70s and 80s and think about how much Australia has changed for queer people, their friends and families. But the poster for Holding the Man (pictured) has Snow and Meyer in a pose evocative of Queensland Association for Healthy Communities’ now-famous “Rip & Roll” campaign of 2011. Last year Queensland Health defunded QAHC, which provided HIV prevention services to local LGBTIQ communities. It’s a pertinent time to revisit Conigrave’s story, and to ensure that it does resonate.
Holding the Man runs at La Boite until March 16.
On Sunday night, a friend prodded me with a link. “Have you seen this? You have fanmail.” I thought it best to reply to Aimee Lindorff in kind.
I’m glad you made it to Riverbend, despite the rain. My reasons are selfish: I really needed your letter this week.
When the page first loaded on my phone and I could see my name at the top, it was a strange thing indeed. What was I in for? My first thought was that I was, in the abstract sense, In Trouble. Perhaps it’s a full name thing. (I don’t have a string of middle names for a parent to invoke.)
At the time your letter arrived, I was making pizza with my boyfriend. We stopped to read and I absent-mindedly worried a hole in the wrong end of the packet of pizza bases. Maybe I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it. But it’s not every day someone I don’t know writes me a review-letter and publishes it in a literary journal (read: never), so blast it. I’ll make a big deal.
Earlier this week I sat down with my manuscript with the aim of making revisions before sending it to the next publisher. I may have had a tiny tantrum. Pages may have found their way, haphazardly, all over the room. There were plenty of factors at work leading to this little game of 72-poem pick-up, sure, but above all it was one of those moments where this whole art thing seemed pretty pointless.
I’m not saying that writing is really a lofty spiritual calling — it isn’t — but damn it was good, great, brilliant to hear that my poems had brought someone such pleasure. Even better, it was a privilege to read your eloquent reaction and your memories of Toowong and its cemetery. Every time I reread the address, it’s a warm, fuzzy shock.
I am going to print it out and stick it near my desk. Possibly also on the fridge. Thank you.
Zenobia
P.S. I am glad you liked my cat-lady dress.
Peter Minter over at Overland has kindly included me in their Emerging Poets Series. There’s a photo by Raw Bones Photography, a flood poem, and a little interview.
Bettina Wild and I have gotten to work on our collaborative graveyard project. We might even give you sneak-peeks along the way. Bettina has just moved to Kent, in England; I’m enjoying collaboration-by-correspondence. I think what we come out with, in the end, will be striking. Expect new poems, presented in new ways, illuminated by Bettina’s inky genius.
“In a world where death is at our shoulder every hour,” says Gant “even the smallest act of creativity is a marvellous, courageous thing.”
— Edward Gant’s Amazing Feats of Loneliness, Anthony Neilson
Recently, Melissa Ashley tagged me in The Next Big Thing — a kind of interview-chain for writers, asking ten questions Continue reading
I have two spectacular (and very different) events to kick off the year (since January was something of a write-off for many of us)…
Shake off the sugar of the the Saint’s day itself with some vicious, vermicious Valentine’s venom at in West End on Feb 17. I’ll be performing some vile love poems — and even, perhaps, brandishing my singing voice — with the Ragtag Band and Lady Marlene’s bevy of burlesque belles. Consider it my cabaret debut. Bookings are essential — dine in or nab a seat at the bar. The Loft, Feb 17, 6.30pm.
On the deck at my favourite Brisbane bookshop, I’m very fortunate to be able to read alongside Anthony Lawrence and Vanessa Page. Julie Beveridge, Carmen Leigh Keates, Chris Lynch and Cindy Keong will also launch their Choose Your Own Poetry Adventure amplified e-book. I’ll be previewing poems from the manuscript I completed recently at Varuna, in the Blue Mountains. Bookings are essential. Riverbend Books, Feb. 19.
It has been a mixed year, but somehow we packed a lot into it. Like a small bottle overfilled with the makings of gingerbeer; if we shake it up too much tonight, the whole year might burst out and overflow into 2011 and ’13. (2011 deserves everything it gets, but I’d like 2013 to have a shot at a fresh start, thank you.)
In 2012, I’ve travelled more than ever: overseas once, and interstate three times (to Vic., NSW, and SA) and all around Queensland with the QPF Regional Roadshow. At Varuna, in November, I finished an 80-page poetry manuscript (I hope you’ll see it soon) and sent dozens of new and edited poems Continue reading
This weekend I’ll be on stage at Raw Poet Roar (Saturday, Dec. 1) at The Box in West End. Darkwing Dubs has organised a massive line-up of features, so it’s going to be intense like 70% chocolate. Om nom nom. See you there?
Time has slipped away again, and the week I spent at Varuna occupies a dreamspace between Continue reading
Zenobia Frost 