Perth Festival Diary pt 2

The second week of the Perth Festival provided plenty of emotional climaxes, kicking off with a powerful performance of Britten's War Requiem. The work's intensity was matched by its reception: a silence that seemed to last forever before applause broke. There were arguments in the foyer afterwards: did it last 15 seconds or a full minute? (The answer probably lies closer to the former.)

Paul Kildea, acknowledged as a world authority on Britten, marshalled all the forces of boys' choir, adult choir and Australian Youth Orchestra like a general leading his troops - only they were marching for peace, as expressed in Wilfred Owen's poignant poems. But some of the most potent words of pity and sorrow were lost: surtitles would have been very welcome.

In complete contrast, the next evening brought the serene beauty of Cloud Gate Dance Theatre of Taiwan, performing the final part of the Cursive Trilogy. Wild Cursive is a gorgeous meditation, inspired by the gestures of calligraphy. In this work created by the company's founder and master choreographer, Lin Hwai Min, the dancers seemed to become both the brush and the ink, flowing in liquid movements as though their bodies were made of water.

One recognised movements from tai chi and martial arts, but translated into exquisite slo-mo against the backdrop of paper scrolls. Ink ran down these throughout the performance, creating patterns reminiscent of the textured barks of gum trees in Kings Park, just minutes away. This group of dancers could arguably be the most beautiful and technically perfect in the world - and some of the most stunning ones are in their forties. Still, not everyone was captivated: I noticed Janet Holmes a Court was not among those cheering and clapping.

Every festival suffers from last minute dropouts and cancellations. It is the sign of good director if they have the right names in the BlackBerry to call on in an emergency: Lindy Hume proved her mettle when Finnish jazz virtuoso Iiro Rantala had to rush home to look after his unwell wife, leaving a question mark over who would improvise on Bach's Goldberg Variations. Pianists with the ability to pull off such a challenge at short notice are in short supply, particularly on this side of the world.

Fortunately, Paul Grabowsky came to the rescue. Having just returned to Melbourne from performances in Perth earlier in the week, he turned around and delivered a risky, edgy, percussive, thrilling performance, marred only by a mobile phone which, would you believe, featured a Goldberg ring tone. I could happily have strangled its owner, along with all the coughers in the audience.

Someone needs to run a course in concert-going etiquette - or to publish a reminder in programs that covering one's mouth before a sneeze or throat clearing is mandatory and that rustling wrappers and fussing about with plastic bags is just not on.

Later in the week, the problem became epidemic: At the opening performance of UK group Propeller's Taming of the Shrew, a teacher and her group of hormonally excitable young girls talked through Act I, justifiably infuriating neighbours. But when they oohed lustfully and longingly at the washboard pecs of the leading men, no one objected. Directed by Edward Hall (son of Sir Peter), Propeller, is a high energy company with plenty of speed, physicality and hiply modern references (in Shrew, Salvador Dali's lip-shaped sofa makes an appearance in an inflatable version, together with an Apple laptop). The all male cast is talented and versatile, singing and playing musical interludes between and during each scene and the engagement with the text is robust and playful. With their public school pranksterism, they reminded me of the cast of Four Weddings and a Funeral, while the cross dressing had a touch of the Little Britains.

Although some critics consider Shrew to be Shakespeare's least successful play, it remains hugely provocative, especially in this interpretation, which reduces Katherine to a battered wife - forget the playful flirtatious tension between Richard Burton and Liz Taylor in that film version. This is violent, ugly, degrading and upsetting to watch, as the audience's reaction demonstrated. When the abuse became too much, one woman shouted out "Leave her alone, you bully!" and when finally, Petruchio had subdued his wife and turned, boastfully to the audience to declare "Now here's a wench!" one man, who happened to be the director of local theatre company Deckchair, shouted out "Bullshit!".

Bravely, in both cases, Petruchio challenged his hecklers to come up on stage and say their piece. Neither did, but they had made their points. Afterwards, Ed Hall said the reactions was not uncommon and that the cast welcomed it- they anticipate an even more vocal protest when they hit New York later on this world tour. Give me a heckler over a cougher any day.

Caroline Baum chairs the Perth Festival's "In conversation" series with visiting artists and performers.