Silver

By Diana Simmonds

October 15 2009

Silver Downstairs Belvoir Street, 14-25 October 2009; 9699 3444 or belvoir.com.au; images by Heidrun Lohr

In Shakespeare’s Macbeth the Second Witch remarks, “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.” She’s talking about the man himself and as we know, it’s not good news. In Silver, Matthew Whittet has conjured the form of a young girl who senses something even worse: by the casual amputation of her hands, a devilish story this way comes

Matthew Whittet is one of the most exciting theatre talents to emerge in recent times as an actor and now, with Silver, he reveals further dazzling facets of his febrile, fertile mind as a storyteller. Silver is a 50-55 minute (depending what he adds or subtracts on the night) modern fairytale that is at once slight and substantial, sweet and evil, surreal and earthbound and always compelling to watch and listen to.

The already small Downstairs space is made even more intimate and halved by a matte black painted brick wall and Whittet materialises from deepest blackout, perched on a chair to begin the age-old magical tribal activity of “once upon a time”. He doesn’t begin with those words but his mischievous demeanour suggests it. It is both beguiling and unsettling because while we happily anticipate the delights of fairytales, we also know – from ancestral experience – that there is likely to be monsters lurking in the dark.

Whittet’s story is in the tradition of Hans Andersen and the Brothers Grimm – and they were in the business of fright and horror. They successfully scared generations of susceptible tots witless, but caused little lasting damage, as far as one can tell. Whittet does something similar: he is a girl who sits down to breakfast one morning and sees, beyond the back fence to the forest, that there are things to be seen and things watching. Her father is having a chat at the garden gate with an, um, unusual sort – and it goes from there.

What then occurs is part fable, part horror story and mostly mysterious. Don’t expect the straightforward nor neat conclusions. Whittet – delicately animated and directed by Ben Winspear and atmospherically lit by Nick Schlieper – is a charming and disquieting stage presence. He seduces and then turns the tables in alarming twists of narrative, time and space. It’s a delicious and eccentric debut as writer and also a bold one. But you’d expect that from Whittet and his collaborators. Given the short season and reduced seating: book now or be disappointed.