Friday March 29, 2024
Honour
Review

Honour

April 28 2010

HONOUR, Sydney Theatre Company and sponsor Allens Arthur Robinson at the Drama Theatre, Sydney Opera House; 22 April-29 May, 2010; Canberra Theatre Centre from 9 June. Photos by Brett Boardman: Paula Arundell and William Zappa; Wendy Hughes.

UNIVERSAL themes are no less potent for their instant recognisability; particularly when the themes are those of Joanna Murray-Smith’s 1995 play Honour. In her telling of the tale of George and Honor, their daughter Sophie and George’s lover, Claudia, Murray-Smith takes the greatest universal of all – love – and examines what seems like every imaginable facet and the effects of these sharply cut, glittering moments on human beings.

The play is rather gem-like: it’s somewhere over 90 minutes and a single act. And, rather than look at the four characters head-on, or experience their part in the story from one angle, the structure draws each into focus in turn. At the same time, that focus is further broken down into discrete fragments of emotion, reaction, action and outcome, so that as the play and its players turn in the hands of the director, the audience is allowed to see cause and effect and all the dimensions of the individuals.

The end result is that what at first appears to be a person and actions that we can quickly recognize or identify with – and respond to positively or negatively – are then turned about so the other side is visible. It means that easy assumptions are confounded and one’s initial responses, or prejudices, have to be rethought. Any rush to judgment is a short-lived impulse.

George (William Zappa) and Honor (Wendy Hughes) have been happily married for 32 years. Their daughter Sophie (Yael Stone) is an equally happy and secure university student. George is a successful journalist-academic; Honor was a more than promising writer and poet but gave it away, as nice girls did back then, to support George’s career and to care for Sophie. Did she do it willingly? Resentfully? Has she ever regretted it? Did George take her for granted? Does he still? Have either ever given much thought to their actions and their life together? These questions arise, wraith-like and unsettling, from the sunny normalcy of their lovely life, lovely home and appreciative daughter when Claudia, an ambitious journalist, comes knocking and probing for a major book profile on George.

As played by Paula Arundell – all wide-eyed, fiery sexiness, lissome charm and dazzling intelligence – it’s immediately obvious to all but George and Honor that Claudia is going to gobble him alive and it’ll be the ripped up scraps of Honor’s heart and life that will be spat out the other end. At the same time, Sophie is more devastated than her mother, if that’s possible. Within minutes the audience can be felt happily settling into certainties: Claudia is a bitch. Honor is a victim. George is a priapic sap. Sophie needs to grow up. But, like life itself, it’s not that simple.

The microcosmic prism turns again and what we see is another aspect of Claudia – her motivations, her personality, her surprising naivete and her less surprising certainty. It turns again and George becomes the sharp and painfully plausible linchpin as he delves into his feelings in a desperate attempt to justify his desires and actions. There can be few who have not experienced and done exactly as George does – as the furtive squirmers in the auditorium suggest.

And although Honor goes down the well traveled road of the discarded and disconsolate wife, she is given the character tools andlines to make the journey in a way that is at once credible yet neither obvious nor sentimental. The angry and amused “oohs” and aahs” and rueful guffaws throughout the theatre point to a tangible level of understanding and empathy.

Honour

For Sophie, the circumstances provide a traumatic and swift learning curve into the ways of men and women; and the men and women that mums and dads actually are. She may be a bright and confident uni student (at Sydney no less) but nothing has prepared her for the sense of betrayal and the fear and pain she undergoes.

If this sounds grim: it isn’t. Honour is fascinating, illuminating, funny in the way that people are funny (rather than joke funny) and also profound in its exploration of humans and our capacity to love one another, hurt one another, deceive one another – and do all of those things to ourselves too. Lee Lewis directs her sublime cast with lyrical precision on an abstract set of white-painted brick walls containing pleasing curves of varnished vertical timbers. These centre the action on the wide Drama Theatre stage without cramping the space, which is otherwise, decorated only with a shallow flight of steps that divide the stage into two levels. These elements, judiciously lit by Damien Cooper , suggest the elegant home in which most of the action takes place as well as a suggestion that none of the protagonists can see the wood for the trees. Whatever it might signify in the mind of the designer and director, it’s effective for the play and players.

As the hapless George William Zappa is truly splendid. George is a smart man, a conventional man and he is a classic fool for lust – and as easily flattered and talked out of his principles as a top politician. Zappa’s performance is subtle, tender, intelligent and totally convincing. The same goes for Yael Stone who has the tricky task of jumping straight into the action at full bore long after the other three have settled into their rhythm. She enters, seemingly on the wings of a fully-formed back story; and understanding of her place in the jigsaw and is electrifying, heartbreaking and wholly believable.

As the women in opposition to one another, Wendy Hughes and Paula Arundell are great casting. Hughes’ Honor is physically grounded, cool, contained, apparently placid and content. Arundell’s Claudia is, in contrast, sprite-like, barely touching the ground and stingingly tough. However, in the way of the play, these two are turned until an entirely other persona is revealed and released. Honor’s growth into a self she has long suppressed is mirrored, in reverse, by Claudia’s eventual failure to nurture and disguise her own fragility. They’re both tremendous in their very different yet oddly companionable roles and the quartet is simply superb.

All in all, through this fine production Honour reconfirms its status as a modern Australian classic. It’s as relevant today as when it was first staged some 15 years ago. As Murray-Smith observes in the program interview, she writes entertainment and is not embarrassed about that; and nor should she be. Life, after all, is entertaining. If it isn’t you’re probably dead and just haven’t fallen over yet.

 

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