The Hatpin
The Hatpin, York Theatre, Seymour Centre, February 27-March 15, 2008; phone: (+61 2) 9351 7940 or www.seymour.usyd.edu.au/
There are many moments during Peter Rutherford and James Millar's The Hatpin when the audience is gripped by the kind of tension and horror normally associated with a Hitchcock thriller. At other moments there is laughter - raucous or gentle - and there is also much poignant sorrow and compassion for the plight of the young heroine, Amber Murray (Melle Stewart). But, in truth, the thrill is the thing: it's a palpable and - in the context of modern music theatre - unprecedented sensation.
The Hatpin follows Amber Murray's (mis)adventures as an unmarried mother who, desperate for his well-being and her need to find work, leaves her baby boy in the care of a respectable couple in return for regular payments for his keep. However, the show is based on one of Sydney's many tales of true crime: the trial in 1893 and subsequent conviction for murder of notorious "baby farmers" John and Sarah Makin. (Named Agatha here: a name more suited to an accessory to infanticide, perhaps.)
Amber becomes suspicious when her fortnightly visits to see baby Horace prove futile. Little Horace has always just been taken out for a walk, or to the doctor for "a check up" - she is never allowed to see him. What follows, as Amber tries to enlist the support of other young mothers whose babies have disappeared, is simply gripping. One by one, each woman gives her reasons for not getting involved: the certainty of shame and ruin is paramount.
Amber is befriended by Harriet Piper (the irrepressible and glorious Caroline O'Connor) proprietor of Piper & Sons (there wasn't room to put in 'daughter'). She is a knockabout purveyor of fruit and veg whose heart is as true as her apples are rotten. Harriet is the beacon of hope and kindness for Amber in a cold world where a poor girl with no protection has about as much chance as a lost duckling on an eel pond.
This brave and bold new Australian work is still in many ways a work in progress. It is being worked on during this season and at the moment is largely an ensemble piece where the company of top-rank singing actors takes the action forward as a team, with most having a stand-out solo moment. There is also an electrifying quartet scene between Octavia Barron-Martin, Jodie Harris, Jennifer Peers and Stewart as the young women whose unkind fate it is to watch their babies' lives and deaths being mulled over in court and in the penny-dreadfuls.
It must be said, however, that Michelle Doake's performance as Agatha Makin is one of crazy, sustained brilliance. Agatha's obsession with saving face, polite behaviour and twittering niceness is in stark contrast to her implacable will and refusal to be crossed: a toxic, savage butterfly masquerading as a wife and mother of the kind familiar to readers of Trollope, Austen or Dickens.
Gemma Ashley-Kaplan also makes her mark as the Makins' teenage daughter Clara. Accused by her mother of being "peculiar" - which she definitely is - the sullen, finger-chewing, knock-kneed, all seeing-saying nothing girl gradually becomes a black hole of focus: inexorably drawing the attention as she smoulders, disregarded, on the edge of the action. Her epiphany is one of the great moments of the evening.
All praise too, to Melle Stewart, yet another product of the extraordinary WAAPA music-theatre factory. As Amber Murray she carries the dramatic weight and mch of the stage time; she avoids bathos and melodrama and is a splendid talent.
Director Kim Hardwick and musical director Peter Rutherford make the imaginative most of their material and the marvellous cast (the already-mentioned Tyran Parke and Peter Cousens, with Nick Christo and Barry Crocker make up the rest of the company, but it is the gals' show, in truth).
Mark Thompson's simple set is terrific: an eight piece live orchestra of strings, woodwinds piano and percussion occupies the shadowy rear of the stage; between the players and the auditorium is a scrim on which is projected ghostly images that evoke the smoky, seamy streets of 19th century industrial Macdonaldtown and Redfern. Out front, a slightly raised thrust stage is the actors' domain and the props - a clerk's desk and chair, some wooden crates - are plenty. Thompson's costumes are similarly effective and sparsely monotonal: dark gowns for the women and stern suits for the men say everything about the place and times.
It would be easy to pick holes in the show: as already said, it is a work in progress. To do that would be not only churlish but rather stupid too: the sum of the parts overcomes all holes and leaves the audience cheering and amazed. The amazement is partly about how such a grim tragedy can be both entertaining and enthralling; it's also about the sheer pleasure of seeing and hearing such a fine company of performers and players giving their all to new (!) Australian (!!) music theatre that is original (!!!) and has more genuine promise than a parliament full of politicians.
The Hatpin is intensely dramatic and often operatic; the director and performers are honest and brave in their choices. The story is historic but has contemporary resonance; is firmly grounded in the streets not 10 minutes' walk from the Seymour Centre, yet is universal too. The companies that first turned it down are now sniffing around since producer (and assistant director) Neil Gooding summoned the courage and sheer lunacy to persuade, beg and borrow the resources to mount this production and to gather a cast and crew with equal passion and commitment. If we're lucky, it will not be the last we see of The Hatpin, but just in case: see it now!
