THIS KOOKABURRA IS MORT
It is difficult to feel sorry for Peter Cousens and the imminent demise of his “national musical theatre company”, Kookaburra. No, not difficult – impossible. The two-ish years of its half-life was a time whose idea never came. Rarely can there have been so successful a scheme to suck money from gullible sponsors and investors whose resultant product was so consistently undeserving of such support.
And although performers and creatives were generally treated pretty poorly by our would-be Hal Prince of Birds, the real losers of the Kookaburra misadventure is theatre in Sydney. This is because there are an awful lot of first-time angels and corporates out there whose fingers have been burned, whose money has disappeared down the plughole to no good effect and whose starry eyes are now so jaundiced at the thought of putting money into theatre, it will be a cold and frosty Friday before they give it another go.
What has been learned from the Kookaburra debacle? That although its first show Pippn is said (by some, not me) to be under-rated, it still seemed like the same second-rate show it always was and a particularly weird choice to launch an Australian company.
That although director Gale Edwards did a delightful job of the second show, Company, it was almost sabotaged by Cousens’ dumb idea to cut a chunk out of it (one whole character) when a cast member fell ill. Apparently he didn’t think anyone would notice and then, if anyone did, that Stephen Sondheim wouldn’t get to hear about it and wouldn’t mind. Instead it was a story that flew around the world and made us all look like a bunch of hayseeds. This is known in medical circles as dragging failure from the jaws of success.
Next up and now quietly forgotten, Floyd Collins may have been an interesting artistic choice but getting the public to a musical about a man trapped down a coal mine was an ask too far. The cast didn’t quite get to rehearsals with that one, let alone to first night.
It would probably be kind to ignore Tell Me On A Sunday but when a show is horribly memorable for looking like a Retravision showroom – having cornered the market in plasma TVs in lieu of a set – what can you do?
The company’s last show, Little Women was another weird choice similar to Pippin – not bad, but not good either. Despite Kookaburra’s own website spruiking “show stopping tunes” you’d be hard put to recall a single bar of a single tune even five minutes after leaving the theatre. Broadway is not Australia: that is a lesson Peter Cousens needs to get into his head. One of a number of lessons, probably, but holding your breath is not recommended.
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Then there’s the really interesting and possibly most worthy project of all: Up Close and Musical, followed by Up Close and Personal, in which many of the city’s finest musical theatre and cabaret performers went along to the Seymour Centre for a late night outing (post their own shows and at no fee) to raise money (the punters paid) for the new commissions Kookaburra wanted to generate.
It would be an awfully good idea to ask where that money is now? Who got the commissions? Did they receive any cash? Did the artists (including such luminaries as Tamsin Carroll, Tony Sheldon, Genevieve Lemon, James Millar, Phil Scott, Geraldine Turner and Hayden Tee) think they were doing their bit for the future of musical theatre? And if so, where is that future now? And what has become of the fledgling shows? Who’s got that dough?
And so what happens now? The Kookaburra is about to be declared dead, mort, a stiff, no more, shuffled off this mortal coil etc. And there will be few mourners. It was never going to work – given the CEO’s artistic choices – and despite the wave of industry goodwill and support on which it surfed for an undeservedly long time. Meanwhile, Stagenoise understands the chief Kookaburra is jetting off to London imminently and all the others have fled or are fleeing the nest.
There’s a cuckoo klutz born every minute it seems and Sydney’s full of them.
