Our Country's Good

Australia: the final frontier. Or so it would have seemed, I imagine, on a hot stuffy morning in 1788 when the first ship of convicts arrived at Sydney to begin the new experimental prison colony to kick off the least-discussed chapter in the British Empire's history. The savagery of the new landscape is matched only by that of the British officers, gleefully raking the flesh of their charges for King and Country. Such a scene is the last place you'd expect a theatre to emerge. Yet that is what happens.

Greystone theatre is in a harrowing time itself, with budgets being slashed across the board and loud discussions popping up everywhere asking what purpose the arts have in a modern educational institution. And along comes this play: Our Country's Good, by renowned British playwright Timberlake Wertenbaker. This show, being mounted here by Pamela Haig Bartley, accounts the struggle of putting on a play against all odds in the unlikeliest environment, and along the way discovering the transformative power of theatre to make people more than themselves.

The play begins with our neither bold nor dashing hero 2nd Lieutenant Ralph Clark appearing quite bored counting out lashes as charismatic prisoner Robert Sideway screams in agony. Clark seems an unlikely protagonist, being every bit the stuffy British officer – while he doesn't delight in cruelty toward the prisoners, he is also devoid of compassion, viewing them as unfortunate bits of filth that he must avoid, lest his boots get dirty. Yet he finds himself organising a group of convicts to put on the first ever play staged in the colony of Australia. The experience gives both the convicts and Clark a new understanding of their own humanity, but the production is hounded at every turn by Clark's superior officers, who believe the only entertainment allowed to prisoners should be watching their friends hang.

It's a dark play, exploring the brutality and callousness of humans and the staggering marginalisation of people in Georgian British society (with a nod to how much of that carries through to today). Yet it is also surprisingly funny. Some jokes were understated during performance, but most found their way to the surface, even amid the dark and despairing subject matter. Wertenbaker writes edgy humour that dares you to laugh and immediately shames you for doing so. Good's twisted comic sense appeals to the blacker side of our nature, leaving plenty of moments of “Ha ha! ... wait, why was that funny?” The humour does not cheapen the drama, but likewise the drama does not bleaken the humour.

The stage is sparse. Against the back is a large wooden platform with a sail draped behind, serving at different points as ship, prison hold, and residence. The rest of the performing area is populated only with a couple small wooden boxes. This leaves a lot of space for the actors to manoeuvre – perhaps too much, as at times movement can become very elastic, with actors stretching far away from each other for no reason other than obligation to use all the space. The thrust set up puts the audience on three sides of the stage. This always proves a challenge to blocking, but on the two nights I saw the play I sat in mirrored seats and felt I got a full picture each time. The thrust gives a much more intimate atmosphere to the experience, especially with frequent entrances and exits through the aisles, the actors spend a lot of time within prodding distance of the audience. This close proximity never creates an alienating effect though; rather it pulls you deeper into the drama with this sense of hovering over the characters' shoulders.

Collin Konrath's lighting design plays on different levels, both natural and surreal, suiting the mood of the scene. The composition often gives the stage a hazy feeling, like the world we are looking into is shadowed and sinister. This is contrasted with more bright, naturalistic compositions during the scenes in which the convicts rehearse the play. Beverly Kobelsky once again delivers a superb range of costumes for all the sundry characters. One particularly nice touch is the “gentleman's clothes” that Sideway scrounges together for himself from the rags available in the prison.

It is no coincidence that this play is happening in the midst of all the TransformUS controversy. Haig Bartley says as much in her director's notes. Theatre has historically been the mark of a stable and prosperous society, but it has also historically come under attack. When Ralph Clark defends his play against his superior officers, Captain Tench and Major Ross, they present objectively sound arguments against doing the play: that it's a waste of resources, that it will take prisoners away from labour, that it doesn't produce anything of material value. But Clark, like the audience, knows there is a lot more to it, that the theatre is worth much more than labour, that both he and the prisoners are gaining something they otherwise never would have gained. And to this play's credit, there is no Pollyanna cheat where everyone realises their own errors and celebrates together; the struggle continues past curtain, but it leaves you with a sense of strength.

Our Country's Good plays on spectra. There is the wise, compassionate Governor Phillips against the merciless, rage-filled Major Ross; the stiff-backed and mild-mannered Ralph Clark against the boisterous but deeply disturbed Harry Brewer; the venomous Liz Morden against the timid Mary Brenham. Each spectrum has counterpoints, but no one is fully good. Each person has their dark side, and they all play the game of marginalisation: the officers against the prisoners, the circumstantially different prisoners against each other, and everyone against the Aborigines.

Exploration of ethnic discrimination is where this production hits a bit of a snag. The drama department at the U of S has never had much racial diversity, so ethnic roles always present a challenge. The sole Aboriginal Australian in the play is portrayed by second year acting student Aren Okemaysim; and while an Aboriginal Canadian is still a long way from an Aboriginal Australian, at least for a Saskatchewan audience it feels appropriate. Less can be said for the role of Caesar, who is supposed to be a black African man, but is portrayed by two white females. No one can be blamed for this; a role needed to be filled, actresses needed a role, and to the credit of Jillian Borrowman and Kelly McTaggart, they play the character with a lot of heart and emotional immediacy – but there is still something inescapably uncomfortable about the whole thing. The script doesn't do these characters much better. Caesar spends most of his stage time in a panic that his soul will be lost if he doesn't return to Madagascar, and the other characters respond to this by bullying him into submission with acts of extreme violence, and the audience seems to be expected to take this as a sort of triumph. The Aboriginal interludes are a different beast. The character himself is treated with a sort of reverence, centre stage in his eerie lighting, making pronunciations to the audience, but the brief scenes are so slow and hypertheatrical they feel out of step with everything else in the play. The idea of having an outsider looking in on the other characters doesn't work, because the dialogue is presented in such a reserved story-circle kind of way it lacks the emotional resonance to drive the point into the audience.

This production is a class project for the third and fourth year acting students. This means there were a lot of actors to fit in to the sizeable cast, though some male parts were quite small and there were only a few female parts at all. A creative solution was devised, that the women in the cast would alternate night to night, each one assigned a female role and a small male role. I caught both versions of the performance and the actresses handled the shift well. There were notable differences between performances, but the overall tone of the play stayed the same.

Voice was a huge dimension to the production. To capture the feel of an 18th century British colony, the actors worked extensively to produce a flurry of dialects onstage. They range from prim and proper received-pronunciation to Scottish, Irish, Cockney, and all the little pockets in between. The vocal dynamic created a very colourful picture onstage, albeit with the side effect of leaving me reaching for the subtitle button more than once.

One nice thing about Greystone productions is that the students spend so much time together leading up to the play that it leads to an easy chemistry between them. That chemistry is on display here; the actors are comfortable taking each other to bleak depths or spirited highs. In all the sound and the fury there is a sense of trust, and that is what pulls the whole play together.

Torien Cafferata takes the central role in Our Country's Good, as 2nd Lt. Ralph Clark. He has risen through Greystone productions over the past two years and here proves himself capable of wrangling a lead. At the top of the play, Clark is a bit of a fastidious ponce, but even through the stiff-backed bigotry, Cafferata gives him an endearing charm, looking out with naïve wonder. He tackles Clark's flustered timidity with great comedic timing, and his gradual emotional exploration with added weight and thoughtful poise. It's a dignified performance rife with subtle shifts (even if it does come off as a little pre-9/11). Complementary to Cafferata's Clarke is Philip Munson's Governor Phillip, the wise owl of the colony who pushes Clark to continue with the play. Munson's role is more oratorial than character-driven. He nicely combines the poise of governor with avuncular kindness, but the role in general doesn't have much edge to it.

Jesse Fulcher Gagnon plays the spirited prisoner Robert Sideway (who in real life went on to open a convict theatre). He runs the gamut of emotions in this play. The first time we see him he is screaming in agony under the whip; the second time he is bouncing around the stage trying to impress Clark with his overacting and foppery. It is clearly a fun role, bursting with energy, but in a second Fulcher Gagnon can reel everything in and slow down to a crawl in the play's heavy moments. He strikes a balance between the thousand watt smile and the thousand yard stare to create an image that is both lovable and haunting. Wade Klassen turns in his best performance yet as John Wisehammer, the Jewish prisoner with aspirations of being a writer. Frequently put upon, Wisehammer sees the new colony as an opportunity to reinvent himself, although the road isn't easy. Klassen conducts himself with a prevailing bitterness, though he's entrusted with many of the play's funniest lines, creating some meta humour at times, when he is the only one among the cast to call attention to certain things. His poetical digressions are less bitter, but still affixed with a sharp edge, culminating in his prologue for The Recruiting Officer delivered in the play's final moments; it infuses him with a sense of triumph after a long period of wandering. And Kyle Kuchirka as troublesome prisoner John Arscott is seen comparatively briefly but rounds out the cast with his colourful presence and comic sense.

The women in the cast have a particular challenge, performing double roles, trading off night after night, making a distinct impression on their own characters, as well as navigating the often cloudy motivations of the female characters in general. Dabby Bryant probably has the clearest motivation of any of the females; she is filled with bravado which belies her desperate longing to return home. Her best scene is early on when we see her batting around Clark like a ball of yarn as he is trying to hold auditions. She is portrayed by Jillian Borrowman and Kelly McTaggart. Both bring a swaggering confidence to the role, though Borrowman shines more while taking charge and McTaggart leans a bit more to the moments of longing. Meg Long is probably the funnest character in the play, being showcased primarily in one early scene where she riles up Clark with her lusty behaviour. Ciara Richardson and Kendra Helm both let loose on this part. Because Meg appears so briefly, the corresponding minor male role is much larger than the others: Judge David Collins. It's a bit of a hard role to sell in drag, but Richardson pulls off a better sense of authority. And then there is the darling love interest of the play, Mary Brenham, whom Clark casts as the lead in The Recruiting Officer before falling for her himself. She is portrayed by Miranda Hughes and Jalisa Gonie, both of whom capture the quiet innocence of the character. Gonie in particular plays more withdrawn and timid, though she has more success at bringing out Brenham's small moments of humour. Hughes is slightly graver, lingering on Brenham's dark memories, but she also has more playful chemistry with Cafferata, leading into their climactic rendez-vous with the tiniest bit of coquetteishness.

The roles of Duckling and Liz Morden are the meatiest among the females. Duckling is the sullen mistress (cum captive) of Harry Brewer, while Morden is the most notorious of the female prisoners and spends a large portion of the play in chains. Both characters are somewhat incomplete. The exact nature of Duckling's relationship to Brewer is unclear until the end, and even then doesn't make a lot of sense. There is no readily discernible reason for why Liz Morden has such a vile reputation, nor why she is so recalcitrant about saving herself from execution. So it becomes the challenge of the performer to fill in these blanks. Duckling is a character who exists mainly in extremes, either roiling in silence or bursting with emotion; she's quiet, except when she's not. Jenna Berenbaum and Lauren Younghusband are entrusted with this delicate balance. Berenbaum is feistier and more volatile, with the hard edges of a young woman who has seen too much shit. Younghusband plays a little softer, which makes her pain more transparent. Both of them work quite well with Kashtin Moen, challenging him in slightly different ways. The leading lady, Liz Morden, is a different matter. Anna Mazurik takes the role for half the run. Recovering some of that fiery stage presence she evinced in Better Living, she lights up the stage with her acid-tongued snark. She is a creature of natural grace that has been hobbled by life. For the other half, the role is taken by the incomparable Elizabeth Nepjuk. Her Morden is darker, angrier, held onstage by a mysterious gravity, pulling the audience inward. She has no spark; rather she has a slow, rhythmic smoulder. Both women succeed in bringing urgency and believability to Morden's emotional climax. And in one scene at the top of Act II, where Morden delivers a monologue consisting of a string of incomprehensible British slang, both actresses make the message perfectly clear to the audience.

The play is not without its villains. Robert Grier plays the dry, pompous Captain Tench. It has always amazed me that despite Grier's friendly disposition, onstage he can affect an air of snobbery so thick you can smash it with a hammer. He is a strong character in a couple key early scenes, but he unfortunately disappears for the latter half of the play. Kody Manson is Captain Campbell, cohort of Major Ross. He doesn't have a lot of lines and spends a lot of time snickering at the other character's dialogue (injecting some welcome comedic relief into some of the play's rougher sections), but he maintains an imposing force in the play. Another force is Mikael Steponchev as our lead antagonist, Major Ross. Steponchev attacks his scenes with an impressive amount of ferocity. He has a talent for raising the intensity of the scene, but there is the nagging problem that he is a little hard to buy in the role of the salty elder Scotsman while having such a youthful look to him (especially with the much more bearded and rugged Manson has his sidekick). He seems aware of this hurdle, and tries to remedy it by throwing everything he has into establishing menace, but in doing so he spends so much time hovering at the level of apoplectic rage that he doesn't have a lot of room to manoeuvre.

Stand-outs of the performance rest on two things. The first is Jared Berry as Ketch Freeman, the unfortunate soul who is forced to take the role of hang-man, executing his fellow prisoners. He takes on the role with such wounded earnestness that the audience breaks for him. He encapsulates the fear, desperation, and longing for acceptance which underscores the rest of the play. From his monologue to Lt. Clark, where he asks if God can forgive the hang-man, to the quiet, torturous scene where he takes Liz Morden's measurements. Between the statuesque misery that Mazurik and Nepjuk bring to the scene and Berry's withered desperation, it creates a beautifully soul-rending emotional climax. The other stand-out is Kashtin Moen as Harry Brewer, the simple midshipman who makes friendly conversation with Lt. Clarke and a boyish crush on Duckling that he unwittingly turns into something menacing. Throughout everything he is haunted by the memories of the men he hanged at the beginning of the play. The audience witnesses his complete disintegration, from playful oaf to raving madman. And Moen charges through the role, risking emotional whiplash in every scene, switching from loving to rage-filled to terrified in a second. It is a haunting role that requires a tremendous amount of emotional availability, and Moen slips into it naturally.

And at nearly 3,000 words I should probably wrap this up. Our Country's Good, both in scrip and performance, suffers the odd blind spot. But this is more than made up for by the clever, darkly humourous, exceedingly vulgar (always a plus) dialogue and the chemistry between the cast. For any of you who have ever felt theatre elevate you in any way, to see something greater, this one is for you.