BWW Reviews: THAT EYE, THE SKY WAXES LYRICAL IN RURAL BAMBOOZLE at New Theatre

There comes a moment for every child when you realise that the floor is not made of lava, and not because it suits you for it to be carpet so you can stop playing and have dinner, but because lava and carpet are completely different things that can never be the same or cross-mutable. Suddenly your entire scope of possibility changes and you realise you will never make-believe the floor is lava again. That Eye, The Sky is a piece of work nurtured in this very emotion of sad clarity, this point of the mind that reaches its tipping point past imagination into maturity.

That Eye, The Sky is the work of Australian creative legends, an adaptation of Tim Winton by Richard Roxburgh and Justin Monjo. Yet somehow, their recognised genius is far outshone in this production where the talent lies in direction, design and performance carrying a burdensome and bizarre script. Full credit is due to the creative team for providing audiences a fantastic visual suspension of belief and where the text offers no answers, pretends not to have any but further choreographs the abstract and absurd. A coming-of-age tale set in a wreckage of rural Australia, audiences can expect a multi-dimensional work executed in near-perfect concert.

Ort, the youngest son of the Flack family adjusting to the loss of father Sam to a coma, finds himself wrestling with the need to leave the uncomplicated, chaste and imagination-driven codes of life behind as he faces new social settings, budding sexuality and the complex nature of religion. Between his passive mother and rebellious sister, Ort finds little solace in his friend Fat, nor in the spiritual ramblings of stranger Henry. In the end, the strength of That Eye, The Sky lies in the flawless almost spectral naivete of Joel Horwood's performance. At the other end of his emotional arc is Emma Wright as sister Tegwyn, doing genius work staying on a raw nerve to express the knife-edge of being mature before your time, providing the show most of its highlights and pace drivers.

The true mastermind of this work though has to be director David Burrowes, who orchestrated a disjointed story into a solid rhythm where very few performers were redundant, especially in the first half. The energy was carnal, but also insightful, and where much critique of previous adaptations has pointed to lost humour, Burrowes brought physical and technical elements to keep Ort's youthful cheer as the lens through which both optimism and heartbreak can be felt acutely by the audience. Key to his energy is Tom Bannerman's interactive (if not a little hazardous) set, and also Alana Canceri's costumes that delivered an unnerving balance of humility and sexuality. Benjamin Brockman's lighting is a key element to the action that keeps momentum tracking, and lends a lot to textual devices and characters that don't offer anything to the action.

That Eye, The Sky lives no pretenses, and it is in this that it rescues a fragile narrative construct with excellent choreography, dancers and effects to bring together a visual, thematic marvel for audiences.

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