In the moment between seeing a hessian sack and the ominously heavy thud when it falls onto a wooden floor, is the realisation that there might be a person in it. From this heart dropping opening, Runt is everything remarkable about independent theatre in Melbourne.
Runts. Those without the comfort and succour of love, money, support, strength, health or hope. Those compared to smelly, starving kittens and left alone because they are not worthy enough to be helped, will never be useful, or are just too yuck to look at or touch. Runts are ignored and abandoned. Runts have to fight or beg to survive. Runts accept far less than they deserve.
Nicci Wilks stars as the titular runt in Runt, a character Wilks co-created with writer Patricia Cornelius and director Susie Dee. She is anyone who has felt forgotten, alone or desperate. Wilks is small and compact and wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Alone on the stage, she tells her story from being the last of many (many) children through to school and her emerging adulthood. From clinging to her mother’s skirt to opening her legs to feel anything close to nice and grasping at love with a giant man who says he likes her, she’s continually met with violence or indifference. She tries to save other runts but that doesn’t mean she can save herself. She makes herself strong, but strong isn’t the same as being protected.
Wilks makes the physical emotional and the emotional physical. With a background in circus, she moves like a hurt animal but is never not human. She confronts the audience with how we neglect our own runts without ever making us feel sorry for her. We laugh with her and never at her. We’re angry for her and never blame her for her choices.
Her performance is unforgettable but it’s almost impossible to separate it from the input of the creative team. Every element is integrated, meaningful and so damn smart that every choice feels like there could be no other.
It all begins with writer Patricia Cornelius. Her playwriting isn’t just some of the best in Australia, it’s some of the best anywhere, anytime. Her plays Shit, Slut, Love and Savages, as well as her contributions to group works like Who’s Afraid of the Working Class and Anthem are already part of our studied canon.
But she’s a bit of a runt herself. Her career has been made in small theatres and independent productions. She writes about class and struggle and issues that are uncomfortable on our funded stages, where a giggly comedy about a misunderstanding is “a lovely night at the theatre”. Plays that question why we don’t want to talk about sexual abuse, violence and ‘non-deserving’ people can be difficult to watch, but it’s vital that we hear them.
Content aside, Cornelius writes for performers. Her art has a conscious rhythm, poetry and structure that make other writers seethe with envy. Her language doesn’t sound naturalistic but when it’s spoken by an actor, it sounds like it could never be anything but their voice. I often think that we’re hearing her characters’ inner monologues: those uncensored voices inside of us that rarely shut up, can be crueller and more critical than any outside opinion, or keep us going when we’ve given up on ourselves.
Romanie Harper’s design is an empty circle surrounded by a low wooden catwalk. It could be a circus ring or a cattle yard. The design and the runt’s grey short jumpsuit are as integrated into the text as is Wilks’ performance. It’s a place where she can sit, climb, run (and run) and even dance. She’s possibly safe here, but she can’t escape.
The sound and composition by Kelly Ryall and lighting by Jenny Hector are equal factors in the production’s impact. Ryall’s sound lets you know what you’re feeling before you feel it. Hector’s lighting is the best I’ve seen in the Fortyfivedownstairs open space. There’s no colour in this world, it’s all shades of dark or light, except for a glorious scene where everything glistens. On a practical level, the in-the-round audience are never distracted by glaring lights. On a storytelling level, the lighting ensures that your eyes are never off the runt. On an emotional level, it works with the sound to ensure every emotion and mood is viscerally real.
All of which could feel forced or unearned without direction that finds the pinpoint balance of all of the elements. Dee ensures there’s empathy without the pathos of sympathy, understanding without the condescending desire to help the runt up, and shock without blame for the consequences of being at the bottom of the heap.
The gut-felt anger and complex understanding of Runt is why we go to the theatre.