Aria is a tasteful black comedy for Kirribilli’s Ensemble Theatre, doing the job its audience wants it to do – it offers plenty of laughs, a few political jabs here and there, but never pushes the envelope too far, with veteran playwright David Williamson playing it safe in this brand new offering. The play has the airs of Don’s Party for the upper echelons of society, but without the depth of Williamson’s more well-known works.
This tale of blind prejudice focuses around the matriarchal Monique (Tracy Mann, Belvoir’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime), whose adult sons are the jewel of her eye as she refuses to let go of the past. A true narcissist to her bones, Monique seemingly gave up her career as an opera singer for love and family, despite her incessant insistence that she could have been the next big thing. The need for perfection now overrules everything in the path of Monique’s lifestyle, with her son’s wives needing to be perfect “acquisitions for the family” rather than loving partners for her boys that can do no wrong. But now, the wives have had enough, and Monique is in for a rude awakening.
Tracy Mann is the perfect step-monster-in-law; whose vanity blinds her to the broken shards of a family in front of her
Australia’s most prolific playwright, Williamson’s earlier works explored the depths of the working classes’ struggles against the classist turmoil of white Australia. Now, we’re on the other side of the class divide, and while the politicised references and knack for observational writing is still bitingly clear in the writer's voice, his representation of youth is becoming increasingly muddled. Tamara Lee Bailey’s Midge speaks in a mostly nonsensical vernacular as Williamson attempts to satirise the voices of Gen Z – words like “snorrendous” and “kerwonkety” awkwardly flit amongst her dialogue, with Bailey giving her utmost to make it work.
Meanwhile, Tracy Mann is the perfect step-monster-in-law; whose vanity blinds her to the broken shards of a family in front of her. Monique’s weapons of choice? Wealth, privilege, and a drippingly poisonous tongue. She is the overseer of her domain, with Rose Montgomery’s set design placing the action amongst posh, monochromatic white home decor, featuring dozens of family pictures atop a grand piano, and an unending supply of Moët Chandon.
As we get to know the sons, we start to see the learned narcissism that has filtered into their being, some more than others. Liam’s (Jack Starkey-Gill) political bravado is unmatched against his two brothers, as he insists he has the votes as a junior senator to become the next Premier of the state. Daniel (Sam O’Sullivan) has similar airs to his mother, especially when it comes to his potential to be an accomplished pianist and architect, but considers himself more of a bohemian artist living under his wife Judy’s (Danielle King) shadow. Charlie (Rowan Davie) is divorced and recklessly flying into another marriage with Midge, a youthful beautician, however he spends most of his time at the yacht club and his marketing firm.
Meanwhile, Judy is fighting to move her daughter, Lucy, from an illustrious private school to (gasp!) Concord High – much to Monique’s disgust, who blames Judy’s insistence on a public school education on the chip she wears on her shoulder from growing up out west. Judy is the play’s solitary voice fighting for the working class (she may now be a successful lawyer and breadwinner, but she certainly didn’t need the private school system to get there). However, her character’s potential is somewhat undermined during a shallow discussion about affordable housing.
Janine Watson’s (Alone It Stands) direction makes an effective production out of the stilted, cyclical nature of the writing – the one-in, one-out circle of duologues struggles to find its rhythm in the first half, but is effective for introducing us to this broken and brutal family. Montgomery’s costuming also clearly conveys who these characters present themselves to be – for example, the contrast of Charlie’s multicoloured Taylor Swift friendship bracelets clashing against his brother Liam’s hefty silver Rolex is a small detail, but one that speaks volumes.
Subtle lighting changes by Matt Cox demonstrate the passing of time, as the dinner party moves into the evening performance of the titular ‘aria’ that Monique has gathered the family to watch her sing. Similarly, David Bergman’s sound design is more functional than particularly creative.
Williamson does do black comedy well – and while this new offering may not have any groundbreaking depth to it, it is gleefully enjoyable in its own right, especially with Mann being an effortlessly detestable character. An honourable mention must also go to Suzannah McDonald’s (Underbelly) Chrissy – a woman pushed to the breaking point, who says the words all mothers have wished they could scream to their misbehaving kids, to audience applause. Meanwhile, references to politicians (Midge is self-described as a “prettier version of Jackie Lambie”) play extremely well to Ensemble Theatre’s core audience, often made up of Northern Beaches property owners.
Aria gives audiences a cursory exploration of the class divide and how narcissistic personalities operate, with laugh-out-loud black comedy delivered by a skillful cast. (Just be mindful not to take your mother-in-law to this one – unless you think she needs a wake up call? Either way, it’d make for interesting conversation at the next family dinner.)
Aria is playing at Ensemble Theatre, Kirribilli, until March 15. Find tickets & info over here.
