★★★★☆
Neil Armfield’s revival of The Book of Everything at Belvoir St Theatre is a joyous, playful delight. It’s a totally refreshing production in a world full of endless digital noise, and a constant push for faster is better.
Richard Tulloch’s adaptation of Guus Kuijer’s 2004 Dutch novel premiered on this stage in 2010 and now returns with five of the original cast, with prolific director Neil Armfield at the helm.
This play feels completely tactile. A truly collective effort. Belvoir is known for its innovative staging and sound, and The Book of Everything carries that reputation forward with a true actor-led soundscape. You almost feel like getting on stage and joining in.
A bit of analogue, anyone? There’s everything from a giant storybook of which actors turn the pages to change scenes, to bicycles, the tossing of green balls, hand clapping for hail and an uber-talented one-man orchestra.
It’s post-war Amsterdam, 1951. Nine-year-old Thomas Klopper (Matthew Whittet) lives under the shadow of a violent, God-fearing father (John Gaden), a repressed mother (Claire Jones) and a sister, Margot (Rebecca Massey), simmering with her own unrest.
Thomas finds refuge in his imagination, befriending the so-called witch next door, Mrs Van Amersfoort (Julie Forsyth), a girl with a leather leg named Eliza (Bridie McKim), and an irreverent Jesus (John Leary) who drops in for a chat. He writes it all down in his book, the book of everything.
We open on a back wall illuminated in a deep, rich blue. Yves Klein blue, my friend informs me, and what a blue it is. The colour serves as the perfect trance, a ‘dive into another world’ feeling, as we’re pulled into Thomas’ imagination through a giant book designed by Kim Carpenter.
Armfield conducts this work like a kaleidoscopic living canvas. With Julia Cotton’s intricate choreography, this is fluid ensemble storytelling at its best. The actors work in a harmonious synergy, moving between vibrant, playful chaos, family dinner scenes bubbling with tension, and moments of contemplative stillness.
Julia Cotton creates an exquisite tapestry-like flow with actors weaving in and out of each other in action sequences, then retreating to chairs at the wall, but always involved, always active.
There’s a thrilling, hilarious sequence when Thomas’ letter to his secret crush Eliza is sent to be delivered, with the actors performing the delivery. A delight to watch for even those most jaded of audiences.
And visible to the side, uber-talented musician Jack Ward is a feature to behold. He’s a one-man orchestra, an octopus-like creature playing everything from piano to mini organ to cello to xylophone and back to cello again. His delivery of Iain Grandage’s score is always perfectly integrated and timed with the actors’ movements and the emotional moments.
Matthew Whittet is riveting as Thomas, embodying a charming, exuberant innocence. His physicality is intensely energetic with an angular-like precision. He holds the narrative with effortless, endlessly engaging energy.
Claire Jones as Thomas’ mother, a woman repressed and dominated by her husband, plays a delicate containment, covering a shaky vulnerability and sadness.
Julie Forsyth is particularly captivating as Mrs Van Amersfoort, the eccentric so-called witch next door. She’s enigmatic, cheeky and full of warm charisma.
And Pamela Rabe, in consistent fine form, moves with precise chaotic energy about the stage as the feisty, unapologetically feminist Aunty Pie. She then slinks back to the corners as the cat, elegant and playful.
The play takes on subjects like domestic violence, oppressive religion and the memories of Nazi terror but handles them with seamless tenderness. Richard Tulloch’s adaptation brings a quirky, snappy energy to the story, with tongue-in-cheek humour and vivid imagery that keeps it buoyant.
He brings an irreverent, Aussie humour, particularly evident in the form of an ultra-chill Jesus Christ who wafts in and out of Thomas’ imagination. The slightly intriguing juxtaposition serves to soften the tension of heavy topics like domestic violence with surreal comedy. It’s an unusual blend of post-war Holland, the Dutch outfits and tailored dresses, together with some thick Aussie accents.
We live in a complicated world these days, heavy with troubles and overwhelm. The Book of Everything lifts us out of the heaviness and reminds us that simplicity can shake us out of it all, and that togetherness is healing.
This production will thrill and delight the young ones while reminding those of us in the cynical doldrums that life doesn’t need to be so damn complicated.
The Book of Everything is presented by Belvoir St Theatre in a co-production with Kim Carpenter’s Theatre of Image. It runs to 20 September, Upstairs Theatre, Belvoir Street Surry Hills NSW 2010.
Tickets: https://my.belvoir.com.au/overview/14654
Website: https://belvoir.com.au/productions/the-book-of-everything-3/
Socials: https://www.instagram.com/belvoirst/
Photo credits: Brett Boardman
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