When the American frontier closed in 1890, it ushered in the long process of urbanisation and a mythologising of the ‘West.’ The American Dream became, not one of expansion and conquest, but of wealth accumulation. Yet the romanticised pull of the West persisted.
Playwright Sam Shepard was interested in how the duality of the ‘civilised’ man, seemingly content with the accumulation of wealth and success, reconciles with a simultaneous desire to live out the mythic freedoms of the West. Failure leaves a yearning, even a desperation, for something that remains always just out of reach. In True West, Shepard explores this through the complicating lens of masculine sibling rivalry.
As the house and stage lights go down, a symbolically spot-lit typewriter is the last object to be consumed by the darkness. Lights up reveals Austin (Darcy Kent) working on a screenplay by the light of a guttering candle.
Looming menacingly out of shadow is his brother Lee (Simon Maiden), a drifter and petty thief. Candlelight, though, seems an insubstantial defence against the darkness, and the coyotes – animal and human – that yap and howl at the edge of civilisation.
What follows in Ensemble Theatre’s new production of True West, directed by Iain Sinclair, is an excoriation rife with black humour that skewers the American Dream, exposing its myths. In casting and production design, it adheres closely to Shepard’s – a notoriously protective playwright – intent.
Austin and Lee are in their mother’s (Vanessa Downing) kitchen. Austin is minding her Californian house while she holidays in Alaska. Lee has crashed the party, arriving unannounced with undisguised disdain and barely concealed rage.
For his part, Austin exercises a superior, educated attitude towards Lee, fearful but repeatedly underestimating him. American mythology is evoked early; Lee remarks that working by candlelight is just what their forefathers in remote cabins would have done. He’s inferring Austin is play-acting a romanticised construct of the West that Lee doesn’t buy into.
When Austin’s Hollywood producer, Saul Kimmer (James Lugton), arrives, Lee engineers a game of golf with him and pitches an idea for a western that he will convince Austin to write. Austin protests that he can’t write both his and Lee’s screenplays.
Saul decides on Lee’s, precipitating an alcohol-fuelled collapse of epic proportions. It’s not a question of if, but when, the brothers will turn on each other – if not into each other.
The two leads are magnificent. Maiden as Lee is a tightly coiled ball of menace and manipulation. He prowls the set like a predatory animal, an unshaven passive-aggressive presence in a tatty cast-off coat.
Kent, as Austin, is the very essence of the preppy Ivy League writer, all nervous mannerisms in the face of Lee’s hostility. He excels brilliantly as a drunk, with superb comic timing. As Austin’s world implodes, Kent matches Maiden in physical aggression. In what is essentially an intense psychological two-hander, acting chemistry is essential, and Maiden and Kent explosively deliver.
Lugton makes the most of Saul, a character more plot pivot than three-dimensional, exuding a smarmy chutzpah with a dash of Weinstein creepiness thrown in.
Downing, dressed entirely in white like she’s brought a little of the pure Alaska chill with her, plays the mother with an air of resignation and disappointment; she’s seen all this before. She also gets to deliver the most devastating line in the play.
The dramatic tension sustained through the first half of the play is allowed to dissipate a little when the brothers’ circumstances reverse, and comic absurdities take hold. So, it was unfortunate on opening night that Maiden was forced to leave the stage with a medical issue just as a pivotal scene was unfolding. Director Sinclair stepped in, and, with some success, it has to be said, took a good crack at the role for the remainder of the performance.
Production design and costuming from Simone Romaniuk hold closely to Shepard’s brief of no extraneous distractions. The set reeks of suburban mustiness; neat (for a while) and cared for, but slowly growing tatty around the edges. It’s a claustrophobic space forcing the brothers into constant proximity, heightening the tension.
Brockman’s lighting is sensitive to the play’s emotional intelligence, frequently bathing the set in what seems a perpetual twilight. Costuming clearly delineates character.
As befits a play featuring a screenwriter, the text is important. A minimal sound design from Daryl Wallis ensures no distraction from the action. The sound of crickets and coyotes craft moments of tension and release.
Kudos, too, to dialect coach Linda Nicholls-Gidley for the excellent accents and fight director Scott Witt, who had his work cut out in such a cramped space.
Sam Shepard’s spare writing is also nuanced and poetic, and this production does it complete justice. His exploration of the duality of the individual mirrors a similar schism in society. What and where is the true West? Can we ever be reconciled?
As America (and increasingly the world) tears itself apart, this 45-year-old play, rendered so impressively here, is more relevant than ever.
True West runs to 11 October at Ensemble Theatre, 78 McDougall Street Kirribilli NSW 2061.
Tickets: https://www.ensemble.com.au/shows/true-west/
Website: https://www.ensemble.com.au/
Socials: https://www.instagram.com/ensembletheatre/
Photo credits: Prudence Upton
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