| Description |
Its direction is superb, the acting is intelligent, the set is delightful and the costumes skimpy but appealing. The problem, alas, is the play itself. Baxter wrote superb poetry - but not in this play. It is a heavyhanded, most unpoetic grind that deserves savage rewriting. Whole sections of the play are impossible for actors: they are simply wooden lectures for the willing-to-admit-they're-guilty liberal audience. Given its provenance, I'm astonished no one cut it or even rewrote it to pick up modern references. Baxter was a man of his era, when men were men and women were … at home. The latter bias almost makes up for the writing. Who else these days presents New Zealand as it was then, when like the ancient Greeks, we had definite views on what men did and women didn't do? |
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