There’s a thin veil between a medieval court full of jesters, and the floor of parliament house and 'The Year of Our Lord' ripped it away with a satisfying jeer.
Devised by the Plain English Theatre Company and directed by James Robertson, the production mocked the ineptitude of the Coalition’s ‘reign’ with imaginative dark humour. This humour was relatable for all those of a left-leaning persuasion who adopted a bleak hilarity to cope with the Morrison government’s irreconcilable term.
So, as you’d expect, the audience were rolling with laughter. Even now, I struggle to think of one specific adjective that sums up those four terrible years. And perhaps that is what was so appealing about this production. The absolute absurdity of it all.
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As relieving as it was refreshing, the ludicrousness was present from the get-go, as the minister, performed by Bridget Morrison, and Barnabus, performed by Bryan Cooper, reeled off election commentaries while draped in Shakespearian finery. The production reframed current-day Australian politics, through the conflicts of a god-fearing princess played by Bridgette Kucher, and the misguided attempts of ministers to govern a medieval land. And as the characters became more and more unhinged, the unsustainability of this governance was something for us all to reckon with.
This idea of senselessness was epitomised through unpredictable and edgy stage directions that added a playfully satirical overtone to the confronting disparity between parliamentarians and the working classes. The piece successfully questioned intersections between patriarchy and capitalism, through well-timed and all-too-familiar misogynistic retorts from Barnabus while sipping from his chalice.
References to overbearing church-state relations were amusing yet lacked some nuance within the Princess’ struggles with her faith. And while there was perhaps a missed opportunity to discuss the colonial nature of such governance, the framing of feudal times amusingly presented the Coalition’s power as archaically senseless.
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Robertson’s directing achieved a well-balanced satire that danced between physical and spoken symbolism. The surrealism of the scene was emphasized through intriguing props and physical movement that served as a stark reminder of the playful power of theatre to respond to political strife. While the plot became confusing at times, the audience was nonetheless stunned and delighted to see the loathsome Barnaby figure go from lounging drunkenly on the floor to crouched grunting with a bucket on his head.
Designed by Jason Ng Junjie, the lighting charged the more intense moments of physical action, creating deep reds and greens that highlighted the strange bodily contortions of the characters. Meanwhile, the growling music produced by Steve Toppa made the room almost shake with the volatile troubles of the ministerial backstabbing. Featuring a relatively large cast for such a small space, the stage was crowded at times with a few characters adding scale rather than story.
Although the wilder moments had me wishing the performance had leant fully into absurdist physical satire, the imagery of ministers smearing their faces with poisonous plum juice was satisfying to the soul. While at the same time being a rueful reminder that, yes, white men like Barnaby can somehow be taken seriously.
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