The Father

There’s so much in The Father that doesn’t seem right. The wall-mounted telephone surely was in the centre of the set a few minutes ago, and now it’s on a stage-left wall. If must have been moved silently during one of intense blackouts that punctuate the production. 

That’s nothing. Soon whole tables disappear, dinner settings, comfortable chairs: the whole room is crumbling, insubstantial. Just like André, the Father himself, played by John Bell.

If André is coming apart, it’s under the eye of his daughter Anne (Anita Hegh), who needs to leave town with her lover Pierre (Marco Chiappi). But, hold on – now Anne is being played by another actress (Natasha Herbert). And Pierre has a new, more violent player, too (Glenn Hazeldine). André is baffled, like me.

Such are the mysteries of The Father, guaranteed to keep you stirred until all is revealed at the end. Florian Zeller’s brilliant Moliere award-winning play highlights the cruelties of love and the limits of filial patience. It has been beautifully translated in Pinteresque patterns by Christopher Hampton.

On a meticulous setting by Alicia Clements lit by Rachel Burke, Damien Ryan’s careful production eventually strips John Bell of just about everything. In an echo of his famous portrayal of King Lear, Bell is left with nothing. It’s a terrific performance, including plenty of knife-edge moments: there’s even a brief show of tap-dancing.

Some scenes are repeated. How many times could André lose his gold wristwatch? The scene breaks, the long blackouts (with music provided by Steve Francis) tried my patience. But I had to revise my opinion by the end. It all made perfect, ferocious, desperate sense.

Frank Hatherley

Images: John Bell and Faustina Agolley, and Anita Hegh and John Bell, in Sydney Theatre Company’s Production of The Father © Philip Erbacher