RUPERT

Halfway through Act One of Rupert, Murdoch says – in defence of one of his tabloids – “It’s entertainment, not in depth analysis.” That might be the only time we hear playwright David Williamson’s “voice” in the entire evening. Williamson is our best known and most prolific playwright. He may have started out as a bolshi liberal at La Mama, but in later years he became the voice of the middle class; smart, literate, witty and able to afford theatre tickets. Whatever the incarnation, Williamson always had a “voice”, a point of view, something to say. It didn’t matter that some would only find it in the subtext; it was knowingly present, and that was part of the playwright’s talent. Because of that I, along with thousands of others, have been a great fan of his work. In consciously sublimating his own view to allow Rupert’s to be the only voice, he has given us 140 minutes (plus interval) of exposition … an unimaginative device by any writer, let alone our most lauded.. Rupert  is like an extended Wikipedia entry…it has all the facts, chronologically told, bereft of emotional stakes or character development. It doesn’t excite or engage us emotionally, nor take us on a journey, and that’s a loss to theatre-goers because it could have been a rollercoaster of a ride. It should have, could have, been confronting, jolting us out of our complacency. It should have made us form an opinion…or re-examine the one we already had, but it doesn’t. Instead, impeccably acted and staged, it’s a rehash of everything we’ve ever heard and the facts come so thick and fast that it’s difficult to stay engaged at all.

That’s not to say it isn’t entertaining in places. But given that the subject is a man of immense power who doesn’t give a stuff what anyone else thinks, it’s all very tame, all too safe, and ultimately all too long for so little return.

The idea of a cabaret, where Rupert casts a younger man to play him, is scintillating. But this is the richest, most powerful man in the world; moreover, one who is able to deflect scrutiny with the sleight of hand of a magician. Surely Rupert would stage his cabaret with glitz and pizzaz…and a few page 3 girls to pull focus away from the machinations of “the Dirty Digger”? Yet the staging is simple, with none of the real Murdoch’s tricks with smoke and mirrors. Despite quite interesting design by Stephen Curtis…and some stunning choices by Director Lee Lewis, this looks more like the  cut price cabaret of a sub editor on The Frankston Leader.

The cast is exemplary. Sean O’Shea gives a strong performance as the elder Rupert, full of charm and justification, but he seems hamstrung. We never see any ruthlessness, or remorse, doubt or even humanity. It’s as if the rule has been applied “If Rupert hasn’t displayed it publically, we can’t go there.” Guy Edmonds is charismatic as Young Rupert and we can see why people are drawn to him. But it seems impossible that the man has no vulnerability, no emotional core, even when his mother tells him she is still waiting for him to make her proud. The ensemble of Bert LaBonte, Simon Gleeson, Marg Downey, Daniela Farinacci, Haiha Le and Scott Sheridan are all impressive in multiple roles, with Downey just stealing the honours. I am still confused as to why Margaret Thatcher is a red head…even redder than our Julia, but perhaps it’s something important that I missed.

You will laugh in places, but it will be superficial laughter for superficial comedy. You won’t cry…or get angry…or even care very much about the whole thing. Maybe that’s the fault of the playwright; or maybe it’s the nature of Rupert himself.

Coral Drouyn

Images: (top) Guy Edmonds (Young Rupert), Sean O'Shea (Rupert), in background: Daniela Farinacci, Scott Sheridan, Simon Gleeson and Bert LaBonte & (lower) Simon Gleeson and Sean O'Shea (Rupert). Photos (C) Jeff Busby