Vigil

Lizzie (Christie Whelan Browne in another of the performances that have made her name), is the 30-something screw-up younger daughter, the one who never finishes anything, the one who’s blown her opportunities.  She tries to sweep into a ‘nursing home’ (that awful euphemism) where her Mum lies dying.  It’s Christmas Eve, that time of far-flung families’ return and reunion.

Lizzie’s wise-cracking insouciance will flicker and waver throughout the show, replaced by self-lacerating reveals, by defensive regrets, by little girl memories, bitchy put-downs, transparent manipulations, hilarious evocations of family and friends and a desperate, heart-breaking attempt to connect with her mother before it’s too late.  As Brecht put it on Song About My Mother, ‘Oh why do we not say the important things, it would be so easy, and we are damned because we do not.  Easy words, they were, pressing against our teeth; they fell out as we laughed, and now they choke us.’ 

It’s been a fractious relationship.  Lizzie was ‘special’, but now she’s not.  Mum was beautiful; now she’s a tiny, almost unrecognisable figure in a bed.  Now Mum doesn’t – can no longer – answer, so Lizzie can only imagine what Mum would say if she could speak.  But can she even hear ‘the important things’?  

I can’t say Vigil is a cheerful show.  There are passages of wonderful, ironic humour and sharp satire, but overall what Ms Whelen Browne gives us, in monologues, in phone calls and twelve original songs, is a lonely, isolated, at times self-loathing young woman who is losing the mother she loves, the mother who deserted her, but whose love she needs so much.  Some audience members wiped away tears at the end, no doubt in recognition of Lizzie’s irrevocable loss and her too late pleas. 

This is, above all, a truthful show, but you don’t get truth of this sort without insight and Steve Vizard’s book and lyrics demonstrate insight into this woman’s character and predicament over and over.  His songs, supported and augmented by Joe Chindamo’s music, range from comic patter to ironic comment to yearning sadness. 

Christie Whelan Browne has had high praise and numerous awards for straight roles and music theatre roles.  Here she demonstrates again that she deserves all of that.  She is on stage alone (apart from the musicians) for close to ninety minutes during which she masters and delivers beautifully the original, intricate and complex songs with constant changes of rhythm and pace.  She switches mood and emotion in a second: funny, angry, poignant, grating, vulgar and sweet. 

Mr Chindamo is at the piano, joined by Zoë Black, violin, and Molly Kadarauch, cello.  Mr Chindamo’s use of these string instruments as punctuation and heightening of Lizzie’s emotions is particularly striking.  The set by Ailsa Paterson is suitably endgame drab, a plastic Christmas tree the piece de resistance.  Chris Petridis’ lighting is perhaps a little busy – too many changes, a little distracting - for my taste and, in a way, unnecessary given the power and focus of Ms Whelan Browne’s performance.

Vigil was commissioned by the Adelaide Cabaret Festival under the auspices of Eddie Perfect, Ali McGregor and John Glenn.  Their confidence in this ensemble is justified.  The show runs for only four performances, but it’ll be a surprise if it does not reappear somewhere soon.

Michael Brindley

Photographer: Claudio Raschella