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Round and round they roam the water's edge looking for a connection. In anime, the people rarely hold conversations on mobile phones. Crossing paths in the street all too coincidental, the chaotic fact of fate playing a large role. And that they are drawn together by the very virtue of their character.
Signs around The Rocks show no marker for the Sydney Theatre on Hickson Road. 47 on a red square, but nothing across the road. Guess.
Rest of the review of Macbeth with Stephen Dillane - Sydney Theatre at Walsh Bay - 17/02/06
Blood takes to the porcelain of a nearby toilet basin. The rich raw essence not losing any vitality as it drips drops to the rushing waters. Time takes on an age as the latchy few outside the Entertainment Centre box office find clipboards in their faces. Phil appears to be one such note taker, and as a man, appears to be a short wide woman looking for a speech impediment to call her own.
Slipping late into the seats with under a minute, the first quarter is lightening fast. The Kings are up over the Taipans with a healthy ten point margin. 31 to 21 in favour of the home crew.
Tight pants in fishnets walk the aisles handing out bats for those too lazy to stand on the outside rustling through the hands. Tiny dazzlers dole out the tattoos, no spit or water for those without. Dead red on the ends and the upper levels of the Superdome are just as empty save for a few sitting behind glass.
Kings lip the tip and Jason Smith out is out quick with two threes to hold over the hosts' double take. Pedestrian moves endure the length of play, spectacular swatting on show. Lack of finesse is stunning, the lag just filthy. Scores swap leads quick and with no perceptible upper hand for either side. Shuffling forth and back, the two hop on the other with no breath on black. Horns lock out the first, each with 27 on the board, pigs hard to the trough.
A fat man with sweaty fingernails and a brunette without a cap dole free CD mailers to the lingering outside the Entertainment Centre. With the supply from a nearby Defence Force recruitment van, the contents are semi-educational with not nearly enough brainwashing in hand. Their sell is soft and wanting, a desire more on handing out the postal items than in swinging new recruits to lay their lives on the line.
Darkness for the introduction, a cooling turn from the massive hold of heat on the outside in Darling Harbour. Spotty sections of the lower bowl see a call to the upper section to fill it out. Many do, others remain back in their seats not eager to tempt to trot and fall over each other.
Worlds collide at the State Library of NSW. In one spectrum, a largely over 35 crowd from the State Library's Under 35 club Christmas Party, void of all symbolism and dead fat men swinging from the ceilings. In the other, spectators on the hunt for the finals of the inaugural Sydney Poetry Slam; the bardic and cathartic rhythmic event of the year.
Seats allocate themselves to the faster set and those eager and hopeful to see festivities adhere to a sense of punctuality. Swinging back affords no comfort, the doubt of metal jutting through the shoulder blades keeping many honest and stable. Minutes pool into an hour as the photographer blinds everyone with a flash bulb that burns brighter than a sun on the back of a pasty Goth caught without sunscreen.
Rest of the review of Sydney Poetry Slam 05 Finals - State Library of NSW Galleries - 08/12/05
State Theatre. Sydney Theatre. Same initials, two very different locations. The State is on Market Street. Out over on the back of Walsh Bay near The Rocks, Hickson Road sports two theatres under the Sydney Theatre banner. One's for dance. The other, well, that's for another night.
Stephen Petronio himself is the Broken Man that begins a night full of dance and wondering, just wondering, what to do with life. Chaotic, brutal and tragically alone, the sole performer is a world unto himself. No pain more than the frustration of a helpless situation. An intense set of five or so minutes and there is nothing more than the flailing of arms in a cruel twist of humanity.
Rest of the review of The Gotham Suite - Stephen Petronio Company - Sydney Theatre, Walsh Bay - 04/10/05
Flies. Damn flies. Spring isn't here until the incessant insects are back out in force. Waiting in line at the box office, they make sure the people know it's coming up close to summer.
Finger licking glow sticks fly from the silver section and into the backs of heads in the gold. Spotlights in the dark introduce the Sydney Kings in a classy showing of simple light effects. Comatose floodlights keep the Entertainment Centre in the moments before dusk as the clock stays forever on three minutes. Black drapes around the dead back section of the venue present an air of cosy; with the low lights the ceiling feels equally suffocating.
A littering of moon cakes on discount mark another festival that goes on by. Milling around the outside of the Entertainment Centre is down. People are all but absent. Nothing in the clouds that are just waiting to crack open hours later. With a head full of foam and moss, everything is on mute. Everything.
The Bullets of Brisbane break out the bank and bill the first bucket of the night. Mark Worthington looks like a development player, all unassuming, blending into the background. Teaming up with Ben Knight, they deliver a frenzy with an attack that sees them all over the board. Bobby Brennan and Michael Hill are an imposing set, but the Brisbane take a breath too long in the first. Rolan Roberts dunks with a force and ownership that sets Mark Bradtke on the back foot of intimidation. Kings up easily on the second half of the first quarter with 30 to 23.
Rest of the review of Burn the floor; Sydney Kings vs Brisbane Bullets - Entertainment Centre - 17/09/05
Cleaner lines and sharper edges. Everything changes when the furniture makes with the faces. Quiet and spooky is the Entertainment Centre forecourt. Even with the Castle Hill RSL brass band playing it big outside the box office. Gates hold the entrances with a new ticketing style and a sense of greater policing. The merchandise stand with the magazine at a stunning three dollar fails to fly away with the not-quite-sure pick-pocket. For the first game out for the Kings at home, copies of Kings News are understandably anorexic. At least these aren't begging for dollars.
Quick on up, the stands watch on as the Kings' championship banner for the 2004/05 season rises from the black to sit high and proud with the 2002/03 and 2004/05 banners. Against the others, 2002/03 looks like a year in tatters, out from the wash too soon and not doing all that great. Slightly worse for the weather and showing signs of old age. The new flags shining far too bright in the face of the first.
Dead lights on the main show off noodles and lines drawn in a Java 3D program. Off the lip of the stage is the console operator, a George Khut. Connected via a chest strap to the laptop, the man breathes in and out to quiet suggestions such as "take sips of air" and "breathe in hard." Swimming in and out and out and in, the lines represent the constrictions and relaxations of the diaphragm, as best as they can relay the information. A relaxing visual feast of nothing, the start of the Song Company's production of Drawing Breath is enough to knock out those eager for a nap.
Watching on for five minutes or more, the gasping and wheezing of an iron lung rides over the speakers. Nobody is certain of the greater con or if indeed there really is a person backstage breathing weakly on a deathbed straight into a microphone. Slight as the delivery is, the purely mechanical sound of undertones and gasps comes direct from the chest device.
Rest of the review of Drawing Breath - The Song Company - Sydney Conservatorium of Music - 25/08/05
Octopi on the plate struggle against the tiring jaw. Time on the clock reads late and the feet make haste to spend an all too familiar fate of the wait. And they wait. And wait. Monorails pass, people file through, still, the wait continues and the booming from inside the Entertainment Centre suggests the tip-off is now a thing of a minute's past. Picnic Point flashes into the mind for a second before logic dictates a few steps toward 15 to meet up with Atom. Bingo, luck is in, the man stands at the door just about to walk in. Tip off is still a few away, minutes after aboriginal group The Donovans take their guitar and harmonies to the national anthem, making it seem longer than it should be.
Dropping down from the rafters like a dead Hart on a rope, the Lion sheds his cape as the crowd boos the Hawk's mascot around the court. Touching base with the floor, the Lion quickly dismisses the Hawk with one paw, sending the trespassing mascot on his back scurrying away. Half of the Harlequins cheerleaders, all in the Philips version of their outfit, tussle with the other half sporting red tops in a scene pretty much out of one of those movies that have the magnetic film read right through to the plastic tape. Or, for those more up-to-date, where the shutter of the DVD image flickers. Pompoms are cast all over the floor, a couple of dancers are saving themselves from a pin down and the two mascots engage in another round with the Lion showing no mercy to his guest.
Black curtains running the flanks behind row O or such close in the Entertainment Centre and give it a nice cosy feel. With the rows and rows of back seats cut off, the sea of bodies across the way is most reassuring and doesn't stink of the regular season's spotty emptiness. Red and glints of white hold fort in the south-east corner, the Wollongong crowd are moderate. Gone for tonight is the Airganix blimp, in its stead, a torpedo-like and limp Virginblue airship, willowy and struggling to stay airborne against the strong currents of the air conditioning system. Rita May falters for on the middle of the national anthem, but holds the end well enough to make it insignificant.
Messy though the tip off, the Hawks are left watching as the Kings bolt away to a twelve point start before warming back into the game to notch an effort on the board themselves. Pace from both sides is good, their toes roll in rapid rotation. Energy is vibrant, a tight crowd adding a great deal. Kings end shines at 27 to 17.
Smacks of inequality this thing with time. A rhyme is fine if made in line. Wait long enough and the monorails will count the minutes for you.
From the side, Ben Knight sneaks in to start off the racket. The Kings and Bullets tip back and forth with the hosts coming off slightly better. Snapping wrists play up the passing game, wild and fervent are the hands of Kings. Before another breath is drawn, Jason Smith is up again stopping and popping for the easy shots. Rolan Roberts' rather highly visible mouth guard suggests some biff will occur. Simply easy threes from the Queenslanders were quickly gone and eaten into the efforts. Caught in the lights, the visitors are just holding on to make sure they're in the right place before the quarter ends off at 27 to 22.
Rest of the review of roc tha block; Kings v Bullets - Semi Finals: Game 1 - Entertainment Centre - 01/03/05
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