Salient. Official Newspaper of Victoria University of Wellington Students Association. Vol 40 No. 23. September 12 1977

Spring Awakening

Spring Awakening

It's a rare occasion when everyone agrees on the value of a Downstage production, and certainly notable that this one comes from outside the theatre s main programme. Tony Taylor's recent decision to cut back on activities because of financial pressure is understandable. But in Spring Awakening there is further proof (for those who need it) that long-running mail bills are not the theatre's main claim to . . . (what is the right word?).

The play is not faultless. It sports a chorus which is never really integrated into the overall tone yet does not forcibly stand outside it. Although staged in the round nearly all the principle moments are directed to the same side. The balance of naturalism and expressionism is well observed in those scenes rooted in the former, yet not so well in the latter. The professors, for example, are in danger of replacing the sinister and ridiculous with simple confusion.

Spring Awakening has its own pecularities. Focus is not directed on adolescence by the adult world (as in, say, Equus). It works the other way. As we all know, puberty brings out the deadly serious cliches, and there are a great number of them in this play.

Director Colin McColl's handling of this is the most successful element of the production. His actors do not get lost in the lines, because they know the cliches. Neither do they condescend to say them. Not what a person says, but the fact that he is moved to speech is always the important factor.

Subtleties of communication and belief are all founded on this simple truth and best expressed in the two male lead performances. Stephen Murray (Melchoir) and David Pringle (Moritz) had the difficult task of defining characters of very different temperament, who nevertheless form a strong bond together. On stage this can often mean that each actor [ unclear: pinks up traits of the] other.

Not here. Murray's stillness, punctuated by purposeful movement is counterpointed by Pringle's nervous jittering. Their vocal work extends the distinction. Moritz's story of the headless queen—perhaps his happiest moment is the finest example. Pringle has had him suddenly confident and enthusiastic, without forfeiting any of the characterization we have previously witnessed.

That ephemeral scene is reborn at the play's end. Moritz's ghost appears with his head under his arm, grinning and exhorting Melchior to real as he has by following him beyond the grave. Ironies abound: headlessness, the constancy of spiritual existence, role reversal (Melchior is now the doubtful one), and the underlying potential for a re-reversal of roles. For Melchior, alive, can still know real pain, real joy.

It is Pringle's scene. He enjoys the worry as his character enjoys the occasion. Elsewhere others of the cast make similar contributions. For the performances he has elicited, for his fine handling of the mood and issues of the play, above all for breathing life into the Hannah Playhouse, Colin McColl deserves much praise.

—Simon Wilson