Dusa, Fish, Stas and VI

Directed and designed by Grant Tilly. Circa Theatre

In his introductory program note Grant Tilly draws a parallel between Pam Gems' Dusa, Fish, Stas and Vi and the work of Dor is Lessing The absence of Lessing's tendency towards cynicism is one of the play's successes ; related to this it is, in the latter stages especially, a compellingly serious piece of work.

Dusa (Susan Wilson) is a wife/mother thrown free when her husband runs off with the kids. Fish (Glenis Levestam) is a solidly middle-class activist whose pre-occupying aim is happily-ever-after love with a man who isn't interested. Stas (Alannah O'Sullivan) is a nurse by day, call-girl by night who proves her liberty from the property syndrome by resolute shoplifting, but who despises 'trouble-makers' and looks toward a biology career in Hawaii. Vi (Adele Chapman) is into yoga and the short answer to a sticky question. Whether searching for freedom or security, all have defined their expectations in the terms offered them, and received only emptiness ranging to anorexia. In a telling moment, Fish reveals the extent to which even their terminology is male-oriented : 'cunt' is the ultimate derogation.

The play resides in the premise that the types these women represent are real and need no further elaboration, that individual frustration is itself a part of type. The point is debatable, and here slightly undermined in each character. Dusa's hysterical inability to cope suffers for her husband's exotic choices of refuge — Morocco and Argentina. Stas' one moment of quiet crying is more a cursory indication than a development of personality. Vi's problems remain very simply on the physical level. All this throws attention on Fish, who is certainly the best conceived. Yet even she suffers an end whose melodramatic overtones are not strictly necessary to the play's point.

Faults in the four actresses' portrayals of the serious aspects are small and mostly confined to the early stages. They, like we in the audience, find it easy to recognise and/or identify with the various oppressive circumstances. However they do not seem at all comfortable in the happier moments. For the play to work fully we must believe in the joy as well as the pain.

Tilly's set reflects the emphasis he has given in the production to the relationship of type to individual. A portion of each woman's head is featured on large black and white murals which serve as walls. Echoes of his Kennedy's Children design aside, they form a sort of composite Every-women, symbolizing both the potential solidarity of the group and the fragmentary nature of its parts. This may be overeaching things a bit, but it is at least a step beyond the familiar naturalism.

It is difficult to decide how much of a comedy Tilly has meant this to be. Essentially it is quite humourless, with few really funny lines for the great number of mildly amusing ones. The snappy rhythm created by movement aims at the laughs, while the continual use of rock songs (most in the exquisite-sad vein of Cocker's 'I Can Stand A Little Rain') slows the pace and asks us to concentrate on atmosphere. The lighter characters (Stas and Vi) tend to throw their quips too obviously into the ring, as if tainting them with self-directed irony. The other two actually come out with better jokes, yet are far more deliberately self-effacing in the telling.

Generally speaking, weaknesses in the writing have not been avoided, while the play's strength of commitment is fully matched and has justice done to it. Dusa, Fish, Stas and Vi is one of Circa's more worthwhile productions.

— Simon Wilson.