Theatre
Dressed Samoans talk, and talk, about their lives
by Frances Edmond
THE SONGMAKER’S CHAIR, by Albert Wendt, directed by Nathaniel Lees, ATC, Maidment Theatre (to September 27).
The premiere of The Songmaker’s Chair, the first play by Samoan writer Albert Wendt, was a significant cultural event. The play, a family drama set in Freemans Bay, Auckland, traces the journey of Peseola (Nathaniel Lees) and Malaga (Ana Tuigamala), their children and grand-children, from Samoa in the 1950s to New Zealand today. As the family wait for Peseola to reveal the reason he has called them together, they explore their past, their hopes and griefs, their conflicts and failures until, at the climax, a painful family secret is revealed.
The play takes place on a simple, expressive set by John Verryt, with sensitive lighting by Vera Thomas, eerie music by Jason Smith and a stunning AV track by Sima Urale. Wendt’s opening and closing scenes are ghostly and ritualistic, the singing has a harmonious authenticity, the humour is wry, some delightful fun and games are played with considerable aplomb and all the actors perform with great feeling and commitment.
At the play’s centre are Peseola and Malaga. Lees gives a compelling performance, while Tuigamala is warm, sharp and funny. Their relationship is intricate and affecting – Peseola kneeling and kissing his wife’s feet is a fine moment. The atmosphere created on stage made it seem, at times, as if we were actually in Peseola’s living-room and permitted an intimate view into the heart of his family.
But despite the valiant efforts by Lees and his able cast, much of the time they struggled to bring the text off the page. It’s overwritten and overexplanatory; it’s as if the author didn’t trust that action would communicate enough of his intent. And the characters telling each other of shared past events struck an odd note. Clearly, the information was for the audience’s benefit, but I did not want to be told what had happened, I wanted to see it unfold.
When the action did suddenly come into the present, as in the climactic conflict between Peseola and Lilo, the prodigal daughter, courageously played by Tausili Mose, the stage came alive. But the reconciliation that followed was under-served, presented as a fait accompli when the drama demanded it happen in front of us.
Some images endure, however; the startling materialisation of the mythic white owl, the chair itself as a witness to the family drama, the physical presence of another dimension represented by the ethereal characters behind the screen – and the sheer strength and resilience that a family needs to migrate and survive.
