Blonde Poison

A fascinating, if little known, true story; a strong performance from a revered Australian actress, and a subject that must never be allowed to be forgotten, help to counter the weaknesses of Gail Louw’s play, which vacillates between pedestrian and melodramatic without any progressive emotional arc in its repetitious 90 minutes of exposition.

Stella Goldschlag was a blonde and blue-eyed jewess in Nazi Germany at the outbreak of World War II. In order to save her parents from deportation she collaborated with the Nazis to betray other Jews, and wound up enjoying the experience. When we meet her at 70, she is reminiscing over the story she will tell to a would-be biographer due to arrive in a mere two hours. What unfolds are the facts of a period in Stella’s life where her survival was her first, and sometimes only, priority.

Giblin, who shrugged off her “Soapie” actress tag some 30 years ago and is now one of our most distinguished dramatic actresses, certainly looks the part of the still beautiful Stella and her accent throughout is impeccable (credit to Nick Curnow). Ninety minute monologues with such contentious subject matter are few and far between, and both Giblin and Jennifer Hagan her director (also a highly respected actor) have had to make some tough choices in the interpretation. Despite, or perhaps because, of the inconsistencies in the script, they have chosen to remain neutral and cast no personal judgement on the character of Stella, with the good intention of allowing the audience to decide for themselves whether she was a monster, or a woman fighting for the survival of her family.

That’s the perfect stance to take from OUTSIDE, in an objective view, however the result is that we have no subjective idea of what is going on inside Stella. Ultimately there is an emotional disconnect between audience and character, because we have no idea of her internal journey, it’s difficult to take the external journey with her. The comment I heard repeatedly afterwards was “I thought I would feel more emotional about it.” It has clearly been a dilemma for Giblin and Hagan, and treading that non-judgemental line means losing the chance to present heart-breaking and gut wrenching theatre. There are scenes, such as Stella describing her torture – or her four month old baby being torn from her arms - which should reduce us to tears, but they don’t, largely because Stella passes no judgement on herself, telling the story in a matter-of fact way and never exploring what effect it was having on her. She tells us the what - the events - but only superficially touches on the “why?” Giblin plays against the Melodrama, apparently fearing an excess of emotion, but in doing so creates a wall between Stella and the audience. Whilst that may be intentional, it’s the age-old story of “If we can’t connect with a character, why should we care.” Giblin is very good (not to mention the stellar achievement of remembering a HUGE script full of mood changes), and the wall - keeping us at arms length - is perfect for the primary level of interpretation. But where is the subtext? Where is the fragility, the guilt, the underlying pain which leads to her final action?

We never truly empathise or take that all-important journey to self awareness.

Hagan’s direction keeps Stella on the move but can’t seem to decide whether she is talking directly to the audience, or simply to herself out loud. There are moments that call for quietness and stillness to add an element of horror to the unspeakable path Stella is travelling, yet there is no stillness at the core. Then there are the added cheesy elements like the ticking clock which, rather than enhance the drama, detract from it since they focus on how long Stella has before her guest arrives when, subtextually, they should enhance the sense that time has run out for Stella; time to atone, time to confess, time to forgive herself.

Ultimately, the question of moral dilemma, ‘what would each of us do in the circumstances’ is never clearly asked; the result is an interesting history lesson.

Derrock Cox’s set works beautifully, right down to the clutter of souvenirs and a trunk full of soft toys bought for a daughter Stella will never know. Matt Tunchon’s lighting is evocative throughout.

This is a fascinating story and it screams for the “Sophie’s Choice” era of Meryl Streep to reach inside and touch us deeply and irrevocably. It’s good theatre, but it could, and should, have been sublime.

Coral Drouyn