Liminal
Humans don't like the liminal. We recoil from the “not quite” human of the stray hair or abandoned toenail, but the liminal space created in this new work by Stephanie Francis is a lacuna in which to consider human existence when it is not quite one thing or the other.
Old Nick may have done themselves a disservice in their marketing, which suggests an edgy new work of magical realism on the subject of death. Liminal is much more. It is funny and warm and authentically Tasmanian. As an exploration of grief, it is poignant but also uplifting. Anyone hesitating to attend anticipating the triggering of past or recent bereavement may find themselves cathartically unburdened.
Liminal is set in an enclosed space – a train carriage. The set by Morgan Steven is wonderful. Delineated by green neon strips, the space is insubstantial, a perfect limbo in the darkness. Supporting this is the marvellous sound scape: rhythmic, throbbing and inexorable. The audience never forgets where they are and what the stakes are.
Five characters are suspended in this space. There are four train stations, and one character is offered that chance to ride to the end and start over to restart their life on earth. The action is less about debating the merit of who is most worthy of a second chance but more a reflection on what is a good life and who we live for.
People do not naturally move about a great deal in a train carriage, indeed, any confined environment. This would have been one of many challenges for director Emma Skalicky. The nature of the set is to invite the audience in, so blocking is kept to the minimal and the necessary. Skalicky also uses stillness to great effect. There is excellent tension and release in the direction which allows the action to move between pathos, drama and humour without any jarring shift in tone. The pace is maintained even through silence.
The characters are deftly written and well rounded. Paul Levett plays Mike, a bit rough around the edges but warm and funny. Mike is the first to speak and becomes the lynchpin of the work in many ways. Levett is believable and charming in this role, delivering one of the several monologues with poigniancy.
Paul Dellas is the big actor in the small role of Toby, who interacts mostly with the guilt riven Jake, played by Ben Stoneman. Stoneman communicates the awkwardness of the adult body in schoolboy socks, but matures through a powerful monologue and delivers a charming smile upon exit.
Gabi Vavoulas as Rachael has the largest character arc, revealing facets of her life as the protective big sister whose life has been derailed by circumstances beyond her control. Vavoulas delivers a wide-ranging performance.
Pip Tyrell is Liz, matriarch of the company. Like the others, she has a complex backstory, her own issues and prejudices. Unlike the others, Liz has travelled this train before and knows what it means to live for others. Tyrell is, as always, solid in the role.
Stephanie Francis has done a stellar job with the script. There are several wonderful and long monologues, marred only by the tendency of actors to address the floor or exclude the audience with closed eyes. The message is clear, however; we live not for ourselves but for others.
We are all riding the train. We will all die. Shakespeare in Macbeth writes, “all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.” In Liminal, Francis suggests that we hold the light for each other on the journey.
Anne Blythe-Cooper
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