Owl & the Albatross

2023.  The city is like a furnace and blanketed with smoke.  Jane (Cassandra Hart) takes her asthmatic teenager Owl (Geo Valentine) down the coast and dumps them (that’s how Owl sees it) on Owl’s old Grandad, Albert (Don Bridges).  He lives alone in a lighthouse overlooking an ocean choked with rubbish.  He’s self-sufficient and unexpectantly having a teen around is bad enough – let alone a prickly ‘gender fluid’ teen – and at first it’s a discombobulating experience for him. 

Worse, Owl (it’s ‘Olivia’ on the birth certificate, but now they insist on being called ‘Owl’) has never known her Grandad and doesn’t want to be there – or anywhere it seems.  They are perpetually dissatisfied, grumpy, brittle and abrasive – a defence against the loneliness of not belonging.  Over-talkative, nervous local teen Jack (Oliver Ayres) tries to be friendly but is rebuffed.  Owl’s central grievance is ‘why isn’t the world better – and why aren’t the adults doing anything to make it better?’

Owl & the Albatross is a play about ‘making it better’ – or to quote the promo material, ‘about growing up queer is a world which isn’t good enough… and how we make it better.’

Owl’s journey is to learn that they can make it better – but not alone.  What saves Owl – or focuses them, connecting them with Nature – is an albatross, reared from an abandoned egg through to an adult bird that can, and does, fly away.  Owl’s relationship with the albatross – they call him ‘Dave’ – is the memorable centre of the play: a human and a bird - a disconnected, alienated queer human and Nature – and community.  Of course, the bird is disruptive too.  Pragmatic old Albert reckons best to kill the motherless thing.  Headmistress Charlesworth (Mikaela Innes) does not appreciate Owl bringing the mewling chick to school.

The albatross, from hatchling to majestic fly-away, is represented by a series of charming, humorous but touching puppets, fabricated by Jason Lehane.  They are principally operated by Mikaela Innes, but the rest of the cast – save Owl – serve as puppeteers at various points.  Birds too make up ‘The Flock’, a mysterious entity that communicates with Owl, advising, chastising, and warning.  (This is not particularly clear on stage.)

Indeed, Owl & the Albatross has elements of ‘magic realism’, which playwright Paris Balla and their co-director, Sarah Branton (also the dramaturg) employ to tell Owl’s story. The play also ‘references’ - according to its creators – ‘queer futurity [sic], environmental activism and intergenerational connection.’  ‘References’ is an apt word here because the play seems to reference these things rather than dramatizing them; the play feels to me overburdened in its sixty-minute running time as a result. 

For instance, despite the claim that the play is ‘a love letter from queer young adults who missed out on seeing their stories growing up’, that well-meant strand gets scant dramatization.  Albert and Jack adapt and accept Owl pretty well. And scenes of that ‘intergenerational connection’ in which Owl listens and learns from their Grandad work well.  Apparently, these scenes are based on the playwright’s interactions with their own grandfather and thus have a ring of authenticity (helped by Don Bridges’ clear diction).  Meanwhile, Owl’s alienation, despair and identity crisis are largely internal despite the character’s desperate actions. 

Partly due to the writing but also due to Oliver Ayres’ lively, humorous performance, young Jack becomes a most engaging character, and the ever-reliable Don Bridges brings warmth and credibility to old Albert. Geo Valentine’s Owl begins with strength and presence, generating sympathy at first, but I wonder if our patience with the character might run out before she learns the rather obvious lesson the play wants to teach us.

In addition, in this performance at least, Callum Cheah’s sound design is imaginative and effective – but unfortunately often drowns the sometimes not very clear dialogue.  That’s always a risk with Theatre Works acoustics.  The directors should have noticed this.

This is a play that has gone apparently though about twenty drafts and is now a VCE text (there are copious excellent online notes for students).  It is unmistakeably well-intentioned, and it will provoke much discussion and debate.  But good intentions  (or a righteous cause) don’t necessarily make for good art – and what we have here, unfortunately, is art overwhelmed by good intentions and inexperience.

Michael Brindley

Photo credit: Jaimi Houston