Seventeen

Matthew Whittet insists that his play about teenagers getting trashed after their last day at school should use only older actors; and certainly, this lot are much closer to 70 than 17. 

Armed with precious saved-up grog, these aging teenagers gather in the playground of their local park; life – or something – is all ahead, but this night they obviously have lots of fears and secrets still unresolved.  Gradually and predictably, through games (truth or dare), furious dancing, booze and chundering, each of their secrets are revealed to their peers.

Mike (Peter Kowitz) is the boorish bully who leads the game; his mate, Tom, is thoughtful but tentative, soon off to university in Melbourne, and gently played by Noel Hodda.  Di Adams is also impressive as Sue, a boisterous friend to many; and Katrina Foster amuses as Sue’s pal, the grizzling swot, Edwina, who takes to the booze. 

Colin Moody is the troubled and unwelcome Ronnie with nowhere else to go; while Di Smith is a joy as Mike’s gate crashing, irrepressible sister, Lizzie, who at 13 offers yet another age perspective.  

These veteran actors capture the physicality, intensity and lightning mood changes of being seventeen, without often lapsing into overacting. Their age is a constant reminder of our own distant teens and the limits on our short lifespans.  There’s little suspension of disbelief but such casting adds a theatrical energy to a play which is poignant but modest.  

Directed by Mary-Anne Gifford, the sequential revelations of each character through to sunrise are mostly undramatic and roll out like slow carriages.  Paris Burrows set and costumes are adequate but again without much adventure and surprise.

Perhaps it should be performed by a cast of teenagers, ones able to release their spontaneity and inner doubts without reservation, without being made self-conscious by studying Acting 101.  Or nostalgic adult actors may indeed be the better choice.

Martin Portus

Photographer: Carlita Sari