THE UNUSUAL SUSPECTS

Forget Monty Python, forget Borat and you can even forget The Young Ones. The Ballarat National Theatre recently finished a record-breaking run of 10 performances at the Courthouse Theatre of the play 'Suspects'. Originally a drama, then a comedy-drama and recently re-written as one of the funniest escapades I have ever witnessed. I say record breaking because after every performance the sets had to be reconstructed and all the props replaced before the next show. The logistics must have been a nightmare for all concerned but the results superb.

The programme described the show as simply 'A murder mystery with a new twist'. What transpired was a fairly mundane 'faux Agatha Christie mystery' written by Giles Cole. It was certainly comedic and the twist was absolutely ball-tearing thanks to the temperamental direction of the agonizingly precise Julian Oldfield.

Starring Neil Furdem, Pam Maiden, Peppa Sinclair and John Daykin with the police team of Fred Fargher, Emile Freund and Paul Ford.

A murder occurs. A man has fallen to his death from a third floor window apparently in a painting accident. The two ex-wives of the murdered man lounge around the set delivering their lines between mouthfuls of take-away food. The detectives, a quasi-Midsommer Inspector and his Sergeant, arrive to begin the investigation. A bit a American slapstick intrudes as a bird keeps shatting on the police every time they put their heads outside the window.

As each scene progresses and the mystery unfolds the entire cast, with food constantly in their hands  appear to be gaining weight in each scene. The  grieving widow and the leading detective lock horns, arms and mouthfuls of food while she is interrogated. In one corner of the room a bedroom door is partially opened by the Sergeant and empty food containers tumble from it. He kicks them back and carefully closes the door again. During the interrogation the Inspector and his Sergeant begin to share the increasing amounts of food appearing on various flat surfaces. This is gluttony at its best.

Even during interval the show does not quite with its Montyesque stupidity. The audience remaining behind, and that was almost the entire auditorium, as very few went out for Choc-tops, Jaffas or a Pee were entertained by what appeared to be a completely impromptu Punch and Judy performance through the open windows of the apartment by a pair of socks.

After interval the audience is confronted with a living room full of piles of take-away food and the players continue to try and deliver lines through mouthfuls of food with the obvious consequences. Not once yet has a member of the cast broken character confronted by their own mishaps and laughed or giggled. By now the players have almost doubled in size thanks to some innovative costume inventions which allow them to expand at the same time as the actors apparent waistlines.

Finally the actors reach morbid obesity and can just manage to get through the various doors around the set only with the help of another actor and with all the squeaks of a party balloon. As they move around buttocks and breasts of both genders manage to begin unsettling the apartment. Pictures go askew, doors won't open because of the rubbish piled behind them, and the various knick-knacks such as ornaments and pictures get knocked over, cups and plates get broken because they can't be put down and general mayhem ensues. At one point the Sergeant ends up on his back after sliding off the lounge and like a stranded turtle continues to deliver his lines perfectly. The actors still do not giggle or laugh, they deliver all their lines with perfect accuracy. At the climax of the play the wife is arrested for murder and the entire cast ends up having to push each other through seemingly narrowing doors. By the end all the actors resembled clothed Weather Balloons.

The curtain call has one rolling in the aisles as the seven impossibly obese actors come back on stage entirely devastating the set leaving nothing standing with the exception of the stage manager and sound desk operator who have been working backstage keeping things going and the stage falls into final darkness.

The sight of what transpired will stay with me forever. This leaves me with only a couple of questions unanswered. What possesses women to sit in the front row and knit during the whole performance or forget they are not at home and discuss  with each other who they think the murderer is 'out loud'.

Surely they can't beat this one. Ballarat National Theatre – Keep your eyes open for their next production