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Writer's picture: JOE WOODWARDJOE WOODWARD

Jessie in "Cathedral Song" Canberra 2002

The school principal died the day after the opening of "Cathedral Song" presented by DTC at The Street Theatre in Canberra in 2002.


A truly visionary man, Frank Fulton evoked a totally silent procession from nearly 1500 students down Cowper Street in the Canberra suburb of Dickson in a procession leading to his funeral. Nothing like it had been seen at the school. Total silence! Frank Fulton's idiosyncratic style as a Principal somehow took hold on the body of students at a school that had only recently become totally integrated as a co-educational institution. Frank Fulton's hand had opened the doors to a whole universe of academic, cultural and ecumenical paradigms unique to Daramalan College in Canberra. Not the least of these was the opening of radical potentially critical and creative adventures within Arts practices within an Educational context. This was most evident in the production of Daramalan's fledgling Daramalan Theatre Company (DTC) production of "Cathedral Song" at The Street Theatre.


I had seen the school's administration being chastised by the Catholic Arch Bishop for inviting Family Planning speakers to the school. Some teacher had complained to the Bishop. Frank was really upset that someone on his staff took it upon themself to go behind his back and complain to the Arch Bishop. I certainly noted this and when writing "Cathedral Song" I didn't want to be behind anyone's back or seem to betray the good-will of the school. Rarely could one see an institution so totally focused on the concept of love and support of even the lowliest of people. And yes, there would be some who would point to its obvious shortcomings over the decades. But what I found was an ideal that was beginning to take shape. So I asked Frank to have a look at the script I was presenting for DTC to produce on the stage. I also had Father Jim Littleton (a former Principal) to look over the rough drafts and even attend rehearsals and later David Garratt to give feedback. All three men were at various points Principals of Daramalan College.


My dear friend Brother James Maher found the work baffling and even confusing on first reading. Yet we discussed the element of the Cathedral as being a source of emptiness for the soul. He provided the context of the Buddhist ideal of emptiness which I found really powerful. This injected new elements into the script which made it more powerful. James was one of the most beautiful people I had ever known and I was incredibly affected by his death many years later. James wrote the Daramalan song that is still sung and endowed with great energy in its final phrases by the Daramalan students.


I needed to know that the MSCs who owned the school would not be in any way offended or disgraced by us putting on the production. I remember Frank, having read the script, asking what was my problem with it and why was I asking for his support. I itemised four areas: the young people taking drugs, the teenage sex, church politics and then ... (and Frank hesitated in his response) ... the slaughter on the Altar. He suggested no problems but did have to think before responding to the fourth point. Then he suggested there were precedents and that while there would probably be someone who would find offence to something in the work, the MSCs would back me. He suggested anyone who objected would be "a nark" and unaware of what is happening in the real world and even with their own kids. He further suggested "perhaps, they should look into themselves"!


On the opening night of the show, the night before Frank's tragic death, there was a celebration after the performance in the foyer of The Street Theatre. I cherish the memory of Frank's daughter Kate, walking through the crowded space with a glass of red wine which she gave to me and said "this is from dad". I looked up and saw Frank on the other side of the room raise his glass as he looked across to me with a smile. I never saw Frank again. He died the following day.


"Cathedral Song" probably couldn't be presented in a Government school because of it's religious connotations. It was generally very well received by the nearly 1000 people who saw it at The Street Theatre. But there was one reviewer who found the Catholic imagery so painful to watch that he left for the bar on a number of moments during the show. Afterwards he cornered me and reviled me for such bad acting and horrible scenarios. Previously, this person had been a friend of mine.


Some weeks later he came to a performance that I was giving as a one-man show at The Street Theatre.

He apologized for those comments he made late after the show on the opening night. He said "you know my surname"? I said yes. He then suggested I might know of a certain Reverend in Northern Ireland who was totally anti-Catholic! He then stated "I am his cousin".


NORTHERN IRELAND


In 2012, "Cathedral Song" was presented in Northern Ireland. The land of Ian Paisley! It was presented at Moate, County Westmeath in Northern Ireland.

a scene from the Moate Ireland production

The land of Ian Paisley was later to be united with both Catholic and Protestant groups united in forming a government after nearly a century of hated warfare and thousands of deaths. And here was "Cathedral Song" presented with full knowledge of its traditions and imagery that related to a whole population. So much of Australian culture has also been formed by the Irish tradition. My grand parents were born in Ireland well before the partition into North and Sound. How ironic that his play should be produced in the vicinity of where my grand parents were born in what is now Northern Ireland! How ironic that the work also had resonance for a similar number of people that saw it in far away Canberra in Australia!

Mrs Maculachy and Bishop Cole in the Moate production in Northern Irelandd

The play developed out of an acting exercise that intended to clearly show Stanislavski's "objectives" and "actions" very clearly. Each scene had clearly shown wants from each character so that student actors could very easily identify where they were going.


Then for the next twenty years or so after the play's first Canberra season in 2002, students in Year 9 Drama were able to use the text to very simply identify Stanislavski's Given Circumstances. The script is in no way platitudinous or patronising. So over the years, students have used scenes to practice and discover the elements of their character's objectives and strategies to achieve these objectives. Over the years students have shared with past and upcoming students how they played the various characters.


PROTEST

"Cathedral Song" is a protest against the bland passive violence that is enforced on our children by a society that blocks their experience and the innate need to explore and discover for themselves.


The trigger warning syndrome and the fear of all disturbance creates its own violence that becomes manifest in the hands of the least educated who then brutalize those about them so as to enhance their broken egos. The Church itself falls victim to this violence as it succumbs to the inertia of those that would use it to control populations and ensure people's straitjacketing to shield them from the tree of knowledge.


Whilst Daramalan embraced "Cathedral Song" with its abrasive themes underpinned by a strong sense of spirituality, one could not assume everyone would. When Sister Mary Hamilton said she felt the need to call out to the character of Jessie as she ran through the streets and her past history, she was indicating where the strength of the work lay. Mary felt the compulsion to reach out to the young person and assure her of ways out. But the character of Jessie lay on the altar dying when she looked up at the image of Christ above her and uttered the words "Would you fore-sake me too?"


She had no one ...


The play changed nothing in attitudes towards young people's struggle to fight and shape reality. It did nothing to curb the violence of bland passivity enforced upon them. But it did forge a strong basis and substance on which the Daramalan Theatre Company would build and venture. Lyndal Judges, who played Jessie, created a flawed character who nevertheless challenged a whole edifice and social structure in affluent Canberra. Her character was echoed in Moet, Ireland some years later where the Irish / Catholic connection within Australia was made evident in a production light years away from our Street Theatre production. The singing of "Hail Queen of Heaven" badly by the manipulative assistant to the Bishop (played by Richard Bosci) epitomized the loss of fundamental connection by the Church needing to deal with the corporate world in order to survive. And Lucy Zelic's young radical Nun brought to the fore the paradoxical traditional values that needed re-imaging for contemporary relevance.


"Cathedral Song" has been presented in unexpected parts of the world as a workshop production (ie. no royalties paid) and used as a teaching tool at Daramalan College. Its history owes a lot to the Principal at the time, Frank Fulton and also to a previous Principal, Jim Littleton, and to a later Principal, David Garratt. It also owes much to the efforts of Tracey Roberts who worked on the challenging Media aspects and costuming. A thank you to Jennifer Wright who stage managed and kept up people's confidence as they were fainting during the tech runs! I owe a personal debt to Brother James Maher who provided such gentle and yet critical prodding for the work to survive.


"Cathedral Song" is twenty one years old this year.


A number of cast members have requested a copy of the video. I can send a link to anyone interested. I can only express extreme gratitude for those who made this work possible and establish the Daramalan Theatre Company as a unique entity that was later to attract students to Daramalan and then encourage the genuinely critical and creative approach evident in the DTC work over more than two decades.


Joe Woodward


PS: you can read the script by purchasing here:

for a copy of the original video if you were a cast member, contact me at

joe.woodward@daramalan.act.edu.au

















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Writer's picture: JOE WOODWARDJOE WOODWARD


So much of arts practice and education calls for resistance to mounting emotional, physical and administrative pressure. The choice is to acquiesce or attack. Do we as practitioners, teachers, artists, students, members of the community or journalists and writers of influence simply retreat and acquiesce to the relenting attack of mediocre and reactionary charlatans, budding fascists and fearful conservatives and religious zealots when faced with threats to the very core of artistic and cultural integrity and being?


Think about it!

Arts teachers, theatre administrators, journalists, practitioners ... how many decisions made are the result of acquiescence to dominant political and social agendas and paradigms and how much of the decisions and creative activity is the result of stepping back and truly looking though the windows of cultural insanity and social straitjacketing? Be honest!


Is it really worth the effort? Or is promotion to the next level of egoistic elevation more significant as a determinant of artistic and educational decision making? Think about it!


How many theatre, dance and arts companies have disappeared once managerial acquiescence took centre stage?


Think about it!

If you would like more detail without my running the risk of a defamation charge, then contact me directly.


Joe W





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Writer's picture: JOE WOODWARDJOE WOODWARD

Updated: May 27, 2023


Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

Death and Dying in Life and Theatre


Cold tears shed for the dying of theatre: ie. theatre as real enquiry into the human condition and its ever present shadow! While theatre has always been an effective promotional device for whatever dominant social and cultural paradigm informs its particular and various application, it has also been a force for probing the cracks in the cultural psyche of an particular time or epoch. The tension between affirmation of particular dominant and/or emerging world views and alternatively the probing of contradictions within such paradigms or issues born of concerns from outside such paradigms takes a degree of courage and persistence. Chances are such probing will be marginalized and ultimately dismissed ... at least in the short term!

Mt Gravatt Cemetery in Brisbane and my Mother's coffin




Today I looked into the grave of my mother; the coffin nearly two metres into the ground. The flowers and dust were aptly thrown on to the box and inside were her decaying bones and flesh. In her last week on earth I fed her pureed food. Her shriveled lips met the spoon almost as if her lips were separated from her body. (23 May 2023)







We sometimes tell ourselves that our personal lives and our public lives are two different things entirely. The Marxian ideal that work and the personal need to be integrated so that Capitalist separation might be relinquished is an ideal that an artist can and should live and endure. It is an ideal that I try to live by and incorporate into my everyday existence. Nine to five is a firmly Capitalist bribe and lie that is used to seduce and manipulate the human soul and function. It is deception taken up by both Capitalist benefactors and Unions alike. There is a collusion between basic oppressor and oppressed to sustain a status quo where real human potential is suppressed and subjugated to the whims and will of Capitalist priorities and sustaining of a balanced ecosystem of compliant human ants. And so we are sold the proposition that work and family are separate entities that need different skills and different priorities to sustain a system of routine subjugation. And yes, it mainly works and Capitalism can claim victories in seeing the sustenance of humanity seeming to improve in the material gains of the past two hundred years. While the climate has taken a battering, Capitalism has at least stimulated technological advancement and engendered real challenge to superstition and the totally irrational willingness to lay down arms to the forces of religion and ritual sacrifice.


But today I looked into the grave of my mother; the coffin nearly two metres into the ground. The flowers and dust were aptly thrown on to the box and inside were her decaying bones and flesh. In her last week on earth I fed her pureed food. Her shriveled lips met the spoon almost as if her lips were separated from her body.


She died at the age of 98. Yet I can remember her from before her 30th birthday. I remember that energetic and dynamic human being who had dreams for us as a family and who drew on the power of her own childhood, her parents and her siblings. I am not eulogizing her here. I did that at her funeral in a church of family, close friends and colleagues.


... and I realise my theatre work and creativity is part of my love, my family, my ambition and my future. My writing, my theatre, my teacher are not separate from who I am ... they are me. Just as my children and grand-children and very close friends are me ... just as my beautiful mother is part of me though she lay dead in a coffin under the ground!


And I am nourished by that fraught woman who ran on to that football field as I lay there with a badly broken arm in 1967 and who was always with me when I was broken and destroyed ... Who inspired my first writing of "Timeless Merilda" in 1975 when I recalled a photo of her as a 12 year old child in the front yard of her Paddington home ... the echoes of her voice in my psyche and the frames of her years sit within my rooms and within my daily life as I pursue a mission within the cultural and social milieu ...


I have no tears; only the cold trails of tears that might not ever have been seen. I have no tears as the smug cold leather-faced artists smirk at my vulnerable and disintegrating influence. I have no tears ... I have no tears for the death of left-over vanity and egoistic embrace that once held such stifling force and injected fear within me. I look dispassionately at the lonely coffin at the foot of the grave as grey dust and flowers adorn its polished wood. I feel the warmth of mother's embrace embedded in every cell of my aging body. And I no longer care for the smirking judgement of the posturing clowns posing as artists as my critics circle like carrion over a desert kill.


The Sane Society and The Art of Loving

I accept that if anyone reads this essay, they will probably dispute my main argument; just as the smugnatist academics of the west have largely rejected the compelling observations of Social Psychologist and Philosopher, Erich Fromm. Fromm, in his "The Sane Society" written in the 1950s, suggests we might consider the symptoms of whole cultures and societies separated from their own natural human sources for spiritual and relational creativity. Whole majorities might thus become totally insane. The neurosis of individuals might well be cultural and endemic. And we might ask, "Is this the price of Capitalism?"


Perhaps we might pointedly ask this question of 2023 era Capitalism. Every day we see the results of human separation of work, life and simple relationship into compartmentalized segments that separate the personal from the experience of living. And then like observing the dog chasing its tail, society tries to assist the dog bight that tail rather than recognize the absurdity of the act itself.


The practice of theatre might well be a practice in the art of loving. The symbiotic relationship between the artist and the art is a love relationship. Separating this relationship into components that alienate the subject from its initiator is a potential cause for neurosis. But loving isn't affirming.


When love is confused with simply affirming some other person or thing then it is more likely to be coercion. Am I simply coerced into creating something to affirm my ideological or religious commitment or do I see the light and the shade with both and proceed accordingly with a sense of love? Is my art the source of my travelling or is my religious and ideological base the construct for my art?


I peer into the depth of the grave and wait a few moments or minutes and allow the immensity of the moment to sledge hammer my very existence with the notion of finality and what is real. For much of my life I have been playing. Now I feel at last the necessity of work. It took a while. And by "work" I don't mean business ... I mean exposing clutter and the extraneous that clouds the art of loving!


There is a kind of coldness in the tears that one sheds at various points in a life-time. It doesn't take long for the fluid trail from tears on one's face to turn cold; and turn icy. It is that coldness before wiping one's face that draws attention to one's very focused mission. Cold trails from heart-felt tears and the trails from tears that were never shed provide the necessary directions for one's intelligence metre!


I look around and it doesn't seem long before the insane society rears its obvious experience and my need to tap into the art of loving through creative inspiration and need takes form. As we realize the frivolous and irrelevant nature of much theatre, do we then give up and abandon the whole thing as a waste of time? Or do we persevere and seek something better; something more?












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