A wharf shed may seem an unpromising theatrical venue, but Shed 40 is an inspired choice for the Fortune’s latest production. Inside, and not just on the stage, the place seems full of junk, mostly dating from the 1950s when the play is set.

Now 54 years old, The Caretaker, set in damaged London, has become an historical piece. At the same time, in an era when homelessness, under-treated mental illness and neglect of marginalised people are too common, this postwar classic seems distressingly modern.

Directed by Lara Macgregor, the production is a triumph, the actors brilliantly observing the rhythms and cadences of Harold Pinter’s disjointed, surprising dialogue and its moments of caustic humour.

All three are superb: Ken Blackburn as the manipulative, wheedling scrounger Davies; Kip Chapman as Mick, unpredictable and frustrated, who may or may not own the room that is the play’s contested territory; and, perhaps especially, Jason Whyte as his brother Aston, obsessive and mildly demented. His long speech at the end of the second act, in which he describes psychiatric treatment that has left him permanently disturbed, is horrifying.

The play depends on the creation of an air of menace and insecurity, and this is achieved not only through the actors’ skill and the squalid setting but also by lighting and sound, notably the use of unshaded light bulbs and the sound of water dripping into a bucket.

Saturday night’s capacity audience was enormously appreciative. A word to the wise: do not let reports of cold in Shed 40 put you off. Forget glamour, wear your warmest and take a cushion and a blanket. It’s well worth it. 

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“Well?” I ask anxiously.  My illustrious guest was actually present at the first production of this classic Pinter play in London, 1960.  How will the Fortune compare?  I feel a surge of parochial pride when she replies, “They’re every bit as good. Excellent, really excellent!”

I myself cannot imagine a more disturbing and memorable theatrical experience than this, staged as it is in a chilly, derelict warehouse right on Dunedin’s waterfront.  Certainly I have never felt such empathy for the homeless; I applaud the Fortune’s initiative of collecting donations of blankets to be passed on to the local Night Shelter Trust.  This is truly immersive theatre, with the audience, warned to dress warmly, clutching hotties and flasks, huddled into shabby old armchairs frighteningly close to the action.  It succeeds brilliantly.  

Lara Macgregor (who also directed a gloriously bizarre production of Beckett’s Play off-site, as a gift to last year’s Festival) has made the most of the fascinating venue – Shed 40 on the waterfront – choreographing her actors imaginatively for the space, and inspiring her production team under Lindsay Gordon to new heights.  This must have been quite a challenge without the usual amenities of the theatre. 

Peter King has designed a set that is so convincing one might suspect squatters were bribed to let the theatre in.  Everywhere are precariously balanced piles of hoarded rubbish that “might be worth a bob or two”.  Two iron bedsteads are buried somewhere beneath, and there’s a small statue of Buddha. The detail in the items of junk is impressive, as it is in the costumes designed by Maryanne Wright-Smyth, from the shabby layers of Davies the tramp to the sleek leather jackets of wide boy Mick. 

Lighting designer Marty Roberts’ unmistakeable genius is apparent in the way the light is convincingly filtered through the grubby windows, changing subtly with the time of day.  The slanted lighting lends an ominous aspect to the play, as do the teetering piles and the bucket suspended from the artfully constructed ceiling. 

In many ways The Caretaker is quintessential Pinter Comedy of Menace: a small group of people trapped in a room manipulating one another while battling a malevolent universe; the absurdly humdrum and repetitious small-talk exploding into wonderful flights of quasi-philosophical language.  Macgregor emphasizes the irony and black comedy (it is surprisingly funny) while offering an absorbing study of characters and the power-play within relationships.  The ambiguity of these relationships keeps us alert, our sympathies shifting constantly. 

Davies (the eponymous caretaker) is a homeless old tramp, offered shelter by Aston, in what it transpires is the property of his entrepreneurial brother, Mick.  Gentle Aston is the elder but has been damaged by his experience in a mental hospital and now hoards stuff while doing odd jobs for Mick.  Davies is determined to make a niche for himself if he can, and it seems Mick may offer him a job as Caretaker, but Mick is a game-player with his own agenda. 

The three fine actors are utterly convincing, handling working class British accents and unorthodox acting space with equal aplomb.  They develop intriguing yet credible relationships with each other, Davies trying to play one brother against the other, while Mick treats Aston with a mixture of exasperation and fraternal care-taking.

As Mick, Kip Chapman is taut and scary: charming when he chooses but with the barely reigned-in energy that might easily erupt into violence.  Chapman moves with a fluid grace that keeps the threat alive even when he seems friendly.  With his insanely logical riffs he runs rings around Davies: “You wouldn’t be able to decorate out a table in afromosia teak veneer? Christ! I must have been under a false impression!”  

Jason Whyte is sincere and touching as the kindly, ineffectual Aston, his hands continually occupied with his handyman tasks.  His defeated, slumped body is at poignant odds with his strangely intense verbal delivery as he fixates on some obscure point: “I can’t drink Guinness from a thick mug.” Although some words are a little muffled, Whyte is heart-breaking in the climactic monologue that makes a spell-binding ending to the first half. 

My mother, who thoroughly enjoyed an extract of the play at the Fortune’s Public Library reading, later completely refused to recognise the scruffy tramp in the charming, urbane Ken Blackburn.  The veteran actor has certainly adopted the mannerisms of wily Davies to perfection: shuffling and rambling, Blackburn makes the role his own. One moment we are repelled by his scheming and his xenophobic ranting, then our pity is stirred again by his forlorn situation and pathetic attempts at dignity.  From the start Blackburn relishes the humour, warming the audience with his indignant: “I’m clean…That’s why I left my wife… I took the lid off a saucepan, you know what was in it? A pile of her underclothing, unwashed. The pan for vegetables, it was. The vegetable pan.”

Although thankfully the pauses are kept to a minimum, the poetic rhythm of Pinter’s dialogue is never lost in this production, which is one of the most pleasing aspects.  Nor is this Caretaker as brutal as some I’ve seen: in fact I’d describe it as compassionate.  Perhaps that is because the issues raised by the play are so relevant to today.  It is only a few weeks, after all, since a homeless man in Auckland was beaten to death by a seventeen year old boy. 

The right time, therefore, to mount what really is a remarkable production of a play that absolutely everyone should see.  (Certainly all the Drama and English NCEA candidates! Perfect material for the exams!)

Harold Pinter said he considered The Caretaker “a very straightforward and simple play” that what happens “could happen anywhere, at any time, in any place”.  New Zealand right now seems to me a place that is struggling with the same issues as Pinter’s characters: poverty, inadequate health systems and homelessness.  When the play was first presented it helped radicalise the very conservative theatre scene of the time.  If only this courageous production could have a similar effect on our own social scene.  At least the blankets will be welcome at the Shelter!

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