Ever harmonised with your colleagues at work while frantically attempting to get the monthly reconciliation done on time? No? Then you’ve obviously never worked at Sisyphus, the company where your co-workers are choristers and crumpled paper falls from the ceiling, much to the dismay of the cleaner, Joy, played by Catherine Yates.

Joy is the heart of this play. Despite being seen as peripheral by the other characters, she is the most charming to the audience. Even in scenes where she is not the main focus, our attention is drawn to her amusing facial expressions which provide a silent running commentary on the office drama.

Dirty Work is both a feel-good comedy and an important social critique, but despite its underlying serious message it doesn’t feel didactic. The characters may cause the audience to cringe at times but they are generally well-intentioned. Their missteps traversing the barriers of class and wealth are used as fodder for jokes, drawing frequent laughter from the audience.

Overall the acting is brilliant, with a standout performance by Justin Te Honihana Pokaihau Rogers, who plays the wiggly-legged and conflict-averse Neil Drummond. Tessa Rao as Zara also does an excellent job of playing the part of the out-of-touch middle-class woman trying to be socially aware but unable to shake her entrenched prejudices. 

Kudos must be given to the local choir, who sing beautifully while arranged at desks in cubicles — a setting far-removed from the usual chorus line-up. As this is the first performance in Whangarei they’ve had no knowledge of the script beforehand and are guided by the music director Josh Clark — also hidden cleverly in a cubicle with a piano serving as his desk. Despite this they seem undaunted by their task and some are game enough to improvise some light acting, adding to the overall fun of the show.  

And of course, no Indian Ink play would be complete without at least one of the actors wearing a set of extra large teeth. The accompanying teeth-related gags are a fun nod to previous shows, and hilarious even if this is your first time at an Indian Ink production.

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[Apologies for the late posting of this review – an editorial error.]

While the hustle and bustle of the corporate world and late-stage capitalism spins us screaming inexorably towards a horrifying, unpredictable future, it is the unsung heroes of the world who keep things ticking. Not the CEOs, the board members, shareholders or general lackies in pressed suits and latest Apple iPhone 27 or whatever the heck we’re up to now…

No, it is the unseen, unappreciated background characters who really keep things moving. The bus drivers, lollipop people, nurses, orderlies and the cleaners who deserve the credit for putting in the really hard yakka. Which is where the delightful concept of inviting local choirs to become an integral part of Dirty Work: An Ode to Joy really shines through. Each performance showcases a group of local performers, joining the company actors on stage…

But here’s the twist, the local performers have been given a selection of songs to rehearse in the weeks leading up to the shows and nothing else. No context, no script, no idea what is going to happen on stage. Just songs, a cubicle and placing their trust in the creative team and actors. It is a joyous thing to behold, nothing quite like a little bit of mischief and mayhem thrown into live theatre to pique my interest.

The TSB Showplace is a sea of grey hair and bespectacled eyes for the 4pm matinee. The garish colors of the set are in stark contrast to the beige and cream mohair cardigans. Unfortunately, there are a few complaints from those seated near us that the performers were hard to hear and even for my relatively young ears it is a struggle at times. I’m sure that in a different setting the dialogue would have been much easier to hear. Perhaps a proscenium arch is not the right staging for a show like this. Personally, in-the-round or thrust staging would have felt a better fit. Perhaps it would have helped us to feel more connected, who knows?  

Immediately my eyes are drawn to the ‘fun’ workplace environment set up by Sisyphus head office: outrageous shapes and styles adorn the cubicles. “Organised chaos”, “colorful and childlike,” are hastily scrawled in my notepad before the lights dim and the gentle telephone hold music playing in the auditorium fades away. The often tacky and misguided attempts of corporations to engage with their workers are played up beautifully on stage. All it needs to really set the tone is a pizza party, ping pong table and a couple of bean bags to complete the ‘We’re not like a regular office’ vibes.

Amongst the swirls and blobs of clashing color are the drab, mundane early morning routines of the cleaner. Resplendent in a muted blue smock, three-quarter length jeans and sensible shoes she busies herself cleaning up after the masses. Singing to herself, somehow this island of blandness amongst a cacophonous sea of striking design is by far the most interesting thing to happen.

Wonderfully portrayed by Catherine Yates, the cleaner (Joy) is a classic low-class commedia dell’arte character. Instead of the commedia mask she wears false teeth with a huge overbite, another of Indian Ink’s signatures. As she distracts herself from the day-to-day by singing to herself, she is joined by the branch manager, Neil Drummond, played by Justin Rogers, coming in early for what he deems to be a huge day ahead. In keeping with the subtle nods to commedia dell’arte, his legs twist, he prances and bounds across the room.

Often, I find myself musing that his movements are like that of an interpretive dancer. Fluid, yet unpredictable. These movements really force home the concept of a young up-and-coming manager who has been on all of the leadership courses imaginable, and somehow melds everything together. He is trying too hard to be liked by the crew, but especially his team leader, Zara.

Here we see hints of another classical commedia character. Zara, played by the wonderful Tessa Rao, is young at heart but a traditionalist. Her links and fondness for family history and heritage form a driving force behind the storyline. The interplay between herself, the cleaner and Neil are captivating, however it is her flitting about the room and engaging with the choral members that I find most endearing.

Cleverly linking the Greek myth of Sisyphus, condemned to push a boulder uphill for eternity, to the imaginary company name is inspired. In fact the theme that the rat race, this imaginary ladder we are all supposed to be climbing is nothing more than a scam, just keeps popping up. The wonderfully astute observation from unseen CEO Vijay, voiced by co-writer/co-founder Jacob Rajan, that “The ladder isn’t straight. It’s curvy, and it joins up at both ends. It’s just a giant wheel,” certainly hits home hard with the impact it deserves.

The whole Covid conversation rears its ugly head throughout the performance: it’s ruining life plans for Zara; the unseen staff member Darren is working from home. The real dirty work here isn’t the picking up after grubby office workers, it isn’t the stressed-out manager trying to jolly his team along. The dirtiest, nastiest, filthiest work is the 9-5 grind; the fact that collectively, we have come to the realisation that we’re back to the millstone, after realising that after those long weeks of lockdown, actually we can function pretty well without needing to work ourselves to death. Yet here we are, back to being Sisyphus, just toiling away endlessly and for what? Or, more accurately for whom? For whom are we selling our souls, our lives? What are we missing and why?

Yet something here just doesn’t quite land as I would expect from Indian Ink, my wife and I leave the theatre feeling somewhat perplexed by what we have just witnessed. Personally, I find myself struggling to connect with the characters and storyline. The nods towards commedia are sprinkled throughout the performance, but could they have really leaned in to it by dragging the unsuspecting choir members and audience into the performance more often? There are certainly moments where this would have worked and perhaps the performers were trying to drag us there, but it just never quite landed.

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The latest show from award winning theatre company Indian Ink has an excellent hook: invite members of a community choir to be part of the on-stage action but only give them the songs to rehearse and some basic on-stage directions.

It’s clever and serves multiple purposes. On the one hand, it helps drive the narrative of Dirty Work, which explores relatable themes about the value of work and life on the office treadmill as well as well as deeper questions about class and privilege.

On the other, what a way to pack a theatre!

Some of the audience around us are obviously thrilled to see family members on stage, applauding wildly at the semi-improvised bits where people’s real names are used and whooping and cheering after the big numbers. It is a lot of fun being in the audience.

What unfolds is an hour and a half of performance that has a clear direction but also moments of randomness and uncertainty. There’s a fair smattering of overacting and breaking the fourth wall from keen choristers singing out to the audience, and a couple of moments of meandering that could be intentional, or possibly not?

But fear not, this is something the writers and performers are entirely comfortable with. In fact the ‘workers’ not quite knowing what they’re doing is pitched cleverly as being synonymous with much of everyday working life.

As always with Indian Ink there is huge depth in the research behind the show with references to the endless toil of Sisyphus and the absurdity of work, as well as the happiness contained within it.

There are three leads: Joy the cleaner (Catherine Yates), Neil the middle manager (Justin Rogers) and ambitious and competent Zara (Tessa Rao). The commanding and mellifluous voice of company owner VJ Kumari (Jacob Rajan) beams in via zoom, both a disrupting device and a thematic support.

The rest of the office is made up of members of Mosaic, an open access community choir based in Cambridge. Onstage they’re in their booths, keeping busy and of course singing the eight pieces they’ve been rehearsing, sans context, over the past few months. They’re cued in by Indian Ink Musical Director Josh Clark.

While the choir of workers doesn’t quite know what they’re doing, someone who does is Joy, our office cleaner. Direct, purposeful and pragmatic, she moves about the cubicles dealing with the daily mess, picking up after people and singing, hoping to bank just a little more minimum wage before rent day.

Yates is excellent as Joy and as her day unexpectedly collides with the business of the office, her character unfolds and her blunt observations are a wonderful foil to the flustering around her. Joy is also the vehicle for a subtle character mask, a feature of Indian Ink – in this case some prominent teeth that, along with her cleaning unform, set her apart.

Justin Rogers plays Neil, a high energy middle manager, surprised by an unexpected event and then tasked with an urgent demand from the boss. The script is delicious, full of marvellous, meaningless corporate buzz words. Neil is 100% across the bandwidth and maximising synergy, looping in and circling back as he leaps about the office hyping up the team and trying to manage his feelings.

I love the physicality of Rogers and there are some marvellous commedia touches as he unbalances gently on one foot, lifting and lowering his leg, reaching across and pulling back. Actions which seem at a glance to be rather purposeful but which are also quite meaningless. Neil doesn’t know what he’s doing either – brilliant!

Tessa Rao is excellent as Zara. Sporting a bright corporate suit, she is highly competent, problem solving and reassuring, but with hints of being more fragile than she makes out. Rao is dynamic on stage and the interplay between Zara and Neil is fun as they vacillate between emotional states. These changes in attitude are not always consistent for the characters but are heightened for the purposes of plot and theme, and serve to drive home a wider point. 

The show was written as a tribute to cleaners everywhere, people doing the ‘dirty work’ that must be done. Highly recommended. 

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Over dinner before attending Dirty Work, the newest touring show by award-winning New Zealand theatre production company Indian Ink, my husband and I discussed the overuse of cliché adjectives in anticipation of my writing a review of this show. Having seen all of the previous Indian Ink productions and having loved every single one, I was pretty convinced it would be a delightful show, but hubby said, “Delightful is such an over-used word, find a more specific adjective.” Assuming, of course, that Dirty Work would live up to our excited expectations.

So, it is a total testament to the quality of this show that the first thing my hubby says at its conclusion is, “You know what, that was delightful”. Yes, it was. It is witty, and beautiful, and brave on a gentle level, but it s more than that.

Dirty Work is a fascinating mix. It is simple yet hints at the profound, it is forward-facing and inward-looking, it uses pathos and empathy to lightly examine class-distinction, dissatisfaction, fantasy and mundanity. All in the most ordinary of workplace settings, a cubicled office, with the most common of characters, a cleaner, a manager and an office worker. Yet nothing here is ordinary, from the the flouro-coloured cubicles (set designer John Verryt) to the absolutely brilliant addition of a cast of local choir members who sing beautifully rehearsed songs but are otherwise untested and somewhat perplexed as to what is going on in the play.

It all could go terribly wrong, yet they are in safe hands, because the three cast members are masters and hold the show together … I have to say it again … delightfully.

Of the three, the office manager,played by Justin Rogers, is a stand-out for me, but really that’s just because of the flowing gracefulness of his movements – and a classic vacuum-cleaner gag – but all of them, Catherine Yates, Tessa Rao and musical director Josh Clark, are fabulous in their roles and presence.

Indian Ink has done it again. Dirty Work is delightful on all levels. I could go on for much longer about this show, but I don’t need to. You just need to go and see it.

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Given Hamlet’s claim that the purpose of playing is “to hold … the mirror up to nature: to show virtue her feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure,” how might theatre makers meet the challenge of putting contemporary office work on stage? After all a large percentage of our adult population work in offices, where virtue, scorn and pressure are daily experiences.

Roger Hall (now Sir Roger) cracked it 47 years ago with the phenomenally successful Glide Time set in the small back office of a government department where, as the title suggests, work-related pressure was not a major element. These days, large open plan offices rule and job-related pressure is ever-present.

The ingenious solution of the also phenomenally successful Indian Ink Theatre Company’s writers Jacob Rajan and Justin Lewis (also the director) is to cast four core performers in their touring play and, in each town, fill John Verryt’s colourfully cluttered office set with a local choir. A different one every night, what’s more! The 27 singers have not seen the script but have rehearsed eight songs* so they’ll arrive at their work stations as a genuine group of colleagues.

We will discover they work in the New Zealand office of an Indian conglomerate called Sisyphus, which suggests the form of the enterprise. Rajan’s programme note references Albert Camus’ essay The Myth of Sisyphus and his proposition that “the absurd lies in the juxtaposition between the fundamental human need to attribute meaning to life and the ‘unreasonable silence’ of the universe in response.”  

Dirty Work – An Ode to Joy begins in silence as an office Cleaner goes about her work. Wearing Indian Ink’s trade-make overbite false teeth in lieu of a mask, she is the classic low-status commedia character. There is minimal audience connection as she reveals the rubbish cluttering one work station in particular and it is we who feel scorn as she clears it away, quietly singing, “I’ve never seen a diamond in the flesh …” from Lorde’s ‘Royals’.  

When the Branch Manager, Neil Drummond, played with angular energy by Justin Rogers, arrives early to face the challenges of the “big day”, the pressure on him increases at the realisation that all the computers are missing. They’re being upgraded. His natural tendencies to fume, control and dominate are tempered by a fear of crossing the line with inappropriate behaviour. I’m guessing he’s had dealings with HR.

Team leader Zara, ebulliently played by Tessa Rao, is early too – as are all the Staff. Zara’s motivational spirit and judicious managing of Neil’s excesses could be seen as a virtue, even though she longs to be living the high life elsewhere, until – later in the play – she reveals a character flaw through an egregious case of class profiling.  

Meanwhile the CEO, V J Kumar, phones in his demands from a Hong Kong departure lounge, via live video to Neil’s laptop (which he always takes home to work overtime, so it hasn’t been taken by IT). We only hear Jacob Rajan’s unmistakable voice, traversing a range of moods from threatening insistence through friendly interest to philosophical introspection. I long to see his face as well, projected on the back curtains that represent the city office block windows.

We have to assume the Staff, whose desktops are hidden by dividers, are hard at work on the urgently needed material for the Board because Neil and Zara are contributing very little to achieving that outcome. Many office workers will see that as a valid dramaturgical choice.

I wonder, however, about the Cleaner being less than industrious in trying to complete her tasks despite the influx of early arrivals and despite her being invisible to them. Not only does she have to get to her next job but her partner, Gary, phones with an urgent problem that also requires urgent action – which gives us insight into who she is in the world beyond her cleaner role. Yet she too is obliged to ignore those compelling motivators in order to attend to the script’s other needs. Not that I’m arguing for naturalism, here – the commedia is powerfully driven by human wants, needs, fallibilities and vulnerabilities.

The play’s non-naturalistic conventions are underlined by the infusion of beautifully rendered choral singing at well-judged moments: Giacomo Puccini’s ‘Humming Chorus’, an excerpt from ‘Angels from the Realms of Glory’ (trad, arranged by David Willcocks), ‘Thileo’ (trad), ‘Mātangi’ (Rev. Wharetini Rangi, arr Romers Wiremu), ‘Something in the Water’ (Brooke Fraser, arr Penny Dodd), ‘Jai Ho!’ ( A R Rahman, arr Josh Clark – who is also the Musical Director and onstage pianist, clevery installed at a work station), ‘Ode to Joy’ (Ludwig van Beethoven, apapt. John Rosser – also Choral Adviser), ‘Royals’ (Lorde, ass Mark Rosser).  

Although not explicitly stated, I take this dimension to represent the way people offset the drudgery of their working tasks, as the Cleaner does in the opening sequence; as people do with bluetooth earbuds; as Justin Lewis attests in his programme note: “I love putting my headphones on and singing along when I’m cleaning the house.” The more the rhythm and mood of these interventions contrast with the intra-office dramas including a sense of actual work getting done, the better the onstage drama works.

If V J’s shift from demanding CEO to existential introspection signals to everyone that the pressure is off and preparing for the impending Board meeting no longer matters, I miss it. Nevertheless the sudden recognition of the Cleaner, the discovery of her name (hiding in plain sight), the unexpected twist that follows and the satisfying resolution on her own terms, deliver a heartwarming denouement.

I have great admiration for the craft and management skills implicit in bringing Dirty Work – An Ode to Joy to the stage. All the key commedia elements are there: strong character archetypes, serious misunderstandings, linguistic hijinks, physical misadventures, a touch of pathos …

What I’m wresting with is the unexpected objectivity with which I find myself observing it all; my lack of empathetic engagement with the characters and story. And that may be down to the nature of the Soundings Theatre space which is strangely unconducive to a rich live theatre experience.
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*For details on how the choirs are managed, see Production Details.

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The Cambridge Online Dictionary describes work as ‘an activity, such as a job, that a person uses physical or mental effort to do, usually for money’.

Maybe this explains why I’m up at 3.30am writing this – because it’s a job. It’s not just a job of course, not many people who are driven to engage in the performing arts in Aotearoa do it simply because it’s a job. Or for the money. Ask us why we are consumed by the need to ceaselessly produce work in, or on the periphery of, this brutal industry and you may get an articulate answer. You may not. Mostly you won’t, because what drives us is often the primitive and fundamental desire to make sense of our world and to enrich that understanding by putting it in front of others and asking what they think.

While important, this is not always a good, or self-sustaining, idea.

In a Spinoff article about Indian Ink, Sam Brooks – himself a sublimely talented maker of theatre work – describes the portfolio of outstanding reviews of Krishnan’s Dairy in these terms: “Those reviews don’t exaggerate. Krishnan’s Dairy is, hands down, the most successful independent show in New Zealand theatre history. It has toured nationally, and internationally, several times to sold-out audiences. It established Rajan’s company, Indian Ink, as a pillar of New Zealand theatre, and has brought thousands of patron’s joy, and more than a few tears.”

Tautoko that!

The company says of itself that “we aim to make theatre that is beautiful, funny, sad and true. We go to the theatre to be transported by a great story and to enjoy characters who live large in our imaginations. We want the experience to leave an indelible imprint on your hearts. That’s why we’re called Indian Ink!”

Tautoko that too!

My first experience of Indian Ink and its principals was in 2001 as Business Manager of the Maidment Theatre where season after season of Krishnan’s Dairy sold out. The audience demographic was impossible to track because it seemed everyone wanted a piece of this solo show about an Indian dairy owner. It was magic, and every show since has equally defied description. You think you know what you’re in for only to find that you were wrong and that being wrong was a very, very good thing. Dirty Work – subtitled An Ode to Joy – is no different and even the titles give a deceptive wink to what’s to come. Keep digging, it says, spade work is good for you.

The premise is rich in personal challenges. I can hear the conversation now: let’s do a piece about work and let’s set it in an office with the cleaner as the central character. Let’s call her Joy and the piece ‘An Ode to Joy’ – Schiller and Beethoven won’t mind – and let’s make it even more complex for ourselves by having a live choir onstage every night dropping a few anthems and let’s have them play office workers but not ever let them see the script. That should do it.’

And it does.

I can’t speak for anyone else but Beethoven’s ‘Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125’ lives in my collective memory as music I think I’ve always known. It’s a choral symphony and ‘The Ode to Joy’, which everyone will hum along to, is embedded as the 4^th Movement. What we often don’t know is that Schiller’s poem – which provides the lyric for the symphony – is intensely political. Beethoven was a great admirer of Schiller and “The Ode’s themes of ‘humans as free and rational beings and the sanctity of the brotherhood of man and peace” (as noted in Ireland’s National Concert Hall notes) closely align with Beethoven’s beliefs.

I might be overthinking this, but these themes also align with those of Dirty Work and history would suggests this music wasn’t a random choice but was chosen because of this alignment. Dirty Work: An Ode to Joy has all the hallmarks of Indian Ink’s best work, and tart and pertinent social commentary is always present in spades.

Lewis and Rajan are in great company, choosing ‘The Ode to Joy’ as a rasping, poignant, if oblique, social theme as it has been a protest anthem for decades. “Protestors in Chile sang it during a demonstration against the Pinochet dictatorship and Chinese students broadcast it from Tiananmen Square. Leonard Bernstein performed it on the Christmas Day after the fall of the Berlin Wall at a special concert in the German capital” where he changed to name from ‘Ode to Joy’ to ‘Ode to Freedom’. Indian Ink use it in 2023 to celebrate the life and work of an office cleaner. Most appropriate, and also good fun.

Yes, we have all this and a choir as well.

Dirty Work will tour a number of centres and in each a different choir will be added to the production. In Tamaki Makaurau we are privileged to have John Rosser’s Viva Voce and they are in fine vocal fettle enriching the story line with a range of celebratory anthems bouncing from Puccini’s ‘Humming Chorus’ to ‘Matangi’ to Lorde’s ‘Royals’ with its appropriately classy class-driven lyrics. The finale is especially moving, providing me with a two-day earworm well worthy of the work.

The text is fantastic: so many puns, double entendre, intentional miss-hearings, set ups for visual gags and lines that cut to the quick. On opening night, the first 15 minutes take time to warm up but once the cast hits their straps there is no stopping them and it is a race to the end that leaves us both sore from laughing and pained by the anguished way the plot evolves.

Joy, a nobody throughout, carries a storyline of poverty and struggle but equally she is the unashamed heroine of the piece, a worker who finds her voice and uses it. How often do we forget that our commercial cleaners know us sublimely well through the rubbish we generate even if we seldom ever meet them. Organisations – and sadly individuals – treat their cleaning staff like trash and it’s an appalling social ugliness that we seldom stand up against or even acknowledge. At my last workplace, the cleaners were banned from using the staff lunchroom because ‘they might pinch stuff, you know what those darkies are like’. They were reduced to bringing thermos flasks of tea and sitting on the stairs to eat their evening meal.

Dirty Work is what it says it is – “it turns the office on its head” – but it also isn’t always what it seems. There’s an overtone of Brecht in the use of music to underwrite the plot and to make statements otherwise beyond the reach of the actors and it’s uncompromising in its celebration of work for work’s sake. The programme names the actors – Catherine Yates, Justin Rogers, Tessa Rao, and Jacob Rajan – but not the characters they play which speaks volumes as well.

It’s a straightforward plot. An office full of largely anonymous workers support a larger offshore company by providing business-related (mostly financial) services. There’s a middle manager who we all recognise. He’s out of his depth, socially inept, and promoted well above his capacity to perform. He’s harmless enough, easy to ignore and most of the staff do, and he’s building an ulcer for himself while he struggles desperately to please everyone around him, in particular a youngish woman who seems to be 2IC in the office.

She’s glamourous and forthright and full of the learning she’s experienced during her solitary month in an ashram. She carries much of the ugliness the plot needs, she’s judgemental, needy, opinionated, and not in a good way. For all that, we quite like her because she still manages to be thoughtful towards Joy at key moments thanks to masterful scripting and an empathic performance.

There’s also the hint of an office romance.

Then there’s the office staff – who double as a choir or is it the other way around – who are mostly cyphers but with burgeoning personalities we grow to like.

And there’s the boss who makes contact via the manager’s laptop at the most inconvenient times and who throws curveballs of the most delightful sort at all the key characters and thus manipulates the plot in the most outrageous ways. On the way home I asked my son, who is an athlete and not an actor, who his favourite character was and he said it was the boss in the computer. He liked everyone else, but the boss was hard to beat, he said.

And there’s Joy, the ever-present Joy. She cleans and intersects with the plot driving it where necessary, and taking over when she needs to. She’s white trash North Shore Lorde in ‘Royals’ – “We count our dollars on the train to the party, and everyone who knows us knows that we’re fine with this, we didn’t come from money, we’ll never be royals, let me live that fantasy”. Like the song, Joy sticks in your head, reminding you to be kind to everyone you meet – especially the cleaners because, through your trash, they know exactly who you are. It’s a super’ self-deprecating performance and we love her breakout moment. The denouement is magnificent as is Joy and both must be experienced to be fully appreciated.

Is Dirty Work: An Ode to Joy entertainment? Yes, it is. Is it what it says it is, a comedy? Yes, it is. It’s driven by a delicate balance of plot, character, form and style in true Indian Ink fashion. It’s thoughtful, heart-warming, cringe-making and culturally challenging. It’s a night out that takes its own revenge.

Is it innovative and new? Yes. Is it difficult? No, but it’s like a river: you can boat on it or you can dive into it. The deeper the dive the greater the satisfaction. Is it internally challenging? Sure is, it’s like J and J have said how can we make this piece our most challenging yet? They’ve done that, and we are the beneficiaries. 

So, what’s with the music? Is it a musical? Yes, it is, but not in the traditional way, not West Side Story but with a wee touch of Brecht; Brecht but without the Pirate Jenny overlay. Soft Brecht, but with incisors at the ready.

Is it political? You bet it is. Every second Joy is on the stage is political … and she’s only ever off stage for a nanosecond.

Is the acting Brechtian too? Not really. These are fully fleshed out characters, real people. Splendidly preformed too by Catherine Yates, Justin Rogers, Tessa Rao, and Jacob Rajan.

I’ve said many times before if you want to do good work, work with the best people. How’s this for a list: Murray Edmond (Dramaturge), John Verryt (Set design), Jo Kilgour (Lighting design), Elizabeth Whiting (Costume design), Josh Clark (Music director), John Rosser (Choral advisor).

The best of the best.

Dirty Work: An Ode to Joy is also much more than the sum of its parts. It’s Indian Ink so it’s “beautiful, funny, sad and true. We are transported by a great story and enjoy characters who live large in our imaginations. We have an experience that leaves an indelible imprint on our hearts.” It’s more than the sum of its parts, yet it is also what it says it is. It’s a meeting place of great choices, and one of those choices is the genius of linking Dirty Work with the virtuosity of Lorde at her angry, working-class best. 

That’s very smart indeed.

In the row in front of me is the wonderful Sir Roger Hall. His work, at its best, has the same impact on me as this does: deeply political below a surface of fun; another deep river. I wonder, in the moment, what he was thinking. Like the whole theatre experience, ephemeral, and I’ll never know. And that’s OK too.

At the end of the show, I stumble into the foyer on the arm of my son, and there’s Justin Lewis on the microphone thanking everyone for coming, for supporting Indian Ink, working the room, the job still not done. I hope he gets time to enjoy his success. Once again, he’s earned it. Thoroughly earned it. In a theatre – Q Theatre – that he was instrumental in making happen. I remember that too.

Will Dirty Work: An Ode to Joy change the world? Probably not. But if it makes each and every audience member think a tad more deeply about class, about race, about work, about kindness, about empathy, about picking up after ourselves, about love thy neighbour, then it’s done its job. The messages are there, loud and clear. All we have to do is hear them and act on them. 

As we slip out into a cold, wet Auckland night I take a moment to appreciate the staff of Q Theatre. They understand what hospitality is and how to ensure every guest has the very best experience possible. Nothing is ever a bother. So very, very good. Quality service, like good theatre, doesn’t just happen. It takes time to evolve. Sometimes we just have to let things soak for a bit.

Seems appropriate, then, given the content, to give the penultimate word to Albert Camus since I started with him and his absurdist philosophies: “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” – good advice for every actor. And the final word to the late Glenda Jackson: “The best theatre is trying to tell the truth, and the best politics is trying to tell the truth.”

Tautoko that! 

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