When I texted my friend to coax her to see Eight Gigabytes of Hardcore Pornography with me, she replied, “Um it’s not weird is it?” 

Not really. Bronwyn Bradley and Mark Wright’s characters do have some rather weird predilections. She’s a compulsive spender, but keeps $4000 cash under her pillow in case intruders invade her home in the night. He’s the porn addict, staying up blurry-eyed in front of the television till his wife goes to bed at 1am, and his favourite time of the day begins. Weird stuff. He wants an affair, she wants someone to cuddle her. They both yearn for connection. That’s not weird. Eight Gigabytes is an honest and up-to-date take on a uniquely 21^st century response to desperate loneliness and an aching lack of fulfilment. [More]

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There is a fine line between playwrights providing what is necessary outside of dialogue for practitioners to convey the meaning of their story, and prescribing the text because they cannot see it any other way. On one hand, theatrical theories, conventions, and practices can shift dramatically over the years, leading to limited explorative opportunities for future practitioners. On the other, it can severely diminish or even conversely alter the entire perspective to which the playwright wishes to adjust an audience. Regarding, Eight Gigabytes of Hardcore Pornography, playwright Declan Greene clearly believes the latter, so much so that not only is it a condition of the play’s licencing, but in the case of Silo Theatre’s production has warranted a written note to be provided to the audience – which has in turn resulted in a response by Silo Theatre themselves. The response does not provide justification – and is therefore unnecessary – and the production should be left to speak for itself. The irony, however, is that Greene’s note, without including Silo Theatre’s response, provides more drama to the evening than anything he’s written in the play to which the note itself refers. [More]

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Silo Theatre affirms its commitment to edgy, disturbing drama with a recent work by award winning Australian writer Declan Greene.

Despite the provocative title the show does not feature any pornographic material but offers a raw, funny and often poignant vision of two lives unravelling under the self-destructive logic of compulsive addictions.

For the female character this means credit-fuelled shopping sprees while the male turns to online porn for brief moments of respite from his bleak existence. [More]

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I often wonder whether the saying that babies pick their parents is true. Having not had children I can’t say for sure. I ponder it today as I write this review as, in reflecting on last night’s play, I muse that the plays I see as a reviewer for Theatreview pick me. Let me tell you why.

We arrive into the auditorium, which is filling fast for the first night of Declan Greene’s Eight Gigabytes of Hardcore Pornography. The usual Auckland theatre glitterati are here; they always make for good watching. Next to me a woman is loudly discussing the issue of nudity and the playwright’s rather sulky note, which has been left on each seat. It sounds much like she and her friend know the playwright. Good for them, though it’s all very twee and quickly becomes inconsequential …

I am too focused on the almost whale song-esque soundscape of human, first world noise that the composer and sound designer Paul McLaney has put together. It is a seamless match for the set, which to me resembles sheets of thick ice, under which the two players – Bronwyn Bradley and Mark Wright – dwell, busy with their little actions. I feel like although they are there moving and watching and sitting and standing right there on stage, they are invisible; to us and to themselves.

It strikes me that this whole opening gambit is another perfect match for Rosabel Tan’s article in the programme notes’ description of this play: “Unflinchingly honest, bleak as hell and devastatingly funny…”Yes, this is what I understand my partner and I are going to watch unfold: a couple of pretty ordinary characters, with pretty ordinary lives; an IT porn junkie and a debt-laden nurse, raising two kids. LoL. I am fascinated; I think my partner is a little confused. 

What unfolds is far from ordinary.

So we meet The Man (he is fat and white and boring) and The Woman (she is fat and white and boring too). They go about explaining, almost justifying their tiny, little lives. They have neither self-esteem nor self-importance and less than no self-awareness; both looking to fill gaps in their lives, either with material possessions or good, hard orgasms in the small hours of the morning. One thing is for sure; there is a little bit of all of us in these two train wrecks.

What starts as a rollick for one and all, with guffaws flowing thick and fast as if we are watching slapstick, soon progresses into pained and sporadic laughs, jerking from us, for a reason I know all too well. 

Having spent twenty years in front of crowds making them laugh, I know that the best comedy is tragedy; people laugh for three reasons: because they have been there, they know someone who has, or what they are laughing at is their worst nightmare. I have learned that there is a VERY fine line between what is a rollickingly funny take on human foibles and the dark, miserable, grief-inducing reality check of hard, ugly, REAL life.

Declan Greene has nailed it. In the age of ‘Reality TV’ there is some kind zeitgeist for ‘reality’ entertainment. But play this is not ‘reality’, this is real. 

I commend Greene’s prowess, especially for one so young. He has really got inside the collective head of society’s median, and runs the length of the continuum both ways. This is not easy … that old chestnut ‘write about what you know’ is true, so I wonder how he can know all this. His insight is a gift, he needs to take care that he doesn’t abuse it.

The thing is that whilst I hold Greene in some reverence, I have to stand in applause for SILO Theatre for taking on EGOHCP; big challenge here, for if this play was done wrong … oh dear, oh dear. Here is a challenging script and a delicate, universally disturbing subject matter, which must be directed well, and played by the best of players.

Laurel Devenie has the makings of a master of sensitive, well thought out direction. She will go a long way.

The most praise must be saved for Mark Wright and Bronwyn Bradley who absolutely do not miss a beat. They are synchronized, they are smart, and their faces are better dressing than their costumes or the simple, bare set. Bradley and Wright transcend talented, showing their maturity as actors as they work within and outside of each other with ease, which is beautiful to watch and very, very necessary. I am in no doubt that these two have been cast perfectly in their roles.

The Man (Wright). He is a schmo. So why do I feel so desperately sad for him? Why does my heart feel so squeezed? Why do I hold my breath and hope for The Man? I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with sympathy and everything to do with the recognition of similarities in his situation with a couple of men I know… 

And The Woman (Bradley). Exasperating! She needs to know when to say “When”. Hers are classic addiction behaviours. She needs to get a grip. But instead of wanting to slap her, I want to hug her. I feel like in doing so she will feel my simpatico and that might be enough to wake her up and turn her around. Or perhaps I want to hug her because I recognize what she is doing, how she is feeling. The initial anger I feel towards her, I realize, is more an anger at recognizing myself in her…  

In a play where there are no extravagant pieces of set whirling in and out, no arresting music or flashy costume changes (both stay in the same costume throughout, except for Bradley’s one shoe change). There is NOWHERE to hide so the actors must be gritty, selfless and trusted to deliver at the highest level of ability.

Big job I reckon, for when an actor has to chew up, process and deliver such richly mined insights into aspects of life which are manifest in all of us, great care must be taken. I think the actor has a duty to keep us audience folk inside the work until the very last beat and breath. In this instance, by God, these two have excelled. Wright and Bradley give wings to very earthbound issues. If this play was solely being judged on their strong, convinced performance I would insist you see this show.

As the play ends I feel like I have been sitting inside it for the duration, having an open dialogue with the characters. On the drive home I am racked with questions; scribbling notes about the performance is usually very easy post-show, not tonight. My brain is too busy answering all the questions that tonight’s performance has thrust up for me.

I’m not going to tell you the story or suggest its audience. It sounds corny but in this instance, in Eight Gigabytes of Hardcore Pornography there truly is something for everyone.

I thoroughly enjoyed the show, and I do urge you to see it. It is very good. I also utter caution your way however, you will need to wear your big boy/girl pants to this one. The mirror is very large and certainly harsh, and it is focused right at the soul of things. 

Bravo.

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