Firing Line is as it bills itself: a “multi media, multi dimensional exploration of WWI and it’s [sic] impact on the people of Palmy North”.

Richly symbolic and hauntingly resonant; the show explores ideas of identity and recognition, along with society’s mixed response to war and the returning soldiers who embody it – physically, spiritually, and psychologically. I say mixed as this response is equal parts driven by duty, pride and ethics, and embittered by loss, grief and anger. This is captured in the story through the claims made on the life of a returned serviceman. Whether as brother, husband or son, the people left behind are shown to be desperate for anyone to fill the lack left in the wake of loss. 

This exploration is conveyed not only through dramatic performance but also musical composition, song, film, installation, storytelling and vaudeville. The result is akin to a dream – vivid, complex, yet brief. This and the inclusion of vaudeville underscores a socio-psychological turmoil, a Carroll-esque dilemma as the central character ’Jack’ tumbles down into the trenches.

An ambitious collage given that Firing Line is approximately 45 minutes long and performed in promenade, it is accomplished with a well-formed cohesion and completeness that belies its brevity.  

I never know quite what to expect with promenade theatre – being outside of a controlled space brings with it a number of additional challenges, requiring the show to respond to its environment and audience more generously.  The acting is pitched for the outdoors, but maintains nuance and polish well. On the whole the ensemble feels alive, the chorus inviting and a touch otherworldly. In spite of his silence thoughout the action, Cam Dickons’ Jack is emotively alive and expressive; Sarah Angland’s Kate has an earnest presence that commands attention; and Zak Rodgers’ Leonard shows dignity and sincerity even as doubt is cast on his beliefs. 

Despite lacking the budget of larger productions, Firing Line has a visual authenticity that draws together its central cast. NZ military greens, vintage outfits, antiques and memorabilia firmly locate the show as a part of our history and our community. The Chorus (ANZAC red satin-clad sirens) stands apart but is still visually integrated both through colour choice and iconic poppies.

The result overall is visually captivating: with careful positioning to make the most of outdoor acoustics, heads turn and passers-by are drawn along for the show. The inevitable sight-lines dance is a given, but you’re unlikely to face out-and-out jostling for position and the blocking [i.e. positioning] accommodates us fairly well.

It goes almost too quickly but serves wonderfully as an opening to the Palmy Fringe.

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