Cross-dressing with boys playing girls who then play boys was a feature of a number of Shakespeare’s plays. It would seem however that he was not the only one writing at the time with the same ideas.

A lesser-known contemporary of his, John Lyly, wrote such a play – Galathea – which TwinCity Productions have updated and titled Galathea: Into the Bush, the play’s themes lending themselves surprisingly well for today in identifying gender issues and how love knows no boundaries. [More] 

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Thirty years ago, New Zealand decriminalised homosexuality.  Four hundred years before that, a guy named John Lyly was writing fabulous and convoluted sex comedies featuring cross-dressing boys.  Enter Galathea: Into the Bush. 

This adaptation of John Lyly’s obscure comedy from the 1590s celebrates the range of gender and sexual identities.  Gone is (most of) Lyly’s onomatopoeic but impenetrable prose, though snippets of imagery remain.  Taking its place is a fabulous freedom of expression, vocally, physically, costumically (that’s a word, right?). And it has just the most fun, loving, and sexy damn time doing it.

Galathea: Into the Bush starts in Midland Park; a difference from the published start at the Public Trust Building.  We meet two sets of concerned parents: first Tityrus (Liam Kelly) and his daughter Galathea (Sarah Tuck), and then momma Meleba (Sabrina Martin) and Phyllida (Neenah Dekkers-Reihana).  They all live in a small town in ancient Greece (kind of; it also looks a lot like 1960s Wellington, or now). 

Long ago, the town fathers pissed off Neptune (Daniel Emms), who demanded that every five years they sacrifice the beautifullest virgin to appease his wrath. 

Both sets of parents are afraid their daughter will be sacrificed.  Each has the same idea to keep them safe: dress up their daughter as a boy and send her – or is it him? – into the bush to hide.  Once both kids are in disguise and wandering around in the forest, they – oh my gods! – bump into each other and fall in love. 

From here, the little drag kings are shanghaied by Diana (Brigid Costello), Goddess of the Hunt and Chastity, and their nymphs (Meesha Rose-Kipa, Zoe Joblin, and Madeleine Warren).  After Cupid (Aaron Pyke) mischievously intervenes, the nymphs also fall in love with these two beautiful boys.  Because, hey, it’s a romantic comedy, so why not?

This production cuts a tedious subplot about runaway apprentices in favour of an encounter with Trivia (Stephii Onassiss), fabulous drag queen, Goddess of Liminal Spaces (like entranceways) and firm but gracious guardian of her bush. 

As with most romcoms, the plot is really just there to set up encounters where people have ALL the feels.  The repetitive structure allows a whole range of reactions from a fantastic rainbow of perspectives.  Galathea: Into the Bush embraces the complexity of representation.  There’s no single token lesbian or representative twink.  So many characters defy simple categorisation, like the femme but agender and asexual Diana. Or characters find their sexual identity complicated by personal attraction, like their nymphs, the poor baby-dykes discombobulated by their sudden attraction to – gasp! horror! – men.  Or Phillida and Galathea, as they try to reason their way through a series of reactions about their mutual attraction to the adorable girly-boy next door, but does he feel that way, too?  It’s a beautiful fluid mass, overseen by Neptune’s swanky gaze.

The confusion is grounded in some bloody brilliant performances. Director Ania Upstill has a wonderful ability to build a strong ensemble and make the best use of every person onstage.  Sarah Tuck and Liam Kelly are at their best when talking to the audience, experimenting playfully to get us onside.  As Neptune, Daniel Emms and his glitter beard strut about the stage like it is his own personal catwalk, posing at odd angles and flicking his contempt away from his manicured fingernails. 

Costello’s Diana is beautifully physically drawn; this hunter’s arms extend from their shoulders like bent twigs, legs perpetually ready to spring to the chase.  Sabrina Martin squeezes every possible joke out of her roles, first as Phillida’s mum, and even more memorably as Hebe, the backup sacrifice and third-most-beautifullest virgin.  Her final scene as Hebe is a fucking feminist war cry that makes me want to riot.  And Neenah Dekkers-Reihana delivers another versatile performance, full of exquisite comic timing and moments of surprising tenderness.

Mad, mad kudos to Declan and Sharon Callaghan for their excellent costumes and the uncredited genius who did this show’s makeup.  The costumes embrace the wonderful and strange, from Venus’ (Keagan Carr-Fransch) flamboyant James Brown-esque cloak over a slinky corset and halter-top to Neptune’s sparkly pants. 

Lucas Neil’s set design balances multiple demands on space.  The main performance takes place in the Grand Gallery of the Public Trust Building, a beautiful Edwardian hall that looks like a set for one of the dances in a Jane Austen novel. It’s a sprawling, impressive space, broken up by sturdy columns.  Neil’s design draws the audience’s attention in, first to an astroturf green, but with Neptune’s half-shell platform behind.  It focuses attention in a space that could easily overwhelm the action.

The show is most engaging when I feel close to the actors, physically and emotionally.  There are a couple of pre-filmed scenes, and the A/V elements are … rough.  The poor execution and sloppy integration to both the set and action pull me away from the beautiful dance party that is Galathea. 

The show was developed with the participation of the LGBTQ community, and the care pulses through the show at every moment.  Galathea: Into the Bush truly feels like a celebration of diversity, and of all the messy, silly, stupid, important things people do for each other when they care about each other.  Its biggest call to action is a call to love.  In Venus’ words, “Love conquers all things but itself.”  And I am so grateful the makers of Galathea: Into the Bush shared their love with me.

Conflict of interest disclaimer: I have worked with many of the people involved with this production.  However, I was not involved in this production.  Wellington is small, guys. [Also Shannon is very familiar with the original text, having directed it herself overseas – ED.] 

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