The complex structure places extraordinary demands on the actors, who rise to the challenge with finely judged performances. Silo Theatre’s commitment to challenging theatre is displayed with panache in a superb production of the play that gave birth to the ground-breaking Australian film Lantana. 

Playwright Andrew Bovell brilliantly deploys the intricate counterpoint and self-referencing variations found in Bach’s fugues, and Shane Bosher’s precise staging is finely attuned to the musical quality of the script. [More]

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Australian playwright Andrew Bovell’s more recent work When The Rain Stops Falling produced by the Silo in 2010 begins with a fish dropping from the sky to land at the feet of the main protagonist. That excellent play, set in the near future, concerns itself with climate change and environmental ruin, a wider global picture playing out around the disintegrating family relationships of the characters.

Speaking in Tongues is also concerned with relationships, but purely of those between men and women, with little of the wider world intruding. In the opening scene two couples occupy two motel rooms. All are married, but not to each other, and all are intent on committing adultery. Dialogue is quick and witty, with lines crossing over the top of one another and at times forming a chorus. [More]

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A potential powder keg follows us out of the theatre after witnessing Silo’s latest production of Andrew Bovell’s multi-layered and wildly poetic play. 

Right? Or wrong? How do we conduct ourselves emotionally, how do we bare our strengths, or more importantly our weaknesses to others? What binds us to some people but not others and how can fleeting moments between strangers reveal more about ourselves, our inner workings and maybe our more solid relationships than we thought possible?

These, and many more questions, theories and ruminations are the stuff of arguments, drunken brawls and darkened debate. Whether on the way home in the car, in the local burger joint or lying side by side in bed, I guarantee the majority of tonight’s audience feel compelled to discuss what this play is asking of us. And if not, then hey, that yells more about us than anything spoken.

Bovell’s script yearns to be discussed. It tracks several storylines, some going round in circles, others ending suddenly, while others hover in the air resting only in the final moments of the play. With each narrative I feel we are being asked to take sides, however when more than one character re-emerges in another situation tied by a similar theme, we’re aware that everyone is on both the right and wrong track. Whichever side we take, further down the line we could be wrong-footed. A script that changes your mind as often as every few pages, is a script I feel myself wanting to read.

Shane Bosher proves once again why he has led this dazzling company for so many years. His direction is crystal clear. Four cast members play nine characters with the narrative simple and pure.

John Verryt’s set design takes advantage of the Herald’s wide, open-ended stage, sectioning off distinct areas for focus and clarity. A simple but effective device towards the middle of Act Two gives the cast a refreshing new area to play in and, coupled with Sean Lynch’s startling lighting design, provides location, atmosphere and division. To my mind a contrasting sense of claustrophobia is set against a feeling that you can hide nothing, you are always on show, physically and emotionally. 

Fresh from channelling Billy Connolly in Anne Boleyn, Stephen Lovatt is controlled and nicely contrasts two roles that not only sit on both sides of the law but also the heart. One yearns to be loved and missed by his wife; the other has the love from his wife but goes looking for more.

Alison Bruce commands attention in her portrayal as Valerie with two outstanding moments of terrified paranoia, one almost ‘Hitchcock’ in effect as she flees from what she believes to be a threatening situation.

Luanne Gordon probably has the more difficult doubling to carry out, with both roles of Jane and Sarah similarly young, pretty and vulnerable. Whereas Sarah is unhinged though, Jane seems sweet natured and tender and yet it is this sweet character that brings about the downfall of one of the others. Wanting to do what’s best, she makes it worse, whereas Sarah knows exactly what she is doing and who she is hurting.

These nuances seep out of Gordon’s portrayal and slap more questions in our face – who’s to say who’s right or wrong?  And who’s worse, the one who does wrong but believes she does right or the one who knows she’s wrong but can’t help it?

Thoughts like these are relative and we are all left, no doubt, with our own interpretation and nagging thoughts – highlighting, once more, the deep texture of the writing.

Oliver Driver gives the first two of his three roles a sense of the underdog but a dog that loves to be kicked when down. John, the third character, has some guts to him: the intellectual, office boy whose rivers run deep. It is John who ties up some of the loose ends and through this we see he’s both in control and yet still a victim of his own life, love and wife. 

Quite a number of plays declare that they question who we are as people, a race and a world, but few rarely deliver. Bovell’s script questions not only who we are in relation to others but how we use those people and their own emotions, coupled with ours.

It seems our desire to love is coupled with our desire to be loved; if we give in wholeheartedly to one, the other must surely follow. But then what also follows is a vulnerability of being left wide open to hurt which feels like a weakness. Commitment to wherever you pin your heart, hope and faith can so easily seem like a weakness in achieving it, or a strength in resisting it. Each of must find our own way.

Speaking In Tongues is a tangle of emotional tightropes that demand to be walked and resolved within us. It is tense, highly theatrical and charged through and through with a pace and energy that belies an electrical undercurrent of desire, want and need.

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