Thirty years ago the Campbell family lost a fierce fight against the Clutha Dam development in Central Otago, and their family home and orchards were flooded in the name of progress. It bred a family legacy and a steely mistrust of the government. Now the family have reunited on the shores of Lake Dunstan for a new battle: millionaire William Campbell’s Investment Company, under investigation by the Serious Fraud Office, has collapsed. People are calling him a crook. He wants to clear his name and his reputation.

Trees Beneath the Lake has the bearing of a significant state-of-the-nation drama. It’s not overtly political (and it’s just as much a state-of-the-family) but it articulates a response to the turbulent few years of this country’s history. The GFC and the collapse of many financial companies and the loss of nest eggs for many New Zealanders, but perhaps also the attitude that comes with having an exchange trader as a prime minister, all reflected through the deceptive blue of a man-made Otago lake. Arthur Meek’s play, partly written in New York on the Harriet Friedlander residency, takes stock of where we are. [More]

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Family farm a claustrophobic setting for look at fraud and the world of high finance. 

The fraudulent world of high finance has furnished plenty of high-stakes drama in recent years but the quintessentially Kiwi protagonist of Arthur Meek’s new play is a far cry from the Wolf of Wall Street.  His self-effacing cunning might earn him a modest notoriety as the Weasel of Clutha Valley.

Michael Hurst’s portrayal of a despicable conman is a finely nuanced performance, particularly when seemingly genuine attempts at human decency are revealed to be calculated moves to manipulate members of his own family. [More]

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The world-premiere of a new work by somewhere-between-emerging-and-established local playwright Arthur Meek explores issues across the spectrum of modern life, from struggling individuals to the mighty yet fragile world economy. 

Centred on a small family reuniting after a long time apart in Lowburn, Central Otago, they recall their historical battle with the government decades before over the construction of Clyde Dam, which eventually caused their apricot orchard to flood and gave the play a title.  Pervading the entire narrative – as it does all our lives whether we’re conscious of it or not – is the all-encompassing scope of global financial marketing.  

With his exemplary cast, director Simon Bennett presents a well-realised, skilfully performed, recognisably small-town Kiwi family, persevering in their typically wry manner to address the issues at hand. 

The play opens with a fourth-wall breaking pitch by one investment consultant type capitalist hotshot William Campbell (Michael Hurst), emphatically selling his commitment to the hard-earned dollars of his clients as he gambles them on high-risk stock options.  The ostensible veracity of William’s oily patter has an intense quality that is quickly diffused as he returns to his childhood home to defend himself against embezzlement charges.  

Catherine Wilkin plays matriarch and benevolent dictator Nieve Campbell, devoted mother of the prodigal William and long-suffering grandparent of the stereotypically teenaged Ross, William’s son, a comic highlight due to the expertly obnoxious performance of Leighton Stichbury in his professional debut.  Nieve’s supposedly stalwart principles include never taking a sick day off work and an intolerance to swearwords as innocuous as “freakin’’ and “hell”… at least until push comes to shove.  

Theresa Healey is William’s wife and Ross’s mother Jennifer, who from the first seems overly protective and uptight, entirely at odds with Nieve’s less conditional lifestyle. Jennifer’s personal journey possibly has the biggest arc, as she begins to review her own motives and abilities after a lifetime of being caught in the middle, toeing the line. 

Peter Hayden brings the highest percentage of tangible gravitas as lifelong family friend and neighbour Tom, retired QC.  With an obvious soft spot for Nieve, whose own husband, Ross senior, died long since under circumstances brought into question, Tom is torn between his loyalty to her brood and his wavering trust in William. 

Arriving with William is rookie lawyer Ruth (Brooke Williams), hired at no cost to represent him.  Another source of mirth, Ruth’s competence is undermined greatly by her own nervous disposition, causing her to say things she’d have been shrewder not to.  Somewhat unsure of herself, being the only true outsider in the story, Ruth is barely given the chance to prove her potential worth as the proceedings are impatiently railroaded from her grasp.  Her recent secret night of indiscretion with William doesn’t help any. 

Tracey Collins and Rachael Walker’s outstanding set design is a visual delight, with its irrationally sloping floor space compensated by remarkably level furniture. There are five or six distinct levels including bedrooms, kitchen, living space and an outdoor ramp area looking out towards us over the eponymous lake, which I suppose makes the audience the drowned trees.  That would make the tremendous gnarly old lone apricot tree our sole surviving descendant, looking down from upstage centre upon all the goings-on. 

Phillip Dexter’s lighting makes great use of the eclectic shapes the set provides, showcasing various Southern-style dawns, days, dusks and nights upon it. Meanwhile Jason Smith’s original dramatic score belies the comparatively shallow performances, weaving its ethereal magic around the dramatis personae as ensuing events cause each of their worlds to unravel irreconcilably. 

Entertaining and clever as far as it goes, Trees Beneath the Lake has plenty of scope to go far deeper emotionally.  The promotional release’s claim to being “urgent, relevant and dramatic” isn’t really delivered to the degree I infer from the statement. It falls short of its potential to be compared with the brooding intensity of Bruce Mason or Arthur Miller, the script and production echoing more of the witticism-centric stylings of Roger Hall or Neil Simon. 

I feel that a story touching on so many dark themes – fraud, infidelity, suicide and more – ought to move me to tears at some point, but it somehow fails to connect at that level.

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