Guttered | Restless Theatre
The double-edged sword of working in the “industry” (sounds a bit naff no matter how you put it) is that despite how much I thrive off engaging with art, I find performance can lose its novelty when its attendance becomes habituated and part of ‘the job’. Often, I find myself racing from work to arrive with parking induced stress and to-do-list spirals, five minutes before a show is set to begin. There’s hardly ever pre-show drinks let alone a pre-show dinner and, if you’re not going solo, then there’s just enough time for a quick cheek peck before finding your seat.
So, when I arrived at Restless Theatre’s Guttered, and was greeted with the question of “when was the last time you went bowling?”, I had to stop for a second. Considering this dance work was set at Kingpin Chermside, it wasn’t that the question came completely out of the blue. But like the alley-clad setting of the show itself, it felt like the question served to spark thoughts that were about more than just bowling.
Images: Atmosphere Photography
This was the first of many gentle invitations to connect, to participate. Alongside opportunities to ‘have a bowl’ with performers, audiences were engaged as official alley cheerleaders, prompted by placards to ‘cheer’ and ‘boo’ throughout the performance. At points it felt like these cards served as a means of reclaiming and reframing phrases that performers took issue with - like ‘cute’. It was in these moments that the neon sheen of Kingpin began to splinter, reminding audiences of the conversations behind the work; about how the personal dignity of people with disability is undermined, especially by those who might think they’re “doing the right thing”.
The bowling alley setting provided a foundation of shared experience. It’s hard to be immersed within the sights, the sounds, and the smells, without remembering that one birthday party in Grade 9, or that awkward first date. The choreography was incredibly clever in its feeding off of these shared understandings. In the opening sequence – one of my favourites of the piece – the performers heads became bowling balls, reverberating off one another and disappearing into darkness. Audiences giggled in that way that said “I know what you’re doing! I’ve worked it out!”. The choreography continued to interact with the setting, using these recognisable motifs as an entry point into the complex themes of the work.
At the beginning of the piece, we were handed a scorecard and instructed to mark the number of times we felt like a “winner” on a scale from one to ten. In answering this question, I was forced to ask myself a bunch of others, like, “how do I find this number?”, “how important is winning to me?”, and “what does being a ‘winner’ really mean?” This was a refreshing means of enrolment, encouraging audiences to be active, even if just for a moment. To work to find our own connection to a piece, before we sat there with open mouths, waiting with all our preconceptions and expectations for the art to be served.
Images: Atmosphere Photography
The company’s writings on the work mention “denial of the dignity of risk” as one of the central themes explored, a phrase which I hadn’t encountered before, but found so eloquently encapsulated through the metaphor of gutter guards and ramps. As a person without a disability, I felt myself reflecting on this idea of “well-intentioned help”, and the ways in which internalised ableism informs my everyday actions. I began thinking of incidents where I have most probably denied people with disabilities the opportunity to take risks, under the guise of “helping”. Whilst writing this, I scrolled past a post made by Meanjin creative powerhouse, Madeleine Little, that discussed the impacts of able-bodied people claiming ‘lived experience’ of disability just because of our proximity to a disabled person. Little introduced a term – ‘secondary lived experience’ – that I saw reflected in the physicality of Guttered, as I witnessed dancers becoming trapped within the embraces of those whose actions started out as affection.
Michelle Ryan, in collaboration with the company of dancers, has created a work that demanded more of me than just my attention at the end of the day. During most of the show, and for the majority of the time after, I’ve questioned my thoughts and feelings towards the production, working to analyse the lenses through which these have emerged. If there was a moment I felt disconnected, was this because I wasn’t seeing my lived experience on stage, or was it because of the work itself? Was I ever imposing my own interpretations of the narrative upon the dancers and their interactions with one another? The medium of dance made space for the physicality to represent more than just one story - as it often does in theatre - but it did make me question how much my lived experience shaped and skewed my understanding of what was unfolding in front of me.
Images: Atmosphere Photography
The soundscape, designed by Jason Sweeney, was my favourite kind of loud - successfully drawing focus within an operational bowling alley, whilst still embracing the sounds of the setting. Geoff Cobham’s vivid lighting design manifested the neon dreamland of alleys and strange TV animations, but at times had me questioning the necessity of performer’s rearranging of on-stage lights. I was enraptured, however, by a scene between Michael Hodyl and a small, illuminated bowling ball, that came to life and began dancing in and around the performers feet.
My biggest disappointment with the work lay in my own decision to not get up and bowl; to keep holding onto this thing that separates audience and performer. This discordance between the welcoming inclusivity of Guttered and my own hesitations to participate is the feeling that remains. It’s not only kept the work bouncing around my mind, but has forced me to question the ways in which I perpetuate ableist standards with the people around me, even if out of love.
