Review: Polar Bears

An astute examination of the struggle of human relationships to survive – even when constricted by the invisible shackles of emotional bi-polarity.


Dir. Cate Kelly
Prod. Emily Elderfield

****

The portrayal of mental illness on stage often verges on melodrama. The audience usually sees internal fragility represented by over exaggerated character traits, naively assuming all mental illnesses are synonymous with wild psychoses. However, Kelly’s rendition of Mark Haddon’s Polar Bears was an astute examination of the struggle of human relationships to survive – even when constricted by the invisible shackles of emotional bi-polarity. The performance was a peculiar blend of gentle humour, philosophical debate and human tragedy. From the first scene of the non-linear narrative, the audience was invited to trace the erratic progression of the characters, leading up to the fateful conclusion initially presented in the very beginning.

The figures in this play are essentially character types: our unstable aspiring artist as our female protagonist; her balanced counterpart, a philosophy professor, salvaging her from her darkest moments; her lonely doting mother, withered by the trials of past grief and monitoring the welfare of her daughter; her self obsessed, careerist brother, devoted to enforcing his status as alpha male; and a timid former flame, thrust back into the midst during a lapse in judgement. Although types, each actor played their role with genuine humanity. Grace, as the fluctuating lover, captures her character’s internal struggles with subtlety and respect. Instead of a physical performance, her shifts towards depression are conveyed with a look or a change of vocal register, successfully making us believe in her situation. Kerr has the challenge of supplying some comic relief within a generally depressing subject matter. As the obnoxious, materialist-minded brother, each line is delivered with absolute self-assurance, encapsulating the arrogance of a high-flying businessman. However, again, amidst this tragedy, he is not simply a Shakespearian clown. As his character evolves, gaining some three-dimensionality along the way, we are encouraged to believe in his abrasive nature, a temperament moulded by an absent father and delicate sibling. All the performances were played brilliantly, but it was the central sibling-dynamic that afforded the play its greatest emotional resonance.

Apart from the direction of the central performances, another token of Kelly’s success was her effective use of the stage. The Barron Theatre is woefully difficult to transform into a convincing fictional space, yet through utilising several multi-media platforms, the audience was forced to forget about the ever-present living room scenery. A monologue, in which our protagonist recounts the tale of a young girl and her monster, was beautifully accompanied by a series of illustrations projected onto the back wall, granting us greater access to her psychological state but also bestowing us with a unique visual treat, seamlessly coordinating with the dramatic action. Lighting was equally used to great effect, outwardly projecting inner emotional dispositions, but also assisting in furthering the theatrical deceit that the action was taking place amidst different times and locations.

The only weakness of the play resulted from the source material. Haddon’s episodic narrative, chronologically fluctuating, strives to mirror the erratic nature of our protagonist’s depression, but instead hinders consistent narrative cohesion. Mild criticism aside, this was a sophisticated and poignant production, exhibiting the volatility of love and the self-inflicting wounds that must be endured to sustain it.