There’s real magic in the moment after the house lights go down and the stage lights go up before a play begins. There’s a concert of rustled movement that slows and stops as we find our silence and attention and tune in together.
In The Spare Room, Belvoir’s new adaptation of Helen Garner’s 2008 novel, that small ritual becomes electric. Helen – played by the indomitable Judy Davis – watches us prepare to watch her, waiting us out until we settle in. She finds the first perfect moment of silence, nods, says “Right,” and the play begins.
This keen noticing is key to Garner’s writing, and the backbone of this stage adaptation. The novel, a slim and spare wonder of prose, charts the three weeks our protagonist Helen plays host to her friend Nicola, visiting Melbourne for an intensive “alternative treatment” she believes will cure her cancer. At every step, Helen is there to witness, take notes, and try to make sense of this new, death-tinged world.
As Nicola (Elizabeth Alexander, serene and softer-edged) clings to her faith in her increasingly dubious treatment and refuses to acknowledge her terminal diagnosis, Helen’s ferocious love and deep-welled fury are our guides through this story of care, conflict and the intimacy of dying.
Close relationship studies are often at the heart of contemporary theatre, so it’s no surprise that Garner’s novel has found its way to the stage (and in more ways than one: last year, Monstrous Theatre held its second developmental workshop of an opera based on the book). Director and adapter Eamon Flack has built his career, in part, on adaptation, notably finding contemporary heartbeats in Ibsen and Chekhov. As Belvoir’s artistic director, he has curated a run of theatrical seasons that dive deep into ideas of family, intimacy and belonging. The Spare Room is squarely in his sweet spot, and, with Davis as his co-conspirator, the production is a live wire: thrilling, swift, full of sparks.
On stage, the play belongs to Davis, our direct-address narrator. She flicks a wrist, points a finger and cellist Anthea Cottee, sitting onstage with her instrument poised and ready, begins to play. Steve Francis’s score is a ticking clock, a rush of feeling and a call-and-response exchange with Davis who prowls, stalks and makes and remakes Nicola’s bed, fetching fresh sheets, water, lemonade, anything that might bring comfort.
The best moments keep Garner’s prose intact, little jewels of observation and ruthless honesty, and Flack carves the play out of Helen’s emotional momentum: building frustration, swells of grief and charged moments of conflict. While Nicola floats above her own experience, Helen stays grounded, on a stubborn quest to have Nicola realise that the pain and anger she refuses to acknowledge in herself have been deferred to – and are choking – Helen and anyone else in her orbit.
Mel Page’s set leaves plenty of room for Helen to roam and pace and think aloud. There is a reverent corner set aside for the spare room, where Nicola’s bed is thoughtfully lit (by Paul Jackson, who also gentles Helen’s sharper edges and suffuses the more combative scenes between Helen and Nicola with love). The set also serves as the centre of the world, transforming as needed. With the tug of a clinical curtain, Helen’s home becomes the dubious Theodore Institute with its ozone tents and vitamin C infusions, a doctor’s office, and a hospital.
While the play undoubtedly and captivatingly belongs to Davis, there is lovely work from the ensemble, most notably Emma Diaz as Nicola’s niece Iris and others, a seamless fit in this quick-paced production. Hannah Waterman brings a grounded presence playing characters that are allies to Helen’s rational side: a no-nonsense doctor and a sister. Alan Dukes plays a variety of health professionals, both charlatans and legitimate – but is most delightful as a stage magician who brings the joy of artistic curiosity to Helen and Nicola during a rare night out together.
There are a few bumps, ones common to new work. Davis’s Helen is electric, the revving engine that gives power to the piece and to Garner’s prose, but Nicola occasionally feels more catalyst than character, and some scenes are not yet fully calibrated – on the night I attended (reviews were rescheduled due to cast illness), you could feel the growing pains of a production still discovering itself: stumbled lines, tentative pauses. Alexander feels on the verge of blossoming.
But this play has a strong foundation and good bones and Davis’s fully present performance. It will sharpen as the season runs, and it is already lovely; it so frankly shares the character’s darkest and lightest thoughts that it makes you feel less alone in yours.
The Spare Room is at Belvoir St Theatre, Sydney until 13 July
