THE HYPOCHONDRIAC - dB MAGAZINE REVIEW

by David Grybowski

Can you believe that Molière collapsed on stage, continued performing and died of pulmonary tuberculosis a few hours after playing the eponymous role in 1673? It’s a cautionary tale because you might die laughing watching Brink’s production of ‘Le Malade Imaginaire’. Brink doesn’t actually produce much theatre, they spend a lot of time thinking about it, but when they do, you better go, because all that thinking wasn’t for nothing.

Come to think of it, I have never seen a play by artistic director Chris Drummond that I didn’t like. And that includes the critically panned and lengthy 2004 Festival world premiere of ‘Night Letters’ and the internationally acclaimed ‘When The Rain Stops Falling’ world premiere of the last festival. Chris says doing a play which already exists is a change of pace from the usual heavy-going excogitations of the Brink think tank.

Like all of Drummond’s work, this play is a complete theatrical experience using all capacities in performance, choreography, lights, costume, make-up, design and extraneous business in glorious synchromesh, with plenty new to surprise and shock. This production seems to strive for the look and feel of the original but in our own time with expert clowning, crude humour, bawdyism, slapstick and satire. Molière’s take on doctors is similar to our present-day view of bankers and financial planners.

Hard work is apparent everywhere in the funny business. The chef du shenanigans is Paul Blackwell who is ever-suffering at the hands of his psyche, his doctor and his Rocky Horror Magenta maid played with bedpan cruelty by Jacqy Phillips. Carmel Johnson frets and struts as the evil stepmother while Emily Branford puts in a pixie-like manipulative daughter. Nathan O’Keefe and Rory Walker deliver the finest work I have seen of them as the improbable music teacher and unsuitable suitor. Edwin Hodgeman, undeterred by a long and active life in the theatre, gives an absolutely sweet and amusing performance – his roving hand on the knee of a younger man was absolutely riveting. Terence Crawford makes a late but classy entrance as the hypochondriac’s brother and lets loose with Molière’s unmistakable views of the medical profession. Stuart Day, who composed the score which he performs onstage, is wonderfully part of the clowning fraternity. Wendy Todd’s set, props and courtly costumes amuse and astound while Geoff Cobham lights up the action sensitively to the goings-on. The only drawback is that Molière probably didn’t have an editor.

Brink’s ‘Hypochondriac’ is an absolute farce. You must see it. Get two tickets and call me in the morning if you liked it. Bravo!