Tell Me I’m Here – REVIEW
Image: Tom Conroy & Nadine Garner in Tell Me I'm Here, Belvoir Theatre. Photo: Brett Boardman.Tom Conroy & Nadine Garner
The sniffles in the audience begin as the play enters its denouement. There’s a palpable sense that we, the audience, have gone through an ordeal together. Tell Me I’m Here is engrossing, disturbing, confronting, yet at the same time, exhilarating for the poetry in the performances.
The play by Veronica Nadine Gleeson is an adaptation of the 1991 autobiographical novel by Anne Deveson. At the time the book was published Deveson was a well known figure in Australia; she pioneered talk back radio, was the face of Omo in an ad, headed major industry bodies in radio and television, was an acclaimed journalist and documentary film maker, and an activist for mental health and human rights.
The book, Tell Me I’m Here was revelatory. Underneath the veneer of success and control, Deveson was dealing with the increasingly erratic behaviour of her son, Jonathan who would eventually be diagnosed with schizophrenia.
The symptoms began when Jonathan was in his early teens, around the mid-1970s. The medical profession in Australia was under-informed; resources and support were non-existent, and Deveson, who had two younger children and a virtually – then literally – absent husband, was managing a very demanding career and devastatingly demanding child, alone.
The story doesn’t sound like an enticing theatre experience and, in fairness, it can be a rough ride at times, but the commensurate performances and beautifully written script, along with thoughtful production elements, make this a rewarding, if exhausting, two hours.
Stephen Curtis’ set design is intuitive. The stage is basically a white box: white floor, white stark, white wall dominating one side. A white wall at the rear is inset with shelving upon which are hundreds of books, a turntable, a red dial-phone, and cabinets with tea-cups and alcohol.
A very long, wooden dinner table stands side-on to the audience, with four waiting-room type chairs placed around it. The whole thing feels austere, clinical. It also feels cavernous, remote, empty. There is a cinematic use of music which enhances the emotions on stage without being intrusive.
Most of the action takes place towards the rear of the stage, around the table. Jonathan, however, wonders all over the stage. The white floor and walls are a literal canvas for him and he periodically pulls a crayon from his pocket and draws simple images – a tree, faces, shapes. The faces go from smiling to anguished. It is as if we are inside his mind, the false world he has created.
Nadine Garner is Anne Deveson and she is brilliant. As one of the two central characters and partial narrator, Garner spends the entirety of the play on stage. Her dialogue-rich role calls for a lot of physicality and emotional range, and she manages as only such a classy, award-winning actor can.
In the pivotal role of Jonathan is Tom Conroy. It is impossible to overstate how extraordinary, how utterly riveting Conroy is. He contorts his body like he is boneless; he conjures expressions of terror that pull you into his private nightmare, then switches to become a guileless child so convincingly it’s unnerving. You simply cannot take your eyes off him when he is onstage.
Deborah Galanos, Raj Labade, Sean O’Shea, Jana Zvedeniuk play multiple roles each, Labade and Zvedeniuk in recurring parts as Anne’s children, Josh and Georgia respectively.
Director, Leticia Cáceres, manages to get a very balanced, well-tempered performance from each of the cast in a play that could easily tip over into overwrought melodrama. The pace is good and delivery of the occasional humour (yes, there is some) is just right.
Arguably, the play could be trimmed down. There is a lot of repetition in the scenarios and we never really get an insight into Anne’s world or moments of reprieve away from Jonathan. The counter-argument is that this gives us a much more authentic sense of what living with someone who has schizophrenia is like. It is a relentless, unyielding, windowless torment.
See this play if you can.
