Cameron Goodall in A History of Everything | Wharf 1
Compressing the history of the universe into 90-odd minutes of compelling theatre is a reasonably ambitious task to set. Yet this is precisely what Belgian company Ontroerend Goed has done with A History Of Everything.
Director Alex Devriendt and performer Joeri Smet have collaborated on the fast-paced text and, thanks to its construction, we know how it’s going to end. With a bang. A big bang. This, because we begin in the here-and-now and look backwards. It means that we get the news of the day. On the evening I attended, we were informed of Serena Williams’ unsurprsing domination of her work-in-progress Australian Open match. We learnt that a couple of the Belgian cast had met Cam Goodall’s (for several of Sydney Theatre Company’s Residents are among the cast) parents and that he may or may not be the spitting image of his mum.
Sophie De Somere’s clever scenography includes a rough-hewn map of the world, which lies flat, covering most of the Wharf 2 stage, visible when two of the performers roll back a black cloth. Before this, a spotlight zeroes in on one of the Belgians, Charlotte De Bruyne, who relates a touching personal tale in which she fantasises and muses on the impacts of turning back time, if only it were as easy as rolling back that cloth. She observes how, if things ran in reverse, sleep would make her feel tired. How her skin would feel fresher and tighter every morning. But first, of course, she would find herself in hospital, surrounded by doctors. It’s a seductive idea, thoughtfully extrapolated. Imagine, for example, seeing one’s parents getting youger and witnessing their births. Better yet, being able to say all the things you wish you had before they died. That’s if one could change things. Perhaps we would be subjected to seeing all the events of our lives unfold again, without any opportunity of such volition. Then, the whole idea seems as terrifying as it does beguiling.
Once the cloth is rolled back, we see the performers start to deal out ‘war’ cards, from a stacked deck. War. Here. There. Everywhere. We know it to be true. Self-evident. But its geographic spread and unrelenting presence is nonetheless sobering. While this is happening, the clock is ticking. Backwards. The years roll back. It’s the most entertaining history and geography lesson you’re ever likely to have. There are pithy quotes from great men and women. Tragic events. And trivial ones. There are tsunamis, denoted by spray bottles over relevant areas. This, leavened with, say, the birth of Baby Spice. We know doubt miss a lot. Even JC is skipped over in a few seconds, which lends a perspective we rarely see. Hitler is there, of course, but so is Chaplin. Lincoln is there, but so is Nixon. The Enlightenment is there, but so is the iPad and Coca-Cola. There are witty and quite beautiful recreations of iconic moments, such as the creation of Botticelli’s The Birth Of Venus.
Having dealt with written history, at least as recorded by Western historians (the narrowness of this was probably the only real deficiency in the work at which one might wave a finger), the clock turned further back, along the prehistoric timeline, in leaps and bounds of geological time. Ice ages involved cast members sprinkling confetti. Dinosaurs were hand-drawn on the floor, with big, thick chalk. This technique was also used by Tahki Saul, to devolve man to apes, fish, worms, three-celled membranous organisms and, inevitably, to nothingness.
Having disappeared, it’s as if we are actually thrust into the void. The lights go down and with rustic theatricality, shrouded lights of differing hues suffice as planets. Finally, the big bang; here, a breathtaking whimper. It might sound cheesy (Swiss, I guess, to allow for black holes), but this last sequence is the most moving of all. And we, as a species, don’t even enter into it. There’s something oddly, if uncomfortably, awe-inspiring in being reminded we are a speck; dust; a universal afterthought. There’s also something oddly beatifying about it.
Just as Bill Bryson’s A Short History Of Nearly Everything was a brilliant expedition into our insignificance, so is this: a theatrical, almost philosophical embodiment of the cosmic calendar elucidated and popularised by the late, great Carl Sagan, in which time since the big bang is compressed, metaphorically, into a single year, for ease of understanding and to lend perspective.
As with those examples, A History Of Everything tackles universal themes, the universal theme, with grace, reverence, elegance and a kind of homespun charm to which we can all relate.
Tahki Saul in A History of Everything | Wharf 1
The details: A History Of Everything plays the Wharf 2 theatre as part of the Sydney Festival until February 5. Tickets on the STC website.
