by Alan Seymour
seen at the Finborough Theatre on 6 June 2015
This play, written in 1960, investigates generational tensions in a working-class Sydney family by focussing on conflicting attitudes to ANZAC Day (25 April), a day which began with a dawn march by veterans of both world wars, but which (at that time) often degenerated into an extended pub crawl. It was extremely controversial when first produced, but rapidly became a school syllabus classic, being one of the earliest plays realistically dealing with an identifiably Australian theme.
This production, the first in London for many years, is directed by Wayne Harrison and features Mark Little as Alf Cooke (a veteran of the Second World War), Fiona Press as Flo Cooke, James William Wright as their son Hughie, Adele Queroi as Jan, a university friend of Hughie's, and Paul Haley as the family friend Wacka (a veteran of the Gallipoli campaign of the First World War).
The action takes place in the Cooke household, a traverse acting space sparsely furnished with a simple table and chairs representing the kitchen, and a fold-down bed and small shelf representing Hughie's bedroom; members of the audience sit on either side (the theatre holds about 50 at most).
The parents are plainly uneducated, but their son Hughie is attending university and is consequently deeply insecure about his place in the world. He is attracted to Jan, a girl from a far wealthier part of Sydney, but embarrassed for his parents when she meets them and condescends to them. But more seriously, the pair are planning an expose in the university paper decrying the ANZAC Day celebrations, which constitute the only occasions on which Alf feels validated.
Although the specific hinge of the resultant family explosion may be totally unfamiliar to a non-Australian audience (during the interval I was asked to explain the significance of 'the Day' by an American sitting beside me) the general issues of social and class cohesion, and generational conflict exacerbated by the wider horizons offered through tertiary education, are clearly and powerfully presented in the play. Without the distraction of the originally toxic criticism of ANZAC Day, it is clear that there is considerable sympathy for all sides of the problem. One can understand the younger generation's impatience with what looks like maudlin self-indulgence - but one can see also how demeaned Alf feels in his daily life, despite the high hopes he had as a youth. The real ANZAC veteran, Wacka, says little to begin with, but his eventual reminiscence to Flo when the self-absorbed Alf is absent shows why so many veterans found it impossible to speak of their experiences. For his part, Hughie wants to be a rebel, but does not want to be patronised by Jan, and finds that he still loves his parents. He is perhaps surprised at their horror at his notion of dropping out of university, which they find more of a slap in the face than his questioning of the ANZAC tradition.
All these complex currents and misunderstandings are strongly and clearly represented by the fine cast. Though there is much bluster and bravado - inevitable when the older men drink so much - there are also moments of quiet desperation and poignant gestures of reconciliation. What Jan too easily dismisses as quaint contains a stolid self-respecting dignity - though there is barely room for a rapprochement between the two women, Flo can accept an apology when she feels it is genuine, and it is clear that she can manage her menfolk when the crunch comes even though she seems at first utterly put upon by them both.
Alan Seymour died at the end of April, just after the centenary of the Gallipoli landings. His great play may well have contributed to the process whereby the ANZAC commemorations have become ever more popular, but also ever more serious, as the decades pass; the younger generations of Australians have by no means abandoned them.
