Theatre Review: In the Next Room or, The Vibrator Play Delivers a Good Time
Never before in my (admittedly short) reviewing career have I had such a homogenous set of pre-showing conversations as those in the lead up to Black Swan State Theatre Company’s production of In the Next Room, or The Vibrator Play. This is not a criticism, as the sentiment uniformly expressed by many of my friends and family well and truly echoed my own thoughts at the time. But it would prove fascinating to think about as the opening performance of Sarah Ruhl’s work unfolded, and even now.
The conversations would typically play out something like this:
Me: I’m reviewing this weekend.
Them: Oh wow, that’s awesome! What are you seeing?
Me: It’s a play called ‘The Vibrator Play’.
Them: (amused, cue a giggle or two) Ah ok—so what’s that about?
Me: The early days of the vibrator—yep. As in the sex toy.
Them: (smile) Oh. (Proceeded by a silence that screams ‘I’m-not-sure-what-to-say-as-this-is-outside-the-bounds-of-conventional-conversation’).
Exeunt.
You see, with mention of the vibrator comes the inevitable implication of the female orgasm—arguably one of the most taboo female-linked topics in human history. Sex ed 101: if you want a little monster or two to further your genetic line and pass your fortune (and/or vanquished childhood ambitions) onto, all you need is one lucky sperm within some mass of male ejaculate to meet an egg and fertilise it. Technically. Conveniently, the orgasm that delivers this little package of fun is usually accompanied by pleasure for the male, and for thousands if not millions of years, this has been the widely publicised focus of intercourse. Female enjoyment was a luxury, never a necessity, and contextually, The Vibrator Play is in the thick of it: set in the 19th century, when marriage was a transaction and children were an investment. It wasn’t personal, kids. It was business. And it was booming.
(Photos by Philip Gostelow)
The first demonstration of the vibrator machine came within the first ten minutes of the play, as the cold, blunt, (sexist) and logical Dr Givings (played with incredible range and control by Stuart Halusz) administers his ‘electro-stimulation treatment’ upon the hysterical Sabrina Daldry (the ever-delightful Jo Morris) with the help of his quiet assistant Annie (sensitively portrayed by Alison van Reeken). Admittedly, I writhed uncomfortably in my seat and laughed nervously as Mrs Daldry had the ‘treatment’ administered (noise and all—though nothing visually indecent was shown at all). I could go as far to say that I was slightly bothered. This really got me thinking. This—what I had just seen-- was a theatrical representation of the female orgasm. I’ve been lucky enough to be raised in a society which has spread so much awareness of the plight of females and our right to pleasure as equals to men during sex, so why did I feel so uncomfortable seeing something so natural occurring in a fictional capacity?
The writing of In the Next Room is extraordinary for this very reason: It continually challenges you as a viewer to question not only the ways in which you consciously think but the hidden reactions and accompanying internalised attitudes you did not realise you harboured. I soon came to realise that the play was little to do with the nitty-gritty of intercourse as an act at all, but about the relationships fused together with the concepts of intimacy, love, acceptance and conversely broken by the gaping hole of loneliness in the places where these were missing. While Dr Givings works away in his surgery, the eponymous ‘other room’, his restless and neglected wife Catherine (Rebecca Davis, performing extraordinarily in a role she had only ten days to rehearse as an emergency fill-in) struggles with feelings of dejection and guilt at being unable to feed her newborn child, fearing that the new wet nurse Elizabeth (poignantly played by Tariro Mavondo)—herself a grieving mother—will take away her identity as a mother. She also battles with the isolation she feels from her husband and their inability to communicate; frustrated as the pleasure she hears occurring in the other room to other women (albeit in the capacity of a ‘scientific’ treatment) is never extended to herself. The arrival of an artist (the charming Tom Stokes) gives hope of change to her situation, and coincides with an awakening of sorts involving her husband’s machine.
I had the privilege of reviewing another play under Jeffrey Jay-Fowler’s direction last year, The Eisteddfod, and I must say that once again with The Vibrator Play his artistic decisions were on point. This was complemented beautifully with the set and costume design choices headed by Alicia Clements—the production was mesmerising to look at and had the effect of making the production into a living, breathing entity.
In the Next Room, or the Vibrator Play is so packed full of discussable ideas and character complexities that a thesis could be written. Literally—2020 here I come. It is a rollercoaster of a play that displays the zeniths of female resolve, with moments of poignant tragedy. It will make you laugh in large measures, hope for the characters abundantly and cry with and for them. It may just make you grateful that society has progressed so far in its ideas of sexuality and love—but also shudder at how little some things have changed. It’s certainly a production that won’t leave my mind—or conversations—for a while.
