Theatre Review: Octopuses have three hearts, and "Cephalopod" will have yours
It has been rumoured that octopuses and other cephalopods originated from out of this world, due to their strange and unusual nature, harboured by their innate ability to contort, camouflage and consume.
If you were to dissect an octopus, you would discover its blue blood and three hearts, all of which would be telltale signs of an octopus’ inability to fit into the known world. Try as it might to squeeze into any shape, and change into any colour, we will never accept the octopus as a natural organism, and instead, we will believe that it came from a world beyond our own, because it is nothing like us.
Despite the perceived zig-zagging through the stars, a cephalopod is a known member of the molluscan clan, including, but not limited to: squids, octopus, and cuttlefish. Despite being colourblind, Cephalopods can change colour to camouflage into their surroundings, a trait often envied by the human species. This is a trait also demonstrated by the Blue Room Theatre, whose intimate space is an ever-changing compound, discovered in this particular production caped in sea blue lighting, with multicultural quotes and artwork projected across the walls.
Octopus arms are capable of working independently to its body. When severed, an arm is still capable of gripping and reacting to pain. In unison, Cephalopod grasps audiences with all eight of its arms, and doesn’t let go. Within its first few minutes, the play is already biting, vibrant, and uncanny. Scantily-clad neon dancers weave around the stage, entangling their limbs and flickering octopus-esque figures across the walls.
In its first act, Cephalopod leans further into the artistic brushstrokes of poignancy rather than story and character. Cephalopod’s first act confuses, yet embraces the madness, an Alice in Wonderland nightmare in neon. The writing is lyrical and mischievous, the scenes are neon bathed charades, and every movement and line is a clue of acts to follow.
In Cephalopod’s second act the mystery is unveiled, and the play changes shape in a tender and heartfelt way. What begins as an odyssey of the heart ends as a raw celebration and explanation of the struggles facing those who wish to change shape, form and colour. As a white male, it is difficult to truly understand the struggles of ethnic minorities, especially in a country such as Australia, where racism is so casual and prominent. But Cephalopod makes great efforts to educate with its extremely personal second act, in which the audience is being directly spoken to, and is even asked to sing along.
Only the greatest of comments can be made regarding the earnest cast and crew who put their minds, bodies and soul into the production. Performers Molly Earnshaw, Ramiah Alcantara and Andrew Sutherland invite audiences to watch, learn and understand in a vulnerable and colossal performance.
Lead actress Jess Nyanda Moyle speaks truthfully, entertaining and capturing audiences with her storytelling ability and honest heart – and gee-whiz can she sing. Director Joe Lui invites you into a complicated and misunderstood world, which is perfectly captured in the uncanny first act. It can be jarring and confronting initially, but so is life.
To transform is an ability the human race is not blessed with and instead of accepting our shapes and shades we bicker and fight. Yet, for a brief moment under Cephalopod’s blue light, we’re all swimming in the same sea. There are creatures far and wide, large and small, and we all belong here, whether you have two arms or eight.
Cephalopod is a welcome and warm production, its extreme and provocative first act may not be for the faint of heart, but stick around and you’ll feel your heart (or all three of them) beating to a better tune.
