Stop. Rewind

Anyone who has ever worked in an office can recognise the classic archetypes of office workers:

 

the upwardly mobile go-getter, the mature-age receptionist, the quiet awkward one and the young turk around for a good time – not a long time. Melissa Bubnic’s extremely well observed workplace drama encapsulates all these models and more in a surprisingly deep tale set amongst the grind of that most lamentable of all kinds of office environments - a local government public service department.

 

What initially presents itself as a series of vignettes about ‘office life’, Stop. Rewind soon demonstrates an engagingly narrative storyline, as we learn of the interconnecting relationships of the seven characters, both in and out of the office. Some of those relationships and situations are of the clichéd nature that we have come to expect of this 20^th century genre, the office comedy; but many are entirely unexpected and highly original. It’s these unexpected moments that are the triumph of the play and what makes this piece such a resounding success.

 

Frequently breaking the fourth wall, characters not engaged in a scene observe the action from the sidelines and provide narration regarding the innermost thoughts of those featured as they act out their true desires before showing us what they actually did in the situation. This device leads to the most beautifully poignant scene between Heather and Lachlan – ensemble member Andrea Swifte and guest actor Ian Rooney – as they demonstrate to devastating affect the pain of romantic inaction.

 

Director Anne Browning’s delicate touch with this scene, and those centred on the terminal illness of an unseen work colleague, has the perfect effect and contrasts beautifully against the loud and raucous tempo of many of the office-set scenes.

 

While Swifte and Rooney get the show’s most touching moment, there are many others that are almost it’s equal and the cast by and large make brilliant work of them all. Olga Makeeva paints the perfect picture of a brusque Russian immigrant whose culturally different attitude gets more attention than her hard work does, while Tim Potter rolls out his familiar charm in the form of the immature and appropriately named Dim.

 

Ella Caldwell and guest actor James Taylor both find excellent depth in the romantically entangled Tabitha and Grant creating much hilarity as they struggle to conjugate while Tabitha’s mother screams at them from outside the bedroom door, but ultimately the pair are somewhat miscast. Taylor comes across as Caldwell’s contemporary, rather than her senior and Caldwell appears too young to be experiencing her character’s situation and defeated attitude. One can only assume that the bizarre mix of fabrics and colours in Caldwell’s costume were chosen to make her seem more like the scattered mess that is Tabitha, but it only serves to highlight that costumes across the board are unthoughtful – the lack of a credited costume designer perhaps going some way towards explaining this situation.

 

These are minor hiccups though in what is a valiant and exciting new work from a young Australian writer who, if she continues on this trajectory, will soon become one of our most important dramatists.