Paradise Island
A practitioner I know once said that they only want to make theatre that can’t be done on film. While I don’t personally subscribe to the restriction, I understand and appreciate the sentiment. Theatre that is intrinsically theatrical, that utilises its specific mode of story-telling and available forms is, for better or worse, always more enjoyable, because it requires the audience to fill the communicative space between themselves and the performers with their imaginations. So when a show markets puppetry and a live musical score, not to mention a B4 25 Playmarket Award-nominated script, a cast of up-and-comers, and an award-winning director, there’s immediate anticipation to the piece.
While it’s not uncommon for playwrights to perform in augural productions, the meta-theatrical nature of Paradise Island results in a blurring of the line between playwright Indigo Paul and her role as Writer, especially in her closing monologue. When the words are literally the direct voice of the playwright, as opposed to a performative interpretation, they lose an element of the theatrical, and in this instance, become clumsy. Not that the subject matter is dealt with in such a way. Suicide can be a delicate conversation, and Paul’s script rides the wave well, allowing great emotional depth and range for Esmay Goodman and Summer Millet. When Paul leans into poetic verse, the words resonate, especially as delivered by actress Georgie Oulton. Dialogue, however, is ironically less penetrable, and often reads as misshapen “Hey, did you guys hear?” teen television exposition.
This juxtaposition appears to be the result of a larger issue, in that the play contains extreme surrealist, almost absurdist, components, which conflict incongruously with the naturalistic elements. The problem isn’t that these two styles exist within a single script, but how and why they exist in tandem. I have no doubt that director Katie Burson and the cast have explored the idea, but as an audience member, it remains unclear what the characters know and understand about their world. Said world itself has a striking and minimalistic design by Rob Byrne, and Emily Hurley’s puppetry is gorgeous, if not underutilised. The live musical score, with direction by Luke Oram, is seamlessly intertwined with the production, with each production element feeding the play both selflessly and effortlessly.
Demanding answers in the wake of tragedy is not uncommon, and Paul’s script is a valiant translation of the process of such loss. As it currently exists, the play is a genuinely engaging piece and generates a theatrical discourse of suicide better than others (I’m looking at you Tony Kushner). What it can afford, however, is a further leaning into the world Paul has created, allowing the context to more effectively displace the content. Regardless, Paradise Island explores a huge and heavy amount of material with an intriguing style and a delicate tone, making Paul a playwright to keep an eye on.
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