CAROL

Black Swan Theatre Company presented a tough but charming Christmas fable called Carol. Written by Andrea Gibbs and staring Sally Ann Upton, it tells the story of a widow in her 60s who becomes homeless. She’s been the stay at home wife with the “don’t worry about the money, dear” husband who gambled so much that their home is lost. This may not sound like a very cheery Christmas story but we were taken on the journey by an ocker Santa who entertained us all the way through. 


I loved his introductory speech about Christmas and Ian Booth, Black Swan’s Managing Director, gave me a copy. Here’s the beginning of the show:

"PROLOGUE – Santa Welcomes All 

In the black .... curtain down. 

SANTA (VO): Hello? (tap, tap, tap) This thing on?… (clears throat) 

This Christmas — summer in Australia. 
And when it’s summer down under, if you don’t like Christmas, that’s a real bummer. 
It’s the number one game in town. 
From Bondi to Bunbury, Darwin to the Dandenongs. 

Doesn’t matter where you live. 
Doesn’t matter what you believe. 
It’s coming for you.  

Every shoppin’ centre, every cul-de-sac, every poor defenceless jacaranda - string lights, curtain lights, icicles-dripping-from-the-trees lights, drainin’ the power grid lights.  

BBQs bein’ dragged into battle ... cocked, loaded. The cricket Colosseum: eskies for stumps, one-hand-one-bounce, six and out. Who’s climbing the fence this time? 

Mum’s gone full CSI — scrubbin’ skirtin’ boards like she’s erasin’ a crime. Polishin’ cutlery like the King’s poppin’ round. 
Shinin’. Stressin’. Preppin’ lists. Lists so long they should come with an interval. Browser tabs breedin’, blood pressure risin’, trolley’s got a bung wheel, and ya wobblin’ through Coles carpark like a pissed magpie. Steamin’. Sweatin’. Forty degrees. Burnt bums on car seats. No parkin’ – FUCK– no parkin’?! 

Every radio station, every supermarket aisle, every corner of your brain - assaulted by Mariah, Bublé, WHAM! And don’t we all know how to make gravy yet? 

‘I’ll do it earlier,’ you promised yerself. ‘This year, I’ll definitely do it earlier.’ Except … you didn’t, did ya? Now it’s chaos. Now it’s carnage. Now it’s a full-blown cluster- ...  

Stops. Slows. 

And what for? What’s it all for?  

This one bloody day out of three hundred and sixty-five? 

Beat 

Well… for some of us … it’s the best bloody day goin’! 

Lights up on SANTA hanging high up in the Gods in front of the curtain. 

Music starts. Big brassy, Christmassy." 

Can you feel Christmas coming on?

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