Back in Brisbane

“Take That Look Off Your Face,” the opening song of the musical “Tell Me on a Sunday,” was only a moderate hit song in Australia. Wikipedia tells me the song peaked at #61 on the charts, though it was a song I liked very much at the time. As a teenager, I pored over the lyrics printed on the album cover, and remember them to this day, over forty years later.

“Tell Me on a Sunday” was the first solo endeavor for Andrew Lloyd-Webber without collaborator Tim Rice. With lyrics penned by Don Black, the musical tells the journey of an English woman as she navigates the complexities of life and love in New York City.

Through the lens of her unsuccessful personal relationships, and through a series of letters to her mother back home in England we get to know her. As she grapples with the highs and lows of romance and ambition, you get to know someone who seems to think her personal happiness will be achieved through her relationships with men.

In 2024, the plotline and attitudes seem a little dated. But when I saw it advertised, I decided it was time to revisit an “old theatre friend”. I’ve never actually seen a production prior to this, and I think it almost fits into the category of a “forgotten musical”.

The intimate setting and minimalist staging of the Hayes Theatre really allowed me to really deeply connect with the innermost thoughts and feelings of the lead character. Noticeable, wwe never actually get to know her name!. From the highs of new love to the crushing disappointments of heartbreak and betrayal, “Tell Me on a Sunday” offers something which is still poignant and relatable forty years later.

The album is only 43 minutes in duration (as was the case back in the days of vinyl), but tonight’s production came in at around 65 minutes, with a few songs with extended and different lyrics, and even a song that brigns the musical to a conclusion. It’s worth noting the musical on vinyl ends somewhat suddenly, and you never really get to know what happens next.

My personal favourite from the musical is the song, “Tell Me On A Sunday”, which is how the woman wants to be told about the end of her relationship.

Don’t leave in silence with no word at all
Don’t get drunk and slam the door
That’s no way to end this
I know how I want you to say goodbye

Don’t run off in the pouring rain
Don’t call me as they call your plane
Take the hurt out of all the pain
Take me to a park that’s covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday, please.

https://www.allmusicals.com/lyrics/andrewlloydwebberdivas/tellmeonasundaymartiwebb.htm

I enjoyed tonight’s production very much witn a good singer/actor, and a live orchestra on stage. It was a preview night, so there are plenty of opportunities to see it over the next few weeks.

Holding The Man

In contrast, I also went to the theatre on Sunday night, to see final performance of the current season of Belvoir Street Theatre production of the play “Holding the Man,” based on Timothy Conigrave’s memoir.

In 1995 I read the book, published only a months after Tim’s death from HIV/AIDS. A few years later I was fortunate to attend the opening night of the first production, attended by a number of Tim’s friends from the Sydney theatre scene. Since then, I’ve also seen the movie and a subsequent documentary, as I’ve written about here previously.

When I first moved to Sydney one of the things that most impressed me about the place was the late night book-store, Ariel. Having spent all of my life in the country (I include my four years in Brisbane in that), I’d found myself suddenly living in Australia’s largest city. And one of the great things about that was that I could walk up to Oxford Street and purchase a book at the oddest hours.

I swear it must have been about nine o’clock on a Tuesday night when I bought, “Holding The Man”, because I’m pretty sure I was late for work the next day. It was sometime in 1995, though I’m not exactly sure when, when I walked to Oxford Street, bought the book and came straight home to read it. It must have been three or four am when I finished reading the book.

In such a short period of time I had never experienced so much laughter and tears, as the story of Tim and John was revealed to me. From their furtive teenage sexual encounters to their deaths from AIDS in the early 90s, it was such an incredibly well told beautiful story, made incrediblY strong by its absolute authenticity. Indeed, it was an authenticity which cut a swathe through the emotions of so many of my peers.

https://thelimbshift.com/2006/11/holding-the-man/

The play tells the story of the enduring love between two men, Tim and John, from their school days to the onset of the AIDS epidemic. The play delves deep into their relationship, capturing the challenges they face as they navigate family pressures, personal struggles, and the devastating impact of HIV/AIDS.

The play documents the evolution of Tim and John’s love, from its beginnings in high school to the complexities of adulthood. Despite everything they went through, their bond remains seemingly unbreakable, a testament to the power of love in the face of adversity.

As the impact of AIDS takes its toll, “Holding the Man” confronts the harsh realities of loss and grief, yet it also celebrates the resilience and strength of the human spirit. As I wrote, after seeing the first production…

By the play’s end, however, I was in tears. But as emotional as it was for me, I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for those who knew Tim and John. I was sitting next to Noel Hodda, for example, one of the founding members of Griffin Theatre Company which Tim was a part of. Also in the audience was Penny Cook, a close friend of Tim’s, who was referred to in the play. As the play deals graphically with the impact of HIV/AIDS – “a footballer who loses his body and an actor who loses his mind” – it must have been quite harrowing for them to go over some of those experiences again. Or maybe it was cathartic?

But for me it was probably one of the best nights of theatre I’ve ever enjoyed, with a tremendous ensemble cast and faultless direction and staging, including the use of puppets. Yes, puppets! The care that has gone into making this such a beautiful production is clearly evident.

https://thelimbshift.com/2006/11/holding-the-man/

I know it’s not good of me to say this or think this, but I’ve always thought of John as “the innocent one” in the relationship. John remained largely monogamous, while Tim had a gay old time, having sex with multiple partners in the days when there was little information and lots of incorrect information about HIV/AIDS. Having such thoughts about good and bad, innocent and otherwise is something which I recognise as bad now, but back then there was an awful lot of judgement even within the gay community.

Thus, I’ve never really had much sympathy for the character of Tim. However, seeing this latest production I developed a much deeper understanding of the character, and for me, this was a good enough reason to see it again.

Going to see the play again, almost twenty years later was a much different experience than opening night in 2006, especially as it was the final night of the production’s current season.

I found it interesting to see this play in a theatre of much younger people who would have had little or no personal experience of HIV/AIDS.

When we attended the first production in 2006, there were people who were contemporaries and friends of Tim and John in the audience.

On Sunday night, there was a male/female couple to my right (maybe early 30s, and by her response, I think she might have known an older family member who died from HIV/AIDS). On my left, there were two young gay boys (late teens) who possibly viewed the play more from the perspective of a gay love story than anything else.

Mostly, the audience seemed to really love the play, and so did I, with a deeper understanding of the characters that comes from having some time away from the book and the play. I might pull out the book and read it again.

Holding On

Attending the theater has always been an important part of my life, from my teenage years on. Going independently to these productions in the wake of last year’s lower right leg amputation was a bit of a challenge.

Theatres are by their nature difficult to navigate for someone in my position: there are many stairs and the seating is often very tight. Thankfully, Belvoir Street has a lift that allows you to go up and down to the theatre, while Hayes Theatre doesn’t. In both cases, staff working there and patrons attending were very willing to help. At Hayes, someone working there took me via stage entrance, which offered less stairs.

“It’s okay I work at the hospital,” one woman said to me at Hayes, as she reached out her arm as I climbed the stairs. As part of my rehabilitation, I learned to be self-reliant, and note that people will often innocently extend their arm to help, but in fact that can be a problem, as they’re not strong enough to hold you in the event of a fall. Telling me she worked at St Vincent’s Hospital, gave me the assurance to accept that help. For all I know, she could have worked in administration :) At the end of the play she came to check on me, and organized for one of the staff to take me back via the stage entrance. I was touched.

People were also very willing to stand up and allow me to get through to my seat, and, thankfully, to hold my glass of wine, as I made my way to the seats.