
In the company of the lovely MsKP, freshly returned from her replenishing stint in Queensland but still not blogging much (the curse of Facebook, perhaps?), we wandered down into the bowels of the Arts Centre, and into the intime confines of the Fairfax Studio. Even this small space is almost too large for this show, which would have worked best, I think, at somewhere like the Tower Theatre at the Malthouse, or even The Store Room, but thankfully our seats were well situated, so this didn't really impact on our evening.
The premise of the show is a simple one: Kitson plays Henry Leonard Bodley, the about-to-retire-today librarian of a library of mix tapes, which no-one makes any more thanks to digital equipment, making Henry's job redundent. Kitson also plays a range of people in the village in which the librarian lives, all of whom have their own unique quirks and traits, strange yet totally believeable eccentricities, such as baking cakes to feed to birds, or always addressing people by their full name - middle name included.
The arrival of two mysterious packages at Henry's work is the catalyst for a story of change and renewal which had me grinning with pure, simple glee as the production unfolded. Gradually, as Kitson intercuts between the various characters, we begin to build up a sense of community, of concern, of the value of joy in our lives, and of the delight that compassion and engagement with those around us can bring to ourselves and others.
As with Kitson's stand-up shows, elements which seemed at first to be throw-away references in the opening moments of the show are later seen to be incredibly significant: Kitson's seemingly meandering path proves to be an elliptical journey that ends with the audience so much more enriched for the experience.
Clever, warm-hearted, and whimsical without being twee, Kitson's C90 was a gentle yet thoroughly satisfying delight. I'm so glad I saw it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to go bake a cake for the birds...
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