Review: Holding the Man

Holding the Man, which actor-turned-playwright Timothy Conigrave completed only a few short weeks before he died of an AIDS-related illness, is a frank and heartfelt memoir about his 15-year-long relationship with John Caleo.

In 1976, as high school students at Xavier College, the pair fell in love, and started their lives together. In 1985 they were both diagnosed HIV positive. John died on Australia Day, 1992, with Tim by his side. He followed his lover to the grave two years later.

Written in decptively simple yet detailed prose, Holding the Man details the highs and lows of the turbulent, passionate relationship between these two men. Conigrave pulls no punches, describing his numerous infidelities with the same unflinching eye for detail as he devotes to growing up in 1970s suburban Melbourne, and the terrible impact of AIDS as it ravages both his body and John's. It's an incredibly tender book; a testament to John and Tim's love; and an incredibly painful book, which has reduced so many of its readers to helpless, wracking sobs.

The stage adaptation of Holding the Man by playwright Tommy Murphy, which opened at the Malthouse on Wednesday night, perfectly encapsulates the story Tim and John's love. It is a remarkable dramatic work, and the single most captivating and emotionally devestating theatrical production I have ever witnessed.

As with the book, the play is told from Tim's point of view - often directly, in droll asides to the audience by Guy Edmonds, who is utterly convincing in his role as Tim Conigrave. The first act opens with a young Tim witnessing the landing of Apollo 11 and Neil Armstrong's first steps on the moon, then launches into a series of quickly-sketched vignettes which collapse years into a succession of key scenes from Tim's life.

The focus, naturally, is on Tim's relationship with the laconic John Caleo (a wonderfully subdued and understated Matt Zeremes). Thus we see a teenage Tim mooning over this boy he hardly knows, followed by a comical flirtation which is aided and abetted by a pencil case; and at last, their first kiss, played out in a way which perfectly captures the scene as Conigrave describes it in the book:

"I turned to face him. He shut his eyes and pursed his lips. Everything was in slow motion as I pressed my mouth against his. His gentle warm lips filled my head. I body disolved, and I was only lips, pressed against the flesh of his. I could have stayed there for the rest of my life..."

The chemistry between Edmonds and Zeremes is remarkable, and utterly convincing, whether early in the play, when the boy's love is fresh and innocent, or later, when Tim's infidelities and out of control libido threaten to once more drive the pair apart.

Less convincing are the many minor characters which come (or cum, as in one especially comic high school scene) and go throughout the many short scenes of which the play is comprised.

The supporting actors, Jeanette Cronin, Nicholas Eadie, Eve Morey and Brett Stiller, are subject to numerous rapid costume changes in order to play a range of characters including school friends (Stiller is especially memorable as Tim's daggy mate, Biscuit), the boys' parents (Cronin and Eadie double up, playing both Tim's and John's mum and dad), actors, doctors, AIDS patients and more. Many of them are played strictly for laughs, as broad caricatures whose purpose is to be instantly identifiable and just as quickly forgotten due to the play's manic pace. That said, they are also played well, signalling key people or moments in Conigrave's all-too-short life.

As the second act unfolds, the need for such a heavy emphasis on humour becomes apparent; it's a much-need balance for the tragic scenes to come.

As John's once strong and healthy body is wracked by illness, the mood of the play darkens, and while there are still opportunities for laughs - usually as a result of Conigrave's wit and unfortunate habit of speaking his mind without due thought for the consequences - more often I began to hear muffled sobs emanating from the audience around me. Often the sobs were mine; tears freely coursed down my cheeks for much of the second half of the play, and by the time of its heart-breaking final scenes, I was bawling my eyes out.

Director David Bertold has ensured that Edmonds and Zeremes never overplay their roles; the pair bring a quiet dignity to their every scene; a fitting balance to the broad comedy sometimes played out around them. Brian Thompson's minimal and versatile set, which we first see covered in dust sheets, a condition to which it ultimately returns, is a perfect counterpoint to the dramas played out on stage; and Micka Agosta's costume designs, like the lights and sound, never draw attention to themselves, instead modestly and effectively highlighting the passage of time over the 15 years of the story.

Of particular note is the sporadic use of puppetry, which is utilised in the opening scene of the lunar landing, and is at its most effective when presenting the ravages of AIDS on the human body. Another memorable scene involves a grotesque yet tender dance between Tim and a dying John, in which Tim is supporting his lover, yet also a puppetmaster, pulling John's strings. It's an ambiguous and powerful scene, and like the production overall, fittingly theatrical, given that Tim Conigrave was, at heart a theatre-maker and practicioner.

Despite the regular presence of humour, Holding the Man is not an easy play to watch. By the time of Guy Edmond's final, heartbreaking monologue, I, like those around me, was reduced to wracking sobs. Some will find its sexual frankness confronting. Others might wish its narrative was less cluttered, its pace less rushed. I myself have no such qualms. Holding the Man is a magnificent, moving piece of theatre; a superb realisation of a great Australian love story; and a more than fitting tribute to the late Timothy Conigrave and the great love of his life, John Caleo. If you only see one piece of theatre this year, I implore you, see this show.

Holding the Man at the CUB Malthouse Theatre until April 19. An MTC presentation of a production by the Griffin Theatre Company.