Melbourne Reviews

If a story is told from the perspective of only one party how accurate is that story? Maybe there is some credence in the notion that truth resides somewhere between differing points of view. What is it that triggers an everlasting memory in one person when for another, the moment was insignificant?

Timothy Conigrave wrote ‘Holding the Man’ for John Caleo. 

Published shortly after his death in 1995, Holding the Man went on to win the UN Human Rights Award for Non-fiction the same year and continues to hold a special place in the broken hearts of the many who have read it. This astonishing, beautiful and agonising memoir was adapted for the stage in 2006 by playwright Tommy Murphy, the premier season was a critically acclaimed success for Griffin Theatre as were the subsequent productions around Australia. A London season in 2010 was followed by a screen adaptation in 2015, written again by Tommy Murphy and directed by Neil Armfield.

In October last year, Taylor Made Productions mounted a sell-out season of Holding the Man at Chapel off Chapel and now, as the party lights dim on a lengthy Pride season and ABC screens ‘Queerstralia’ and ‘In our Blood’; in what feels like a prescient move, the production returns to the South Yarra venue.  

Within his programme welcome, Director Cal Robinson-Taylor forwards with terms that will always be synonymous with this work – love, honesty, authenticity, universal and personal. And for this production, he has earnestly delivered on his promise.

Starting with the lunar landing in 1969, Act One rockets through the decades. It’s fun and frantic and this nimble cast of just six is adept in manifesting quite a sum of characters and locations. Act Two, by contrast is very different in pace, consciously so, and the contrast has been incredibly well handled here to serve the difficult and the solemn.

This is a tough work. It’s challenging and confronting and at times relentless but in that it’s so beautifully lifted from the base material, it never feels gratuitous or unnecessarily shocking. This production is performed by a hardworking cast who clearly understand the gravity of this story and deliver it with purpose and energy. Declan Clifford brings a great deal to Tim; being present and narrative is demanding. This is Tim’s side of the story and the balance is finding how to be a narrator we care about and admire but also the strength to be a character we don’t always like. John of course is much easier to like because our view of him is Tim’s. Jack Stratton-Smith as John is seriously good. This is a thoroughly considered and outstanding performance particularly in depicting John’s decline in health and strength. This is an actor of some height and build and so seeing him become, through physical and vocal adjustment, that vision we sadly have of a person dying with AIDS is genuinely impressive. The ensemble cast support the two leads incredibly well and foster some really fine moments, particularly in their depiction of struggling parents and grief-stricken friends.  Ryan Henry is notably good, welcome funny in several of his characterisations but suitably acerbic and strong in others. 

The time frame of this piece is quite specific and very relevant, particularly in highlighting where we have come in medical advances around HIV and so to that end, it would have been nice for the overall look and feel of the production to have been more located within its era. However, it can never be overstated; getting any production to stage is the work of many people and many minor miracles and this young company is deserving of enormous admiration for bringing this modern Australian classic to the stage once more. Holding the Man will always secure an audience because it is a story that needs to be told and a story that wants to be heard.

Timothy Conigrave wrote Holding the Man for John Caleo – he wrote it as a love letter, an explanation and maybe even an apology for the part he believed he played in their mutual demise. Our view of John will always be Tim’s – John was loved.