TO be clear the delight was not unexpected, because we willingly submit to Louis Viljoen’s shadows and fully know we are in for some kind of mad ride that will thrill us but also excavate our brains, flambé them, and return them in not quite the same state as before. And that in itself is a delight.
This time, the unexpected was (and no, I didn’t memorise the synopsis which I last read in September, which was filled with clues) that it was essentially a romcom. As Emily Child and Nicholas Pauling were taking their bow, I turned to the friend on my right and noted with amazement, “It’s a comedy!” while the friend on the right (both of them regular Vijoen attendees) leaned over and said “It’s a love story!” Both are correct. And it’s adorable.
I for one, did not see this coming. I was excited enough that we were getting a second play in this year. Even the mention of cupcakes in the invitation reminder didn’t raise any red flags. They are to be a consolation, I thought, for any new trauma. But they were cheerful cupcakes with lemony yellow icing. Most appropriate.
Everything we know and love about Viljoen’s plays is present: the two-hander, sparse stage, lots of alcohol, rapid-fire dialogue, a narrator filling the darkness between scenes, fleshing out the story. At the first audience chuckle, a lone bark, I rolled my eyes; inappropriate laughter is also a factor, and perhaps it was a tiny bit of humour to lull us into a false sense of security before all hell broke loose. But then it just got funnier, and I realised we had permission to chortle. It was expected. The whole damn thing is ridiculously hilarious, and the timing is impeccable. And yes, it’s outrageous. We can all learn a thing or two that perhaps we could have innocently lived our lives without knowing. The bell cannot be unrung.
The plot is well explained here, and I don’t really want to go into it any deeper; it is much better if you go see for yourself. In fact, I am checking my insane November calendar to see if I can fit in a second viewing…
The play, which runs until the 22nd, carries an age restriction of 18 for explicit language, immorality, lewdness and all manner of perversions. Tickets are available through Webtickets, and range from R150 to R180 per person.
- “Knowledge is of no value unless you put it into practice.” Anton Chekhov
