National Security and The Art of Taxidermy - Downstairs Theatre, Seymour Centre - 23/09/05

Ethan Switch - Saturday, 24 September 2005 - Print Version

The Downstairs Theatre seats patrons on a massively steep incline. Distance between the rear wall and the lip of the stage is remarkably close. Intimate with a hint of blood letting for the altitude of the back row. Flooring is hollow, a medium weight to steps giving the stands a shaky feel.

Nobody touches the terrorism handbooks on the table outside. Nobody save for those looking for the bins.

David Callan stands as Neville, a racist taxidermist who knows just exactly what is white and what is wrong with the world. From the very second the lights of the laboratory are on, Neville asserts an aggressive stance toward life, civil liberties and society.

A woman down in the first row steals Callan's focus as his snide remarks find a target. Pauses and little asides bear down from his steely gaze and into the back of her head. Pressure and disdain builds as every other line throws an evil look down in her direction. This is the price of coming in after the man starts talking.

After the destruction of his German Shepherd, Uzi Nine Millimetre, Neville also happens to be alone, dealing with the loss and suffering the pains of losing a loved one. Rather off the cuff and with a frankly off hand approach, Neville attempts to solicit women from the stands into becoming his wife. Failing horrendously and with such spectacular lack of shame it creates for a closer connection with the bigot.

Methodical in his very movement, Callan carries forth straight absolutes within the crosshairs of Neville's world views. Nothing is left to chance as his very actions as a staunch racist run parallel to his work as a taxidermist.

Mary Rachel Brown's witty script triggers many moments of sheer laughs over Neville's lot in life that the night shows no hint of stirring the audience into hate for the man. Far from it. Shy of yelling, "Heil Hitler!" Neville draws the audience into the psychosis of his racial bias with an apparent calm that eases any and all to accept his frame of reference. However far apart from their own.

Kitchens are home to many knives. Often, knives can be found visiting other places, such as warehouse hospitals, backyard boxing rings and even taxidermy operating rooms. Neville's mesmerising fixation with the sharpening of such tools of the trade proves to be a lingering nod toward the acuity of the lines.

Details of animals and pets that arrive in the operating room of the taxidermy are at once gruesome and salaciously hysterical. A ludicrous and logical rant over the classification and treatment of poodles provides another level of insight toward the structure of Neville's state of mind.

National Security and the Art of Taxidermy offers little for those intent on picking up tips and tricks in the profession and hobby of taxidermy. Talks of technique, method and procedure speak from a standard read of textbook stuffing. Nothing new or exciting is forthcoming in this respect.

Lighting is stark and clinical for the first half of the production, shadowing the very passionate rage within Neville. Blue hues of the second prize a more emotionally vulnerable core that leaves the bright white lights flapping in the wings. There is, after all, slivers of humanity within everyone.

Dancing with life after death, paranoia of the present and xenophobia of the neighbours, National Security and the Art of Taxidermy shows that everybody can love, laugh and lace up a squashed gerbil.

To a certain extent.

Ethan Switch