Review: Brittany & the Mannequins showcases the horrifying rot of wealth
Written by Callum Mackay, Directed by Monique Marani, Produced by Harry Dowling
Review by Clare Rankine
A dark, frightening piece from emerging playwright Callum Mackay about the rot of wealth and class, Brittany & The Mannequins is a peek into the glittering lives of the upper echelons of Sydney’s elite and those who long to join their world. This is a play about four women whose lives have been shattered, and the sharp, rotting, ugly and blood-covered shards that remain.
As we enter the space, we’re immediately confronted by an enormous open chest, with pale ribs curving and throwing terrifying shadows. Set and costume designer Savannah Wegman puts the visceral, vascular dead body literally centre stage in what can only be described as a stroke of genius. A mirrored stage is surrounded by sheer plastic curtains through which blurred shadows loom. Flat black plastic bags spill like the oil of consumerism around the stage. This eerie sight is underscored by a thrumming original bass track by sound designer Danni Esposito; a constant morphing heartbeat. Threatening UV lighting by Georgie Wolfe shows bloody handprints smeared over the mirrored floor, and onto the actors tight beige bodysuits plucked, surely, from Kim Kardashian’s latest Skims line.
Brittany’s just left the prestigious all girl’s Methodist Ladies College, where the rowing team slices through crystal water with aggressively muscular forearms, and horses shimmer and pace in the two million dollar equestrian centre. She’s swapped this world for the “real” world: a job at Chisala, a luxury boutique and wellness centre in the city. Chisala is owned by Brittany’s old classmate Strawberry (yes, “Strawbs” picked her own name) and is full of perfectly folded five hundred dollar white leggings bought by the wealthy elite. Statuesque, dripping with quiet, streamlined wealth and rotten to the core, Strawberry’s whole life is Chisala. With sheer determination, a knack for designing the perfect beige compression legging and a teeny tiny investment from her father, Strawberry has turned Chisala into the hottest place to be, second only to the new glimmering Apple store looming across the street.
On her first day at Chisala, Brittany is introduced to Phoebe. Phoebe's eyes are rimmed with kohl and her heart is full of local council issues affecting the poor, the hungry, the turtles, and the whales. But, Brittany and Phoebe know each other already. An ugly, twisted backstory is peeled back, slowly, just like the skin tight shapewear that leaves red marks on each girl.
Each character is as crisp and subtly complex as a juicy green apple. Jacquline Whiting is ethereal, enigmatic, and utterly hilarious as the tightly wound and at-her-fucking-breaking-point Strawberry. She’s the real star here, bringing satisfying details like the aggressive snap of her yoga mat, and the heady bounce of her pale pink exercise ball. She corrals Brittany and Phoebe to their breaking point — and she gets away with it. When she finally breaks, in a silver glittering dress drunk on a bottle of Gossips Moscato, we actually feel sorry for her, because she’s manipulated us, too.
Tyallah Bullock as Phoebe is a force to be reckoned with. Headstrong, she barrels through her blurry, busy days. Yet because of her impressive character work, we know she’s terrified at the enormity of her privilege. Another old classmate of Strawberry, Claudia, Brittany’s sister, circles just out of reach. Erin Perry brings a gravitas, and a calm humanity to Claudia. She’s open, loving and honest, wishing and wanting the best for her young sister. A testament to her skill is that we all let out a collective hurt gasp when Strawberry, sickly sweet, tells Claudia that Chisala is now stocking plus sizes.
Tahlia Jameson is excellent too, bringing an innocence to the deeply disturbed and often manic Brittany as she stumbles slowly towards her doom. Her spars with Strawberry show off her impressive comedic voice. We soften for Brittany, who sits in her guilt, waiting for a future that will not come. Yet we harden too as her backstory is revealed. Here, Monique Marani’s direction is impressive. The tension she creates through sharp movement and excellent actor placement keeps us captivated, and when an abhorrent twist clicks loudly into place, many of us watch with hands over our frozen mouths. However, the play almost falls short in the last few scenes – the audience is confused as to which dead body lies in the cold storeroom, in between the cardboard boxes.
As a critic, I relish this offer. Perhaps Mackay and his talented team want to keep us in the dark, to keep our brains working and whirring long after the play is over. To discover the real, brutal murder behind the play through foyer conversations and Google searches. However, as an audience member, a small edit is needed, to treat us as equal so we can come to the ugly, rotten realisation as one. You can make your own mind up on the ending, but this play is not to be missed. Go and witness Brittany & The Mannequins for the young women who once circled each other in the schoolyard, now circling each other in a dark storefront, covered in blood, fragile as glass.
Brittany & The Mannequins plays at Northcote Town Hall Arts Centre until 26 November. Find tickets here.
Images by Chelsea Neate
Clare Rankine loves cry laughing at high octane comedy and her cat, Crumpet. She’s also a comedy writer, producer and performer with a sick website that has a sparkle emoji cursor you can find here.
This review was generously donated by Clare.
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