From the editor
VERY best wishes to Jonathan Holloway for his first Perth International Arts Festival, which opened last night. I’m looking forward to visiting later in the month to see the work of recent Review cover goddess Lucinda Childs, along with as many other things I can cram into four days. Holloway has programmed with a slightly sunnier touch than did Lindy Hume for her third and final Sydney Festival, which contained a lot of dark, provocative material ( The Boys, Thyestes, Buried City, ’ Tis Pity She’s a Whore; whoa!) but there’s a wee bit of crossover between the festivals on either side of the continent with the inclusion of Frantic Assembly’s movement-theatre piece about boxing, Beautiful Burnout. I commend it to Perth readers, although I wish you could also see Sydney’s other boxing show, I’m Your Man, a piece of verbatim theatre by Roslyn Oades at Belvoir. The shows, so different in intent and construction, made a fascinating double, particularly for the likes of your correspondent who, it’s safe to say, is not a noted boxing aficionado. Festivals: they do take you places you wouldn’t ordinarily go. I’m Your Man is, if you’ll forgive me, a knockout, and I would advise festival directors in other cities who’d like to have a hit on their hands to pick this one up quick smart; audiences adored it. The problem will be keeping the stunning cast together. And boy, were they fit! As we watched the sole woman in I’m Your Man doing chin-ups — the actors never stop working for 75 minutes — a bloke a couple of seats down from me muttered feelingly: ‘‘I can’t do that.’’ And neither, friends, can I. Beautiful Burnout is a bit kinder on its cast, but not much.