Rackety Humphries explores another great character – himself
Barry Humphries: The Man Behind the Mask Richmond Theatre, touring
Photos underline the parallels between his housewife mother and Dame Edna
It’s almost 10 years since Barry Humphries delivered what looked like his last theatrical hurrah – Eat Pray Laugh! That was a swansong celebration of the enduring alter-egos that put him and post-war Australian comedy – at its most self-ironic – on the map. Possums were treated to his best-loved characters, Dame Edna Everage and Sir Les Patterson, plus the lesser known, wistful suburban figure of Sandy Stone and a new outré creation, Sir Les’s paedo-priest brother.
The show pulled out all the stops, and felt like a full-stop. But now, with Humphries aged 88, comes a coda: a soirée of reminiscence that promises to reveal “the man behind the mask”. It had an outing Down Under in 2018. Still, with each passing year, he risks becoming the kind of fading trouper once derided by his mother who, as he has often recalled, would loudly whisper into his ear, as a child, midmatinées, “Isn’t it pathetic, at his age?”
This valedictory evening could be viewed as a vindicating retort to that long-ago barb. Revisiting his youth in Melbourne, Humphries recalls his mother as a complex creature who counterbalanced furtive support for her son’s artistic inclinations with a middle-class conformity that could take a turn for the banally reproving.
He relives the time he found her listening to a radio phone-in beset by calls berating him for selling Australia short. “You see Barry, that’s what they think of you!” she snapped. He went straight to another room, and called up, in character as Dame Edna, joining the shrill chorus of disapproval, and concluding, “And I happen to know that his mother agrees with me!”
That retaliation gives a clear vantage on his success: not just that Edna has a mischievous life of her own, but that when in doubt Humphries always pushes past the conventionally acceptable “done thing”. While there’s no age-limit on this kind of “audience with”, Humphries’s stiff, hunched demeanour and slightly unsteady way with the script suggests that this foray isn’t wholly wise; but where did being prudent ever get him?
The evolution of Edna is laid out in detail that won’t surprise anyone who has read the 2002 memoir (My Life as Me) but has the added value of being affably and enjoyably recounted, with photos that emphasise the connections between his housewife mater and the housewife giga-star. Indulging us with a spittle-flecked burst of Sir Les’s bovine banter, he also reminds us that the latter was brought into being to serve as Dame Edna’s warm-up act.
He leaves in-depth psychological or academic discussion of his art to others, and autobiographical frankness – allusions to his alcoholism aside – is sparing. It would be nice if Ben Dawson at the piano, tinkling sentimental segues and the send-off song, acted as a conduit for questions, audiencederived or otherwise.
He flings a few trademark gladioli into the stalls by way of heart-gladdening dénouement – a modest reprise of the lavish climaxes of yesteryear. Which feels fitting. Yes, his powers are faded, but the grand old wizard of Oz remains a wonder of the age, and a sight to behold.