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Patricia Cornelius and Susie Dee – bloody audacious
Patricia Cornelius – the lauded Australian playwright behind such incendiary works as Slut, Shit, Runt, Savages and In the Club – plus astoundingly accomplished director and regular double act Susie Dee were told by an arts minister a few years back that their participation in Melbourne Fringe, “Was such an important stepping stone for you to further your career.”
They were already two of the nation’s finest arts leaders by a very long way.
Putting aside, for a moment, the misapprehension that ’emerging’ is synonymous with young, Dee begins, “The assumption is that Fringe is just for the emerging, then once you’ve got a little play up, oh, now you can move on to…” before Cornelius joins her in a faux fancy voice chorus of, “THE MAINSTREAM.”
As Dee sees it, “Fringe is the home for experimental, independent work, and there aren’t many places where f***ing artists can perform and do work like this.”
“The mainstream isn’t going to pick you up because you’re bloody audacious,” Cornelius agrees. “They don’t want you insulting anybody, so you have to be really sneaky about the insults, working undercover. But it’s the independent sector getting it in the neck, and it’s so frightening. Where do you think the mainstream get most of their material from? People who started in the independent sector. Which is why it’s so important to know how undernourished the independent sector is, and it’s getting worse.”
Cornelius and Dee, both in their 60s, are part of a cohort of powerful women in that age bracket presenting new works in this year’s Fringe. fortyfivedownstairs will host their viscerally bracing Bad Boy. They’re teaming up again with rigorous actor Nicci Wilks, who they’ve cast in a masculine-presenting role while acknowledging the artifice to tackle Australia’s insidious misogyny-fuelled domestic violence epidemic head-on. “We’re playing with the temperature of that,” Dee says. “It’s hardcore.”
Of course, Bad Boy spits their trademark darkly comic ‘bad’ language. “I don’t consciously write about tough women,” Cornelius says. “I’m as interested in the vulnerability and powerlessness of it, but sometimes, when people talk about not liking the swearing or the vernacular, I go, ‘Do you know how powerful that is, in a public space, when someone’s talking the talk? It’s electrifying. It’s frightening. It’s powerful, and it’s the only thing that a lot of women have.”
Wilks’ command of this material is something to behold, Dee says. “She just goes in boots and all,” with Cornelius adding, “She’s an actor with great courage, and it’s quite something to see. It makes you feel almost anxious for her, because she goes that far. It’s marvellous to work with someone like that.”
The team are all about pushing the boundaries in a way that Fringe embraces. “It’s about politics,” Cornelius says of her enduring partnership with Dee. “I trust where Suzie’s coming from. I trust her understanding of class, and I write about class a lot. After so many shows, we can jump the gun and go hard quickly.”
Dee agrees. “Sometimes, when you’re directing, you don’t have a writer in the room, or you don’t want the f***ing writer in the room, but with Patricia, sometimes I feel like she’s co-directing with me [Cornelius shakes her head]. There’s a quicker understanding, even if we have differences of opinion.”
Since first appearing as actors in a production of Cornelius’ play Lilly and May, nearly 40 years ago, the terrific twosome have soared, often in tandem, despite encountering hurdles along the way. “I actually feel, at this point of my life, like I’ve had gorgeous opportunities,” Dee insists. “I feel blessed with the projects that are put in front of me, or I’ve chosen to work on. I feel highly respected.”
Cornelius concurs. “I think it’s about lasting the distance,” she says. “We’ve been very stubborn in sticking in there, doing shows on the cheap, not being paid properly – all the terrible things that happen when you’re an artist in this country. But your work hits some good notes, and people are interested in investing in you. I think our age has probably suited us.”
But times are changing. “In the 80s, there was never a big economic imperative for us,” Dee notes. “It was always about if there was an idea that garners our passion, we did it. We’ve both had slumps, but it was easier to hang in there.”
Cornelius adds. “It’s never been easy, but as much as people don’t like it, you could go on the dole, and you just can’t do that now. You can’t rent cheap places anymore, so it’s tougher for everybody, including us.”
Melinda Smith – sound and vision
Wheelchair-using dancer, poet and visual artist Melinda Smith, an advocate for disability inclusion who lives with cerebral palsy, is also over 60, with her performance career emerging later in life. “I took 40-plus years to come out as a dancer, and it wasn’t my age that held me back,” she says. “In fact, it was my older self that moved me forward. Maturity has worked in my favour, being able to think about my body differently.”
Indeed, performing makes Smith feel like age is a mutable thing. “No matter what medium I’m using or performance I’m making, it gives me an amazing opportunity to be whatever age I choose to be in the moment,” she says. “If I’m painting a whimsical, magical character, I’m likely to find myself back being young. If I’m exploring movement and the way my body is changing, I can examine where I’m at in the moment. It’s all part of my story.”
Read: Older dance artists allow intergenerational stories to blossom
Smith’s latest show, Conduit Bodies, a semi-autobiographical work challenging stereotypes around disability, debuts at Fringe as part of its Radical Access program in association with Arts House and Arts Centre Melbourne’s Alter State. “I’ve imagined performing in the main hall at Arts House for years, so it’s an incredible outcome for me, both personally and professionally, and they have made me feel like I belong there, which is really important.”
Embracing assisted technology, Smith wears AirSticks invented by composer and percussionist Alon Ilsar. They use motion-sensitive technology to create electronic soundscapes and visuals. “It’s amazing to be able to express myself in real-time, revisiting parts of my history and reshaping it through movement in a way that doesn’t back away from my disability,” Smith says.
Conduit Bodies invites the audience to follow Smith’s personal journey from self-consciousness to, “Not giving a s**t.” It’s equal parts personal and political, she says. “Having the opportunity to lead this project and tell my own story is advocacy work in itself, calling for more disabled stories and people on stage in the arts.”
While there has been some improvement in access, there’s still a long way to go. “Improving access for both sides of the coin, performers and audiences, is vital,” Smith insists. “For so long, the disability community has been left out of so many spaces, but organisations like Loom Arts and Management, who represents me, are actively working hard to improve the capacity of creative organisations. It’s so important to surround yourself with amazing people who are dedicated to helping your work because, in a world where everything around me is so fast, I simply don’t have enough time to articulate my basic needs and wants sometimes.”
Smith hopes to see more disabled people in leadership roles across arts bodies. “As it stands, my voice tends to get a bit pushed aside. I don’t always feel valued for my contribution, even when I work hard to put myself out there. Big ensembles can be a challenge. Smaller creative teams work better for me.”
Like Cornelius and Dee, Smith doesn’t see age as a significant barrier, impressed by the cohort of creatives over 60 presenting works in this year’s Fringe. “It’s incredibly empowering, and I feel really proud to be part of that talented, creative and vibrant community of artists going about their brilliant work and getting it out there.”
Moira Finucane – ice and fire
If anyone thinks that women 60 and over are supposed to be quiet and go away, then The Burlesque Hour co-founder Moira Finucane has news for you. “You only need to tell me ‘no’ three times, and I will do it,” she says. “My practice has always been fuelled by a sense of defiance.”
Raised Irish Catholic and fascinated by the lives of saints and fairy tales as a child, the towering Finucane has always been drawn to those who stood up to be counted. “When I became an artist, the things that made me excited were literally what raises the hair on my arms,” Finucane says. “My entire focus is on creating a visceral world that’s exciting. It’s not polite. It’s joyous and wild. I want to pull open my rib cage and shine that light directly into the audience.”
Her latest Fringe work, Finucane & Smith’s Global Smash Club taking over the ballroom at Trades Hall, once again assembles a galaxy of stars, including Maude Davey, Yumi Umiumare and Mama Alto. “It’s the love child of the Horsehead Nebula and the uncomfortable red blob from Edvard Munch’s painting Woman in Three Stages,” Finucane says.
While celebrating the participants’ differences, Finucane also champions their commonality. “They come from rich and complex identities, cultures, sexualities and spirituality, but they all have three things in common. They love their audience, work really, really hard and they’re uniquely talented, deeply honest to whatever that light is within them.”
A big believer in sending the elevator back down, this Fringe Finucane also directs The Loved One at Trades Hall. Inspired by Finucane’s artist in residency stint at Monash University a few years back, the cabaret work reunites her with two students – “extraordinary young singer-songwriter Zitao Deng and stunning cellist and emerging composer Xiao Xiao” – alongside a new cohort. “I’m not bringing them a play and going, ‘Here, do it.’ It’s their words about love, grief, desire, pleasure, joy – all the big things. I work through what is most urgent in that person right now.”
It’s not a one-way street. “It’s not just us giving them the benefit of our wisdom,” Finucane says. “It’s them giving us insights, imagination, provocation and challenges. Generosity is a powerful tool for social change.”
Finucane has bulldozed through the roadblocks she’s encountered along the way. “I’ve been cabaret-splained, mansplained, overlooked, underestimated, made to feel fearful for who I am in my person, absolutely,” she says. “But the complexity of being human and the extraordinariness of what we can be if we are not put in boxes is like nails flying out of a coffin, which is what I’m excited by.”
From a photoshoot in a ballgown with a bemused penguin in the Antarctic to performances in the baking sun beating down on Cuba and Buenos Aires, Finucane may just be getting started. “I didn’t perform in nightclubs ‘til I was around 30, so I am an endless late bloomer. By the time I’m 90, I’ll probably be running an opera house.”
Melbourne Fringe runs at venues all over the city from 1 to 20 October.
