The
Real Thring
Hoy Polloy and Triple R
12 September 2008
Triple R Performance Space
If you believe the legend, Frank Thring was outrageous,
offensive and remarkably talented. For once, the legend is very close to the truth.
Hoy Polloy’s premiere of Barry Dickins’s The
Real Thring explores this legend (and his urban legends) here in the city
where Thring created himself.
If you were born after 1970, you may not know Frank Thring. I
remember him from his appearances on Blankety Blanks – which are now on DVD or
U-Tube. Also, check U-Tube for a rather interesting Thring interview on Tonight Live. By the 1980s Thring was
someone we laughed at, but in the 1950s he was performing Shakespeare, Shaw and
Brecht in the West End, with co-stars including Laurence Oliver and Vivien
Leigh. Moving to Hollywood his film appearances included Pontius Pilate in Ben-Hur (“loved Bad, hated Her”) and Herod
in King of Kings. Thring was a rising
star when he returned to his home town of Melbourne. Here he regularly appeared
on stage, but was best known for his many voiceovers (he was the Continental
Soup voice), for being a regular villain on Skippy
the Bush Kangaroo and film appearances that included Alvin Purple Rides Again and Mad
Max: Beyond Thunderdome. He also hit the height of Melbourne sainthood by
being crowned King of Moomba in 1982.
It isn’t clear why Thring decided to return to Melbourne. Was
it just big fish (and Frank was a very big fish) in a small pond? Back home Thring
was an original Fitzroyal; at a time when a terrace near Brunswick St was
crossing over from working class to bohemian. He was very close to the city
theatres, the Collingwood brothels and the RRR radio studio – all of which he
loved and frequented with equal passion.
In The Real Thring,
Thring is neither alive nor dead, but thinks he may be dreaming that he’s alive.
He admits he “made narcissm feel like anonymity” and wishes that he “hadn’t
tried to be so fantastic”. This leaves a memory of a sad and terribly lonely
man who hid behind sarcasm, outfits of camp black and bling, and a joy in
shocking anyone. The Real Thring
doesn’t really consider that this was simply Frank. Certainly, it was a façade,
but we all choose facades that are very close to our real selves.
Dickins’s script is quite remarkable. It is written with a dexterous
rhythm and witty rhyme (St Pauls/balls, monster/imposter, severe/queer) that force
you to listen. The wonderful words do get in the way of story though. It feels
like there’s an assumption that we already know Thring’s story. On opening night,
this was certainly the case, but I’m not sure how it will sit with less
familiar audiences.
The Real Thring is
also a loving tribute to the world of Melbourne theatre that was. Name-dropping
Lawler, Hopgood and Carillo will always get a well-deserved snicker of
recognition; however, there were so many names that are, sadly, no longer
recognized. I want to know about Fred and Joan who lived in Kooyong Road.
Finally, it takes a fine performer to present such a
difficult script. Michael F Cahill is such a performer. Filling a toga that big
is a big ask. Cahill’s performance works, because he captures the essence of
Thring, without trying to be Frank. He presents so much more than shock and
bling, without ever making us feel sorry for him. Luckily he doesn’t force us
to love or care about him too much either, as a sympathetic Thring would have
been too far from the truth
As a celebration and exploration of a personality and a time
that is slipping away from memory, The
Real Thring is a glorious achievement. The script and this performance may
not translate out of Melbourne (it may not even work on the South side of the Yarra),
but the language and the character will ensure that it’s a script we see again
some day.
This review appeared on AussieTheatre.com
