The King of Broken Things. Theatre
Venue: Victoria Theatre
Next performance: Friday 27 June 10:00.
Interview
Guest Writer: Robyn Sassen
Have you ever watched a small child make art? It’s never about whether things
are ‘good enough’ or what level of approval they may garner. It’s about the correct –
call it spiritual – place for things to go. Or the correctly coloured crayon to use in a
given context, with boldness and fearlessness.
In Michael Taylor-Broderick’s production, The King of Broken Things, performer Cara Roberts encapsulates this understanding so impeccably, you will feel like you, too, are nine years old. Or
thereabouts. It’s an extraordinary piece of theatre and a profound understanding of
story-telling.
But be warned. Maybe surrounded by supporting literature or popular opinion which says it’s for children,
this is grown up storytelling at its most sophisticated, transformed through the
sensibilities of a child into something that has several narrative tales that have the
same kind of kick as the horrifying denouement of Joseph Heller’s Catch-22. It’s a
work that tells a troubling story with the kind of give and take, the two steps forward
and ten in a completely different direction, that constitutes the fabric of real narrative,
that keeps you focused and doesn’t let go.
Above all, it is about how broken things – be they ceiling fans or bicycle wheels,
keyboards from a by-gone era or empty bird cages, rusted over time – can develop a
new identity, and have another life punctuated by different metaphors and new
idioms, because of their brokenness. It presents a set of values that can also apply
to people broken by circumstance, disappointment and loss. It’s about the Japanese
concept of kintsugi where broken ceramic is repaired with gold leaf, as much as it is
about adventure, and above all the beating nexus that can make a curious, sensitive,
maybe traumatised child into an artist.
King of Broken Things features an interpretation of a main character that reaches
beyond the bounds of stereotype with quietude and boldness, bravery and a
quintessential understanding of a young and bruised self. And yet it never bleeds
over into foolish or mawkish. It’s a beautiful play that will haunt you with important
truths. Premised on a gorgeously messy set by Bryan Hiles that engages the magic
of analogue mechanics as well as the kinds of treasures one finds in someone else’s
detritus, it may take you back to a childhood, rich with possibility and crusted with
hope but also tears. Bring tissues.
Read more of Robyn Sassen here.
