Reviewed by: Emma Parfitt
For Love Nor Money, a new play by Angus Cameron, made its world debut at this year’s Melbourne Fringe
Festival. Touted as a sexy, queer dark comedy, I was expecting the raunchy humour of the show – but more surprising was the raw tragedy that underpinned it.
For Love Nor Money follows millennial artists Mel (Clarisse Bonello) and Liam (Alexander Lloyd) as they attempt to create a career in our world where stable arts careers are near impossible to build sustainably without any financial privilege behind you. When politician Ryan (Matthew Connell) becomes intertwined into the lives of Mel and Liam after a raunchy night, questions and suspicion begin to emerge. Are their relationships pure love or just a ploy for money? Who pulls the strings? Under the skilful, witty writing of Cameron and thoughtful, cohesive direction of Justin Nott, this play posed many an existential question and proposed wild fantasies, whilst remaining grounded and bitingly relatable.
How does someone who doesn’t know you love you?
What ensued was an intriguing exploration of power, success, sexuality, doubt, purpose, and the expectations a capitalist society places on us about good people, art and “real” jobs. Achingly relevant, this play was ever so pertinent to the questions that artists pose of themselves every day – many a cynical quip striking a somewhat grim chord with the audience, laughing at the fabulous execution of the show’s dark comedy, and laughing because as an artist if you don’t laugh, you cry.
What if you’re not any good?
A triangle of chairs connected by stark light strips gave a feeling of intense connectivity. This also played into the smallness of the space, trapping the actors and heightening tension. The building of tension in this show was alluring. The actors always watching and reacting to each other, a disquieting, compelling sound design and the simple yet effective use of lighting contributed, and the clothing racks played a captivating part in creating tension – showing us the costumes the characters would wear ahead of time and the gradual removal of the clothes from racks creating a countdown, whilst messy piles grew. The motif of playfulness was seamlessly stitched into the seams of the play, reminding the audience constantly of the game that artists play to build a career. Switches from increasingly building sexual tension suddenly to innocence brought a bittersweet element of childish mischief, whilst also building the tension between characters.
Do you regret what you did?
Introducing a politician into a play about arts was a bold choice, with the potential to be jarring and
one-dimensional as the “bad guy”. Initially, that’s how it seemed, but as the play opened up, it became clear that Cameron wished to draw no line between good and bad. A bitterly clever monologue, delivered beautifully by Connell, drew parallels between politics and arts, showing us that perhaps they are not so different after all and it is humanity, rather than any career, that drives people to blur moral lines in a bid for success and stability.
The meaning of success was also questioned. Who got what they wanted, and at what expense? Can you be a good person and be successful?
Who is using who?
Costume changes between scenes occurred onstage – dimly lit but clearly visible. This became an integral part of the play, with the actors watching each other almost hungrily during changes. Were they hungry for success or hungry for each other? Or both? The audience watched on, giving the impression that we were watching these characters in their most vulnerable moments – reflecting on the constant scrutiny society places on artists and the pressure to never stop performing. Furthermore, when a character was not present in a scene, they remained onstage watching on. I would have loved for these fleeting, profound moments to be sat with for longer, allowing the audience to sit with the discomforting feeling of voyeurism supported by the sinister sound design.
The performances of Bonello, Llloyd and Connell were authentic and profound, with every actor hitting each comedic and dramatic mark. They were a formidable trio onstage, and each partnership felt meaningful and true, making the fallouts ever more heart-wrenching. Their unapologetic physicality made for a dynamic performance, driven by their energy. They did not miss a beat, with Bonello and Lloyd’s high-paced performances especially building an impressive rapport with the audience – perhaps because the plights of their characters hit a little too close to home for some.
For Love Nor Money ultimately posed more questions than it answered, creating an expose of the contradictions that artists face, and the lengths they must go to in order to hold on to what seems to be slipping away in an every-changing world. For Love Nor Money was insightful, intoxicating and indulgent, forcing the audience to think, question and criticise the systems of arts in our society – an immensely powerful and pointed message in the context of the indie arts scene’s condition today.
FOR LOVE NOR MONEY is currently performing at Festival Hub: Trades Hall, from October 11th – 22nd with the Melbourne Fringe Festival.
Tickets can be found here.
The Dialog 