Auctions as theatre: The most entertaining show of the year

Theatre review of “Auction of Weatherboard at Number 17”, a dramatic play in 3-acts with 2-bedrooms and 1 bathroom (Duration: approximately 28 minutes, with a 3-day cooling-off period.  Warning: Contains coarse language, mostly from the middle-aged man standing at the back who’s wife keeps nudging him in the side, saying “Go one more, Roland, go one more”).

Rarely in all my years of theatre reviewing have I been so impressed by a new production: put simply, this was outstanding theatre, plus the tickets were free, and best of all, it was just around the corner from my house so I could walk over and watch without having to put on my shoes.  Upon taking my seat in the dress-circle – the bonnet of a 2007 Toyota Corolla – the audience hushed as the main character, The Auctioneer, appeared before us, delivering his introductory comic monologue (“Exquisite! Unique!  Well-maintained!  But enough about me, let’s focus on the house!”).  This caused outbursts of uproarious laughter, but only from The Auctioneer’s Sidekick, a fellow cast-member who looked like a 12-year-old in a suit.

Quite unexpectedly, the Seinfeldian shenanigans took on a darker, more sinister tone: The Auctioneer stared directly at the audience and howled “Do we have an opening bid?  Doesn’t have to be your best bid, just your first bid!”  – clearly a searing indictment on the bourgeois artifice of post-capitalist society, reminding me of Antonin Artaud’s Theatre of Cruelty, but a little crueler.  What followed took my breath away: a member of the audience raised her hand, yelled out a number, and I realised cast-members were planted in the audience, hidden amongst us – she was a tall woman with a baby strapped to her chest, both of them imbuing their characters with a fragile cold-eyed brittleness.   Other planted “audience-members” began yelling out numbers, raising their hands, possibly representing how we are all lonely strangers, grappling to find solace in a world of futility, brilliantly underscored by a menacing minimalist marimba theme, then the guy beside me turned off his phone.

Seamlessly, the drama transformed into an experimental “Sprechgesang” opera: The Auctioneer launched into a series of inarticulate grunts, poetic declamations and liturgical chants (“Do I hear another ten-thousand?  Do I hear another ten?”), building to an ecstatic crescendo (“No further bids?  All done? First call!  Second Call!  Third and final call…”) .  An excruciating Pinteresque pause followed, then in a shamanesque state of incandescent rage, The Auctioneer violently smacked his own hand with a rolled-up paper-bludgeon and yelled “SOLD!”, the audience plunging into an abyss of eternal self-oblivion, our psyches forever exposed and unclothed.   Well something like that: it was a pretty heavy moment, anyway.

The show was over, we applauded wildly, the cast looked visibly shaken, especially the woman who bought the house with a 21-day settlement.  But there was no time for post-theatre reflection: I had to immediately head around the block to review “Open-For-Inspection at 4/22”, an intimate interactive drama examining global tensions in a multi-spatial multi-dimensional context.  And you can peek inside the bedroom drawers of complete strangers.

Danny Katz is a newspaper columnist, a Modern Guru, and the author of the Little Lunch books for kids, now a new TV series on ABC3.