By Darby Turnbull
Horror is a genre that has always been innately femme and queer. Part of being a marginalized class or identity is being hyper vigilant to perilous outside forces and not being believed. The most enduring Horrors have been rooted in an individual’s most primal fears and desires manifesting as a corporal ‘monster’ or the body (usually a femme body) becoming the canvas for societies sins and fears.
Perhaps it’s too soon to say but Our monster’s name is Jerry seems, to me, the most effective and tantalising Australian Horror since Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook. It’s the kind of work that would benefit enormously from the funding and opportunity to reach a broader audience, I could easily see it developing a devoted following. Amy May Nunn’s script whilst reverent to the tropes of the gothic horror genre feels profoundly in tune to the very specific fears and experiences of queer people today. Nunn and Director Alanah Guiry potently explore the existential horrors of IVF and the schisming effects it can have on a couple; inviting a strange force into an established unit forces them to confront inherited trauma and the complex feelings related to queer people building a family, from internalised heteronormative standards and possibly integrating into those standards when you’ve existed outside of them.
Laura Jane Turner and Emma Jevons play Maude and Lou, a metropolitan queer couple at the end of their financial rope due to multiple rounds of IVF. Then out of nowhere Maude inherits her estranged Grandfather’s gothic mansion, Briarwood, previously inhabited by her eccentric and recently deceased Aunt Wendy. The Patriarch has seemingly made a habit of installing his ‘unmarried’ female relations in the house as a caretaker. Both Maude and Lou have traumatic experiences in their pasts that the house viscerally manifests. Nunn has a keen eye for the kinds of conflicts that emerge with a queer couple navigating different lived experiences, class, gender roles, values and communication styles. Laura Jane Turner’s brittle Maude is a reformed rich girl well trained by her hyper religious corporate family in repressing her emotions. Emma Jevons’ Lou is much more reserved and stoic with little patience for the ‘therapy speak’ Maude easily espouses. Lou’s recently deceased mother was a doomsday prepper, who, to the outside eye might have had extreme ways of showing it, had a very clear vision for the world’s disintegration that many choose to ignore. Turner and Jevons each deliver powerful, courageous performances equal to the thematic richness of the text.
Amanda LaBonte lends her considerable gravitas to the dual roles of Aunt Wendy and requisite nosy neighbour Barbara. LaBonte’s Barbara is a worthy successor to Ruth Gordon’s Minnie Castevet (Rosemary’s Baby) , a fantastically creepy comic creation filled with disarming over familiarity and folksy condescension.
It would be an unfair spoiler to disclose fourth cast member Tomas Parrish’s exact role but their physical agility, keen ability to imitate the other characters and vocal technique make them a brilliant malevolent presence.
Guiry’s production keeps the action firmly rooted in the experiences of the characters, expertly paced so that Nunn’s text can breathe and envelop the audience rather than letting the special effects overwhelm the proceedings.
Savanna Wegman’s set is a wonder; from a stunning opening curtain (can we bring those back please) to the design of Briarwood itself; a model of dilapidated grandeur filled with some very clever nooks and crannies that allow for some good old fashioned stage trickery.
In Horror lighting and sound is essential in maintaining mood and tension and Thomas Roach and Robbie Divine’s designs excel in creating a growing sense of unease scattered with jump scares culminating in a stunning emotional climax. Supported by Charlie Bowmaker’s eerie, off-putting soundscape; the technical elements are a triumph in their ability to work in harmony with the performances and the characters. Just imagine what they could do with a few more hundred thousand dollars sent their way!
Our Monster’s Name is Jerry from Dirty Pennies Theatre is an intelligent, profound evocation of queer, millennial anxieties and a brilliant addition to Australian Horror oeuvre.
Image: Kimberly Summer
