The weird and wonderful world of hospitality brought to life in Service
During the brief period where I was a hospitality worker, I witnessed many a strange individual. There were good customers who were kind and understanding when I was first starting out. There were bad customers who were likely on some kind of illegal amphetamines. There were nothingburger customers who were just kind of… there. Needless to say, it was utterly surreal witnessing such experiences ridiculed, and yet simultaneously lovingly teased, in Lachlan Grogan’s dance-theatre production Service. There was never a dull moment. The movement, sound design, and blocking meant that there was always something drawing your eye. For my first ever experience of the dance-theatre genre, I’d say this production was a fantastic pick.
A few weeks ago I interviewed Grogan about Service’s creative process for The Gala. Before the interview had even begun, Grogan stopped me after I introduced myself and said: ‘I know you.’ I panicked, but not for long. It was then that I realised that my mother had actually taught Grogan singing when he was a teenager, and my father has performed in several SoPopera musicals with him (Wollongong, amirite?). It was an incredibly cool experience seeing this person I re-met from my childhood put on his very own years-in-the-making production at the IPAC.
Part of what made me so excited to write this review was the fact that in order to get the production’s message across, Grogan required eight to ten volunteers from the audience to sit on stage and be messed with throughout the show. Luckily, I arrived early enough to be one of these lab rats. As the lights dimmed and the hypnotic thrumming synth of the play’s overture began (shoutout to Nick Calligeros for the awesome original compositions), we watched as each performer-slash-hospo worker entered the “restaurant” in varying states of excitement for their shift. Not too long after, volunteers were ushered onto the stage. We were sat at different tables by the performers, as they asked our names and murmured your typical hospo-greetings. We were given real table water. I quietly asked my dad if he reckoned we could actually drink it. I’m really glad I ended up doing so (more on that later).
The atmosphere of the play was electric. Grogan managed to turn what would ordinarily be a relatively boring shift at a run-down hospo job into a jam-packed hour of intensity and humour. At every turn, it was entirely unpredictable what the performers’ next move would be. Being there on the stage and participating was, I imagine, an entirely different experience to simply sitting in the audience and being a witness to such silliness (in the best possible way). I could hear the breaths as the performers moved and stretched. I could see the sweat beading on their faces about twenty minutes in from pure exertion. I could feel them whirl the air around me with complex turns and kicks and flicks of dish towels. I saw Grogan’s eyebrows contort in confusion when he saw me and my dad sitting at a table, followed by him pointing at us and gasping in an unquestionably commedia dell’arte fashion. It was undoubtedly stressful, but it was worth it.
Speaking of stress, remember how about 165 words ago I said I was glad I drank all my water? Well, readers, your ever-reliable [REDACTED]August utterly embarrassed himself, contrary to popular opinions about my calm and confident decorum. There was a skit during the show where Grogan was miming being a bartender, behind a bar set piece upstage. To a soundscape of sensual jazz, he pretended to pour drinks for several customers, using increasingly outrageous techniques. At one point, he mimed turning a random dial, and as he turned it, two duck quacks played. This, for some reason, was so mind-blowingly funny and entertaining that I flailed like a newborn, and in the process, I knocked my plate, cutlery, water glass, and fake candle onto the floor. Thankfully, it was cushioned by the tablecloth, otherwise something would have definitely smashed into pieces. It was hilarious to the audience, of course, and Grogan improvised a silly ‘get a load of this guy’ reaction to my blunder. I felt quite embarrassed, but I suppose my inner theatre kid was just fighting to get out and onstage once more. Lachy, if you’re reading this, let me know if you ever need someone to throw dishware around. I know a guy, and that guy is me.
Service was largely a comedy production, but there were moments of sincerity and genuine adoration for the hospitality industry sprinkled throughout. There was a section where the performers acted out being two people on an awkward first date, or a parent and child, or a group of old friends. It was heart-warming to see Grogan’s interpretation of hospitality encompass such a wide range of love and hate.
Service was a joy to watch and participate in. The MerringongX program has this year produced some incredible plays that I feel very privileged to go and watch and review. I look forward to watching even more of these theatremakers take advantage of such an amazing opportunity, and I look forward to seeing more of what Grogan produces in the future. I have no doubt that Service could easily go on to tour Australia, and perhaps even go international. After all, the message of hospitality transcends boundaries of the spoken word. To any hospo workers reading this: you are much appreciated, and I hope you know that without you, dinner would be quite a boring affair.
