Barry Otto was kissing Marcus Graham. Which, I thought, was an odd way for adults to make a living. Behind me the kids went “Yuuuckk”. It was the most sensible thing they said all day. The play was advertised as Molière’s Tartuffe, at Melbourne’s Malthouse Theatre. The auditorium was cut in two by the stage: a swathe of bright green Astroturf running from one side of the room to the other. Metal gates and grilles stood at either end, and cut into the phony green grass was a long, slim swimming pool. The audience sat facing each other on banks…
Subscribe to get access to all online articles
Already a member?
Sign in to read this article