The Spare Room

Time Out

10 hours ago

Many of us try not to think about death too much. Even if it is discussed or thought about, it's considered in the abstract – a distant experience we will deal with someday, maybe later. From beloved Australian novelist Helen Garner, The Spare Room brings the later to now in an unflinchingly raw and brutal confrontation with death. Adapted and directed by Belvoir St Theatre 's artistic director Eamon Flack (Counting and Cracking), these heavy themes are carried with compassion, humour and drama in an evocative performance that lingers long after the final moment.
After going through multiple rounds of chemotherapy and radiation, Nicola (Elizabeth Alexander) decides to stay with her old friend Helen (Judy Davis) in Melbourne for three weeks while she undertakes an alternative cancer treatment. From Vitamin C-infused IV drips to sitting naked in 'ozone saunas', these alternative therapies claim to destroy cancer much in the same manner an octopus can break rocks. (Their words, not mine.) The three weeks force both Nicola and Helen to go beyond the platitudes and formalities, and to confront the raw and infuriating experience of both having a terminal illness, and supporting a loved one through it.
a provocative portrayal of the communal experience of death
The play commences with a profound silence, held by Helen for a moment longer than comfortable. Davis's command and authority are masterfully established in this stillness, and do not falter for the rest of the performance. With skill and precision, Davis is able to balance her character's deeply loving and tender side with the angry and pragmatic. There's an air of Fleabag to her perfectly-timed breakings of the fourth wall. (Perhaps this could be Phoebe Waller-Bridge's next inspiration? There's even a mention of a guinea pig, too!). It's a performance that pulls you in with a stare and refuses to let go.
Equally as moving and complex is Alexander's performance, as she juggles the pain of Nicola's cancer journey with her resilience and hope. Alexander embodies a compassionate lens within her characterisation of Nicola, a woman whose unbridled optimism will not be tamed by the prospect of death. The internal conflict between empathising with Nicola and bewilderment at her health decisions deepens the emotional tension, raising questions about agency, denial, and how we choose to face death.
The lead duo is supported by a strong ensemble, with Emma Diaz, Alan Dukes and Hannah Waterman morphing seamlessly between the various roles they portray. The characters are enhanced by Mel Page 's lived-incostume design. This narrow snapshot of Nicola and Helen's lives doesn't leave much room for flamboyant and extravagant attire, but the understated costumes speak volumes, grounding each character in authenticity and allowing the actors' performances to take centre stage.
The live musical performance from cellist Anthea Cottee (composed by Steve Francis) creates a haunting undertone, foregrounding Nicola's imminent death against the backdrop of her and Helen's humorous quips and day-to-day exasperations. (However, the non-diegetic score at times undermines the naturalistic dialogue, sacrificing realism for an oversaturation of rhythmic dread.)
In translating Garner's novel for the stage, Flack manipulates dramatic time in order to craftily build on the themes frustration and sacrifice. The almost two-hour runtime (with no intermission) coupled with the (intentionally curated) dragging pace and Paul Jackon 's lighting design (a poetic exploration of the passage of time) allows the audience to experience Helen's impatience and fury in real time. From the longer days to the struggling nights with Nicola, you don't just grow to empathise with Helen – her frustration becomes your own. In collapsing the distance between character and audience, Flack reminds us that this story isn't only about the dying, but about those left to care for them.
The Spare Room is a confronting yet artistic meditation on dying and death. Although occasionally slowed down by its own weight, it is a provocative portrayal of the communal experience of death. The play doesn't try to soften the reality of death, but instead offers a moment of clarity, encouraging us to sit with the discomfort just a little longer than we might usually allow ourselves to.