THEATRE REVIEW: Katherine Mansfield: The Magic of her Body

After a year away, I needed to get back to the theatre.

Technically my first theatrical experience of the year was We’re Weird for Other Reasons, but that show was shepherded by my good friend James Wenley (of Theatrescenes) so writing a review was out of the question.

I first heard about this show last year. I have no history with Katherine Mansfield. I know the vague outline of her work and career, and that is about it.

That initial version had the benefit of being staged at Mansfield’s home. It was such a fascinating idea, I was frustrated I could not see it.

Thankfully, the same creative team brought the show to Auckland’s Hiwec.

Sequestered from the hustle and bustle of the 21st century it was a suitably intimate setting.

Staged in Hiwec’s sitting room, the audience were positioned at one end, with performer Vixen Temple positioned before the entryway to the dining room.

Temple’s Mansfield moves around the space as she navigates between the author’s frank diary entries and fictional extrapolations. 

Interspersed with judicious portions of spoken context from Kerryn Pollock and musical interludes from cellist Ms. Weeds, the show places Mansfield not just as a figure of the past, but someone who continues to echo into the present. 

Here is where I want to bring up an unintended affect of the venue that helped that theme to hit even harder - the sounds from the world outside Hiwec.

This is a small thing but the unintended soundtrack (mostly just the rumble of traffic) created a fascinating juxtaposition that added to the overall experience. As Temple’s Mansfield examines and rejoices in the discovery of her own sexuality, the occasional burst of contemporary sounds become a kind of aural foreshadowing, breaking down the barrier between the time of Mansfield’s prose, and our present.

With its emphasis on the spoken word - a combination of monologue, readings of Mansfield’s stories, and Pollock’s non-diegetic narration - The Magic of her Body could have been didactic or dramatically inert. 

Instead, it is more like a literary time capsule made flesh. Temple manages to make the transitions between the author at various stages of her life, and her various fictional avatars, distinct but without obvious signalling. 

There is a precision and flow to the choice and arrangement of the diary entries with the short story excerpts that serves to flesh out and expand upon its themes. It seems like such a solid piece I would be intrigued to see if it worked without the historical context.