Lullaby: Baby steps

All the elements of Lullaby – stars hung from the low ceiling of the Albany Cabaret Club, the harp and ukelele, soft white scarves used as both angelic shrouds and bundled to symbolise newborn babies, the title itself – create an amalgam of kitsch. Indeed, the atmosphere of the baby room pervades the stage.

A musical featuring three gorgeous young mothers whose very presence emits an air of rose petals and talcum powder, combined with soporific sentiment, amateur acting, fluffed lines and nervous glances at one another to affirm cues, it has the makings of a laughable disaster.

Yet, it was the most sweetly naïve show I have ever seen. Its very innocence a delight. Naivete is a rare quality, found most often in the wonderful and often surreal drawings only children are able to create and which adult artists wish they could emulate. It is a rare and fleeting quality, and one that cannot be manufactured or consciously maintained.

This, and the beauty of Taniia Strauss and Li Parker’s voices, are the show’s saving graces.

Didi du Preez’s delivery was the weakest of the three, and she was the least familiar with her lines, leading to an impromptu disclaimer at the re-start of a song that “we’re all mothers here, and don’t have a lot of time”.

But while she may not have Strauss and Parker’s angelic tones, she has a great gravelly voice for the blues, showcased in what appeared to be one of a number of original songs.

As intimated, there’s nothing challenging about the show, it offers no insights and raises no debate. It’s as middle class and soporific as its title suggests. These three women appear to suffer none of the ambivalence many new parents feel toward a young life which takes a tyrannical hold over their own – a subject that would make for much more interesting theatre. I get the impression their children were perfectly planned within an idyllic relationship. Even the concerns voiced over the children who are poor, hungry, unloved, resembles the issues discussed over dinner table conversation in a leafy suburban liberal home.

But the unashamed innocence of the entire production, written and directed by Allan Glogauer, turns all the heavy criticism that can be levelled at it into bullying blows, like taking a sword to a playfight.

The halo of naivete is likely to disappear after a few shows, perhaps gone by festival’s end, but they’ll still have their voices, and their beauty.

— Steve Kretzmann