craig-parker.net > Articles > Glide Time: Review
It’s amazing how much energy goes into not working.
June 15, 2006, source: viewauckland.co.nz
By Sara Hewitson
Just look at the Stores Department behind door number 133 in Roger Hall’s
Glide Time.
Two hundred filing drawers, half a dozen people and piles of paperwork fill
that room. They’ve got idleness and inefficiency down pat:
You have to get a form to order a form to order a calculator that’ll
take months to arrive (and cost more than retail) in a department that thrives
on moving real work aside to make way for blether, bungling and boredom.
Yes, the seventies government office is alive and kicking in Glide Time; its
actors bringing this apathetic culture back to life with such accuracy, that
the audience likely looked at each character and thought, “hell, didn’t
I work with you at the stats department … or ag and fish maybe?”
A motley crew of Wellingtonians, Glide Time’s staff includes John (Craig
Parker), a slicked-down cocky paper-shuffler with a penchant for one-liners;
and Jim (Greg Johnson), the disgruntled order taker who's been a part of the
furniture in this place for far too long.
Hugh (Simon Prast) is the Welshman trying to become a Kiwi in the face of family
adversity and jingoistic ribbing; Michael (David Van Horn), the naïve
new-comer; and Beryl (Theresa Healey), the pudding-shaped spinster with a secret
lunchtime interest.
And, we can’t forget Wally’s (Colin Moy) getup or the all-too-real
Boss-man’s (Stuart Devenie) classic speech.
These public servants take the mickey out of the capital’s windy weather—“three
houses on the hill that weren’t there last night”; fat women—“Beryl,
pull up a couple of chairs and sit down”; and political correctness drops
to ‘70s levels—“so brown and fat, immigration would only
give him a three month work permit.”
But through all the laughter—and Glide Time deservedly gets its fair
whack—the vulnerable side of these individuals is exposed. We see people
trying to form the semblance of an identity in a stifling environment fed by
inane systems and personal anonymity.
Love, loss, hope and naivety and all make an appearance in this brilliant performance.
So does polyester, walk socks and brylcreem.
Glide Time may have made its NZ debut in 1976, but thirty years on, its still
in tip-top shape.
You can thank these outstanding actors for that … and the director, Oliver
Driver. Thumbs up to the set designer, John Verryt and costume designer, Rachael
Walker—we bet you both had a ball setting the scene for this show (in-between
tea breaks that is).