When The Rain Stops Falling

I made my first visit of the year to the theatre. That's as many times as last year - when we went to see The Revenger's Tragedy, and that was it.

Last night Jane and I went to the Almeida to see an Australian play When The Rain Stops Falling by a fellow called Andrew Bovell; he had something to do with a film called Lantana, which I haven't seen.

Not knowing what to expect but as ever thrilled and chastened to be back in a theatre once again I was taken aback by a fantastic piece of work. It was a story about generations of a family that played itself out over a period of eighty years, beginning in the late 1950s and running through till thirty years hence.

It roamed back and forward through time, gradually exposing the family secrets and enlightening the audience as to the various relationships and connections. It was a poetic work, almost operatic, with its repetition of phrases and situations, and in its entirety it was deeply moving.

As other critics have stated it is a play you have to stick with as it takes time to see the pattern emerging. At the end we were craving to see the beginning again. Of course that's just like poetry or novels, or most works of literature for that matter.

The clip is not from the production we saw. It's from the Sydney Theatre production which is also running now. But it hints equally well at the power of this piece of work.