Turpentine, a two-act play by Australian playwright Tommy James Green, ambitiously blends Victorian Gothic horror with Wildean wit whilst exploring humanity’s darkest impulses. Set in 1887, the story follows Lady Cynthia, a mother desperately trying to reanimate her son with the help of her brother, a mad doctor and a mystic. The drama unfolds in a single night inside Doctor Raymond Crow’s grim, storm-battered cellar-turned-laboratory, located in the dangerous streets of Clerkenwell, England.
A dusty cellar proves the perfect backdrop for the play’s eerie themes. The flickering lights and thunderous storm outside amplifies the sense of danger and uncertainty and mirrors the internal conflict faced by each of the characters.
Directed by Katherine Hopwood Poulsen, Turpentine presents an audacious premise, but its relentless pace leaves no room for reflection. The offbeat macabre comedy, intended to add levity, often feels more like a distraction and adds little to the play's dark themes. The constant tonal shifts give the audience melodrama whiplash—one moment leaning into dark humour, the next diving into heavier emotional terrain.
The cast delivers performances brimming with manic energy, but the lack of clear character arcs makes it difficult to connect on a deeper level, as motivations feel underdeveloped. The script introduces numerous overlapping backstories and relationship complexities without a grounded progression, leaving both the characters and the story fragmented. In the end, you’re left asking: whose story is really being told? And why?
Tommy James Green blends the macabre with witty humour in his portrayal of Doctor Raymond Crow, yet his performance seems to lack the depth needed. While Crow’s obsession and moral ambiguity hold potential, his offbeat one-liners and exaggerated antics often overshadow the deeper emotional struggle he could embody. High on hubris and a deadly homebrew, these traits prevent a more nuanced exploration of his character. Had the entire cast fully embraced this larger-than-life energy, the play’s chaotic tone might have felt more cohesive.
Megan Elizabeth Kennedy’s portrayal of Lady Cynthia begins as the prim “straight man,” a Victorian aristocrat bound by stifling conventions and a disturbing family secret. While her desperation as a grieving mother drives her, her shift toward moral ambiguity feels even and rushed, as the play’s fluctuating tones hinder her arc from fully unfolding. With more room for reflection, her descent and transformation could have been more compelling.
Cris Bocchi’s Madame Moreau leans heavily into the clichéd “lusty French gypsy” trope. The juxtaposition of the strong agency of her character with her unwavering loyalty to Professor Crow, despite his barrage of derogatory remarks, remains baffling, as do the unexplained supernatural elements driving her motivations throughout the events.
Freddy Hellier’s portrayal of Percy presents the unique challenge of spending half the performance as a mute, a constraint that adds depth as the silent observer. Percy also serves as the moral compass of the play, his stillness highlighting the chaos around him and his inner conflict—a much-needed counterpoint for the audience.
Othniel Mani’s portrayal of Tom Daley raises the stakes in Act 2, grounding the narrative in real consequence. However, unnecessary punchlines from the script undermine the tension, diluting the emotional weight of his character’s plight. Charles Griffin’s portrayal of Lady Cynthia’s son, Tiberius, as a cadaver for most of the play, is effective-being dead, after all, isn’t as easy as it looks. He delivers the final punchline with skill, providing a well-earned payoff.
While a Frankenstein-esque script can be tongue in cheek and mask insecurities and fear, it should also delve into the moral dilemmas of creation, power, and ambition—questions Turpentine only touches on. It needs to balance intellectual depth with emotional weight, presenting characters whose choices carry real consequences, challenging the audience to question whether the pursuit of knowledge and self-justifies the suffering it causes.
The swing between humour and horror in Turpentine feels like a renegade roller coaster—there’s no real rhythm, and it's tough to know when to sit back and enjoy the ride or brace for emotional chaos. Perhaps its bipolar nature is intentional and designed to be fun, but as it strives for an epic scale, it sacrifices introspection and emotional depth, succumbing to theatrical excess. Instead Turpentine feels more like schlocky horror than a Gothic thriller, more camp than contemplation. In the end, it’s all flash with no soul.
Plays Tues - Sat until 1 March at the Flight Path Theatre, Marrickville
https://www.flightpaththeatre.org/
