Table of Contents
Here we go again.
Auckland’s 90% will see them released for Christmas. Maybe. Yes. No. Possibly. With an allocated date and time slot for release. Possibly. Possibly not. With camp commandants at every border patrol stop to ensure the legitimacy of vaccination status and travel authorisation. Maybe. Definitely. Maybe not. Sort of.
Given Auckland’s highest vaccination rate across its three DHBs, and that vaccinated hostages may be allowed to leave for a holiday – to where are they going? To Northland with its low uptake rate and L3 in its far north? Will Hone permit entry? To the Waikato with its L3 lockdown? How about to the South Island with its incomprehensible L2?
So, one magic day, as the PM decides, the Auckland cell doors will be inched open and the ‘free’ will be allowed to spend hours of their vacation at border control? To be agonisingly and slowly released to the wilds of the rest of the country? How can that possibly be, that we have endured lockdowns and lockouts and lock-ups to be suddenly open for Christmas? For the vaccinated only, of course. And Aucklanders will then return to their lofty superiority of 90% after being in the lesser integers for their summer hols? What? How does this actually work?
The confusion and uncertainty around the issue of Christmas for Auckland is a farce.
As a form of theatre, you would have to say that the Government is meeting all seven requirements to qualify as a farce. The word comes from old French and means ‘stuff’ or ‘stuffing,’ and originally a ‘stuffing’ as a light-hearted offering between more serious drama. The current drama we are seeing is anything but light-hearted. New Zealand is stuffed.
Let’s look at those seven elements of farce:
Identity Centred
Jacinda is cast as the protagonist but is no longer to be seen centre-stage and is making inconsistent and unexpected entrances and exits in Murapara, and Kawakawa; positions that were not previously blocked on stage. She is exposed in the footlights, a follow-spot tracking her movements. Her stage makeup is running down her face. She muffs her lines and walks off stage in a pet. She has lost control of the rest of the cast, two in particular.
Her love interest plays a more than supporting role although his inclusion in the cast as ‘first man’ is questionable, as never before has there been such a role and his asides designed to draw attention from the protagonist are becoming tiresome. The audience does not care what Neve does at the weekend as they already know that three-year-olds like playing tag and colouring in.
Attitude towards the plot
Our PM and her fellow actors are demonstrating a cavalier attitude towards the plot. It could be said that they have lost it. Especially Christmas for Auckland as ‘Chipkins’ and Robertson for now take centre stage with incomprehensible communication with the audience. They too have forgotten their lines and prompts from off-stage are becoming audible. Parker is pushed on stage to try and keep the plot on track. Farce at its finest, with multiple entrances and exits, people falling over one another and not a coherent word from any of them.
Wit and manners
Robertson’s “Covid for Christmas” will surely come back to bite him, as others predicted would be the case. He uses his so-called ‘wit’ to lob disgusting attacks on the fair and reasonable calls of the Opposition. His smug countenance has a Punch and Judy element as he biffs the well-mannered Judith Collins. He has no manners. Or wit. It is seen that he wishes to be the protagonist. New Zealand’s version of Game of Thrones? Some of the audience boo and jeer.
Reversal of Expectations
The reversal of expectations is now seeing the Covid-captured audience react. Small children are sitting in the front row saying, “look out, look behind you, the bad people are coming.” Their parents are unable to provide any comfort because the kids are correct; the bad people are there alright, with their He Pua Pua sticks, the stones of Three Waters, and swords of Damocles held over the heads of local bodies. And theatrical smoke and fog are obscuring the actors from the audience in general, a captive audience so lied to, led astray, duped, and conned that they have no idea what the plot is anymore. Does anyone have any idea what is the next act for Auckland? The rest of the country? If so, you deserve a complimentary ticket to the next show, as no one else has a clue.
Velocity and speed
The rate of change throughout this Government’s programme is unprecedented in New Zealand. Never before have we seen such wilful, dangerous, and completely opaque storylines written and acted with such rapidity. Everything is moving – well, except the country and the economy. The cast should bear in mind that the stage is slippery and you can come a nasty cropper if you trip up while hurtling in from backstage.
Multiple and fragile sub-structures
The supporting sub-structures are indeed multiple and fragile as one by one we see stand-ins on stage. How many Ministers of Health were cast? And what has happened to Megan Woods, the once-voluble actor centre-stage, once again off-stage. She had a walk-on role in the joint housing announcement but has now, it seems, gone back to the Green Room and is waiting for the curtain calls. Faafoi continues to play the fool and staggers from stage left to stage right. He will likely make a grand exit, sweeping his cloak as he goes off-stage for the last time. And Little – a character who lives up to his name. ‘Chipkins’ came swaggering in ahead of his cue and without his script. Others had to cover the gaffe for him. The protagonist is not happy.
Use of character roles
The protagonist had them pretty much under control, but they are increasingly going off-script and improvising – and her hold over them is looking increasingly fragile. Some roles are permitted more than a walk-on part and look somewhat dazzled in the glare of the lights. The hapless Ashley, a pleasant chap with a penchant for supporting pink, is in a major role for now and one with great power in this act, until the protagonist, Jacinda, decides his time is up and he will be written out of the play.
“Farce is a type of comedy that uses absurd and highly improbable events in the plot. The audience will only accept the situation if they follow conventions previously established”.
thedramateacher.com
Well, it is fair to say that the audience no longer accepts the situation and believes the protagonist has no part in the action, and previously established conventions have been written out. The audience is, in increasing numbers, leaving the theatre, and well before the end of the third act. They are meeting in the bar and having nips of whisky to calm their nerves before they head for the hills. Or Australia.
