Benjamin Kilby-Henson, Co-Director of Auckland Theatre Company’s King Lear, ponders the question, ‘How does my queerness influence my work and artistic output?’
Well, fuck, I suppose the answer would be ‘wholeheartedly,’ as my queerness is so central to who I am, what I want to say, and how I see the world.
Art is so often the flame we queer moths are drawn to, simply because to be othered or marginalised means we will already see things differently from the ‘norm’. When our voices are pushed to the side or quashed, that gives us the need to scream, shout, and subvert. It gives us urgency and passion, and vehemence in our voices. The need for art in society is to constantly see the world anew; to take a good hard look at ourselves; to shift, to grow, and to empathise. Try walking past a mirror and not looking into it – this is exactly what we’re doing every time we watch tv; look at a painting; sit down to watch a play. As a queer artist, the need for the world to look back at itself, to reflect, is all the more aflame. To quote King Lear, we must all “see better”.
I’ve actually been extremely lucky to have had mainstream spaces in which to present my theatre work and queer sensibility. I’ve never been ashamed of my queerness, or ever hidden it, and continue to celebrate it through my marriage to my partner, Jack. In ‘Earnest,’ we took Oscar Wilde’s outrageous classic ‘The Importance of Being Earnest,’ gave it an all-male, predominately-queer cast, an all-female rock band, and spliced the play with the greatest hits of Cher. The boys sang live (think Lady Bracknell singing Turn Back Time), and we set the play in a 1950s gay club, complete with Polari and teacups. It recontextualised the queer subtext flowing throughout that classic work (“There were no cucumbers at the market this morning, sir. I went down twice…”). A subtext that would’ve gone over the heads of many a Victorian audience member, but for every Queer-Victorian audience member, would’ve been a sparkling act of naughty, secretive, celebration. Our version at Q Theatre brought that sensation back. Tickets sold out. People queued for returns. The whole audience danced with the cast on stage at the end. And why do all that? Why juxtapose Cher and Wilde? Well, why the fuck not? Has there ever been a queerer celebration? And, of course, because as a little gay kid growing up, Mum would play Cher while she did her Saturday morning cleaning, and I would sing along. In my collaboration with queer set-designer Dan Williams on Little Shop of Horrors for The Court Theatre, we cast the fabulous Brady Peeti as Audrey ii, not hidden behind a green latex puppet, but front and centre as a sumptuously sexy femme-fatale (in 50 metres of fabric skirt no less). It was ‘CAAAAAMP!’
Being a queer theatre director, it can be difficult at times to separate our perceptions of leadership from a heteronormative framework. Often, we use adjectives about leaders that may as well just say ‘masc’. We talk of “cut-throat go-getters,” “powerful,” and “herculean.” Well, as we know, power comes in many forms (thank you, Jacinda). Instead, don’t we want our leaders to be “informed,” “patient,” “reliable”? King Lear revels in this territory, exposing the fatal pitfalls of tyrannical leadership. My queerness has given me empathy and compassion, both qualities that help actors to unlock the complex human experience expressed in plays like Lear. Thankfully, the days of the tyrannical theatre director are a thing of the past. In the rehearsal room, I’m mostly quiet and calm. Those who underestimate that? More fool them!
