Rusty Bugles

Rusty audiences. Whilst some would argue that professional theatre doesnÂ’t need support on this site, a broader perspective would take into account the reality that many actors in amateur theatre quietly hope one day, to cross over into the professional ranks.
Don’t despair, there’s even hope for middle aged absolute beginners. Why just the other day, no lesser person than Ray Omodei offered me a role … as a boab tree! “Just stand still for a couple of hours, looking fat in the middle with nuts hanging down! You’re a natural.” But I digress.
Rusty Bugles is bloody magnificent. Quintessentially Australian and as relevant now, as it was in the late 1940s. Jake NewbyÂ’s setting and set is a stroke of pure genius and realism. To an ex cattle train driver like me, itÂ’s an authentic bush camp.
The acting is superb, with an eclectic mob of blokes, some with vast professional theatre experience and some just starting out, but hell, all of them kicked off in amateur theatre, when a Jo Marsh, a Sue Lynch, or a Gemma Gurney took a chance on them.
Humour laced with pathos, exposes the larrikin spirit and the path to a concluding powerful sense of the history that has formed our national character. The blokes are so good, I vividly remembered every mining camp and stockyard IÂ’ve ever worked, lived and camped in.
However, in spite of attention from and a deservedly superb review by Ron Banks, audience numbers are down and they are struggling to find ways to bring people into the marquee. Sound familiar? And just as with amateur theatre, the cost of advertising has now reached a prohibitive stage (no pun intended).
TheyÂ’re half way through the season and need four or five capacity audience nights. But more importantly, anyone wishing to turn pro at some stage, needs productions like this to succeed. For the sake of your craft and possible career ambitions, seize the moment, go support them and take a few friends.
I did and IÂ’m going back for another look and to learn a touch more - the thin bloke playing the scraggly eucalypt is magnificent.
Greg Ross