Barking Gecko Theatre Company’s new play, Fatty Wombat, developed in consultation with students from Rosalie Primary School, hits the target. It’s yummy, convenient and comforting! In a nutshell this explains why, as a nation, we’ve gotten so overweight and out of shape. Melt in the mouth, bite-sized, moorish morsels have turned us all into fatty wombats, watching the telly and stuffing ourselves with conveniently advertised unhealthy food that gives instant gratification and lasting ill effects. We need help! We need a good shake up to alert us to the need for activity, sensible eating and most importantly the need to offer support to those who are trying to change their unhealthy habits. With Fatty Wombat, Barking Gecko has answered our, in some cases reluctant, cries for help in a really fun way!

Fatty Wombat takes place inside the Pouch Potato Wildlife Park that has closed due to lack of public interest. There are only three animals remaining, Fatty Wombat (Sean Walsh), Pat the Quokka (Benj D’Addario) and Bunji Roo (Ella Hetherington). All the others have been re-homed. The Park’s protective electric fencing keeps a mysterious ‘beast’ at bay, but the power goes off in three days! What will the three friends do then? They have three options: do nothing and die; dig a tunnel; or go on Fatty Wombat’s favourite game show, Natural Selection, and win the diet and habitat of their choice! No prizes for guessing the option the animals go for.

Director Jeremy Rice keeps the pace up in this slick three hander that had the audience in stiches. Terrific use of a smoke machine disguised what could have been the cumbersome scene change of a large crate arriving, into a sight gag. It was engaging to watch the obstacle course being constructed. From the crates within crates to ‘the teeter-totter of death’, Bryan Woltjen’s set design was a treat, and so were most of the costumes. I particularly liked Fatty Wombat’s hood that made great use of the actor’s hair to form wombat ears.
Composer Ash Gibson Greig seems to have had fun with the music including a montage sequence homage to Flashdance and a final song that’s unashamedly inspired by the classic theme from Skippy. Tim Rodgers choreography was a hoot with more ‘80’s inspired flair and just a touch of old school aerobics.

Benj D’Addario was born to play a quokka, especially one as tragic as Pat. Encapsulating a very marsupial physicality laced with just the right amount of dry wit, D’Addario prevents Pat, who was used as a football by yobs and has a real phobia of footwear, from becoming too morose. Ella Hetherington uses her circus skills to advantage during the obstacle course that forms the central test the animals have to pass to get out of the park. Her impersonation of a stunned roo facing on-coming headlights and her fainting are sublime. Sean Walsh keeps the puns and wombat wise cracks rolling. He also proves to be adept at skipping, which puts his ‘wombat’ figure in danger of becoming trim by the end of the season!

The one thing that didn’t sit well with me was ‘the beast’. The perennial scapegoat of the feral cat was used, but for most of the play ‘the beast’ sounded like a cow. The kids next to me thought it was a cow. I felt briefly inspired, wondering if agriculture would be blamed for removing habitat. But the lowing was a ploy to keep the audience guessing what ‘the beast’ was and justifiable dramatically. What I really didn’t get was why ‘the beast’ took its fashion sense from ‘those we don’t speak of’ in the ‘M’ rated film The Village? Perhaps the Primary School students involved in the development of the play suggested it?

I was a big fan of Justin Cheek’s The Troll from the Bowl and Fatty Wombat is similar in its delightful use toilet humour. Cheek is very skilful in his references to buttocks, flatulence, and other bodily functions, managing to accomplish these in an inoffensive way. The audience on opening afternoon seemed to share my appreciation. I hope that any prudish people in future audiences won’t soil the enjoyment for the rest of us who wish to embrace our inner child, and for a moment not have to act our age.

Credits