According to Friedrich Nietzsche, “In every real man, a child is hidden that wants to play.” It is also a truism that the child within all adults for whom formative experiences are unresolved will keep asking, “Why?” We also, unconsciously, try to protect ourselves from any repetition of whatever it was that hurt that child or made them afraid, thus limiting our potential.

These universal truths seem to be what’s driving actor/writer Robert Lloyd’s new solo work, There Once Was a Boy. Its TAHI Festival launch is a development season – for which a review has been requested.

The promotional material says:  
“A boy is stranded at sea. A storm bears down on him and, in what he believes are his final moments, he ponders his life and the choice he made to come here — to explore what’s over the curious horizon — and wonders: Was this a mistake? There once was a boy… is a fun, poetic performance for tweens, teens and their whānau. This live ‘pop-up book’ explores curiosity, courage, and finding light in the darkness.”

Maybe the play is about facing the fear of leaving home; of adult independence – except why would that right-of-passage moment be pitched to tweens and teens? There is a key scene I will come to after sketching in the production elements.

Performed in the BATS Dome space, in a traverse orientation, the ‘pop-up book’ design elements (Anne Lisa Noordover) emerge from dark corners, high walls and the ceiling, variously revealed on cue by lighting (designed and operated by Emma Maguire), sometimes accompanied by sound (designed and operated by Nathan Arnott). No Director is credited as such but Lloyd’s Collaborator is Aileen Davidson and Mentor is Kerryn Palmer (see the full list of Artist thank yous). 

The play is book-ended with Crowded House’s ‘Weather With You’ and Splt Enz’s ‘Six Months in a Leaky Boat’. In darkness, Robert Lloyd’s entrance, barefoot and back-lit by a bright light, is portentous, especially when a sudden stop produces a burst of hazer fog from under the seats. His hand-held torch reveals a clothes rack from which he takes a multi-pouched belt. A large box, facing away from the side I’m on, turns out to be a radio. As he tries to tune it, static crackles give way to bursts of busy urban noise until he finds a frequency that relaxes him.

The story Lloyd begins to tell speaks of a boy in a sailboat loving the sunset and wondering what is beyond the horizon until he slumps … His recorded voice takes over the narration as, on a beach, Lloyd watches an earlier sunset, muses on the grains of sand and wonders what the setting sun is simultaneously shining its morning light upon. Is this the question he set forth in his sailboat to answer? And is it significant that he is drawn to sunsets rather than sunrises?

More childlike musings are inspired by a Grandfather Clock and seeds in a garden before he locates a pop-up memory of himself, his Sister and their Mother in a house. The news that someone will be leaving tomorrow, provokes a “Why?” from the Boy. The mother is briefly angry until she decrees they will eat dinner together, talk about anything but the impending departure, have a story beside the fire and go to bed. The Mother allows the Boy to sleep in front of the fire, just this once.

I think what I’ve heard is that the Mother is leaving but there are times when Lloyd’s voice drops to a whisper, which is particularly problematic when he’s facing the opposite rows of seating or when sound effects are playing, so I may be mistaken. Maybe it’s the Father – who is never seen or mentioned, which puzzles me in a story about a boy. Or is the Boy being sent away? He is the one who leaves the next morning, in his boat – or is he just dreaming, in front of the fire?

I sense the shock of the news that someone is leaving tomorrow is the inciting incident for everything that follows and see no reason for not making it clear who it is. It must have everything to do with the Boy’s state of mind as he embarks on his metaphorical quest for the answer(s) to his question(s): why is X leaving; where does the setting sun rise?

The boat is provided by a Boatman who credits it with bringing him from his home, and counsels the Boy to follow his heart. The sea voyage is poetically evoked through words, action and the aligned design elements. Is it fair to observe that despite the odd event that occurs on the way, the Boy is quite passive during his journey, just waiting for the answers to reveal themselves? I sense that another line that gets lost may be crucial: “If I die now, at least I …”

In retrospect, I find myself comparing this journey with Peer Gynt’s in Ibsen’s epic play, or the Boy in Bruce Mason’s The End of the Golden Weather, in which the actions of both protagonists are critical in bringing about the revelatory resolutions. In this case, it seems the Boy has been asking the wrong questions because the discovery he makes does not answer them. It does, however, align with many other ‘quest for the truth and/or oneself’ stories that go back to antiquity.

The final scene, which feels like an epilogue, involves the Mother and Sister on the shore awaiting the boat’s return. Then the mother launches a paper boat into the receding tide so that it will sail off towards the horizon. I confess this confuses me at the very moment I want it to all make sense. Does Lloyd’s exit into the light from which he came mean he has told his story from the depths of a watery grave? The illumination of three floating figures aloft, alongside the sailboat, seems to suggest that – in which case, what has his journey taught him?

My other concern is the lack of humour in the way the story is told. The way Lloyd handles a glitch involving the hazer in the opening performance gives us a glimpse of Lloyd’s quick wit. He also asks questions directly to audience members. This makes me think more could be made of the direct address convention to draw us into his quest and even add a little levity to the prevailing earnestness.

I hope this is a useful response at this development phase. If this metaphorical quest is autobiographical, a feel there needs to be more rigorous interrogation of what exactly the creator wants to resolve. On the other hand, I may have missed the point entirely.  

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