Darlinghurst’s Eternity theatre is named for Arthur Stace. He was the cleaner of the building in the 1930s, back when it was the Burton Street Baptist Tabernacle, and he was so inspired by the sermons there that he felt called to write the word “eternity” over and over on footpaths around Sydney. He did this for decades, so determined was he to rouse his city and the people in it towards love and redemption.
Perhaps then the Eternity is the perfect home for Once: the soft-spoken, deeply felt musical about the forces of human connection that compel us to reach out to one another and hold on for dear life. It’s a place for the soul, for the heart, and Once is about people who need their souls healed. Our lead characters are “stopped” – depressed, stuck in a moment, unable to move forward. Until they make each other move.
First immortalised in the 2007 film by the same name, written by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová, who perform together as the Swell Season, the musical debuted on Broadway in 2011, and won eight Tony awards. Richard Carroll’s Australian production debuted in 2019, a little jewel amongst musical theatre’s more rambunctious cousins. It has returned home two years and a pandemic later with its arms open wide and a 21-week tour ahead, packed with small venues offering the gift of intimacy. It’s what this musical needs: it works best if we get close.
From the moment we enter, there are offerings to situate us inside the story: mulled wine by the door, new signs in the foyer welcoming us to an old-fashioned Irish pub. Even the bar is wearing its own costume. An Irish band plays folk songs. It’s the gentlest form of immersion, a space between reality and a new fictional world.
Onstage, Hugh O’Connor’s production design is warm and earthy, with wooden boxes and benches making up most of the non-instrument props; Peter Rubie’s lights create dimension – mournful dark, shafts of hopeful light. Swinging doors and a window offer a promise of forward momentum.
The story starts with a heartbroken Guy (Toby Francis), who has been singing one last song on the street in Dublin, readying himself to leave his guitar, and possibly the world, behind. Then he meets a Girl (Stefanie Caccamo). She sees the Guy’s pain, recognises within it something of her own, and offers him a lifeline they both need. Two bruised hearts in a city of poets, their connection unfurls into something beautiful and necessary – and utterly impossible (it only lasts five days).
Most musicals build toward a happy ending; Once understands that not every romance ends well, or even gets to begin at all. Instead, this is a love story about feeling something new and nourishing – about breaking through the numbness and stasis to grow.
The most dated aspect of the show is its story structure, which positions the Girl primarily as a saviour of the Guy and only latterly as a complicated character in her own right, but its music – where the heart of a musical always lies – never diminishes her. It helps too that Caccamo is undisputedly the star of this production; her wry cleverness and astonishing voice wields emotion like a map, making the Girl feel very real and very human.
Francis’s Guy is gruff and miserable, a little less emotionally accessible than the Girl, but his glorious tenor and subtle command of timing makes him a great partner for Caccamo. This Guy is a product of the early 2000s too; he thinks more of his own pain than the Girl’s, but when they finally understand each other – and understand that their connection cannot last – he meets her in that moment. It could make you weep.
Carroll’s production has matured since its initial season into a self-assured, music-first production. Its humour is well-judged, with Carroll’s love for going broad mostly funnelled into Drew Livingston’s bank manager, who fancies himself a bit of a bard. It’s a welcome relief to laugh, and laugh hard, and this one grand outlet seems to have afforded Carroll some welcome restraint; he trusts the vulnerabilities and emotional revelations of the characters to carry the rest of the show, letting their jokes – and there are many – play smaller and more real. It’s a welcome new dimension.
The few moments that seem to lag and flounder do not last – the music, Irish folk blended with torch songs, is always there to save them. The cast is also the band, and musical director Victoria Falconer, who plays the part of Reza, has built a generous and shimmering world of music, the clarity of which is rightly prioritised by Dylan Robinson’s sound design.
In the music, hearts soar, and as the cast weaves their way through the show, movement director Amy Campbell has them create a moving symphony – a violin on roller blades, guitars in formation, mandolin and cello emerging from the shadows.
In the end, it’s the music – and how it speaks the language of our feelings – that saves the Guy and the Girl, and it might just crack something open in you too.
Once runs at the Eternity theatre until Sunday 18 July, before touring regional NSW and Canberra through August and September
