Documentary maker Annie Goldson recounts her New York theatre troupe days in new film

It is not a film that fits easily into our media-sphere. I doubted our broadcasters and funding agencies, as much as I love them, would be keen to support a long documentary on a pre-internet avant-garde theatrical sensation that few people remember. So I pretty much went it alone (more on that later).

Red Mole: A Romance captures the life and times of the experimental theatre troupe that emerged in the early 1970s from the University of Auckland, then a hotspot in countercultural activity. The idea of a theatre troupe was forged a few years later, seemingly during an opium-laced OE trip through Asia. Red Mole’s founders were inspired by the street performances and puppet shows they saw.

Later that decade, Red Mole would have a tremendous influence on the “leftist cognoscenti” of their era, of which, I guess, I was one. Being on the younger side, I would not have identified myself as such. But full disclosure: I still recall first seeing Red Mole as a teenager from the North Shore and was I enamoured. In 1981, I was living in Wellington, a city that liked Red Mole and where they hit their peak. They sold out show after show of Capital Strut, a satirical cabaret staged at Carmen’s Balcony nightclub, and successfully performed their first big written show, the apocalyptic Ghost Rite, at the Opera House. A blend of poetry, performance, mask, music, dance, political satire, comedy and more, Red Mole defied genre. They were unlike anything I had seen.

Shortly after Ghost Rite, Red Mole headed to New York, and I left my job as a cub journalist at Radio New Zealand to tag along. NYC was exciting but tough, and for a while, Red Mole flourished. In time, our paths diverged. But I still recall the power of the triumvirate at Red Mole’s centre – founders Alan Brunton and Sally Rodwell and their comrade Deborah Hunt. They were the “gang of three” as Martin Edmond, a former Mole, recalls, forming a kind of nucleus. Around this core floated a series of electron-like shells.

Some circled close, such as John Davies, Ian Prior, Martin himself and musicians Jan Preston, Jean McAllister and Tony McMaster. Others – looser shells of “casuals” – revolved at a greater distance and were quite easily pried off or left when the time was right. I was probably one of them. But then I was the only one who could have made this film, given my dogged determination as a documentary maker and my momentary proximity to Red Mole. But as a “casual”, my degree of detachment was a useful quality in the process.

If asked, I describe Red Mole: A Romance as a social and cultural history threaded through with a poig­nant personal story. I began filming in early 2020 in New York, where I was in production for an earlier film, A Mild Touch of Cancer. I interviewed Nance Shatzkin, a wholly generous New Yorker who became Red Mole’s manager, at once a lifeline and a life-long friend, and filmed at some sites significant to Red Mole – the East Village, Times Square, Central Park. I squeezed in a week in Mexico City, where Ruby, Alan and Sally’s daughter, now lives, a talented poet and writer herself. Then Covid hit and I had to hot-foot it back to Aotearoa as borders slammed shut. The documentary was temporarily shelved as Mild Touch had sensible things like a budget and deadlines that took priority.

But once that was delivered, I fired up again, and began interviewing former Moles and associates. They have all had interesting lives subsequently but still recall their past involvement with Red Mole with affection, humour – and some degree of amazement.

The film, however, is not a reunion tour. Too many key players have died. Hopefully, it will generate wider recognition for the bright flame of politics, talent, idealism and energy Red Mole represented.

On one level, the documentary is a history of technology. In the 1970s, black and white photography was big and Red Mole was always photogenic, op-shop cool. Although available, 16mm and 35mm film was expensive.