★★★★☆
Anyone who has sat on a local board or committee of any hue, be it the Lions, community radio or amateur theatrics will recognise the world of Australia Day. Before a word is spoken, the set does the work. A bland mustard scout hall. Baden-Powell staring down from the wall. A whiteboard. A pinboard cluttered with ribbons and faded purpose.
That familiarity is the trap. And the point.
Written by Jonathan Biggins in 2012, the play follows a small-town committee planning an Australia Day event. It has since travelled widely. It has also attracted controversy. In recent years, some communities have pushed back on its staging, arguing that its depiction of Indigenous issues and January 26 debates feels out of step with the current moment.
Watching Therry Theatre’s production now, that tension sits in the room. The question isn’t just what the play says. It’s how we hear it in 2026.
Act One unfolds inside that scout hall. The characters are drawn with surgical precision. A small business mayor. A high-vis tradie. A bureaucratic middle. A fresh graduate. An inner-city progressive. A Country Women’s Association stalwart with scones and certainty.
Biggins captures their voices with unsettling accuracy forged from living in that world. That accuracy is where the discomfort lives.
Steve Kidd’s Wally is the production’s gravitational centre. A Farmers Union iced coffee in hand, high-vis firmly on, he delivers lines that are crude, abrasive, and often shocking. His views on Indigenous Australians, disability, and social change land hard.
There are laughs. There are also moments where the laughter catches in the throat. Kidd resists caricature. He lets the resentment breathe. You see where it comes from. That doesn’t make it easier. It makes it harder.
This is where the play’s reputation comes from. In a pre-Trump world, it may have been clearer what the audience was being invited to laugh at. Now, the lines between satire and recognition feel thinner. But the counterpoint is unavoidable. Nothing said on stage is more extreme than what scrolls past in a comments section every day. What theatre does is give those voices a face. And an inner life.
The ensemble is well balanced. Adam Schulz is remarkable as Robert, stepping into the role just three weeks before opening. His performance anchors the play’s attempts at reason. Ollie Xu pops and locks to every beat as Chester, the Australian-born Vietnamese teacher.
Michele Kelsey leans into the contradictions of the Greens councillor Helen. Moral certainty colliding with political ambition. Kristina Kidd brings warmth and unease as Maree, a softer mirror to Wally’s worldview.
Then there is Stephen Bills’ mayor. All ego, calculation, and quiet panic. A local council Game of Throne Littlefinger in miniature.
Act Two shifts outdoors. A sausage sizzle tent serving dubious lamb and rosemary snags on white bread, with or without onions. Painted trees. The threat of thunder. The stakes rise. Alliances fracture. The comedy sharpens. Director Jude Hines keeps the pace tight, allowing the jokes to land cleanly while letting the silences linger just enough.
At times, the script shows its age in structure rather than content. It can feel exposition-heavy. Characters slip into monologues that spell out the playwright’s argument rather than letting it emerge organically. Some twists are satisfying but slightly telegraphed. You can see them coming a beat early.
Still, the central question holds.
What do we do with each other now as the social fabric hangs on by a thread?
The play gestures towards answers. Calm down. Listen more. Find common ground. Sit in the same room with each other. These solutions feel neat. Perhaps too neat. Chester’s perspective lands strongest. As children, we see difference simply. Bigger. Smaller. Faster. Slower. By Year 6, we’ve formed tribes. The division is inevitable. The work is learning how to live alongside it.
In an age of algorithmic silos, theatre becomes one of the few places where opposing worldviews share the same air. Australia Day doesn’t resolve the tension it creates. It sits with it. It forces us to look. To listen. To recognise.
And maybe, just for a moment, to understand how we got here.
Australia Day is presented by Therry Theatre and runs to 18 April at the Arts Theatre. 53 Angas Street Adelaide SA 5000.
Tickets: https://www.trybooking.com/events/landing/1506953
Website: https://therry.org.au/
Socials: https://www.instagram.com/therrytheatre/
Photo credits: Andrew Trimmings
