A shiralee is a swagman’s load, all his possessions carried on his back, a burden. In Sydney Theatre Company’s (STC) new production of The Shiralee, adapted from D’Arcy Niland’s 1955 novel by Kate Mulvany, an additional burden is Buster, played by Ziggy Resnick.
She is Macauley’s (Josh McConville) young daughter, whom Mac abducts from his alcoholic, estranged wife, Marge (also played by Mulvany). Mac is an itinerant worker, tramping the byways of New South Wales, just making do with his fists and hard yakka, and he is now on the run from the police.
Mac, though, is also carrying childhood scars, so his burden here is equally psychological. He has no idea how to raise a daughter. He’s actually a peripatetic trauma zone, as his first love Lily (Catherine Văn-Davies) distressingly discovers in an opening flashback. Mac’s barely suppressed anger (the source of which is gradually revealed) primes him for impulsive action, but now he is tethered to the consequences.
Previously adapted as both a film and a much-loved TV mini-series, Mulvany returns her version to the tougher text of the novel. Drawing in part on her own childhood, it is an unflinching depiction of traumatised masculinity that doesn’t eschew its violence. But it is also a love story of a daughter for her father, of the comfort found in community, and a redemption of sorts.
Buster here is aged almost 10, unlike the four-year-old of the novel. This allows Mulvany to interrogate the play’s themes from Buster’s perspective as a more perceptive protagonist.
In a performance that perfectly complements McConville’s withdrawn, emotionally stunted Mac, Resnick captures Buster’s questioning intelligence and childish insouciance, without being saccharine.
McConville’s portrayal is superbly controlled. His body is a tensed knot of anger, shoulders braced for a punch, the raging “cenotaph” of a man of Niland’s novel, while also exuding a gruff charm that intoxicates women.
Mulvany enlarges the characters of Marge and Lily, which adds balance, greater depth and nuance to the story. She quietly acknowledges a modern gender sensibility where, for example, a swagman can declare his love for another man.
In this regard, Paul Capsis is funny and touching as Desmond, a bush poet and eternal optimist. In fact, all the supporting cast, including Stephen Anderson, Lucia Mastrantone, Aaron Pedersen, Mulvany and Văn-Davies, are wonderful in their multiple roles. Pederson’s blind indigenous Tommy, who ‘sees’ clearly, is a particular comic delight.
Jessica Arthur’s direction has a firm grip on pacing and a synergistic understanding with her playwright. The conception is clear, and the action never lags. Arthur utilises the dimensions of the Opera House Drama Theatre to great effect. The action shifts seamlessly between the modest spaces of the city and the full-stage open road. And it is utterly beautiful to look at.
The set, from designer Jeremy Allen, comprises bare boards redolent of the shearing sheds of Mac’s experience. It’s clever in its deceptive simplicity. Flat and featureless as the western New South Wales landscape, it is only interrupted by a turned-up section that might be the crest of a scrubby hill or the metaphorical eruption of long-suppressed emotional trauma.
Other set elements – two towering ghost gums, a grocery store counter, and beds – are wheeled fluidly across the stage during scene changes by the cast dressed as swaggies in Driza-Bones.
The swaggies are Mac’s natural community, if only he would accept them. They’re encountered regularly throughout the play, singing or reciting poetry, so using them to manage scene changes is inspired. They fit; their presence (even omnipresence) is perfectly natural on the ‘wallaby trail.’
Lighting design is yet another piece of artistry from Trent Suidgeest, who also lit the terrific Picnic at Hanging Rock. Whether lighting the players in an intimate setting or infusing a tableau with the nostalgic golden glow of a time that was already passing, he catches the ebbs and flows of the drama beautifully.
The ‘magic hour’ light sits in contrast to Mac’s inner rage, which, just before the interval, is given full voice courtesy of sound designer Jessica Dunn’s dramatic soundscape. It thumps like blood in Mac’s head as he confronts the unforgivable.
There is a lyric quality to this production of The Shiralee that tends to the epic. Mulvany’s strong, uncompromising writing, a couple of ‘aw, shucks’ moments notwithstanding, finely balances violence, humour and poetry.
In narrative, it harks back to a world that disappeared in the 1950s, but its themes are timeless. Under Arthur’s assured direction, and with universally strong performances from the players, this gorgeous production of The Shiralee breathes new life into a classic Australian story. One that has now, surely, become an Australian classic play.
The Shiralee runs to 29 November at the Drama Theatre, Sydney Opera House. Bennelong Point, Sydney NSW 2000.
Tickets: https://www.sydneytheatre.com.au/whats-on/productions/2025/the-shiralee
Website: https://www.sydneytheatre.com.au/
Socials: https://www.instagram.com/sydneytheatreco/
Photo credits: Prudence Upton
