Who I’m Doing This For

Who I'm Doing This For

Who I’m Doing This For Rating

★★★★★

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(Note: This is a review of a play presented as the second half of a double billing. Melbourne Writers’ Theatre is showing Metropolis Monologues across two instalments, and this play is performed after each series of monologues. I will review the monologues separately.)

My experiences with Melbourne Writer’s Theatre’s (MWT) Metropolis Monologue series were very positive. The diversity of style and subject matter, married with some great performances and direction, showed how fresh and fun Melbourne’s independent theatre scene can be. As mentioned, five of the ten monologues are presented on each night, followed by the play that won MWT’s 2026 Amethyst Award. Unfortunately, this second show, Who I’m Doing This For, wasn’t on the same level as the monologues for me.

The play, written by Peter Farrar, follows Simon (Lochi Laffin-Vines), a man suffering under the weight of grief. He has recently lost his father (Tony Adams) – an abusive, drug-addicted ex-veteran – after caring for both him and his sickly mother. Shortly after the play begins, we see the toll his depression takes on him; he loses his job, is increasingly unable to connect to his girlfriend Claudia (Emily Farrell) and slips into a nihilism that will drive him to desperate and horrific actions.

 

 

The cast are strong performers, and their chemistry is mostly enjoyable to watch. The couple’s playful moments are endearing, the father-son relationship whiplashes thrillingly between awkwardness and mutual rage, and some of the most chilling moments come when the father is simply standing in the background, watching Simon unravel. The lighting is cleverly changed to enhance the mood of certain scenes, and the writing is at its best in the character interactions, such as the snarky quips between Simon and Claudia and the naked narcissism of the father’s abuse tactics. The play is laudably ambitious and asks provocative questions about whether the roots of trauma are personal, familial or systemic.

However, to me, the story and script did not live up to the themes it was trying to tackle. While the dynamic between Simon and his father was strong, Claudia as a character felt like a vessel for Simon to vent to or at, and she seemed much too accepting of Simon’s unreasonableness throughout. This underdevelopment also applies to the radicalization Simon undergoes; plenty of people struggle with trauma and mental illness and don’t make the decision that Simon does, and it’s unclear what external force pushed him down the specific path he takes. Outside influence is an essential component of political radicalization, and its absence makes his anti-capitalist soliloquies feel out of place. The extensive monologuing also states the play’s themes so blatantly that it robs what should be a crazy, thrilling climax of any tension. Too many moments reminded me of the old writers’ aphorism: show, don’t tell.

Who I’m Doing This For has many interesting questions within it about generational trauma, mental illness and personal responsibility. Steven T. Boltz’s direction clearly brought out the best in the actors and team involved, and I think that the play could be very strong in a future revival. But as is, it didn’t have nearly as much polish as the monologues that preceded it, and I would definitely recommend those over this play in its current form.

To book tickets to Who I’m Doing This For, please visit https://melbournewriterstheatre.org.au/.

Photographer: Mina Shafer

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Metropolis Monologues Showcase Two

Metropolis Monologues Showcase Two

Metropolis Monologues Showcase Two Rating

★★★★★

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(Note: Metropolis Monologues is presented in two groups, and each night the monologues are followed by the play Who I’m Doing This For by Peter Farrar. This is a review of the second group of monologues – I have reviewed the first group and Who I’m Doing This For separately.)

As I mentioned in my first Metropolis Monologues review, the format of five monologues from five writers performed by five actors is enticing to anyone who wants to see fresh indie theatre in Melbourne. Although I enjoyed the first showcase, this second half of the series is where the format really blossomed for me. While both batches had the same director (Karyn Lee Greig), this set of monologues felt more thematically cohesive, since they all revolved around ideas of home and family: where it is, what it means, and how to find it.

In The Good Deed (written by Jeannie Haughton), Monique Kerr plays a beleaguered mother driving the kids home from school, until she sees an old man beside the road who might be in trouble. Kerr’s physicality really shines when she imitates the old man and her children, and this is coupled with writing that perfectly suits those voices. The piece also sets a good tone because the use of lighting and sound effects to establish a suspenseful tone is already more dynamic than in the previous set of monologues. The main character was likeable and full of fun quips, and this led to an ending that felt both heartfelt and earned.

Renovation Ruin’s main set-piece is a battered, graffiti-laden toilet. In Bruce Shearer’s bizarre monologue, Donna de Palma’s character opens the door to a stranger who just wants to use the bathroom, and uses the visitor to pour her heart out about a relationship gone wrong, and the renovation project she’s undertaking to try and exorcise herself. The writing style is evocative and erudite, and de Palma’s organic acting creates a great sense of unease around this character; how much of her behaviour is melodrama, and how much is her actually losing her mind? The ridiculous toilet quickly becomes a clever metaphor for her broken relationship, and the way that the last line ties that symbolism together is absolutely fantastic.

 

 

Leisa Whyte’s Deep Breath introduces us to a young man (played by Anthony Pontonio) struggling to find himself. He has taken a break from university to stay in a beach town, and after getting a job as a barista, he starts to wonder if he could stay there for good. Also, he hears voices in his head, which may be anxiety, a superpower, or something in between. Pontonio gives a gorgeous performance here; there are so many subtle physical moments that could just as easily make you laugh as give you heartache. There is a constant sense of something about to snap under his calm veneer, cultivating a character who comes across warm and sympathetic, but also a bit scary. This piece captured what it’s like to feel at home while also longing for one, and more than any other monologue, I wanted to see more of this character after it ended.

In Wakeup Call, when an old woman sees a neighbour’s home being cleared out by her sons, she becomes worried about her own complicity in this woman’s fate, and her own future. Maree Collie’s writing brings some much-needed humanity to a character who could otherwise be a stereotypical ‘crotchety old lady’. Both writer and actor (Clare Larman) handle the fear of growing old and being abandoned with a deft mix of comedy and solemnity (“What will they toss out first: my life or me?”). The easy-going nature of the character made moments where she snapped feel more palpable, but the multiple instances of her observing exactly what was being thrown out of the house did feel somewhat repetitive. Some of the trains of thought that she expressed also felt like they weren’t fully followed through; it was an enjoyable piece and performance – I just felt that it could have made its themes even stronger.

The final piece, Dream Home (written by Louise Hopewell) centres around a woman (played by Charmaine Gorman) who has recently discovered that a woman tragically died years ago in her house. She is haunted less by a ghost and more by the knowledge she now has, and the sense that she is being watched by the dead woman. The writing takes its time, building a sense of intrigue about all characters mentioned and conveying the hesitancy the main character feels about speaking to the dead. Gorman’s performance is fraught with sympathy and confusion; she makes you feel the looming presence of somebody else in the way she speaks, and you feel for the lack of support she’s experiencing. With a silent sequence of lighting a candle, the showcase ends on a quiet, pondering note.

In one way or another, all five monologues see their characters questioning their relationships to their home, family and how they fit into their own lives. While I think both showcases were consistent with each other in terms of the writing and acting, the thematic cohesion in this second set took it from good to great. MWT has created a fantastic format for theatre writers and actors of all levels, and I look forward to seeing it return next year.

To book tickets to Metropolis Monologues Showcase Two, please visit https://melbournewriterstheatre.org.au/.

Photographer: Mina Shafer

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Metropolis Monologues: Showcase One

Metropolis Monologues Showcase One

Metropolis Monologues Showcase One Rating

★★★★★

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(Note: Metropolis Monologues is presented in two groups, and each night the monologues are followed by the play Who I’m Doing This For by Peter Farrar. This is a review of the first group of monologues – Who I’m Doing This For and the second group will be reviewed separately.)

Metropolis Monologues is an exciting prospect for anybody interested in fresh, diverse works by fresh, diverse writers. Ten monologue performances are split over two instalments, each lasting ten minutes, each with a totally different self-contained story. This spotlighting of new work is to be expected from Melbourne Writers’ Theatre (MWT), who produce numerous annual initiatives to get new work staged and seen. One would expect a mixed bag with so many scripts involved, and some of the writing and performances did work better for me than others. Overall, though, the work was of very high quality and a great springboard for a talented group of theatre makers.

Metropolis Monologues’ director, Karyn Lee Greig, clearly emphasizes physical action as a path into story and character. The first monologue, Run (written by Jennifer Beasley), makes this obvious, as an Olympic runner prepares for her first race after recovering from an injury. Words like ‘run’ and ‘double-back’ take on new meaning as she flashes back to a traumatic past that she tries her hardest to outrun. Emerson Hansford gives a lot of life to this character, especially when she’s imitating other people, and the near-novelistic writing and punchy ending made for a very strong start to the show.

James Hassett’s The Reckoning is shrouded in mystery, as Stephen Najera’s character castigates an unnamed group of criminals for their complicity in the face of wrongdoing. Najera plays the role with an interesting, slippery edginess, and there are many lines that feel cathartic and sadly relevant. While some people might like the ambiguous writing (who is this person exactly? who is he talking to? what did they do?), I felt that without specifics, the monologue lost quite a bit of the power it could otherwise have had. A clearer arc for the main character could have also made the themes hit harder.

 

 

In The Decision (written by Kat Adams), Natasha Broadstock plays an older woman deciding whether to leave her husband. Broadstock plays frustration very well, and it seemed from the audience’s reactions that many people resonated with the description of a marriage that, while not terrible, isn’t very fulfilling or loving either. The back-and-forth did feel a bit one-note and I wish both character and actor were pushed into other emotional territory. The ending, without spoiling it, also felt like a bit of a cop-out to the character’s dilemma.

Louisa’s main character is also in a complex relationship with her husband, but Christine Croyden takes us to another time period entirely. Louisa (played by Sarah Hamilton) is a housewife and mother in the Gold Rush era, and both character and performance were incredibly likeable. Out of all five monologues, this one gave me the greatest sense that I was being spoken to directly, as if I were an old friend chatting with her over the fence. The commentary on gender roles is subtle but ever-present, there is a great balance between light-hearted and tragic moments, and the ending has a fun twist that brings home the themes and character journey perfectly.

The last monologue, The Man Behind The Mask, is also a historical piece, but its themes about accepting difference and disability still ring true today. Alison Knight’s monologue follows a war veteran (played by Asher Griffith-Jones) who was left facially disfigured after combat. Griffith-Jones is perfectly cast for the role; his poise and charisma clearly hide deep wells of fear and anger, and the script is peppered with humour so dark that only the main character finds it funny. While the literal mask that the character switches into before the end doesn’t fit well (which does spoil the emotional climax somewhat), it is immediately followed by the best use of screen projections in the whole show. It was a very moving end to a set of well-crafted performances and texts.

Overall, I enjoyed all five monologues and felt the freedom and joy of the actors and writers as they explored thought-provoking, diverse scripts. It’s great that Melbourne has organizations like MWT providing platforms for small-scale productions of new work, and I’ll definitely be looking out for the names listed above in future shows I go to.

To book tickets to Metropolis Monologues Showcase One, please visit https://melbournewriterstheatre.org.au/.

Photographer: Mina Shafer

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Beyond The Neck

Beyond The Neck

Beyond The Neck Rating

★★★★★

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None of the characters in Tom Holloway’s Beyond The Neck have names. This may seem like an odd choice for a play about the aftershocks of the 1996 Port Arthur massacre, given recent efforts in the USA to publicize the names of mass shooting victims, but not the perpetrators. A play about a subject that epitomizes ‘personal meets political’ makes a decision that could easily alienate us from its characters. Theatre Works’ production (directed by Suzanne Chaundy) feeds into this alienation with a bare set of four chairs and a painting of Port Arthur, and actors who seem aware that they are telling a story, speaking out to us more than each other. It’s a little Brechtian, quite funny in some parts and very dark in others.

And yet, the connection was palpable, the audience always laughing, sighing and silent when intended. The Old Man (Francis Greenslade), The Young Mother (Emmaline Carroll Southwell), The Boy (Freddy Colyer) and The Teenager (Cassidy Dun) have such specific backstories and distinct voices, but they also become archetypes of the people who were there when the shooting happened, and who are in the audience now. Some of the characters don’t have direct connections to the massacre but simply being at the site forces them to confront other traumas that have plagued their lives. This is despite the strange façade that the first half of the play is built around: a tour of Port Arthur in which the massacre is never mentioned. When that façade breaks down and our characters are plunged to their lowest points, it is truly heartbreaking.

 

 

With the sparse and static staging, this iteration of Beyond The Neck lives and dies on the strength of its actors, and they more than pull their weight. Putting the focus on them was a very smart directorial decision because their work as an ensemble is meticulous and enrapturing. Four characters telling four stories at once could be confusing in the wrong hands, but there’s an almost magical direction of the audience’s attention in every actor’s use of gesture and voice. We always know whose story we’re in and what their character is like, and when the fourth wall goes up and the characters start interacting with each other properly and being honest about their stories, it feels well earned. The Young Mother did get somewhat lost in the shuffle, but I think that has more to do with the pacing of the writing than this specific production – it would have been nice to have more time given to her response to grief. Ultimately, the cast’s chemistry perfectly suited a play about the intermingling of personal and group trauma.

It’s sobering to think that in the wake of the Bondi shooting, Beyond The Neck may be more relevant now than Holloway ever envisioned when he wrote the play in 2008. But what has also stayed relevant is the sense of community and love that the play ends with. In a way, good theatre is an embodiment of that experience, and this provocative production created an intensely beautiful atmosphere. It’s a reminder that no matter what we face – death, grief, nightmares, abuse, isolation – we are never truly alone, and there is life on the other side.

To book tickets to Beyond The Neck, please visit https://www.theatreworks.org.au/2026/beyond-the-neck.

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