Melbourne’s queer theatre scene is growing bolder and more joyful with every passing year. However, with widespread acceptance and marketability, there is always a risk of falling into complacency. As a trans playwright, I’m well aware of this ‘tolerance trap’, so I was excited to see a new play with a protagonist as grey in their morality as they are in their gender presentation. Add themes of queer family dynamics and the societal treatment of AFAB bodies into the mix, and you have a recipe for a fascinating comedy. The execution of Two, directed and written by Artemis Muñoz, however, left much to be desired in terms of the writing, set design, and performances.
Two’s protagonist, Kit (Sienna Macalister), is polyamorous, non-binary and newly pregnant. Excited as they are to be a parent, they quickly grow sick of people’s questions about their baby’s gender/sex/genitals. During a particularly tense get-together, they lie to their mother (Rebecca Morton) and announce that they are having twins, a boy and a girl. This temporarily fields uncomfortable conversations with Kit’s family, but strains relations with their partners (Vasi Devi and Marz Cooper) and creates further issues once the (singular) child is born. Will Kit’s family, chosen and biological, survive the fallout?
When creating such an esoteric plotline, there’s a tricky balance between getting your themes across and not lecturing your audience. Unfortunately, I felt that Two fell off the latter side of that tightrope, especially when it came to Kit’s frustration with their mother. It often felt as if the script was insisting that we dislike the mother through prolonged rants from Kit, instead of letting the audience infer ways in which her microaggressions impacted her child. This didactic writing extended to other scenes that fell into a predictable pattern: someone makes an offensive comment, Kit calls them out, they double down, Kit gives them a scolding.
The staging also didn’t help with character connection because the space felt too wide. By using various side set pieces along with an expanding central frame, the actors felt so physically distant from the audience that it was hard to connect with their intimate scenes. The blocking often seemed stiff and aimless, with characters stuck standing around in scenes they didn’t fully belong in and a lack of opportunities for the actors to make eye contact with each other. A more closed-off stage and further opportunities to sit in moments of silence would have made it easier to connect with characters who are, on paper, fascinating.
Two still has moments where it lives up to the premise’s promise, especially after Kit’s child is born. The scene where Kit gives birth was a visceral showcase of Macalister’s acting, using a luminous ball as a stand-in for the baby was a beautiful symbolic choice, and there was a greater sense of emotional weight as certain character arcs wrapped up. The play’s penultimate scene with Kit and their mother was one of the only times when the mother felt fully sympathetic. It truly seemed that she didn’t fully understand the weight of her actions and that she had the potential to do better. It also brought home a more complex message about ‘cutting off’ loved ones: it isn’t easy on anyone and it’s never anybody’s first choice, but it can still promote the possibility of change.
Two is a play with many interesting things to say that needs further confidence in saying them. The writing comes across as lecturing at points, which could be mitigated by further drafting and less nervousness in the performances. I also think a smaller, more intimate venue would benefit the cast and audience. I would be interested in seeing a future production, and if the premise of the show resonates with you then you may enjoy it in its current form, but it could reach many more people with further polish.
To book tickets to TWO, please visit https://www.theatreworks.org.au/2025/two.
