Conflict has riven a Blak family grieving the death of radio host Deadly Dave (Greg Fryer). As his widow (Lisa Maza) erupts into performative wailing, his doctor daughter (Maurial Spearim), sick of being the responsible one, unleashes resentments on her feckless rugby-star brother (Zach Blampied), not to mention his woke, white hippie influencer girlfriend (Jordan Barr).
The hubbub is stopping Dave from passing in peace, so he haunts them all in an uproarious, silly, and slightly sexy farce that pokes fun at every piety and folly and insecurity.
Emu in the Sun contains traces of Indigenous legend and astronomy.Credit: Tiffany Garvie
Most Australian comedy has an irreverent streak, but Blak comedy is next level. Dave-from-beyond-the-grave reconciles all parties to respecting the dead through torturing his loved ones with outlandish low humour until they learn to respect one another. Expect unhinged variety with zany musical outbursts, zombie chases, carrot-smoking, and coffin sex. Hilarious and heart-warming stuff.
The final play synthesises the first two in aesthetic. Phoebe Grainer’s Emu in the Sun contains traces of Indigenous legend and astronomy – in many Aboriginal cultures the moon is a lazy man and the sun fiercely feminine – and here Etta (Grainer), a young woman bedridden with depression and anxiety, is drawn out herself into a surreal phantasmagoria.
It’s a dream(ing-ish) play in which Teresa Moore beckons Etta into a dark constellation of cabaret and camp mayhem. The fantasy quest adventure is enlivened by mischief and glamour and the adorable comic antics of the Moon (Trevor Jamieson) and a dragon (Luke Currie-Richardson), with the two actors doubling as cowboy and minotaur when things get real, and Etta confronts some of what lies under the veil of her dreams and nightmares.
The fantasy quest adventure is enlivened by mischief and glamour and the adorable comic antics of the Moon (Trevor Jamieson).Credit: Tiffany Garvie
Wildly inventive and unconventional, whimsical and free, this is a gloom-dispelling odyssey that should instil a kind of willed innocence in any heart and mind that’s open enough. It almost feels like an Aboriginal improvement on The Wizard of Oz. Etta conquers the demons of mental illness with courage and comic aplomb and the assistance of oddly loveable companions, the ingredients of her fantasia ancient and modern.
All three of these works are worth seeing, and there’s a contemporary exhibition featuring Blak artists and posters from Ilbijerri’s history upstairs, with other workshops and talks throughout the season.
Reviewed by Cameron Woodhead
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