Adelaide Festival. Festival Theatre. 6 Mar 2026
Mary Said What She Said is not easy theatre. It places titanic demands on its solitary performer and tests the patience and stamina of its audience in equal measure. When the curtain falls, this reviewer is left holding two competing impressions: the production is exquisitely crafted—visually and aurally striking, and executed with undeniable theatrical skill—yet it often drifts into territory that feels self-indulgent.
The work unfolds as a 90-minute monologue depicting the final hours of Mary, Queen of Scots. Elizabeth I has already signed her death warrant for conspiring against her, and Mary waits alone in her cell at Fotheringhay Castle on the eve of her execution. No one could possibly truly grasp the emotional magnitude of such a moment, but Mary Said What She Said attempts, with daunting theatrical ambition, to imagine what might have passed through Mary’s mind as the end approached. In doing so, it becomes a reflection on memory, guilt, power and self-justification.
The text is by American novelist Darryl Pinckney, set to a compelling score by the fêted Italian composer Ludovico Einaudi, and originally directed by the iconic American director and playwright (especially of experimental theatre) Robert Wilson. Mary appears alone on stage, revisiting the many letters she wrote to friends, supporters and confidants—letters that ultimately formed the evidence used to convict her of plotting against Elizabeth. History has long debated the extent of Mary’s complicity in the conspiracy, but most historians accept that she was at least aware of, and tacitly supported, plans to remove Elizabeth to achieve both her freedom and the English throne.
The role is performed by the French stage and screen actor Isabelle Huppert, who delivers the entire monologue in French—the language of Mary’s court. English surtitles are projected above and to the sides of the vast stage. At times the spoken text is delivered at near breakneck speed, and the surtitles flash by faster than they can be read. The result is annoying: the audience must choose between reading the text and watching Huppert – it is difficult and at times impossible to do both. Yet after a while one surrenders and skims the surtitles as one becomes swept along by the emotional current of Mary’s reflections. In these moments, the character seems almost to be arguing her own innocence, persuading herself that the injustices she endured—particularly the long years of confinement in England—somehow justify the desperate plotting that sealed her fate.
Huppert’s performance is commanding. She presents Mary as both fiercely regal and at times submissive and subordinate. This dichotomy is reflected in her physicality: she moves across the stage like a marionette, her body twisting and contorting as though manipulated by invisible strings. At one moment she is engulfed in green light, silently screaming in fury at her predicament; at another she stands in stark white light that heightens both her royal authority and the possibility—however tenuous—of innocence. The role demands immense stamina, and Huppert never falters. Her voice remains clear, controlled and unwavering throughout. Her movement around the stage is choreographed superbly, and she effortlessly synchronises gesture with changes in lighting and sound. It never feels studied.
Lighting is central to the production, almost assuming the role of a character in its own right. The cavernous stage of the Festival Theatre is naked: there are no stage props; there is only Huppert, and light, forcing the audience to focus entirely on the actor and her words. She is frequently silhouetted against an immense backdrop that fills the entire upstage wall. Subtle and gradual shifts in hue and intensity create an atmosphere of looming dread. At one point she stands behind an invisible scrim that traps a growing cloud of white fog around her. Shards of light pierce the mist, conjuring a supernatural atmosphere. The image is unsettling, not least because it underlines an earlier sonic shock: three sudden, brutal blows representing the strokes required to sever Mary’s head.
Einaudi’s score is as expansive as it is relentless. It drives the drama forward, offering little relief apart from occasional changes of tempo and meter. Melody is sparse, but this austerity seems deliberate and is appropriate; the narrative leaves little room for lyrical distraction.
And yet, despite all its formidable artistry, the production never entirely satisfies, at least for this reviewer. It demands more concentration, more patience, perhaps even more acceptance from its audience than many are prepared to give. At times the experience feels overwhelming, as though the whole thing has been constantly wedged in overdrive.
Still, when the curtain falls at the end, there is no denying that something remarkable has taken place. Whatever its excesses may be, Mary Said What She Said is bold and uncompromising, and Huppert’s performance is a feat of endurance, control and an object lesson in stagecraft. Large sections of the audience rose to their feet in enthusiastic applause acknowledging this is theatre of striking ambition.
Kym Clayton
When: 6 to 8 Mar
Where: Festival Theatre
Bookings: Closed
