Jonathan Biggins. Therry Theatre. The Arts Theatre. 10 Apr 2026
Like Australia Day itself, even the premiere date of Jonathan Biggins’ Australia Day is a matter of mild contention. Some commentaries place its first staging with Sydney Theatre Company at the Drama Theatre on 11 August 2012; others record a co‑production between STC and Melbourne Theatre Company opening at the Arts Centre Melbourne earlier that year, on 21 April.
The discrepancy feels oddly appropriate.
This is, after all, a play about a national day that has not always been observed on 26 January, a date selected less for symbolism than for administrative convenience. The agreement to standardise the date across states and territories was reached in 1935, a bureaucratic solution to inconsistency. Three years later, on that same date, First Nations leaders marked the 150th anniversary of settlement with the first Day of Mourning protest, reframing celebration as grief and resistance.
It is precisely within these fractures between intention and consequence, administration and experience that Biggins’ satirical strength is found. Beneath the official language of agendas and procedures, grievances, loyalties, camaraderie, pride and shame bubble away, unresolved and largely undiscussed.
In the fictional town of Makaratta, six committee members gather in a Scout Hall on a winter night to plan the annual Australia Day celebrations.
Gary Anderson’s set design instantly takes us to this place somewhere in Australia’s vast oonawoopwoop, close enough to a major centre to feel connected, far enough away to believe it knows itself better than anyone else ever could. The Scout Hall, Queen Liz above the door, the movements founder Baden-Powell glaring from a portrait on the wall, and a pinboard replete with notices, is presented in tones of mustard and beige reflective of the committee as microcosm of this place.
Directed by the inimitable Jude Hines, a veritable theatre veteran, Therry Theatre’s choice to stage Australia Day for its Adelaide premier is a brave and bold choice. Hine’s deft direction guides the six characters along their journey well.
There’s Brian Harrigan, the mayor and chair, played by Stephen Bills, impeccably suited and already rehearsing for pre‑selection as a Liberal candidate. Brian speaks in the tone of consensus while maneuvering relentlessly toward his goal. There’s a familiar blend of geniality and ambition. Harrigan is the sort of local politician who insists he’s ‘just being practical’ while quietly sharpening the knives. Bills plays him well but does occasionally fall into a vocal rhythm not in keeping with situation.
Adam Schultz’s Robert Wilson, deputy mayor and lifelong mate, offers loyalty where judgment might otherwise intrude. He’s the sort of man who goes along not because he agrees, but because disagreement would be uncomfortable. Schulz plays him with a weary affability which, particularly during Act 1, needs to adjust to observe pace.
Then there are the old hands. Wally Stewart, a builder and developer, fifteen years on the committee, played by Steve Kidd OAM with brutal conviction. In singlet, shorts and thongs, Wally is blunt, combative, and nostalgic for a version of Australia that conveniently excludes anyone who arrived later than he did. Kidd doesn’t soften Wally, nor does he caricature him. The racism, misogyny and bile emerge not as theatrical shocks but as things Wally has always believed and merely speaks aloud now. He’s a bloke many of us know!
Kristina Kidd’s Maree Bucknell, president of the local CWA, operates in the middle ground of goodwill without authority. Maree brings the reassurance that it will all somehow work out. She wants harmony without confronting the reason harmony no longer comes easily. Kidds’ is a quietly tragic performance. Again, many of us know this woman.
Into this ecosystem arrive the newcomers. Michele Kelsey’s Helen McInnes, a Greens councilor “newly” arrived from Melbourne, asks the questions no one wants asked. Who is this celebration actually for? Who feels welcome? Kelsey plays Helen with restraint which offsets Biggin’s capture of the seemingly righteous tone of many Greens, which makes the resistance she encounters all the more revealing.
Ollie Xu’s Chester Lee, a primary school teacher liaising between the committee and local school, is outwardly cheerful, quick with humour, and acutely aware of how precarious his position is. Xu finds the balance between levity and calculation perfectly. Chester jokes not because he doesn’t understand what’s happening, but because he understands it all too well.
The first act unfolds with each exchange revealing another fracture in the committee’s sense of shared purpose. By the second act, on Australia Day itself, the sausage sizzle becomes a kind of frontline where the conflicts have nowhere to hide.
What Biggins does so well is resist the temptation to provide answers. There are no tidy resolutions here. No enlightened consensus. Simply people, beliefs, histories and silences colliding in broad daylight.
The laughter comes easily, and, with recognition of ourselves and those we know, often comes uncomfortably. Biggins understands that the real danger of Australia Day isn’t that it provokes argument, it’s that we continue to have the same arguments every year, convinced they’re somehow new or closer to resolution.
Therry Theatre’s bold decision to stage Australia Day is not just timely at this time when international interests influence domestic narratives around events that challenge our tenuous identity; it’s telling. This is not a play about changing the date. It’s a play about who gets to decide what the date means, who has been excluded from that decision all along, and who controls the larger narrative. And like Australia Day itself, the play leaves us with no certainty only the uncomfortable knowledge that the administration of unity has never been the same thing as unity itself. Exploring such things is what good theatre is about!
Go! See it!
John Doherty
When: 8 to 18 Apr
Where: Arts Theatre
Bookings: trybooking.com
