Content note: This review mentions the death of an animal; it also discusses a popular story about an Autistic character that was written without any consultation from Autistic community.
You might not think that the death of a dog could be the impetus of a heartwarming story – but perhaps, you just need to open yourself up to looking at the world a little differently. When 15-year-old Christopher John Francis Boone discovers the lifeless body of Wellington (the dog who belonged to his neighbour, Mrs Shears) on the front lawn, he is set on a path that will change his life forever. Before now, Christopher has never ventured alone beyond the end of his street, but his determination to solve the case will take him all the way from sleepy Swindon to the hustle and bustle of London – and lead him to uncover another great mystery: what really happened to his mother?
Christopher has an extraordinary mind – he’s brilliant at maths, he notices things that other people don’t, and he’s also wary of strangers and hates to be touched. Soon after he first appeared on the pages of Mark Haddon’s ridiculously-successful novel in 2003, Christopher also became a beacon of representation for people on the Autism spectrum. Almost a decade later, Simon Stephens’ stage adaptation of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time went on to garner a similar level of success, with award-winning runs on both the West End and Broadway. Roughly another decade later, Sydney’s own Belvoir St Theatre brings a considered and heartening (and very funny) new exploration of this beloved (and also somewhat controversial) text to the stage under the intuitive direction of Hannah Goodwin (Never Closer, Blessed Union).
Daniel R. Nixon is brilliant as Christopher. He effortlessly carries us through the adventure with a strong dramatic sensibility and a great knack for comedic timing.
There are a few reasons that Belvoir’s staging stands apart from the flashy production that erupted onto the world’s stage in 2012 – but the biggest reason is that neurodivergent people have actually played a huge part in creating it. This not only means that the representation of neurodiversity is handled with care, but also that the show can actually be accessible to people who strongly identify with Christopher. Awareness around neurodiversity has grown at hyperspeed in just the last few years, let alone the time since Curious Incident was at the height of its popularity. Contrary to dismissive attitudes around the proliferation of diagnoses like Autism and ADHD, there is a great sense of catharsis, empowerment and self-forgiveness that can come with finding the language to understand your own brain and/or the brains of the people around you, as well as finding relateable representations in stories. [Note: the writer of this review is one of those people who received an ADHD diagnosis later in life.]
Making his Belvoir debut, newcomer Daniel R. Nixon is brilliant as Christopher. He effortlessly carries us through the adventure with a strong dramatic sensibility and a great knack for comedic timing. As an Autistic actor, Nixon is also uniquely placed to tell Christopher’s story. If you’re in the know, you’ll pick up on the distinctly autistic tone of Nixon’s performance – from the cadence of his voice to little mannerisms. This refined “autistic-ness” is subtle and balanced enough that it never tips over into becoming an overwrought parody. The decision to cast an autistic actor not only makes for an authentic portrayal of this character and the community he represents, but this point of authenticity also seems to ripple throughout the production, and in the duty of care felt between all of the actors on stage.
The whole cast is a charmingly mismatched ensemble, each of them lending their warmth and a lived-in sense of believability as they swap between playing the different people that Christopher encounters – and that affability is especially bright in the moments where the cast is sort-of breaking the fourth wall. As Christopher’s teacher, Siobhan, Brigid Zengeni is our quasi-narrator. She reads to us from the book that Christopher has been writing about his experiences as an amateur detective, as (it becomes apparent) the teachers from Christopher’s school act out the story (which makes for some great moments of meta-theatrical humour).
Siobhan becomes a conduit for Christopher’s voice, but she is also much more than that – she is a stand-in for the audience, and she is a neurotypical observer in an Autistic person’s world. Aided by Sengeni’s immense acting talent, Siobhan is also a symbol for that one teacher that everyone should get to meet during their school years, regardless of how their education experience played out – the teacher that gets you, because they actually took an interest in seeing you. Meanwhile, the way Christopher’s parents are written is a great demonstration of the truth that all parents, contrary to our preconceptions, don’t automatically download a “parent” software upgrade the day that they’re saddled with a child. They are flawed, imperfect people whose love is acted out in flawed, imperfect ways.
View this post on Instagram
Wrapping Belvoir’s sunken stage in a pixelated galaxy of grey squares in various gradients, Zoë Atkinson’s unassuming set and costume design are a good fit. Much like this story and its largely suburban setting, this staging contains more wonders than what it might first appear to – as the brilliant and overwhelming details of Christopher’s mind spill out in a kaleidoscopic tangle of chalk illustrations and layers of light and sound. Catering to any sensory needs of the audience, notifications about loud noises or flashing lights have been built into the staging and the performance – at the centre of it all is a custom split-flap display that shows times, place names, and more. (And rather than taking away from the drama, these additions actually heighten the experience for everyone.)
It's actually a rather curious thing, that the author of one of the world’s most enduringly popular stories about Autism not only doesn’t identify as Autistic, but also “did no research” about Autism or ‘Asperger’s Syndrome’ (the no-longer-used term that appeared on the cover of the first edition of the book, while later editions avoided assigning a neurotype to Christopher altogether). Likewise, it would seem that there were not any non-neurotypical people on the team that originally adapted Curious Incident for the stage – let alone in Melbourne Theatre Company’s 2018 production, which was met with concern from Autistic artists and community at the time.
It should really be the bare minimum that any play, let alone one like this, is staged with accessibility in mind. But unfortunately, the theatre industry has gone on too long without factoring in access, and so has the world at large. The scaffolding just isn’t there, and any well-meaning project can all-too-easily topple into a trash fire of ignorance (á la Music, Sia’s ill-fated movie centred around a non-verbal Autistic character).
The source of this play has an imperfect legacy, but it remains a brilliant story. Mark Haddon never tried to write a perfect representation of Autism, and yet, a lot of people found solace in the pages ripped from Christopher’s mind. So yes, in the year 2024 it (should be) the bare minimum to bring in a neurodiverse panel for a new staging – but Belvoir truly deserves props for the consideration and harmony of this production. It’s an exercise in reclamation which goes far beyond a box-ticking exercise – and I hope that it doesn’t take another show that is profusely about disability (like the excellent Cost of Living from earlier this year) for all theatre in Sydney to become more accessible.
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is playing at Belvoir St Theatre, Surry Hills, until September 22. You can book your tickets and find out more about the show (including sensory support guides) at belvoir.com.au.
Stay in the loop: sign up for our free Time Out Sydney newsletter for the best in arts and culture, food & drink inspo and activity ideas, straight to your inbox.