It is New Year’s Eve, 2019, and two queer couples tumble into an incredibly chic and obnixously arty apartment and make a beeline for the booze cart after a double date to the theatre. The purpose of this night out is not just for a culture kick and a little sozzled socialising, however. These couples are sizing each other up to decide if they want to make a baby together.
The antics that ensue ignite tears, tantrums, laughter, cheese balls, dick art, home truths, and an ill-advised orgy. But who will donate the sperm, and who will carry the child? The answer is not as straightforward as any of them had assumed before the night began.
This witty, one-act satire lightly riffs on the classic play Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf as it explores what it means to start a family when the world is on the precipice of chaos, and when you’re in a relationship where you’re not exactly going to make a baby by accident. As the evening unfolds, so do both couples’ true intentions, as well as the more complex backstories behind how they ended up in this seemingly spontaneous situation.
It is clear that this is a queer story told by queer creators, and yet it is accessible enough for people of all walks of life to get something out of it (if they’re not too squirmish). Who’s Afraid was penned by one of Australia’s leading screenwriters, Sarah Walker (recent credits include The Twelve for Warner/Foxtel and The Secrets She Keeps for Lingo/BBC1). The ensemble is led by Danielle Cormack (Wentworth, The Secret She Keeps) and Nicole da Silva (Wentworth, Carmen). The play also comes from the duo’s production company, Four One One productions, on a mission to disrupt the narrative both on and off screen.
Who’s Afraid is both incredibly honest and incredibly entertaining. It ponders on the expectations that are dissolved when someone comes out, like marriage and babies – only for a queer person to have to fight for those things, if it turns out they do want them. There’s also a playful depiction of the frictions between lesbians and gay men (who are often fundamentally at odds with each other, and yet are members of a shared community), older and younger generations, and the dynamics of couples with one gay partner and one bisexual – or a lesbian and a possibly pansexual, possibly non-binary partner.
The play is unafraid of acknowledging that the LGBTQIA+ community is not always a united front. Marty, a greying former twink and wealthy lawyer who supports his toy boy artist partner David (Joshua Shediak), shares a lament common with other older gays lumped in with a community they no longer recognise, finding it difficult keep up with the intersections and new identities. He is prepared for Georgia (Nicole da Silva), an outspoken leftie lesbian, to cuss him out and cancel him for that observation – but her response it not what he expects.
The ensemble is strong, their characters are believable, relatable and given the breathing room to be problematic. These couples are able to tear each other down in the way that only someone who knows you most intimately can do. Any fumbled lines are quickly saved – and with how many drinks these characters are putting away as the night draws on, minor stumbles seem perfectly apt, albeit intentionally so. The two more sexually fluid characters in the room share a rauncy banter and a connection that treads the fine line of a flourishing friendship and two people who can easily enable one another to make bad decisions.
Grace Deacon’s production design makes good use of the intimate confines of the downstairs theatre at Belvoir. The apartment, with its shag carpet, pink fixtures and phallic art, feels as once enviable and obnoxious. It’s a perfect setting for a narrative that holds a mirror up to the affluence and privilege of urban queer couples. Pru Montin’s sound design effectively conveys changes in location and the elapse of time, without anyone needing to employ forcibly gestural performance techniques to convey they are now on the balcony or in the bathroom.
It is refreshing and relatable to see a queer narrative that is not hooked to “coming out”, horny teenagers or that irritating fate of many a queer character on stage – a tragic death. Who’s Afraid doesn't try to reinvent the wheel, it’s just a talented team using the storytelling format at its best. It’s a great play to see on a date, a double-date, a friendly outing, and definitely an interesting conversation starter for queer women and their gay male friends. Honestly, it would be a missed opportunity not to continue the chain of inception after watching a play where the characters are discussing the play that they just watched.
Who’s Afraid has newly extended dates, it plays at Belvoir Street 25A downstairs until September 16, 2022. Tickets selling fast.