The Children

Promotional image above by Naz Mulla: Julia Johnson as Hazel, Amanda McErlean as Rose, and Terry Hansen as Rob.

In an intimate seaside cottage soaked in beige and tension, The Children begins with a striking image: a well-groomed businesswoman in a muted green and orange suit, standing awkwardly in a kitchen with a bleeding nose. Something feels off.

In the cosy, upstairs space of PIP Theatre, a quiet storm is unfolding. Directed with quiet intensity by Heidi Gledhill and produced by A Moveable Theatre and Amanda McErlean, this production leans into the anxieties of the near future whilst unearthing buried resentments and moral ambiguity with remarkable control and nuance. The Children is a tense, darkly funny, and emotionally layered piece that wastes no time immersing its audience in comforting unease.

Image: Julia Johnson, Amanda McErlean and Terry Hansen

Set in the aftermath of a nuclear disaster, the story brings together former colleagues with a shared history who must now confront not only the choices they've made but also the world those choices have helped shape. What begins as a polite, slightly awkward reunion steadily spirals into something far more charged, as long-buried tensions resurface, and questions of legacy take centre stage. It’s a play about aging, guilt, and the uneasy balance between personal comfort and collective responsibility. As the characters talk around the real issues, the truth creeps in through the cracks. What does it truly mean to take responsibility for the future?

The story’s emotional depth is brought vividly to life by three standout performers. Julia Johnson’s Hazel is a portrait of warmth and denial. Dressed in soft greys and blues, she seems to dissolve into the neutral-toned kitchen around her, all warmth and order on the surface. Her natural cadence and expressive face give Hazel an authenticity that’s hard to fake. She doesn’t just play domestic, she becomes it. Yet, there’s tension under that exterior, revealed in the way she stumbles over her words when talking about her grandchildren, or flickers with doubt when asked to confront long-buried truths.

Image: Julia Johnson.

Opposite her, Amanda McErlean’s Rose is her perfect foil. With a muted green-and-orange suit, fresh salon hair, and posh manner, she looks like she’s wandered in from another planet, or at least another life. Rose bristles against the domesticity of the home, physically and emotionally uncomfortable in the space. McErlean captures that disconnect with precision, her unease palpable even when saying very little. Watching her hesitate over something as simple as making a salad or trying to hold her own in a space that clearly rejects her is quietly excruciating.

Image: Terry Hansen, Julia Johnson and Amanda McErlean.

Meanwhile, Terry Hansen’s Rob strikes a familiar chord as the jovial, slightly bumbling Aussie dad. At first, he’s a warm presence, offering comic relief and easy banter. However, as the wine flows and old tensions rise to the surface, that warmth begins to reveal a more complicated past. Hansen plays that shift beautifully, allowing Rob’s charm and flaws to coexist, creating a character that’s both frustrating and heartbreakingly human. Even as uncomfortable truths are revealed, there’s something disarming about the way he tidies up the kitchen, as if trying to sweep away the wreckage with a mop and a smile.

The chemistry between the three actors is electric. There’s a sense of shared history, of long-held secrets pressing against the surface. Their interactions feel lived-in and entirely believable. Gledhill’s direction allows the tension of the story to build as a simmer rather than a boil. Silence, hesitation, and glances carry just as much weight as spoken lines, and conversations unfold with an unhurried rhythm that reflects the discomfort of people circling painful truths. The emotional stakes rise gradually throughout. When revelations hit, they land not as shocks, but as deeply earned moments. There’s a confidence in letting the audience sit with the unease, and it pays off. This is not a play that races to its point. Instead, it lures you in to watch as their past choices unfurl in the present.

Images: Terry Hansen ,Amanda Mc Erlean and Julia Johnson.

The production design supports this slow unravelling beautifully. Helena Trupp’s set is a muted kitchen that feels both familiar and strangely sterile, evoking something between a beach house and a waiting room. Meanwhile, Noah Milne’s lighting gives this world life just as much as it takes it away. The projected sky behind the set shifts in tone throughout – sunny one moment, sickly green the next – mirroring the emotional highs and lows playing out on stage. The moment when the power is restored and the stage is drenched in an off-white, nauseating glow is particularly striking, capturing the unease of a toxic world pretending to still be functioning. Even the parsnip wine, with its unsettling greenish-yellow hue, adds a further layer of quiet grotesqueness, both a visual and thematic reminder of what lies beneath the surface.

Image: Terry Hansen, Amanda McErlean and Julia Johnson.

The Children is a story about legacy and responsibility. It asks what we owe the future, and whether the lives we have built can truly protect us from the consequences of our past. It questions how comfort and routine can mask much deeper issues. It looks at wellness rituals and self-preservation in the shadow of irreversible damage. With its thoughtful direction, strong performances, and restrained but effective design, The Children at PIP Theatre is a quiet force. Much like the remnants of nuclear waste, the effects linger long after the lights go out.

Review by Rebecca Lynne

Tickets: https://piptheatre.org/the-children/

A Moveable Theatre: https://www.amoveabletheatre.com.au/

Photography by Kris Anderson