Dear Son

There’s a particular kind of silence that falls over an audience when something true is being spoken on stage. Queensland Theatre’s Dear Son is full of those moments. In this world premiere adaptation of Thomas Mayo’s celebrated book of letters, co-adaptors Isaac Drandic and John Harvey have not only preserved the emotional potency of the source material, but elevated it, crafting a visually rich, sonically stirring, and emotionally generous piece of theatre that sings with both ancestral reverence and contemporary urgency.

The show remains true to its origins: a series of letters from First Nations fathers to their sons, and sons to their fathers. But this is no staid recital. What emerges on stage is a textured and fluid tapestry of lived experience that’s equally uproariously funny, achingly sad, and deeply expressive. The script finds its rhythm in the weaving together of intimate confession, cultural pride, and the quiet ache of intergenerational healing. There are laugh-out-loud one-liners nestled beside poetically lyrical passages that catch in the throat. The result is a work that is not only cohesive, but spiritually resonant.

Drandic’s direction brings an invigorating sense of movement and play to the staging. The blocking is full of surprise and subtlety, often revealing emotional undercurrents without a word spoken. He keeps the five performers in an ever-shifting dance, sometimes orbiting each other like moons captured by the gravity of intergenerational trauma, sometimes huddled close like family around a fire. The pacing allows for breath and stillness when needed. This is a production that understands the power of both silence and song.

Set designer Kevin O’Brien has conjured a world that feels both familiar and sacred. Real gravel crunches underfoot. Undulating corrugated iron roofing overhead is a true Aussie signature style. A flickering fire glows on stage. A ‘rules’ sign near the BBQ conjures a chuckle of recognition. It’s an environment that invites you in, comforts you, and reminds you of home. Costume designer Delvene Cockatoo-Collins supports the flow of characters and scenes with subtle, character-defining choices and clothing that shifts easily, yet always feels true.

The lighting by David Walters, in collaboration with video designer Craig Wilkinson, is a revelation. Warm washes of orange and gold dissolve into expansive sky blues, evoking everything from dusk to the glow of memory. Embers float in the air, and handwritten words, ghostly, urgent, and beautiful, appear like whispers in the video design. The visual storytelling takes the entire production to the next level.

Wil Hughes’ sound design is cinematic in scope and intimate in tone. The aural experience is immersive, wrapping the audience in waves of feeling, memory, and culture. The live music, performed on stage by the cast, adds another layer of connection. These aren’t just actors delivering lines; they are men sharing song, sorrow, and joy.

Waangenga Blanco’s choreography is integral to the storytelling, fusing contemporary performance with culturally grounded movement. His sequences pulse with energy and intent. The physical language of the piece speaks as clearly as the words, and is a distinct celebration of First Nations culture.

The cast works exceptionally well to support one another. Each performer brings their full self to the stage, and the camaraderie between them is palpable. There is tenderness in their collective presence; a generosity and deep mutual respect.

Trevor Jamieson brings a gentle mischief to his role, his eyes twinkling with warmth. He shines during his musical performance. When acting he effortlessly blends humour with gravitas and his expressive face is fantastic in the comedic moments.

Kirk Page channels his character’s emotional journey with a deft hand, modulating volume and intensity with precision. His natural presence provides a grounding energy to the production and his performance is deeply affecting.

Waangenga Blanco dazzles in the movement sequences and radiates emotional depth. He brings poetry to the physical space, and his performance is a moving reminder of the power of embodiment in storytelling.

Aaron Pedersen is raw and riveting. His openness is striking; his connection to the text is deep and unflinching. It is a performance marked by sincerity and presence, leaving a lasting impression.

Jimi Bani is magnetic and a stand-out performer. His charisma lights up the stage, but it’s his vulnerability that truly lands. Every gesture, every glance, feels imbued with truth. Whether delivering a humorous quip or an aching confession, he draws us in completely.

Dear Son is a gorgeous theatrical offering that is gentle in tone, bold in purpose, and executed with care and artistic excellence. It offers no easy resolutions, but instead extends an invitation: to listen, to reflect, and to hold space for complexity. It’s a reminder that masculinity can be tender, that strength can be found in softness, that the cycles of trauma can be broken, and that love that is spoken plainly and written with care can heal across generations.

Kitty Goodall

Photography by David Kelly