Whitefella Yella Tree

Once in a blue moon, a play arrives that’s not afraid to end in heart-breaking tragedy. Whitefella Yella Tree drifts into the stage as tender as a new leaf, it blossoms into something beautiful, and not long after that, the world conspires to cut it down. Presented by La Boite Theatre in association with Griffin Theatre Company, this work is a gorgeously crafted story of young love, Country, and the cataclysm of colonialism that changes everything.

Written by Palawa playwright Dylan Van Den Berg and co-directed by Declan Greene and Wiradjuri/Worimi theatremaker Amy Sole, this is a piece that dances between hilarity and heartbreak. Ty (Joseph Althouse) and Neddy (Danny Howard) are two teenage boys from River Mob and Mountain Mob. They meet under a lemon tree and fall madly, foolishly, wonderfully in love. What begins with teasing, laughter, and comic bravado unfolds into a relationship that feels authentic, exciting, and alive. The play is hilarious throughout, until the tragedy of the impacts of colonialism on their lives, their mobs, and their love comes crashing down like a lead weight of sorrow.

Althouse and Howard are extraordinary together; their chemistry palpable, their performances brave and deeply moving. I particularly loved the contrast between the delicate, gentle Ty (Althouse) and the energetic, rough-and-tumble Neddy (Howard). Their dynamic gives the story texture and tension, with every glance and gesture carrying meaning. The scenes of intimacy were choreographed with grace and sensitivity, feeling tender without shyness, honest without spectacle.

Mason Browne’s set design deserves special praise. The layers of blonde wood evoked the soft rise of mountains, while the moss and greenery scattered across the stage — and on the far rear hill — added perspective and organic beauty without ever feeling literal. The suspended lemon tree roots hanging from the ceiling were both poetic and eerie, lit exquisitely by Kelsey Lee and Katie Sfetkidis to create shifting moods of warmth and dread. The movement of the moonlight across the lemon tree was a clever device to show the passage of time, and the dull thud of falling lemons landing on earth struck with quiet, devastating impact.

I found the costuming wonderfully imaginative — a creative fusion of modern and Victorian-era styles that subtly bridged past and present. The overall design aesthetic, from Steve Toulmin’s evocative sound design to the sculptural lighting, gave the production an immersive, artistic quality.

The dialogue was occasionally a little too rushed for me to fully comprehend, though I suspect this was intentional in order to capture the bubbling urgency of youth and love. In contrast, the moments of silence were beautifully weighted. The interplay between the rapid-fire exchanges and the stillness made the emotional highs and lows even more affecting.

The script itself is a triumph. Van Den Berg’s exploration of same-sex love within an Indigenous context feels both radical and overdue. I admired his commentary on the corrosive influence of imported Christian morality and the raw honesty with which he examines the ongoing impact of colonisation.

By the end of the performance, I was racked with sorrow for the stolen futures of Ty and Neddy, for the violence done to their mobs, and for the profound losses of connection and culture that still reverberate today. Whitefella Yella Tree is more than a play; it is a lament, a love song, and a reminder of what endures even in the face of devastation. This journey from humour to romance to tragedy is emotionally deep, artistically refined, and utterly unforgettable.

Kitty Goodall

Photography by Prudence Upton