By Jennifer Beasley.
An instant classic, Break of Day is the unfolding Australian tragedy of excessive hubris and the revelations that comes from the shattering of delusions.
As a critic, I live for the moments when theatrical performances flash with genius. Break of Day, written by Steve Rodgers, is officially an Australian Classic, up there with famed American plays by Sam Shepard’s Buried Child and Arthur Miller’s Death of A Salesman. This is no small statement. In the hands of director Sarah Goodes, Australia’s greatest director, she transforms this play that has won the Rodney Seaborn Playwright Award and The Australian Writers’ Guild Prize, into an epic tragedy worthy of King Lear.
This play, full of symbolism and duality, seethes with underground tension and regret. The set itself is a testament to innovation and creativity. Built on a rotating stage, the two-storey building serves as a warehouse on one side, a corridor in the middle, and Pamela’s home on the third. Anna Cordingley, winner of two Green Room Awards, has pulled off the impossible with the perfect set and the muted costumes reflect the dull and uninspiring life that crawls through the town.
The premise introduces Pamela, 34 years old and working 12 hour night shifts in an unnamed soulless warehouse (think Amazon/Temu/Shein) who lives her colourless and, she thinks, invisible life in the dead-end town of Burra Creek, perched on the edge of the city. Acted with remarkable skill by Kat Stewart, she brings pathos and vulnerability to this captured character. Stewart’s body language is remarkable, as she stands, her posture bent under the weight of her lost dreams and the hubris she has acquired to give her daughter, Rae, everything that she did not have – a way out of Burra Creek. But her delusion, that there is nothing in the town, is at odds with all the other inhabitants beliefs of this town; her father Frank, Rae, Rae’s boyfriend Jed, and her supervisor and friend Sanjeeva are all happy here. Pamela is the only outlier, and thus, invisible.
Bringing in two novels as conceits, we are introduced to themes that snake into dark territory. Rae, writing last minute her assignment that is worth 100% and must be submitted before 8 am the next day to get to her HSC goal of 96, suffers her own hubris, as she has left everything to the last minute, and is constantly told how clever she is. She is dissecting the novel ‘Lolita’ and her analytical discourse runs parallel with her conversations and revelations of her Pop, Frank. The interactions between Rae, acted by Sherry-Lee Watson, and Frank, an outstanding role by Richard Piper, pulls at the heartstrings one minute and revulsion the other.
The other conceit, ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen, is suggested jokingly by Pamela as an alternative to Rae’s essay. All the characters are somewhere on the scale of pride and prejudice, with Frank the ‘King’, whose inglorious fall from his illusions is a brilliant piece of acting and stage direction. Indeed, Piper brought the pathos of King Lear to this role, an everyday Australia full of bluff and selfishness, that has tainted the present and cast the depressive gloom that Pamela struggles through, unable to feel, form relationships, and even allow her daughter to be who she wants to be.
The brilliant entry of Jed, acted by Theo Clarke, oozing with a young man’s confidence as he smooth dances onto the stage, his dance partner a shopping trolley, is sexy, fun and brilliant as he grooves away to his music and his own gentle nature. Clarke easily inhabits this role, finding the right tempo and the believable romance with Rae. He is the anchor to the piece. Sue, he has his own, milder delusions, but enough self-awareness to break them at the end. His love and support of Rae is lovely, and a welcome relief from the demands of Frank, or the vagueness of lost soul Sanjeeva, performed by Chum Ehelepola, who masters a challenging role where he must plumb into the character’s pain and then switch to comedic moments, all of which is well done, as too is his subtle love for Pamela, but his constrain, his pride, is he cannot act or declare himself.
The brisk music and upbeats are woven expertly by composer and sound designer Jethro Woodward and the lighting by Paul Jackson is hands down the best I’ve ever seen. The daybreak scene, where the sun streams into the kitchen as the denouement commences, accompanied by the chorist of birdsong, has an epic cinematic feel. Truly gorgeous.
The ending is bittersweet but well earned. A full house standing ovation! Yes, I jumped up and I think it went on for 15 minutes. I feel blessed to have seen this. Incredible job everyone.
Break of Day is playing at Malthouse until 29th August 2026.
Image: Pia Johnson
