And I'm The Queen Of Sheba

Bow down Darwin, your Queen has arrived.

Bold, adventurous and proudly Territorian, And I’m The Queen Of Sheba offers a blistering take on Australian identity that pulls no punches. Kate Wyvill's sharp writing, bolstered by the confident direction of Gail Evans and strong performances across the board, make this essential viewing for Darwin audiences. 

We find ourselves on the remote cattle station of the deranged Alma (Nicola Bartlett) and her companion/stockman Frank (George Shevtsov). They are up to their eyes in debt, the cattle that once roamed the property are long gone and the rain the land is aching for never seems to come. On this lonely outstation, they would seem all but forgotten if it wasn't for the humbugging bank and the amusing interruptions of the mail to remind us that the outside world exists. This all changes upon the arrival of a mysterious stranger (Frederick Copperwaite) who promises to save them from their financial woes and allow them to remain on their land. Alma's son Joe (Andrew Tighe) soon shows up uninvited to make sure his inheritance isn't going anywhere.

Wyvill's play is ballsy, but this cast and crew pull it off and leave you with plenty to think about.

The set design by Rebecca Adams is clever and immediately transports us to this weary, dilapidated homestead through a few smart devices. The miserable state of the 'home sweet home' sign, fridge and ceiling fan cry to us with neglect and the red dust that seems to permeate everything is recognisable as the Aussie outback. This sorry state of affairs is enlivened by the energetic performances of the cast, shifting from playful physicality (Alma’s and Frank’s surfing scenes are a nice quirk) to emotionally charged. Bartlett is mesmerising as the lead and combines well with the other cast members. Their build-up and release of tension is deployed to perfection and ultimately crushes us with some brutal 'home' truths.

This tension is set up well in the first act as we are lulled into a false sense of security. The action lumbers on, we are introduced to the main characters, they joke and dance around anything too weighty and we are left thinking 'Where is this actually going?' We felt the heat, the dust, the thirst so much so that, hey, it would be nice if Frank cracked us a beer too.

As the second act rolls on, the jokes thin out, and we wait for relief that doesn't arrive, much like a drought that refuses to end. The play shifts in tone and mood with great assistance by the clever lighting and sound design by Jessie Davis and Matt Cunliffe and the brewing unease takes hold and doesn't let go.

Wyvill's play contemplates harsh realities about Australia and Evans' direction does them justice. Ok, so if we are not the Queen Of Sheba, then who are we as Australians? What aspects of our nation's history are we prepared to face up to and what are we willing to shun in the hope that it never rears its head? This production begs us to consider how our collective unremembering hurts some of our most vulnerable, but also how we hurt ourselves.

And I’m The Queen Of Sheba is not what we were expecting and we are glad to have been caught by such surprise. This is powerful yet devastating theatre that deserves attention.