Comedy is tragedy plus time, so the saying goes. And this adage takes on a particularly striking resonance when applied to the work of award-winning playwright and proud Gamilaroi and Torres Strait Islander woman Nakkiah Lui. Her brand of satirical humour deals an incisive and uncompromising take on contemporary socio-politics, but it also draws its power from a profound understanding of our country's shameful past and the many atrocities committed against Australia's First Nations in the 230 years since the arrival of the First Fleet.
As in her sexploitation parody Blaque Showgirls, or the race-flipped comedy of manners Black Is The New White, Lui's theatre has often passed historical truths and cultural ironies through the lens of pop culture. Those familiar with her TV projects, writing and appearing on ABC-made sketch show Black Comedy and sex-positive sit-com Kiki and Kitty, will know the biting wit and no-punches-pulled sass that thrives in Lui's comic voice. But in her stage works, the presence of a darker context is more explicitly apparent, and this quality plays an especially powerful role in Blackie Blackie Brown: The Traditional Owner Of Death.
Kick-ass, fiercely relevant and bloody funny (quite literally), this subversive comic book caper gives the good-vs-evil potboiler a radical shake-up. Political correctness is banished from the off, along with any notion of "reconciliation". Lui cuts the throat of those inadequate conveniences in a story that pitches revenge as the only resolution for more than two centuries of violent oppression
Although she's no stranger to racial discrimination, downtrodden and docile archaeologist Dr Jacqueline Black (Dalara Williams) is nonetheless disconnected from her Indigenous heritage, thanks to her white adoptive parents and privileged upbringing. That all changes, however, when on a dig funded by a faceless corporation, she unearths the skull of her great-great-grandmother. Suddenly thrust amongst the spirits of her forebears, confronted by thousands of brutalised, raped, murdered souls, she is charged with an awesome quest. She must become Aboriginal superheroine Blackie Blackie Brown, and before the month is out, avenge her mob by executing the 400 descendants of those colonial invaders who all but wiped out her family.
Every hero needs a villain - or several in this instance - and camp chameleon Ash Flanders is more than up to the task of playing them all. Nimbly inhabiting a sprawling range of characters, from flamboyant middle-class elites to bogan Klu Klux Klansmen, sleazy corporate Svengalis to woke social justice warriors, Flanders brings an irresistible charisma and comic flair to every corner of his performance.
The show's design — a collaboration between set designer Elizabeth Gadsby and design studio Oh Yeah Wow — is equally eye-popping, offering an inspired solution for transporting this story from the stage to the (comic book) page. With its use of dynamic projections with a pop art aesthetic, this is as visually thrilling as any new production of chamber-scale I've seen in recent years, and a truly impressive example of what exciting possibilities exist when stagecraft is trusted with as much narrative responsibility as the actors (although, as an opening night snafu proved, technical issues are a risk).
In fact, a collaborative synergy radiates across most facets of this show. Having shared an extensive partnership through their co-founded queer theatre company Sisters Grimm, director Declan Greene clearly knows to let Flanders play to his considerable strengths. But Greene also understands the tenor and nuance of Lui's writing, and the liminal push-pull between throw-away clowning and its underlying message. By allowing in just the right balance of OTT shenanigans, Greene cements the action in those quintessential superhero references without losing sight of its commentary on Australian society. It makes for a powerful duality; when the narrative shifts focus to the very real traumas at its heart, it packs a suitably "kapow" sucker-punch of emotional truth.
As far as entrainment value is concerned, this is an extremely well put together evening. But Blackie Blackie Brown is also a piece of protest theatre, with a clear political stance, and this aspect is every bit as skilfully achieved. Lui doesn't merely deliver a sermon, but an accessible world that can connect on universal, human levels, beyond history and culture. Indeed, some of the most affecting moments can be found in this play's ambiguities, and in the realisation that there is no moral orthodoxy that can make right so many wrongs.
But it could also be argued that a show like Blackie Blackie Brown, presented at a venue as proudly inclusive as Malthouse, is preaching to the converted. And this suggests an important question: can a piece of politically charged contemporary theatre ever reach, let alone persuade, those whose attitudes perpetuate the kind of inequality this show attempts to challenge?
Perhaps, and I certainly don't doubt that Lui's theatre has the power to change hearts and minds. But just the mere fact this play is being presented on such a prestigious stage is an important act. Yes, the theatre is often considered a liberal space, but it also a colonised space, a space that is dominated, culturally and traditionally, by Whiteness. If that status quo, like that of our society at large, is ever going to shift towards a less biased reality, these stories must be allowed to step into the spotlight.
Malthouse Theatre presents Blackie Blackie Brown: The Traditional Owner Of Death until 29 July
