Prepare to be moved to tears as five Indigenous men gather on a coastal beach, their laughter and camaraderie masking the weight of their stories. But here’s where it gets emotional: these aren’t just any men—they’re fathers, storytellers, and survivors, sharing their truths in Dear Son, a theatrical adaptation of Thomas Mayo’s 2021 essay collection. This isn’t your typical theater experience; it’s a raw, vulnerable journey into the hearts of 13 prominent Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander men who write to their sons about love, trauma, and resilience. And this is the part most people miss—it’s not just about fatherhood; it’s about reclaiming identity in a world that’s tried to erase it.
Imagine this: the men joke about totem dietary requirements while barbecuing, their humor a shield against the heaviness of their pasts. This balance of light and dark is what makes Dear Son so powerful. Directed by Isaac Drandic and co-adapted by John Harvey, the production shifts seamlessly between past and present, amplifying the emotional impact. Each actor—Jimi Bani, Kirk Page, Tibian Wyles, Waangena Blanco, and Drandic himself (stepping in for Luke Carroll)—brings multiple stories to life, their characters unnamed yet deeply felt.
Here’s where it gets controversial: the play doesn’t shy away from confronting toxic masculinity, government failures, and media dehumanization. These men pull no punches as they recount their struggles, their voices unified in a call for healing. Jimi Bani, a magnetic storyteller, breathes life into Yessie Mosby’s essay about fatherhood in the Torres Strait, where climate change threatens to erase their ancestors’ burial grounds. Kirk Page delivers Stan Grant’s words with gravitas, his portrayal of a father scarred by colonialism both haunting and tender.
Tibian Wyles, with his soulful singing and guitar, performs Troy Cassar-Daley’s songs, embodying hope and the fight to break generational cycles. Waangena Blanco, also the production’s choreographer, falls to his knees in Joe Williams’ story, his regret over past mistakes palpable. Yet, it’s the final scene that leaves you breathless: the actors break the fourth wall, sharing their real names, their children’s photos, and their dreams for the future. It’s a moment of truth-telling so profound it’s impossible not to be moved.
But let’s not forget the sparks this play could ignite. How do we address the systemic issues these men face? Is love enough to combat generations of trauma? And what does it mean to be an Indigenous father in a world that often misunderstands or ignores your existence? Dear Son doesn’t provide easy answers, but it invites us to ask the hard questions. So, here’s my question to you: What’s your takeaway? Does this story challenge your perspective, or does it reinforce what you already know? Let’s discuss—because this conversation is far from over.
Dear Son is playing at Belvoir Street Theatre as part of the Sydney Festival until January 25. Don’t miss it.
