Content warning: Discussions of sexual assault and domestic violence

David Williamson’s The Removalists was revived by the Melbourne Theatre Company on March 15th. Directed by Anne Louise Sarks, this performance was shocking, confronting and extremely relevant – it reminds us that the state of police brutality, gendered violence and toxic Australian masculinity still runs true today.

Set in a Melbourne police station in 1971, the narrative unfolds over one evening. Beginning with the arrival of two sisters, Kate (Jessica Clarke) and Fiona (Eloise Mignon), who report the domestic abuse perpetrated by Fiona's husband, Kenny (Michael Whalley). The plot follows the ensuing events as the characters' interactions expose the darker facets of authority and societal norms. The production features Steve Mouzakis as Sergeant Simmonds, whose portrayal captures the character's depravity and menace, embodying the toxic masculinity central to the play's critique. William McKenna's naive characterisation of Constable Ross transitions to one of moral compromise, while Michael Whalley presents Kenny as a casually misogynistic figure. Clarke's Kate and Mignon's Fiona navigate complex roles, highlighting themes of victimhood and complicity.

I was instructed that I would be seated at the onstage seating with the stage set up like a traverse situation. It made the experience of the play that much more provocative. We were like implicit witnesses of the whole thing – much like the character of the Removalist. You also felt trapped, particularly if you weren’t on the edge of the stage: it felt as if your every move, even the slightest gesture would be judged, scrutinised and on display. It may have also tried to replicate the experience of the original production at the La Mama Theatre: intimate, in close proximity to other audience members but also to the horrific violence of it all. It was fascinating how it makes you feel like you are right there with them capturing you in the trauma and the anger of it – you could literally see the spit coming out the mouth of the characters.

The play is such an interesting anthropological study of the animalistic nature of man: the barbarous, bloody human instinct to kill, to be violent with one another, and when it can get out of control. It is so indicative of the “blokey” attitudes of the 1970s: to just accept that your father, or husband, or the man you meet at the local pub has an anger inside of them that is an innate part of them. Men are told and taught to channel emotion through anger, whether that be by beating your wife or girlfriend or buddy that you get into an altercation with. It perfectly captures the brutishness of toxic Australian masculinity, that obsession with power and control, the savagery of it. Simmonds is deeply misogynist, corrupt and goading – but he conceals it with the guise of morality and “doing the right thing”. He hides under the masquerade of Australian blokiness and mateship – perfectly capturing the entitlement and macho-ness of so many men that we encounter in our daily lives.

Not being believed, not being taken seriously by the police, being forced into this role of frivolity and dumbness – to be seen as this wounded bird or damsel in distress- runs true for so many women experiencing domestic violence. It hasn’t changed.

Society proves itself incapable of viewing women as anything but an object of desire, a body to own, to be entitled to. It hasn’t changed. It was so terribly moving sitting there, being almost complicit by proximity, while the police make Fiona take off her shirt and lift up her skirt to reveal her bare body, showing her bruises to the auditorium. It unravels the humiliation associated with reporting domestic violence to the police, as well as the ownership felt by men over the female body as Simmonds unhesitatingly takes pictures of her: battered, bruised and bare.

It also felt very fractured– particularly with the running gag of the removalist; who has “10,000 dollars’ worth of equipment waiting outside.” So many traumatic things were happening – and you felt so entangled in it – and then the Removalist would weave through the stage unbothered. There is something to say about the Removalist’s indifference to all of the suffering happening, even stating to Ross:

“Sorry mate. I’ve got a pretty simple philosophy. If there’s work I work, if nobody interferes with me then I interfere with nobody.”  

The complicity and cowardice of the Removalist almost feels worse than those who are actively causing harm on stage because even at the end audience members become bystanders, as everyone gets up clapping, laughing and chatting to another as the curtain closes. It was like we are the participants to that kind of complicit indifference.

The Removalists is a brutal commentary of Australia as we know it. Despite the context of which it was written, it still is so relevant today with a powerful message about power, control and misogyny. I couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming urge to cry after the play was finished – I thought of all the women that have been a victim to the corrupt police system in this way, and I mourn for them.

Photographer credit: Pia Johnson