Dear Brother | Queensland Theatre & BlakDance
All images: Morgan Roberts
Good theatre dares to ask hard questions, and Dear Brother—penned by Lenny Donahue and Tibian Wyles—is certainly no exception. Through a dynamic fusion of dance, music, and storytelling, this captivating collaboration between Queensland Theatre and BlakDance tackles one of the most provocative questions of our current social climate: What does it mean to be a man?
The show follows Ezra (Donahue), Jazz (Benjin Maza), and Destyn (Wyles), three young First Nations men grappling with the pressures of their pasts and futures, their masculinity, and their connections to community and Country. They cross paths as performing arts students in the city, each determined to prove themselves by carving their own way in the world, and each painfully aware of what they have left behind to do so. Despite their individual differences, Ezra, Jazz, and Destyn are united through brotherhood and a shared desire to define for themselves what it means to be an Aboriginal man.
As one could expect from a show co-produced by BlakDance, Brisbane’s leading First Nations contemporary dance organisation, Dear Brother is beautifully physical. The performers flowed seamlessly between traditional and contemporary forms of storytelling, movement, and dance throughout, evoking a sense of fluidity that complemented the work’s exploration of identity and connection. What stayed with me most, however, was seeing the four men on stage—including Kelton Pell in supporting father, grandfather, and spirit roles—engage so earnestly in moments of platonically-intimate physical touch. I found it a moving defiance of toxic masculinity, and a testament to the insightfulness of Isaac Drandic’s directorial vision.
All images: Morgan Roberts
Equally noteworthy was the show’s balance of comedy and sincerity, executed expertly by Donahue, Wyles, Maza, and Pell in their respective roles. Donahue’s Ezra delighted audiences with frequent high-energy dance breaks—including a particularly whoop-inducing Michael Jackson number—and touched hearts as a lost dad trying to be more involved in his kid’s life. Wyle’s Destyn was similarly complex; outwardly arrogant but inwardly insecure and desperate to reconnect with his estranged brother, Wyles achieved a striking yet believable depth of character. Maza was especially masterful as athlete-turned-triple-threat Jazz. His strength and persistence in the face of racism and stifling social expectations was truly stirring, and his heartfelt vocal/acoustic guitar solo elicited many a teary sniffle from audience members in my vicinity. Pell handled each of his older male characters with admirable energy and nuance, offering a constructive counterpoint to the younger men on stage.
Though the show’s technical designers are each worthy of high praise, I found the harmony of David Walters’ lighting and Kevin O’Brien’s set particularly evocative. O’Brien’s design was understated but effective. His landscape of towering trees and central open, illuminated doorway actualised Ezra, Jazz, and Destyn’s collective state of coming-of-age limbo. Walters’ skilful lighting brought this set to life, bathing it in the earthy ochres and rich blues of the Australian landscape and casting striking shadows across the stage that added further dimension to the performers’ physicality.
Boundary-defying and incredibly heartfelt, Dear Brother is a show unlike any I have seen at Queensland Theatre before; it is truly a feast for the eyes, the ears, and the heart. With Isaac Drandic’s recent appointment as Queensland Theatre’s first Head of First Nations Theatre, and the company’s highly anticipated season launch later this month, I will wait with bated breath for what follows this exemplary showcase of First Nations artistry in 2025 and beyond.
‘Dear Brother’ plays at Queensland Theatre’s Bille Brown Theatre from 7-28 September as part of the 2024 Brisbane Festival.
All images: Morgan Roberts
