Savages review | Theatre Works

First staged in 2013, Patricia Cornelius’ Savages was prompted by the death of Dianne Brimble, who died aboard the Pacific Sky cruise ship in September 2002 after becoming entangled with a group of men on board. Rather than reconstruct the events directly, Cornelius used them to explore Australian masculinity, mateship and misogyny. 13 years on, its portrait of male camaraderie turning sinister remains uncomfortably relevant.

For this 2026 production at Theatre Works, director Kitan Petkovski takes an unconventional approach to Cornelius’ four 'ordinary Aussie blokes', casting four women and non-binary actors, Laila Thaker, Nicci Wilks, Zoe Boesen and AYA, in the roles. Making masculinity itself part of the subject allows Petkovski to examine the pack mentality, power and violence at the heart of the play from a different perspective.

Petkovski makes the shift visible from the outset. AYA (Rabbit), Thaker (Craze), Wilks (Runt) and Boesen (George) emerge from the darkness crawling across the stage in flesh-coloured leotards, looking less like people and more like the creatures from The Descent, before choreographed violence and pounding music establish the brutality to come. When we properly meet them, they are in wedges, flowing dresses and sunhats, speaking in Cornelius’ distinctive, almost lyrical language. As they board the cruise, they shed their inhibitions and clothing, with their outfits replaced by shorts, thongs and singlets. The transformation from women performing men into men performing masculinity is underway.

Thaker brings formidable physicality to Craze, commanding the stage with intimidating authority, while Boesen gives George a quieter presence that makes his moments of resistance effective. AYA is loose and charismatic as Rabbit, bringing ease and physical confidence to the role, while Wilks finds the tenderness beneath Runt’s awkwardness. Together, they convincingly capture the bravado and vulnerability of these characters, a bravado that is instantly competitive. They compare sexual conquests and scars, boasting about their 'tough scars' as they attempt to one-up each other.

The direction is exhilarating, especially in the opening scene, as physical energy, sharp banter and pulsing sound draw us into their camaraderie. But the mood gradually darkens as the night progresses and their sense of entitlement becomes overpowering, where jokes between mates become a means of asserting dominance and normalising increasingly ugly behaviour. The final scene is intense, stripping away any remaining playfulness, and the room falls so silent you could hear a pin drop.

Cornelius' script also gives the characters moments of vulnerability. Their relationships with their mothers and fathers reveal a more sensitive side, where Jess Keeffe’s sound design and composition respond with subtler music and a calmer rhythm. There is an uncomfortable irony in watching these men speak tenderly about their mothers while revealing attitudes towards women that are anything but tender. It leaves us wondering where these behaviours come from, how their own parents shaped them, and what they might pass on to their children.

Bianca Pardo’s set and costume design evokes a section of the cruise deck, with blue fabric suggesting the surrounding ocean. The sparse design allows the action to move quickly between locations, while Harrie Hogan’s lighting makes the men’s tiny cabin feel palpably claustrophobic. Alongside Keeffe’s soundscape, these elements turn the world from sun-soaked freedom to mounting oppression.

Casting women and non-binary performers in these aggressively masculine roles does more than provide an arresting visual conceit. It exposes masculinity as a collection of behaviours where the posturing, aggression and competitiveness are visibly constructed before us. The diversity of the actors also disrupts the familiar image of the 'Aussie bloke', raising questions about who gets to inhabit that stereotype and what it means to perform it. More than a decade after Savages was first presented, Petkovski’s interpretation shows why Cornelius’ play still has bite. What begins as a raucous display of mateship becomes something far more disturbing, leaving us to consider how easily camaraderie can become complicity.

SHOW DETAILS

Venue: Theatre Works, 14 Acland St, St Kilda
Season: until 12 September | Tues - Sat 7:30pm
Duration: 80 minutes
Tickets: $55 Full | $48 Conc
Bookings: Theatre Works

Images credit: Pia Johnson