Bran Nue Dae

by Jimmy Chi and Kuckles

seen at the Riverside Theatre (Parramatta) on 16 January 2020

Andrew Ross directs this revival of the thirty-year-old Aboriginal musical Bran Nue Dae with Ernie Dingo as Uncle Tadpole and Marcus Corowa as his nephew Willie, with musical direction by Michael Mavromatis and Patrick Bin Amat. It is part of the festival of Sydney

Willie, expelled from a Catholic school in Perth after antagonising the fierce pastor there, determines to travel back to his home town of Broome though somewhat nervous of meeting his mother and explaining his situation to her. He meets an older Aboriginal man, Uncle Tadpole, who decides to travel with him, and they hitch a ride with two hippies, a somewhat clueless young German and his Australian girlfriend. Their picaresque journey northwards, the naive Willie's education in matters of the heart, and their reception in Broome, form the basic story, but the chief glory of the show is the infectiously enjoyable music, exuberantly sung and danced by the company.

I have to confess to being rather baffled. Perhaps we are too often presented with the depressing aspects of indigenous existence to take on board the possibility of optimism in the participants. In Bran Nue Dae it seems to be unproblematic that Tadpole's solution to a difficulty is to have a drink (probably a good many more than one). When the travellers are stopped by the police and arrested for owning a marijuana plant no-one seems particularly worried and soon, with no narrative explanation, they are on the road again. When all the relationships are finally untangled some are clearly the result of encounters that would, in real life, be at the very least exploitative if not actually abusive, but everything is enveloped in the happy glow of uplifting song underpinned by a revivalist setting. After witnessing the naked anger of the indigenous episodes of Anthem the night before, I found it difficult to accept the blithe denouements of a happy-go-lucky musical. There seemed to be no criticism of social disadvantage, and no hint of a sense of injustice in anything that was said or revealed, and the final declaration by the hippy girlfriend reeked of implausibility.

I know that musicals are inherently implausible, and indeed probably have to be so if they are to retain their cheerfulness; and as this piece is a much loved product of its indigenous creators it cannot be criticised as the patronising work of Europeans - and yet I remain completely surprised by its tone, and I wonder if the non-indigenous members of the audience are too conveniently lulled into a false sense of unconcern with the very real problems they all too often choose to ignore.

But who am I to say that acceptance - genuinely happy acceptance - of the strange meanderings of a life's journey - should not be celebrated? A picaresque story should not be laden with gloom, and here any sort of gloom has long been banished.