I’ve always held a fascination with Australia. As a kid in the eighties, I was entranced by Tazmania spinning and snarling across my TV screen. A Tasmanian devil? What the hell is that? It sounded so otherworldly. When I was a teenager, I came across Peter Weir’s classic 1975 mystery film Picnic At Hanging Rock, which cast the Australian outback as a tantalisingly strange and unknowable place. Later, Wolf Creek (2005) made it seem incredibly bleak and dangerous indeed. At the same time, the grim historical blanks were slowly being filled in by movies like The Proposition (2005) and novels like Matthew Kneale’s English Passengers. Australia’s history was being revealed to me as a bloody and chaotic one.
This all took a backseat until I lived in Australia from 2012 – 2014 and the fascination with this weird, terrifying, gorgeous country was rekindled. Whilst there, it seemed important to learn what I could. There is too much history to delve into in any detail here. Many words have been written about Australian history and culture by people far wiser than myself. But learning of British colonisation, aboriginal genocide, the Frontier Wars, the Stolen Generation, the grim pride of Australia Day, and those both aboriginal and non-aboriginal who are standing up to make themselves heard above the din of nationalism, made me realise that the horrors of the past still writhe under the sunbathers and surfers; the consequences still have impact today; and that most British people know very little about it all.
This all took a backseat until I lived in Australia from 2012 – 2014 and the fascination with this weird, terrifying, gorgeous country was rekindled. Whilst there, it seemed important to learn what I could. There is too much history to delve into in any detail here. Many words have been written about Australian history and culture by people far wiser than myself. But learning of British colonisation, aboriginal genocide, the Frontier Wars, the Stolen Generation, the grim pride of Australia Day, and those both aboriginal and non-aboriginal who are standing up to make themselves heard above the din of nationalism, made me realise that the horrors of the past still writhe under the sunbathers and surfers; the consequences still have impact today; and that most British people know very little about it all.
It’s easy to forget how mad the notion of building a British prison colony on the other side of the world was. Here were politicians, who had never visited the place, making a decision to send soldiers and prisoners on a months-long voyage to set up a permanent colony in the virtual unknown. There was no certainty of workable farmland, no knowledge of the aboriginal people of which there had only been the briefest contact previously. The colony was starving in its initial years and almost entirely dependent on supplies being sent from the mother country. Convicts were punished savagely for minor infractions. The colonisers spread smallpox amongst the indigenous population, killing them in vast numbers, and kidnapped their children to try and learn about their culture. The new arrivals were possessed with a sort of deluded entitlement that would, eventually, create all-out war with aboriginal populations throughout the land.
It’s in the midst of this chaos that Rogues So Banished is set. While I hope the play is certainly anti-colonial, I didn’t want it to express any political certainty as I wanted to explore the period’s moral quagmires and complex dynamics of power. The convict perspective was a particularly rich intersection for this. Isolated on the other side of the world, under the constant threat of flogging, execution or starvation, resentment bred for the perceived freedom of the aboriginal people. In Rogues So Banished, it’s difficult not to sympathise with the characters stuck within such a wretched system of subjugation, and yet they are willing to commit horrific acts. This troubling lens seemed a perfect one to witness the insanity and brutality of colonisation through.
It’s in the midst of this chaos that Rogues So Banished is set. While I hope the play is certainly anti-colonial, I didn’t want it to express any political certainty as I wanted to explore the period’s moral quagmires and complex dynamics of power. The convict perspective was a particularly rich intersection for this. Isolated on the other side of the world, under the constant threat of flogging, execution or starvation, resentment bred for the perceived freedom of the aboriginal people. In Rogues So Banished, it’s difficult not to sympathise with the characters stuck within such a wretched system of subjugation, and yet they are willing to commit horrific acts. This troubling lens seemed a perfect one to witness the insanity and brutality of colonisation through.
Horror always seemed the natural fit for this story. I am a huge fan, everything from uncanny weird fiction to the bloodiest splatter. Rogues So Banished is soaked in the blood of a variety of horror subgenres. Violence and gore play its part for sure, but then so does cosmic horror’s dread despair, as well as the primal fears of backwoods horror. This mix gave me a broad remit to bring its grimy physicality, while also dealing with more expansive themes as the story morphs into a nightmare played out against an unforgiving landscape. Whilst horror can be a battleground for a simple fight between good and evil, it can also shine a light on murky worlds where these notions begin to lose their meaning.
All this is to say, really, that Australia brings up a kaleidoscope of emotions for me. Living there, I developed a deep love for the country. I met some truly wonderful people who I am proud of count as friends. I have been privileged to travel widely and see some truly stunning sights. But I am forced to try and reconcile this beauty with unspeakable horrors. And the more I try, the darker and weirder Australia becomes. Maybe Rogues So Banished was a way to articulate this unresolvable mystery to myself, while bringing to life a tragic period of history we are still coming to terms with.
All this is to say, really, that Australia brings up a kaleidoscope of emotions for me. Living there, I developed a deep love for the country. I met some truly wonderful people who I am proud of count as friends. I have been privileged to travel widely and see some truly stunning sights. But I am forced to try and reconcile this beauty with unspeakable horrors. And the more I try, the darker and weirder Australia becomes. Maybe Rogues So Banished was a way to articulate this unresolvable mystery to myself, while bringing to life a tragic period of history we are still coming to terms with.
Rogues So Banished by Paul Case is at The Bread & Roses Theatre on Monday 11th November 2024, 7pm.
Tickets: https://app.lineupnow.com/event/rogues-so-banished
Tickets: https://app.lineupnow.com/event/rogues-so-banished
RSS Feed
