An Australian playwright’s debut work receiving international transfers to great acclaim and extended runs is extremely rare; that it’s happened twice in 12 months, along with two other starry international productions of local works, is extraordinary. Right now, the Australian voice has an increased currency on international stages – and it’s our stories of power, privilege, gender and identity that are making waves.
First, there’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, Kip Williams’ dazzling Oscar Wilde adaptation, remounted for a Tony and Olivier award winning international run starring Sarah Snook. Then there’s Prima Facie, Suzie Miller’s searing one-hander about a cutthroat lawyer who experiences the justice system as a victim after a sexual assault, with an international production starring Jodie Comer that was also heavily awarded (a film adaptation is in the works, starring Cynthia Erivo). Then there’s Counting and Cracking, S. Shakthidharan’s breath-taking 2019 debut, a family epic that played at New York’s Public Theater in 2024.
Now, there’s Trophy Boys. Written by actor and playwright Emmanuelle Mattana (Mustangs FC) when they were 21, the play debuted in 2022 at Melbourne’s La Mama and has since had sell-out local seasons as well as a twice-extended off-Broadway run under the helm of Tony Award-winner Danya Taymor. This month, the original Australian production, directed by Marni Mount, returns for an east coast victory lap, starting at Sydney’s Carriageworks.
Jared (Fran Sweeney-Nash), David (Leigh Lule), Scott (Gaby Seow), and Owen (Myfanwy Hocking) are the Year 12 debating team at Imperium, an elite private school. When we meet them, their trophy-deciding bout is just an hour away, and they’re already cocky about their success. They’re up against their sister school and clearly don’t consider them competition until the debate topic and position is revealed: that feminism has failed women; affirmative.
The boys – played here and in every production by actors who are non-binary or women – are horrified. They’re feminists, they proclaim. They love women. Arguing the point will get them cancelled and might even rule out any future chances of becoming prime minister. Owen, the one dreaming the hardest of Kirribilli House, even suggests that they forfeit – largely for the optics.
But the boys’ thirst for the win trumps their desire to be seen as good, so they start scheming. Could they say feminism has failed women because it isn’t intersectional? Could they say that getting women into CEO roles hasn’t done anything to address broader gender inequities? They brainstorm, they sweat, they spray a lot of Lynx Africa – and, at one point, they even perform an energetic dance break.
Then the play pulls off a bait-and-switch: a new piece of information, that shouldn’t be spoiled, reaches their closed-door prep session and gives all the rhetoric being flung around the room a sudden urgency.
The play is a sprint at about 70 minutes, and after the twist, it takes off: you watch personal gain weighed against women’s interests in real time, as the group uses its debate skills, subtly different stores of acquired power, and their awareness of larger social dynamics to reveal the gulf between all that box-ticking politically correct talk about feminism and how many men actually treat women.
The show is adjusted to fit the region in which it’s being performed: the boys off-Broadway are American, but here at Carriageworks, in local accent, they are instantly and identifiably Australian, of the same social cohort of male students who created and circulated graphic deepfake images of girls from their school, or ranked girls’ looks for sport.
The play is gripping and entertaining, but not as incisive as it might be. Early scenes run on necessary tonal shifts: it starts with camp choreography and quick laughs that lull us into a sense of comfort to be shattered later, but the narrative throughline isn’t drawn tightly enough by Mattana, or facilitated clearly enough by Mount, to make the piece feel cohesive. The performances alternate between drag-king-satire and chilling realism in ways that aren’t always clear.
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In scenes where the boys race to construct their debate arguments, the dialogue is more didactic than character-driven; a little more workshopping would probably see those talking points tied more deeply to character and to the group’s interesting and occasionally under-tapped personal dynamics. For example, there’s a fascinating social hierarchy in the group that only gets a glancing look-in before the plot twist; if we knew the group dynamics better in the first half, the second would be even more powerful.
But it’s an exciting play: bursting with urgency, laced with keenly observed behaviours filtered through a queer lens, it speaks directly to issues that are choking schools, universities and social groups right now. While its dramaturgical build isn’t as sharp as its dialogue, it’s the kind of play that has you leaning forward in your seat.
I attended a Friday night performance, sitting among a diverse audience that skewed young, and felt a current of close attention. Leaving the venue, I overheard lively, thoughtful conversation about the play. Trophy Boys starts a conversation; the audience was continuing it. That’s a valuable export.
