Beautifully Sung, Gorgeously Staged… But Not My Cup of Billy Tea
The Drover’s Wife: Beautifully Sung, Gorgeously Staged… But Not My Cup of Billy Tea
Trauma is having a moment. It seems to have unpacked its bags and signed a twelve-month lease. For example, this year’s Elizabeth Jolley Short Story Prize finalists were all extraordinary pieces of writing, yet each revolved around trauma in one form or another. It appears we’ve collectively decided that if nobody is emotionally shattered by page ten, we’re not properly engaged.
Opera has clearly received the memo.
The Drover’s Wife Plot
The Drover’s Wife, directed by Leah Purcell with a libretto by Purcell and composer George Palmer, is based on Purcell’s acclaimed reinterpretation of Henry Lawson’s iconic 1892 story. Purcell broadens Lawson’s tale of a pioneering woman battling isolation and a snake to confront Australia’s violent colonial history through the introduction of Yadaka, a First Nations man fleeing persecution.
It’s an ambitious undertaking.
Perhaps too ambitious.
The plot often feels as though every conceivable hardship has been loaded onto the same cart. Molly Johnson, heavily pregnant and isolated in the Snowy Mountains, sends her children away despite being on the verge of giving birth and having no one to help her. Along comes Yadaka, who has escaped after years of exploitation and injustice. Then arrives a murderous swagman who appears determined to add rape and more violence to the evening’s entertainment.
There comes a point where you stop thinking, Good heavens, that’s tragic, and start wondering whether the poor woman accidentally wandered into every nineteenth-century disaster movie simultaneously.
The opera never lacks emotional intensity. In fact, its greatest challenge is that it rarely allows the audience a moment to breathe. Domestic violence, racism, miscarriage, grief, injustice, brutality, each theme is important and deserving of exploration. Together, they accumulate until the emotional weight becomes almost relentless.
Nor does the story offer many surprises. From Yadaka’s first appearance, it seemed painfully clear where his journey was heading. The tragedy feels like an appointment everyone has reluctantly agreed to keep.
Yet, and this is a significant “yet”, there is much to admire.
The production of the Drover’s Wife
The production itself is magnificent.
Isabel Hudson’s set is breathtaking, dominated by an enormous snow gum that seems to possess its own character. Behind it, projections of vast Australian skies, blazing sunsets and star-filled nights create an extraordinary sense of place. You can almost smell eucalyptus and red dust.
The opening sequence is mesmerising. Yolande Brown’s choreography, performed by Indigenous dancers embodying ancestral spirits, is hauntingly beautiful. Their movement gives the production a spiritual dimension that words alone could never achieve.
Musically, George Palmer’s sweeping score is lush and cinematic, while Tahu Matheson draws glorious playing from the Opera Australia Orchestra. Nina Korbe delivers Molly with remarkable commitment and soaring lyricism, while Marcus Corowa brings enormous dignity and warmth to Yadaka, whose humanity shines through despite the grim trajectory of his story.
My difficulty wasn’t with the performances. They were uniformly excellent.
The adaptation of Henry Lawson’s original short story
It was with the adaptation itself.
Henry Lawson’s original The Drover’s Wife is powerful precisely because of its restraint. The famous snake is never really just a snake. It becomes the quiet heroism of ordinary women living impossible lives. Its strength lies in what is left unsaid.
Purcell’s version expands the story into an epic meditation on colonial violence and survival. Many audience members will find that richer and more meaningful than Lawson’s minimalist original.
I admired what it was trying to do.
I just didn’t enjoy watching it.
Perhaps I’m an incurable purist. If you’re going to revisit a literary classic, I either want the original or something that ventures boldly enough to become entirely its own creation. Sitting somewhere between the two left me emotionally exhausted rather than moved.
Opera should transport you somewhere.
The Drover’s Wife certainly does.
For me, though, it was a journey I admired far more than I loved.
Tickets at Opera Australia from August 7 to August 15, 2026.
