There are nights in the theatre when the energy feels older than the walls, as if the stories unwinding have been travelling for generations and chosen this moment to surface.

Dear Son begins inside that kind of hush, a place where men step forward with the courage to speak plainly about who they are and who they hope to become. In the circle of the campfire’s glow, the audience is invited to sit close enough to feel the heartbeat of generational reckoning. To claim and then place something honest in the hands of those who come after.

Born from Thomas Mayo’s collection of letters written by Indigenous men to their sons, and adapted for the stage by Isaac Drandic and John Harvey, Dear Son began as a book of private reflections that wrestle with inheritance, identity and history’s weight. It holds the bewildering demands of fatherhood, the ache of what was left unsaid, and the hope of breaking cycles of generational trauma. It reveals the beauty in men discovering their emotional agency, and how vital it is that this becomes part of our everyday landscape.

Five ordinary knock‑about men arrive ready to talk shit, talk truth and talk themselves into something braver. Culture, memory and humour sit side by side. A casual catch‑up of banter, teasing and side‑track shenanigans becomes a world of grounded catharsis, where the land itself seems to lean in to hear what these men have to say.

Isaac Drandic directs with a gentle clarity that removes the barrier between actor and character so that they stand inside the truth of the letters, rather than performing them. His approach feels almost organic and ceremonial, creating a space where memory and fragility move freely between the men and the audience –  a rare theatrical candour that asks for nothing but presence. Every element is authentic, immediate and alive.

Designer Kevin O’Brien’s open‑air setting blends the communal pulse of a cookhouse with an ancient, spiritual resonance, and a steady sense of welcome, gathering and trust. Craig Wilkinson’s superb video design folds the letters into the landscape, as words and phrases drift across bodies and Country. Racial slurs, assumptions and inherited scripts appear and dissolve, symbolically rewritten as the work reclaims and reshapes the language that has been placed on these men. Movement threads through the work under Choreographer and Movement Director Waangenga Blanco, part dance, part instinct. The result is a work that lands with quiet but striking force. 

It’s clear the cast are drawing from something lived, meeting the material with unforced generosity. Jimi Bani is the steady glue of the group, carrying a natural gravitas while landing sharp, well‑timed comedic beats. Waangenga Blanco crosses the bridge from dancer to actor with ease, bringing an innate physical intelligence. Aaron Pedersen, seamlessly stepping in from the Brisbane tour at the eleventh hour for Luke Carroll, defines heartache simmering beneath gruff humour.

Kirk Page unveils larrikin warmth edged with emotional precision while Tibian Wyles offers a youthful openness, a sense of someone still working out how to navigate responsibility of manhood. These men, these mates, fathers and sons, draw their strength from the group – a brotherhood that steadies them and allows each man to rise and hold one another without shame.

While Dear Son is grounded in First Nations stories, it is intelligible to anyone who has ever carried history or hurt. There’s a long‑held belief that men keep their real selves tucked away, speaking freely about sport or politics but rarely about the things that sit heavy on the heart – in every family, in every culture.These stories matter because they name things men are so often taught to swallow. What begins in a specific cultural context opens out into something unmistakably universal and human – a naming that feels both brave and essential.

Dear Son speaks softly, lands deeply and lingers. It offers a release, a transcendence – where vulnerability becomes strength. Above all, it carries hope: hope for healing, hope for better futures, built on connection, love and solidarity. Belvoir has launched its 2026 season with one of the most necessary works on stage today. This is theatre in truth. See it.

Dear Son plays from 8-25 Jan 2026, Belvoir St Theatre. For further details see belvoir.com.au.

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