Taylor Mac’s HIR doesn’t so much challenge as erupt. With rage, camp, and a deep disdain for the status quo. A satirical and radical critique of culture and capitalist ideals, it dives headfirst into hyperbole and domestic anarchy. What should be a “home” has become a living act of rebellion. And there’s no going back.

Isaac, a dishonourably discharged Marine grappling with PTSD and addiction, returns home expecting a hero’s welcome and a home-cooked meal. Instead, he finds the house in complete upheaval: his father, Arnold, is incapacitated by a stroke and rendered docile through the ministration of estrogen; his sister, Maxine, is transitioning to Max, and his mother Paige has embraced a radical new order, dismantling the patriarchal structures that once ruled their household with an iron fist. It’s the ultimate act of incel emasculation and vengeance – served cold.

HIR premiered in 2015, and while some of its edge has blunted thanks to wider cultural representation and conversations, it still hits hard. The work is far more complex than a simple dramedy, as Mac pulls no punches.  He blends biting irony with absurdity and realism to expose the repercussions of trauma and the absurdity of societal norms, particularly concerning gender and power.

The trail mix of scripted soapbox sermons, twisted sitcom humour, and sharp social commentary presents a challenge for any director. Swing too far either way, and the tone risks becoming either preachy or flippant. However, it is the very tonal instability that disrupts momentum, ironically reflecting the paradox of the family’s flux and inertia.

Paige has banned cooking, TV, and cleaning, leaving everyone standing or sitting around, stuck in a cycle of ranting, reacting, or shutting down. Though the plot points reveal only glimpses of backstory and fully fleshed characters, the cast skilfully avoids caricature, even as the dialogue delivers caustic punchlines and speechifying. While this dynamic may leave the audience uncertain when to laugh or confront the gravity of the turmoil, Patrick Howard’s direction hits several sweet spots of dark humour and drama, exposing the underbelly of the American dream.

Jodine Muir’s matriarch Paige could easily become a figure of sadistic control, but she is more an embodiment of liberation, fiercely reclaiming her agency. With sharp wit, she delivers brittle, matter-of-fact payback to her former abuser. It may not be “right” but she’s no longer asking permission. Her husband Arnold, played by Rowan Greaves, adds a macabre layer of pathetic slapstick, punctuated by groans, grunts and violent impulses. As the narrative unwinds, our empathy for him unravels.

Luke Visentin delivers a tense, volatile Isaac, the brooding counterpoint to the household chaos. A fascinating blend of fury and fragility, Isaac remains stuck in emotional stasis, wound up in pain and confusion with no release beyond defiance, lashing out, or recurring bouts of vomiting. Like father, like son—Isaac is both seduced and burdened by his father’s legacy, trapped in the tension between following in his footsteps and the emotional weight of living up to it. 

Lola Kate Carlton brings wry amusement and an endearing zeal to 17 year old Max, who embodies evolving gender identity and social norms. While Max’s ideology and self advocacy are clear, the play stops short of delving into their personal evolution of “hir”, leaving this inner life under explored. This is the tipping point of the play as a whole, where the balance between the surreal, the societal, and the personal must be finely tuned for the themes to fully land.

At its best, HIR is a bruising, darkly funny interrogation of what happens when old systems collapse. A turbulent dissolution of a family caught between past wounds and uncertain futures, it delivers moments of incisive commentary laced with biting caprice. Part domestic farce, part political scream, but never subtle — and all the more powerful for it.

See https://newtheatre.org.au/hir/ for further details .

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