Posh doesn’t ask whether privilege corrupts—it shows you the bloodstains on the tablecloth. It’s a riveting and deeply unsettling theatrical experience that defies easy comparison. And there’s a reason for that: few in the audience have ever lived in a world of class warfare, wealthy elitism and unrestrained male ego. We’re not meant to. That’s the point.

Ten wealthy Oxford undergraduates gather for a night of drinking and debauchery at a secretive all-male dining club called “The Riot Club.” What begins as a façade of tradition quickly devolves into a brutal spectacle as the evening spirals out of control. The curtain of civility is torn away, exposing the grotesque underbelly of entitled hedonism.

While this may seem like a harrowing evening at the theatre—and it is—Laura Wade’s incisive writing and Margaret Thanos’s perfectly pitched direction ensure you’re always engaged, subtly drawing the viewer into the bleakness, ridiculousness and complexity of this elitist world.

The real sting lies in its blistering irony, which turns the play’s dark humour into a cutting critique at its most refined. These scions of privilege cling to hollow rituals and bizarre, antiquated ceremonies meant to affirm their own significance. Beneath the surface of Oxford polish is little more than drunken peacocking but with terrifying undertones and implications. 

Set within the intimate confines of an English pub dining room, Posh aptly evokes an 18th-century atmosphere—until modern intrusions like mobile phones, a no-smoking sign, and the landlord disrupt the illusion. It is an opulent canvas where every meticulously choreographed movement and striking tableau reveals the decay of a corrupt upper class. 

The superb blocking of the 14-strong cast ensures that, within the confined space of the Old Fitz Theatre, no character or line is ever lost or overlooked. The ensemble delivers a tour de force of artistry, with powerhouse performances that showcase both the precision and exceptional skill of these actors. The old boys “Riot Club” is, at its core, a cult. Each actor’s portrayal contributes to this and the chaos that ensues. Yet within this seething ensemble, each performer manages to carve out a distinct presence within the pack mentality , adding depth and dimension to the group’s volatility.

Charles Mayer is integral to the narrative and its unsettling symmetry in the duel roles of Jeremy/Lord Ryott—a former Riot Club member and patriarchal figure. Mayer channels a chilling, lizard-like coldness, evoking Jeremy Irons’ signature detachment with unnerving ease. He embodies the legacy of charm without conscience, entitlement without empathy, and what is to come for those who ascend without accountability. Christian Byers, meanwhile, becomes the sacrificial lamb of the group—not chosen to lead, but offered up to preserve the illusion of order. Beneath the scholar is cold calculation, indifference, and a deep entanglement in the toxic web. His fall is less a failure than a ritual, part of the machinery that keeps the rest of them clean. 

The divide is cleverly contrasted between Mike Booth’s landlord, his daughter (Dominique Purdue)  and an escort played by Scarlett Waters,  who provide a moment of respite from the frantic, suffocating energy of the room. Their understated, grounded performances offer an anchor in the chaos, a fleeting sense of reality that highlights the unfolding dreadfulness. 

The women, though peripheral to the action, are essential in exposing the Club’s collective thinking and misogyny — not just in how they’re treated, but in the palpable discomfort these men display when confronted by those they believe they can manipulate, buy and dominate.  Thank God society is slowly waking up to this — but the final scenes make it painfully clear: money still paves the way, and justice is far from blind.

Posh lets loose a walloping deconstruction of systemic privilege and its role in cultivating a toxic culture of impunity. What’s most disturbing is the certainty that these angry, lost little boys will do exactly what is expected of them—ascend to positions of power. 

Jarring, indicative and utterly unforgettable, Posh immerses you in a world few can truly fathom—and by the end, you’ll find yourself grateful for that. It poignantly underscores the point that perhaps the real privilege –  is not being part of this world at all.

see https://www.oldfitztheatre.com.au/posh for ticketing details

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