I walked into the Roslyn Packer Theatre already carrying the weight of Prima Facie’s reputation. I’m not talking about the manufactured glow of marketing, or the buzz of a “big hit returning home”, but the force of writing so razor-sharp and uncompromising that it has genuinely shifted how people talk about the law, violation, and power. It’s jagged; it’s tender, and it stares straight down the barrel of the justice system and every debate about consent.

Tessa is a brilliant defence barrister whose blinkered trust in the legal system is shattered by a single, traumatic night. Forced to navigate the same machinery she once wielded, she faces a brutal reality: the law does not reflect life, and it certainly does not protect the victim. Her story lies in this devastating reversal. The title Prima Facie holds a bitter irony: what appears clear “at first sight” is shredded by a rigid legal structure that prizes technicalities over human truth. Though it is unsparing, this extraordinary experience is never punishing; it is entirely gripping, immersive, propulsive, and fiercely theatrical in a way that pulls you in and refuses to let go.

Suzie Miller didn’t write this extraordinary one-woman, one-act piece from a distance. She wrote it after years in a legal centre, taking statement after statement from women trying to articulate the unthinkable. She heard the same patterns on repeat: the shock, the freezing, the betrayal of their own bodies, and the shame that was never theirs. And then she watched those cases walk into court and collapse, not occasionally, but relentlessly. The system wasn’t broken; it was functioning exactly as designed. That lived proximity is why Prima Facie is so brilliantly written: it transforms testimony into theatre, blending legal precision with dramatic propulsion to teach without lecturing and indict without preaching. It is incredibly watchable.

Crucially, Prima Facie isn’t interested in a smug “now it’s happened to you” lesson. It’s not a gotcha; it’s a reckoning that knows exactly how to give voice to what’s usually swallowed. It holds onto humanity and empathy without dulling a single edge, never sacrificing its humour, its irony, or its unmistakably underdog Australian flavour. Miller’s point isn’t punishment or poetic justice. It is the slow, devastating realisation of how deeply the system is stacked, how easily we accept its authority, and how urgently it needs to change.

Sheridan Harbridge’s performance is nothing short of astonishing, the kind of work that makes you rethink what a single actor can hold. I was already blown away by her recent turn in Amplified; at this point, it feels almost rude for one person to be this talented. It takes pure guts, stamina, and meticulous craft to carry a 90-minute monologue of multiple characters and timelines on a bare black stage with nothing but a single chair; yet she makes it feel utterly alive. She moves through an immense emotional range and narrative complexity with a precision that never shows its seams. She never misses a beat, never lets the momentum sag, and never loosens her grip on the room. Harbridge doesn’t just hold the audience; she tightens the space around us until it feels like she’s performing directly to you, and somehow to everyone else at the same time.

The instant standing ovation at the end wasn’t just for her, though she earned every second of it. It was for the writing she carried, the truth she delivered, the system she exposed, and the collective shock of realising we’d witnessed something rare: a performer at the absolute height of her powers telling a story that must be told. This honesty and accuracy are so stark, so undeniable, they have shaped police training in Australia and prompted revisions to jury instructions, proof that this story isn’t just resonating, it’s reforming.

This is why theatre is life, why it matters, why it endures, why it can still shake a room to its core. It lets one actor, one playwright, stand in a pool of light and change how hundreds of people understand the world, night after night. It reaches into homes, into conversations, and into the private places where belief and doubt live side by side. It speaks with a single, deadly clarity that cuts, a compassion that stays, and a fury that feels earned. 

Tessa is every woman who’s been told that being smart, sharp, capable, and in control is enough to keep you safe. Look left. Look right. She is the one in three. This is the power of Prima Facie. You must see this superb play.

Prima Facie runs until 21 June 2026 at the Roslyn Packer Theatre, Walsh Bay. For further details see :https://www.sydneytheatre.com.au/whats-on/2026/productions/prima-facie

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Originally reviewed by Faith Jessel for What’s On Sydney and republished on Faith in Theatres.