There are some stories that remind us why we fell in love with theatre in the first place – they make us view our reality differently, they stir something in us we had forgotten, they challenge what we think we know or they leave us seeing ourselves and others with a little more depth. The Book of Everything currently showing at Belvoir achieves something remarkable – it makes you feel all this and more.

Adapted by Richard Tulloch from Guus Kuijer’s novel, Neil Armfield’s production returns to Belvoir after 13 years, bringing back some of the original cast alongside new performers. The timing feels perfect. Thomas’s story of what it means to be small, yet find strength and beauty in a landscape that seems impossibly large and bewildering, is ready to be discovered by a new generation, while those who remember it are invited to see it again through older eyes.

Kuijer understands that childhood can contain both the wildly absurd and the deeply cruel. Set in post-war Amsterdam, we follow a Dutch family living under the stern authority of a deeply religious father whose faith has become a weapon of control. Thomas sees what others cannot: tropical fish in Amsterdam’s canals, frogs falling from the sky, and even Jesus dropping by for a chat, recording these marvels in his book. But when reality turns frightening, his imagination refuses to let darkness win. Instead of an escape, wonder and bravery becomes a strikingly courageous act of growth.

There is something extraordinary in the way Neil Armfield’s direction taps into meta-theatricality as an emotional safety net, allowing us to confront darkness without ever losing a sense of delight. He understands that children need to see darkness on stage. They need to see that adults can be wrong, that abuse is not authority and that fear does not have to be obeyed. Yet The Book of Everything never preaches these ideas. Much of its humour and light comes from Thomas’s innocent skewed way of filtering life around him, finding the strange, magical and unexpected within the everyday.

Kim Carpenter’s whimsical set makes Thomas’s thoughts gloriously physical, with huge pop-up pages from his book unfolding across the stage. We see everything exactly as Thomas sees it, through flashes of images, emotions, games, rituals, puzzles and hope. The ensemble never truly leaves the stage. They perch on chairs attached high to the walls, looking down over Thomas – a chorus that witnesses, reacts and tracks his journey.

Iain Grandage’s playful and evocative score, performed live with exquisite sensitivity by Jack Ward, combines seamlessly with live percussion, foley effects and atmospheric textures generated by the ensemble, creating a distinctively handmade soundscape. This does far more than accompany the action; it becomes the literal voice of Thomas’s imagination, transforming ordinary physical objects into unexpected sounds and offering a vital refuge from the cold, terrifying silences of his home.

The cast are nothing less than the beating, bleeding heart of this story, shifting effortlessly between characters, narrators and observers in a production that demands spontaneity and agility, precision and emotional openness. There is a feast of formidable talent here, with theatre juggernauts Pamela Rabe, Rebecca Massey, John Gaden and Julie Forsyth among the supporting players, which only makes the story’s generosity of spirit more impressive.

This presence also reinforces that community and human connection can give us the courage to face what frightens us. The audience is drawn into that same circle through direct interaction, with the fourth wall repeatedly broken and young audience members, along with the young at heart, invited onto the stage to become part of the experience.

Matthew Whittet brings an astonishing empathy to Thomas, instantly endearing and innately believable as he captures his restless mind and body, his insatiable curiosity and the innocence of a child who sees the future as full of possibilities. There is a distinct lack of precociousness in his performance and something terribly humbling about a boy whose greatest wish is simply to be happy. 

At its heart, The Book of Everything carries a rare and precious emotional depth. To make an audience laugh, ache, want to cry and even shout with anger, sometimes within the same moment, is no small theatrical feat. Joy is not an escape from what hurts. It is a way of resisting it. Perhaps that is why its return to Belvoir feels less like a revival than a beloved story we have been waiting all these years to open and turn the pages of once again. This is exceptional theatre. Go and feel it.

The Book of Everything is playing at Belvoir’s Upstairs Theatre from 22 August to 20 September 2026. For details see : https://belvoir.com.au/productions/the-book-of-everything-3/

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