When Julia Gillard’s distinctive ocker voice first emerged from Justine Clarke’s mouth on Opening Night of Sydney Theatre Company’s production of Julia, the audience literally gasp-screamed. It was, without mincing words, pretty freaky.
STC’s production of Julia is a long-awaited response to one of the most iconic (and spicy) speeches made in Australian history. Written by Joanna Murray Smith, directed by Sarah Goodes, and starring national treasure Justine Clarke as Julia Gillard herself, this deeply Australian story is an amorphous re-imagining of all the forces that led up to that moment in 2012 when Julia Gillard so perfectly and viscously roasted Tony Abbott in the House of Representatives.
Julia is an intoxicating and fascinating experience that hits something deep and resounding within us
We all know *that speech* (and if you don’t, watch it right now). It was a moment that stopped the internet and hearts all over the world. Gillard’s masterful use of rage gave voice to the invisible fury of millions of women who have spent a millennia not being taken seriously. The power of ‘the speech’ has made it a thing of legend, setting the stakes high for anyone trying to recreate it. However, now, in Julia, the creators have managed (mostly) to pull it off.
This play tries to start at the very beginning. We are taken deep into Gillard’s childhood as the child of Welsh parents. Her coalmining father plays a big role, with Clarke seamlessly rolling out a melodic Welsh drawl while repeating her father’s advice: “Any fight for justice is our fight, Julia”.
It should be noted that for a story built on the female experience, Gillard’s father looms large as the sole source of her moral fortitude. Meanwhile, her mother is generally nonexistent – other than telling an eight-year-old Julia why she ought to have children (“it’s just what people do”), and then later, reassuring the vilified politician that “we know who you are”. This decision could be due to the sad passing of Gillard’s father during her prime ministership, compounded with the horrific comments from Alan Jones that followed (“he died of shame”) – however, it’s an interesting omission.
Set designer Renee Mulder has come through with a sparse set that pulls Justine Clarke’s performance into magical focus. Framing the stage are two mirrored screen walls that come alive throughout the show with footage that gives form to the invisible forces that propelled Julia Gillard towards her destiny. We are taken through a Welsh wasteland of grief and coal, thrown upwards on the wings of jubilant ‘80s pop as Julia came into herself as a “hot young redhead”, flying on the cusp of her adult life. And then, as she enters the inner echelons of power, we see only the back of her gleaming red bob and brilliant blue jacket – the suggestions of what’s to come moving slowly into focus.
Gillard’s experience exposes the great Australian lie: that we are a society that treats women well
Clarke’s performance is purely magnificent. Her ability to seamlessly slip on the skin and voices of so many different people is mind blowing, leaving the audience vocally breathless at pretty much everything she does. When she imitated Tony Abbott’s laconic half-smile on Opening Night, it was so excruciatingly smug and so bizarrely accurate that several people actually screeched. She manages to perfectly balance a distinctly Aussie brand of humour with profound emotional gravity.
Plus, she is just really, really funny. Even if you’re not a fan of politics, you’ll probably enjoy Clarke squeakily gasping: “I’m the first female deputy prime minister of Australia. Fuck yes”.
Clarke’s performance is shadowed on stage by a mostly mute Jessica Bentley, representing a young woman who seemingly exists to reflect the ‘voiceless Australian girl’, with her only speaking to the audience once *that speech* is done. This trope feels a little cheesy, and brings to mind the dangers of overly mythologising politicians – and to their credit, the creators do try to note this. Gillard’s decision to re-open offshore processing for asylum seekers is brought up, as is her ‘no’ to marriage equality – a moment that generated a sad, breathy sigh from an audience that was desperate to blindly support her. This being said – no man, woman or politician is perfect, and Gillard’s courage and efficiency in so many other areas of policy were reiterated multiple times, with us reminded that she passed more bills in the senate than any other leader in Australian history.
The show is rich with relatable Aussie political and cultural references, liberally using the word ‘fuck’, and generally showcasing the insanity of the sexism that Gillard was forced to endure while in office. We are taken through the infamously disgusting moments of the “small breasts, huge thighs and a big red box”; how she was dubbed “deliberately barren”; and how, despite calling for an election to be legally voted prime minister, nobody called her that – instead preferring to refer to the leader of Australia as, simply, “Julia”.
As a young Australian woman in 2023, it is concerning for me to see how much harder women have to fight to be noticed in houses of power. Gillard’s experience exposes the great Australian lie: that we are a society that treats women well.
The story told on this stage is obviously a very specific one, however there lies a slight missed opportunity to reflect the reality of the modern Australian female experience. This lens is overwhelmingly white, and talks about Australian misogyny solely through the eyes of the white, educated, second-wave Australian feminists who came into being in the 1980s. This brand of feminism (although obviously valuable) leaves little room for nuance. In Julia, there is little mention of the many socially and economically disadvantaged and non-white women that exist in this country – and for whom, sexism is a lifelong prison from which no (admittedly brilliant) speech will free them.
This isn’t to cast blame on Gillard, who did what she had to do to get by in a world built and maintained by men, but I do feel this production discusses sexism in a way that placates men, declaring it as “boring to talk about”. This may be so, but I know for a fact that many women don’t find discussing their own oppression that banal – but maybe, that’s just me.
This all being said, the final speech, as delivered by Clarke, is, for all intents and purposes, perfect. On the night I bore witness, time, space and history all fell away for a moment on the Drama Theatre stage at the Opera House – and .we all felt like we were sitting on the benches in Canberra on a nondescript October day in 2012, watching something very important being born.
Julia is an intoxicating and fascinating experience that hits something deep and resounding within us. It shows us that at the end of it all, power comes and goes, reputations rise and fall, but if there is one thing that endures – it’s the truth.
And, at the heart of it, truth is exactly what Julia is all about.
Julia is playing at the Drama Theatre, Sydney Opera House, until May 20, 2023. You can book tickets over here.
