Never Have I Ever (Melbourne Theatre Co) ★★★★

Written by Deborah Frances-White. Australian Premiere. Melbourne Theatre Company. 15 Feb – 22 Mar 2025.

Lately, I’ve been bemoaning the lack of fierce, contemporary political thought in our theatres. Recent works tackling modern topics have felt more like one-sided polemics, with their conclusions locked in from the moment the lights go down, or overly polite pieces that lightly touch on thorny topics. I just wanted an intelligent playwright to dig beneath the surface and present ideas I hadn’t already read about or thought of myself. Finally, Never Have I Ever hit the mark!

Four friends meet up in a restaurant for dinner and an awkward conversation. Couple Jacq (Katie Robertson) and Kas (Sunny S Walia) are the owners who, after several years, have had to declare bankruptcy and close their business. Tonight, they’re breaking the news to their posh banker friend and major investor, Tobin (Simon Gleeson), and his wife, their university chum, Adaego (Chika Ikogwe). What starts off as a cheerful “What’s £120,000 between friends?” chance to drink the great wine in the cellar, turns into a raging, cocaine-fueled bender where long-held truths are spoken, and an indecent proposal is laid on the table.

Australian-born, UK-based writer Frances-White squeezes so much liberal discourse into one play that it’s dizzying to behold. Like having a wine-fueled evening with your most politically engaged, educated mates who love an argument, this conversation forces its fist down the throat of “wokeness” and not only deconstructs it piece by piece, but eviscerates it from within. Going beyond the platitudes and token gestures, it begins with a joke about which of the four of them is the most woke, and gleefully proceeds to find the hypocrisy in our liberal pretensions.

Is Adaego the most woke? She’s a Black woman in business, a master networker and a speaker for change – the perfect “identity politician”. Or Jacq, the bisexual chef who worked her way out of poverty to create her own business while holding onto her socialist ideas. Or Kas, the second-generation “respectable immigrant” who has dedicated himself to getting along, working hard, and making sure the women around him have their own voice. Or perhaps it’s Tobin, the cisgender, rich white guy who champions ethical investments from the back of his Ducati, donates his time, money, and space to marginalised people, and pushes back against the greed of the City (while still getting filthy rich himself). And when ethics meet cold hard reality, who will stick to their beliefs?

The script is very British… VERY British. Everything from collecting Nectar points (the UK equivalent of Everyday Rewards points), the Brexit vote, and the price of courgettes is used for punchlines that may or may not land with you, depending on your own knowledge. Names and places fly past, but most are easy to understand through context. The result, however, is that the pace of the comedy is sometimes thrown off by a micro-moment of confusion or reflection. As an ex-Brit, though, it hit every mark for me.

Frances-White knows how to plant a joke or plot point that will pay off later, and when to liven the mood with a dash of silliness. The text is sharp and funny, with moments that let the actors play. The most exciting part is how Frances-White never sacrifices the intellectual stance for the sake of a quick laugh. Jacq’s stance on her bisexuality never wavers (just because she’s in a relationship with Kas doesn’t mean she’s “gone straight”). Even the discussion about the ethics of accepting a small fortune in return for a sexual act is a complex dance of dilemmas ranging from bodily autonomy, capitalism, colonisation, and the status of sex work. Just as on her podcast The Guilty Feminist, Frances-White works through some complex thoughts on identity politics, social activism, cultural appropriation, privilege, relationships, feminism, and more while playing with them along the way.

All four cast members balance the heightened comedy with the cold, harsh edge of the drama playing out underneath. These aren’t “comedic performances,” but rather the comedy rises from the situation, heightened by alcohol. Both Robertson and Gleeson are chilling in their ability to turn from laughter to rage. They all know when to undersell a punchline and let the audience catch it—nothing is forced, nothing is false. It’s a joy to watch them play out this hilariously awful scenario.

Zoe Rouse’s costumes are brilliant signifiers for each character, but the expansive, multi-level stage design, while offering plenty of opportunities to stage conversations in different places, sometimes makes for long scene transitions that weaken the comedic pace. Director Tasnim Hossain grounds the comedy in character, elevating the presentation, but some moments felt too restrained. A moment of full-out farce seemed within arm’s reach and could have spiced up the evening with a bit more variety. When the play moves into dark drama, Hossain is on very strong footing, having done the groundwork with the characters earlier.

Despite its UK specificity and occasional pacing oddities, Never Have I Ever is one of the most interesting and funny plays I’ve seen in a while. It interrogates “the left” as only someone steeped in intellectual discourse can—not from a desire to fight against it, but in a desire to truly explore the thoughts and strengthen it from within. The fact that this discussion is hidden inside an utterly entertaining comedy and perfectly plotted drama is the cherry on the cake.