The first ‘Kelly Play’ took place the day Ned died, with his traumatised sister Kate paid to sit in a chair while hundreds of people paraded past staring at her. She did it to pay the legal costs of trying to free her mother from prison. Those efforts failed. And years later, Kate drowned herself.
Kelly Plays were all the rage for the next sixty years. Huge money-makers, they ranged from dramatic onstage shoot-outs to horse stunt shows to the world’s first feature film. By the 1940s, there was barely a theatre in the country that didn’t have a Ned Kelly helmet tucked away in the costume room. Retold again and again, the story became a cultural myth. Facts blurred with fiction. And Ned was always the hero.
Modern Australian Theatre has been silent on Ned Kelly. His story was considered old and dusty, relegated to awkward historical recreations and Victorian tourist attractions. The myth of the hero had drowned out the more complex story of the man himself.
I spent a few years of my childhood living in ‘Kelly Country’ in rural Victoria. There was no question to the people in that area: Ned was a hero. Simple as that. Yet, even as a kid, I wasn’t convinced. I have remained fascinated by the figure of Ned ever since, that defiant towering Australian who apparently epitomised the Australian spirit, when every action he took seemed in contrast to our laid-back, non-confrontational national character.
After moving to sunny Brisbane, I discovered the myth of Dan Kelly—that he survived the Siege of Glenrowan and ran away to Queensland under another name, erasing the past for a calmer present. It doesn’t get more Queensland than that.
A story took over my mind, a confrontation between two titans of our history. I wanted to breathe new life into the Kelly story. I wanted to smash the myth and the true story against each other. Ned as assured defiant history, Dan as the uncertain present. Complete opposites of each other, even their names (almost).
More importantly, I wanted it to be real. An event. An argument you might hear at the back of a pub and move away from in fear of danger. I wanted real anger and real humour. And if I couldn’t give them guns, I was going to give them lines that rang out like gunshots.
Sometimes, while writing this play in the middle of the night, I felt ghosts nearby. Men standing among the trees outside, keeping watch. I’ve never felt it before and I doubt I’ll ever feel it again. The spirits of men, making sure.
So here it is. My Kelly Play.
Minus the helmet.
A huge thank you to Wesley Enoch, Todd MacDonald and everyone at Queensland Theatre Company. To the amazing cast and crew of the production. To everyone who helped me along the way. To Shari Irwin for her love, support and feedback (and for convincing me the original title was crap). To my family for moving to Victoria where the first spark was lit.
And to the ghosts outside—I hope they are satisfied.