On a sweltering day in January 1788, seven clan leaders gather on a sandstone escarpment overlooking Sydney harbour. A mysterious fleet of nawi (giant boats) is amassing in the harbour and as it creeps closer, these representatives must choose unanimously: whether to send these strangers on their way or welcome them?
Some productions invite you to sit back and enjoy the spectacle. The Visitors is not one of them. Jane Harrison’s play asks its audience to lean forward, to listen, and to feel the weight of a day that reshaped the lives of First Nations (Australian Aboriginal) people forever. It is a thoughtful and often unsettling piece of theatre, one that balances its serious heart with moments of humour and the kind of dry, grounded wit that feels unmistakably Australian. Life in an oystershell, as they say, rather than a nutshell.
The story unfolds on the eve of 20 January 1788. Seven First Nations leaders gather on a sandstone rise overlooking the water, watching unfamiliar ships drift closer. They do not yet know that these vessels will bring disease, displacement and a new world order. What they do know is that strangers are approaching, and that their response must honour cultural protocol, responsibility to Country and the values that bind their communities together.
The play imagines the conversations that might have taken place as these leaders weighed their options. Should they welcome the newcomers or send them away. Should they offer help or prepare for conflict. Should they trust their instincts or trust each other. The questions are simple, but the implications are enormous.
The staging is stripped back but evocative. Sand dunes rise in soft curves, dotted with oyster shells that glint under the lights. A sandstone cliff frames the space, suggesting both the beauty and the harshness of the coastline. The leaders arrive one by one, acknowledging Country before stepping into the circle. Their attire is contemporary, yet they carry spears and wear touches of cultural adornment. This blend of past and present creates a sense that the conversation is not confined to 1788. It is happening now, and it has been happening for generations.
The dialogue moves between formal protocol and casual banter. At times the meeting resembles a modern council session, complete with a talking stick, procedural debates and the occasional unproductive vote. The humour that bubbles up in these moments is not there to soften the story. It is there because these characters are fully human. They tease, they argue, they interrupt, they hold grudges and they laugh. The play refuses to flatten them into symbols. Instead, it gives them personality, warmth and flaws.
The jokes land easily, but they never distract from the tension that sits beneath the surface. A sneeze early in the play draws a ripple of unease through the audience. The characters treat it lightly, unaware that they are encountering an illness their bodies have never known. The audience, however, knows exactly what is coming. The epidemics that followed the arrival of the First Fleet (smallpox, measles, influenza, tuberculosis, syphilis, typhus, and chickenpox) would devastate the local population within a year. That knowledge hangs in the air like humidity before a storm.
There are other moments that carry the same quiet dread. A taste of alcohol is met with curiosity rather than caution. A steel hatchet left behind by earlier visitors is admired for its craftsmanship. The leaders assume that anyone who arrives will eventually return to their own Country. They cannot imagine a world where people take land that is not theirs. The audience watches these moments with a sinking feeling, aware that each small decision is a step toward a future the characters cannot foresee.
The ensemble cast brings depth and clarity to the material. Each leader represents a different community, and each carries their own history, temperament and priorities. Najwa Adams Ebel’s Wallace is a calm and thoughtful presence. She is the one who argues for compassion, suggesting that the newcomers might be sick or in need of help. Her reasoning is grounded in empathy rather than naivety. She sees the possibility of exchange and learning, even as others prepare for conflict.
Stephen Geronimos brings a fierce energy to Gordon, a man driven by instinct and a deep sense of protection. He is quick to anger and quicker to reach for his spear. Yet beneath the bluster lies vulnerability. When he finally reveals the grief he carries, the shift in tone is striking. The audience sees not only a warrior but a son who misses his father.
Guy Simon steps into the role of Gary with the script in hand, yet his familiarity with the material is obvious. The occasional glance at the pages becomes part of the rhythm rather than a distraction. It is a reminder that theatre is a living form, shaped by the people who hold it.
Although the play is rooted in the history of Warrane, it resonates strongly with audiences in Aotearoa. The arrival of the First Fleet is part of a wider pattern of colonial expansion across the Pacific. The questions raised by the leaders are questions that echo across the region. How do you respond to newcomers. How do you protect your land and your people. How do you uphold your values when faced with a culture that does not share them.
The play also gestures toward contemporary issues. The treatment of asylum seekers, refugees and migrants sits quietly in the background. The idea of who gets welcomed and who gets turned away is not confined to the past. Harrison invites the audience to consider how these patterns repeat, and what it means to be a visitor or a host in a world shaped by movement and displacement.
As the debate continues, the weather shifts. Heat builds. Thunder rolls in the distance. Old wounds resurface. Arguments flare. The leaders struggle to reach consensus. By the time they settle on a course of action, the visitors are already rowing ashore. The decision comes too late. The future has already arrived.
The final moments of the play are quiet but devastating. The audience is left with the image of seven leaders standing on their own land, unaware of the scale of the change that is about to sweep over them. It is a moment filled with sorrow, but also with dignity. The play honours their strength, their humour and their humanity.
The Visitors is a thoughtful and deeply felt piece of theatre. It invites reflection rather than shock. It holds space for humour without losing sight of the gravity of its subject. It asks its audience to consider the past with honesty and the present with clarity. It is a story that lingers, not because it shouts, but because it speaks with quiet conviction.
Performances of The Visitors run from March 19-22 at Auckland's Rangatira, Q Theatre.
For show information & tickets head to Auckland Arts Festival
For show information & tickets head to Auckland Arts Festival