Salad Days Collective’s production of María Irene Fornés’ Mud at PIP Theatre was an unrelenting
force. It grips, unsettles, and lingers long after the final blackout, refusing to let audiences off the
hook. A brutal and poetic examination of poverty, power, and human yearning, Mud is stripped
raw and laid bare, much like the lives it portrays.
The collective, a recent Matilda Award-winning group, has earned its place in the industry and
with it, the attention it deserves. After a successful 2024 season that secured them the Bille
Brown Award for Best Emerging Artist at the Matilda Awards, expectations for this production
were high. The only question was whether it would surpass those expectations or fall short.
At its core, Mud is a story of entrapment—bodies confined by circumstance, minds straining
toward something more, and relationships that both suffocate and sustain. The play follows
Mae, portrayed with aching determination by Jasmine Prasser. Mae is desperate to transcend
the squalor she was born into, driven by an almost feverish need for education, knowledge, and
something beyond the decay she calls home. Prasser’s portrayal is magnetic—her Mae is
luminous in hope, yet tragic in her futility, embodying both resilience and resignation in equal
measure.
Mae’s only dream is to die in a hospital, surrounded by white—purity and cleanliness—far
removed from the filth and decay of her current existence. This desperate aspiration reveals not
only her yearning for a better life but also her unspoken belief that only in death, in a space
untainted by the dirt of her world, could she find peace. It’s a haunting commentary on the stark
contrast between her desire for purity and the harsh, grim reality that continuously stifles her.
Alongside Mae is Lloyd, her not-quite-brother, not-quite-lover, played with a mix of brute force
and boyish ignorance by George Oates (QUT alumni ’24). Lloyd is every man who has ever
mistaken control for care, his presence both protective and predatory, an anchor that drags Mae
down while he insists he’s holding her up. Oates brings startling authenticity to the role, making
Lloyd not a villain but a victim of his own small world and limitations. Then there is Henry, played
by Alex O’Connell, the supposed outsider who becomes just another link in Mae’s chain. What
begins as a quiet, polite presence soon shifts, revealing a man just as desperate, just as
trapped, and just as willing to take what he can at Mae’s expense. O’Connell’s transformation is
unnerving—a subtle yet powerful shift that highlights the cyclical nature of power and
exploitation.
A crucial element in this production is the recurring motif of Margo Guryan’s “Why Do I Cry,” a
song that weaves through the narrative like a haunting thread. At the start, the song is soft,
clear, and simple—almost innocent, mirroring Mae’s fragile hope and aspirations. As the story
unfolds and Mae’s descent into despair deepens, the song begins to warp. Its tempo shifts,
distorting with increasing intensity as Mae’s circumstances tighten around her, reflecting her
internal struggle and the breakdown of her dreams. By the time of Mae’s death, the song has
been reduced to a garbled, distorted version of itself—unrecognisable and fractured, mirroring
the devastation of her life’s end. This gradual shift in the song’s tone is an effective reflection of
the crushing weight of her reality, and it amplifies the play’s exploration of the cyclical nature of
despair and the futility of escape.
Director Calum Johnston, with assistant director Jackson Paul (current QUT student), crafts
Mud into a haunting, intense experience. There is no escape from its weight; it swells and
crashes over the audience like a relentless tide. Every moment is deliberate, every silence as
loud as the words spoken. Johnston understands that Mud does not need embellishment—the
power lies in its starkness and brutal simplicity.
The production design amplifies this. Laurent Milton’s set is sparse yet oppressive, an
environment that feels both vast and inescapably small. There is nowhere to hide, no comfort to
be found.
What makes this production truly unshakable is its refusal to offer easy answers. There is no
redemption, no grand moment of triumph. Mud is not interested in catharsis—it simply presents
life as it is for those on the fringes, for those whose dreams remain out of reach. It’s a challenge
to watch, but an even greater challenge to forget.
Salad Days Collective has made it clear: they are not here to ask for attention. They are here to
take it. Mud is proof they are a force in the industry—a relentless, unflinching voice that will not
be denied. If this production is anything to go by, the industry has no choice but to listen.
Review: Mud – Salad Days Collective
