A curdling confluence of energies swirls through Julian Sewell’s new play Hush, set in 1985 Wellington – a time not unlike our own in certain respects, given our domestic politics and the fear-inducing Corona virus world-wide.  

Back then, a Labour government had been elected after nine years in opposition and one of its radical reforms was to introduce the Homosexual Law Reform Bill, which stirred up fear and loathing from the religious right and rampant bigots. Simultaneously AIDS was causing global panic, born of an ignorance exemplified by this onslaught from Norman Jones, the National MP for Invercargill, at a public meeting in 1985: “Go back into the sewers where you come from … as far as I’m concerned you can stay in the gutter,” he bellowed at supporters of the Bill. “Turn around and look at them,” he told his supporters. “Gaze upon them … you’re looking into Hades … don’t look too long – you might catch AIDS.” As it happened, one of the strongest arguments that saw the bill pass into law the following year was that decriminalisation would allow people at risk to come forward for testing.[i]

Also fomenting in the mid-80s, amid superhero comics and movies, was a morbid fascination with Zombies, thanks to such films as The Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead, Hell of the Living Dead and Return of the Living Dead.

All this feeds into the middle class domestic setting Sewell has chosen for Hush: the living room of a Kelburn home splendidly evoked in Isadora Lao’s set design, lit by Olivia Flanagan; male dominance in the workplace judiciously placed aloft. Katie Hill’s costume designs capture the era well. (I should mention I become a bit distracted by a persistent sound of whistling wind which I initially assume is part of Sewell’s sound design – the winds of change, perhaps? – but later I confirm it is the northerly actual gale outside demanding entry into the space. Hopefully the relevant portal will be discovered and sealed.)

The set-up for Hush is that 16 year-old Matt is slacking when he’s supposed to be swotting for Biology (en route to a career as a doctor), much to the frustration of his divorced mother, Donna, who is intent on ‘making it’ as an advertising copywriter. Her boss (aloft), David, offers his son, Marcus, as a tutor, given he is a year older and doing well in Biology. After a brittle start the boys discover a mutual interest in comics and zombies in particular, not to mention each other.

The play is book-ended with action involving Matt with Donna’s lipstick. While this alerts us to the probability that Matt is gay, his being caught out by mother is never mentioned by either of them – hence the title, Hush. Both avoid the issue throughout the couple of weeks the play covers, although Donna does get a bit pushy about girlfriends and the joys of rugby. (I can’t help thinking his choice of sport would have been discussed at a much earlier age, especially if he’s at Wellington College). On opening night a mishap with the lipstick subverts the final image and its implication, but we get the idea.

Meanwhile the subtly sleazy David sets Donna the task of creating an AIDS-related ‘health campaign’ for the Nation First Party, who are vocal opponents of the Bill. Financial and promotional inducements, if she delivers, add to the downward pressure on an increasingly conflicted Donna – comprehensively embodied by Karen Anslow. While David’s entitled arrogance as Donna’s boss is obvious, his confidence is somewhat undermined by his (offstage) domestic situation and Patrick Davies captures this well. Both roles could seem, on paper, to be relatively two-dimensional and pitched on one note, but Anslow and Davies ensure we tune into their unspoken concerns.

The major focus, of course, is on the evolving relationship between Matt and Marcus – rivetingly played out by Adam Herbert and Finnian Nacey respectively. Matt’s ‘slacker’ persona and brutally judgemental treatment of his mother are clearly related to his having to come to terms with himself in isolation. Marcus, however, is much more comfortable in his own skin – which leaves us to wonder how aware his father is, where he stands and whether he too is conflicted.

The rhythm, flow and body-language of Matt and Marcus’s ‘study’ scenes are beautifully realised by Herbert and Nacey, and the inherent truth of it produces some heart-warming humour. The nature of the clandestine comic-book project they are working on together offers an amusingly grotesque counterpoint – until it is hijacked in a way you will have to see the play to appreciate.

Suffice to say Donna’s dynamically-pitched solution to the challenge she has confronted raises questions on multiple levels which are far more apparent to a 2020 audience than they would have been in 1985.

As a play Hush could be developed into a full-length play or even a screen drama with lots of the underlying elements brought to the surface and confronted. As it stands, though – astutely directed by Julian Sewell and Pauline Ward (with mentorship and intimacy-direction from Lori Leigh) – audience members of all sexual orientations will undoubtedly identify with certain elements and gain valuable insights into others. Some may also feel compelled to imagine the hidden dimensions and wrestle with the unresolved questions.

In his programme note Sewell acknowledges he has taken for granted “growing up queer against the bloom of LGBT+ acceptance”. But Ward relates to the play “as someone who identifies as bisexual and often encounters biphobia and bi-erasure.” At personal, social and political levels, then, Hush gives everyone lots to ponder and discuss. It encourages us to hush no more.

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