Police brutality is a persistent issue despite how much time passes. In 2020, the George Floyd case revealed to the wider public how power and influence shape the extent of violence one can inflict on another while remaining unscathed. And it’s not just an American issue; Floyd’s last words, “I can’t breathe”, after being disproportionately put into a chokehold for having a twenty-dollar counterfeit bill, were also yelled 12 times in 2018 by David Dungay Jr, an insulin- dependent Dunghutti man who was restrained for eating biscuits in his cell. Recently, in June, Brad Kelly, an Aboriginal man, was left with a punctured lung and half his ribs fractured as he was pinned to the ground by an officer twice his size, who was charged with “assaulting police and resisting arrest”. However, his “most aggressive actions were … drunkenly, lamely [grabbing] at a body-worn camera and [holding] onto an officer's leg” according to ABC News' Investigation.

With NSW Police’s own figures showing that public complaints about officers have risen to around 70 per cent over the last decade, art and media are one way we can fight against and publicise these injustices.

Les Misérables’ ‘Do You Hear the People Sing?’ shifted from being simply about the Paris Uprising to a modern-day protest in Hong Kong about their pro-democracy movement. Hamilton has used a racially diverse cast to shift a play about American history into a contemporary commentary on how modern America still hasn’t evolved into a post-racial society. Similarly, Bora Celebi’s version of The Removalists goes beyond its 1971 creation by playwright David Williamson; it reveals how the system of violence and power hasn’t disappeared 55 years later.

A detail I noticed immediately upon walking into Room 1 for the last showing of Celebi’s The Removalists was a sense of environmental theatre: the stage was established not through clear separation but through lighting and set production. As a result, throughout the play, the audience feels as if they are inside the scene, observing the characters in a connected way rather than being completely detached.

The play, split into two acts, has a consistent theme of complex characterisation; every character has a hamartia, making it difficult to simply establish a protagonist and an antagonist. 

Beginning with the first act, which opens at the station with Sergeant Simmonds and Ross, a constable on his first day on the job. We immediately characterise Ross as a do-gooder, while Simmonds, to us, is selfish and chauvinistic when it comes to handling cases. This portrayal occurs through the dialogue and proxemics of the actors for both characters, Edward Joseph and Jack Batchelor, with each other and with the other characters in the act. For instance, before other characters enter the scene, we sense a push-and-pull between Simmonds and Ross. Simmonds interrogates Ross about his father’s job, prompting Ross to retreat into his body and walk around sheepishly, indicating a need not just for professional but also for emotional approval from his superintendent. The dependence foreshadows the later chaos that ensues throughout the play; Simmonds laughing at Ross when he reveals his father’s job as being a coffinmaker, manhandling and pressuring him into telling him, shows who can exert power over another. Along with the use of the laptop and wooden desk props throughout the film, and Ross being reprimanded for using them, the scene immediately establishes how those in authority can overrule justice and make others dependent on them in the process.

Later in Act 1, two sisters enter to report a case — Kate, portrayed by Susannah Pretty, and Fiona, portrayed by Ines S.L. Before their entrance, Simmonds establishes a misogynistic stance on gender violence through his anecdote about the previous constable in Ross’ position. Simmonds classifies the case as a “hysterical little tart fronting into the station yelling: ‘Rape’”, and essentially slut-shames her (“the biggest bike in the district”) and reverts blame to the constable for being “sued for assault” and his resonance to the crime as his sister was also “raped by a pack of bikies”. Simmonds’ undignified, matter-of-fact tone creates an uncomfortable atmosphere for the viewer; his finding humour in a serious issue instils in the audience a sense of dread about what will happen next. This discomfort doesn’t leave the stage as Kate makes the complaint regarding Fiona’s domestic violence. Ross is still considered innocent and pragmatic to the audience, as he aims to file a report. Yet, audiences come to see Simmonds as the antagonist the more he speaks, creating loopholes for his own satisfaction. 

Edward Joseph, as an actor, is incredibly talented at portraying Simmonds’ uncanny, perverse nature through his facial expressions and physicality, inching closer to Ines and drawing her closer. Ines S.L. also powerfully conveys Fiona’s vulnerability throughout the scene where her judgement is clouded by love for her husband, but also wanting justice for her abuse. A particular scene that stuck with me was when Simmonds orders Fiona to lift up her sweater and skirt to show her bruises. Her vulnerability and discomfort are heightened through the collaboration of lighting design by Jakson Millard and sound design by Carmela Smith, using a spotlight with stark white lighting that fades in and out, matching the slow pace of the diegetic camera flash sound. Paired with Ines’ acting style, in which Fiona, as a character, retreats into herself and lets Kate and Simmonds speak for her, the scene does especially well at portraying how the justice system fails to understand victims emotionally. 

Act 2 helps solidify the tragicomedy undertone of the play. The audience returns after the intermission to an elaborate set of Fiona’s family home, led by Bronte Taylor and Bella Tesoriero. Julia Foronda's props become increasingly prominent in this act. This is due to the introduction of Fiona’s husband, Kenny, into the play. 

Throughout the act, Fiona uses the ironing board as stage business, conveying her preoccupation with a tradwife, submissive role. Therefore, it is no surprise that when her alcoholic, cigarette-smoking husband, Kenny, played by Lola Kate Carlton, enters the scene, we understand that her dependence on him to maintain the relational dynamic continues the abuse. Lola’s use of modality to convey how their character asserts power over others is also intriguing; Kenny’s voice rises in pitch not only to get his way in the marriage but also to plead and regain power from the officers.

I was a huge fan of Celebi’s direction of steering the play into a more contemporary tone. By throwing in one-liners such as the one about “123movies,” and even the Removalist, played by Finn Sargeant, constantly asking what to remove next, it allowed us to feel more present in the play's setting by breaking out of its serious themes. It was also refreshing to see that Fiona aims to reclaim her independence and break out of her dependence on Kenny near the end of the play, leaving a nod to gender equality and female empowerment in abusive situations.

Yet, alongside this positive lies some interplay with the abject. Whether it's the red backlights or the smell of cigarette smoke, the audience feels alarmed throughout the final act. This eeriness doesn’t leave; in fact, it propels the catharsis at the end of the play. Abigail Holt, Charlie Scanlon, and Jasmine Wastell’s collaboration for the fake blood at the end of the act on Ross and Kenny heightens this emotional and physical gore. In a sense, Ross’ catharsis is Kenny’s death; Ross’ need for Simmonds’ approval shows how reckless one can get with the power they hold. Celebi’s strategic use of a false ending is also significant; by instilling a sense of doom in the viewer through Ross’ costume and non-diegetic sound, then shifting back to comedy with Kenny’s aliveness, and then returning to the same ending, Celebi parallels the atmosphere the play already creates. 

At the end of the play, the audience leaves with the hamartia of the characters, which is more complex than the plot itself:

• Simmonds: Although sensitive in terms of family matters, he uses his power to get what he wants, which leaves him prioritising himself over the law, the people, and his staff.

• Ross: While his people-pleasing may seem like an attractive trait, it ironically causes him to go against what he initially wanted to do, which is fight for justice through a need for validation from Simmonds.

• Kenny: He’s abusive and an addict, yet he lacks physical power in the hands of the police force, which essentially shows he’s better at fighting with words with those more powerful, and only uses physical power on those who are vulnerable.

• Kate: She fights for Fiona’s justice in good morality, yet her morality is skewed in her personal life (cheating on her husband).

• Fiona: Her emotional dependence on others makes her inept in standing up against the police force’s treatment of Kenny when she considers it too extreme, and in understanding the type of justice she requires from the police system.

• The Removalist: He focuses more on his job and getting paid rather than stopping injustice in front of him.

As Kenny’s cuffing and attacks get more and more violent, leading to his death, we see the complex reality of police brutality, which tends to be more psychological. We, as audiences, after seeing the ‘how’, are left to wonder — is police brutality ever efficient in handling crime? Or does it highlight a psychological need for power?