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REVIEW | Bleached, Etcetera Theatre
- Harry Brogan
- Jul 25
- 2 min read
AD | Tickets gifted in exchange of an honest review
Presented by Talking Birds in association with Frisson Collective, Bleached is a strange and delicate play that lingers long after its 60 minutes. Written by Laura Collins and directed by Tobias Abbott (also lighting and sound designer) this four-hander explores a patchwork of Australian characters searching—perhaps for love, meaning, or just themselves.
Set against a minimalist backdrop with nothing but suitcases and ambient soundscapes (forests, club music, airport announcements), Bleached uses simplicity to its advantage. All characters wear identical blue shorts and white vests, blurring identities while underscoring a shared longing.
The transitions are fluid, often abstract, and supported by Tobias Abbott’s subtle sound design. The intimacy coordination by Anna Rawlings deserves special mention—especially for the Berlin nightclub scene, which felt authentically queer, sexy and tender.
The ensemble—Estelle Cousins (Hen), Alice Pryor (Bhodi), Timothy Dennett (Gab/Santa), and Rose Adams (Anika/Nima)—shine brightest when the play homes in on character relationships. The love story between Bhodi and Hen is a highlight: funny, weird, raw, and quietly moving. Pryor is magnetic as Bhodi—unpredictable, vulnerable, and darkly hilarious.
There are moments where the script veers too far into abstraction—the monologue at the audience about the end of the world and the Santa role-play scene, for example, felt indulgent. And while the episodic structure lets each scene breathe, it left some audience members struggling to connect the
dots. Still, the final monologue, delivered by Pryor as a Rat CEO in a post-human world, was unforgettable: sharp, devastating, and wildly funny.
Bleached is not perfect (but then again, what is?), but it is bold, original and strangely affecting. You may leave unsure of what it meant—but you’ll feel it all the same.
★★★★
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