Back to Bilo | Belloo Creative
Image: Morgan Roberts
Back to Bilo was a physical manifestation of the powerful call of the divine feminine, Shakti -a life force which transcends gendered notions of identity. The collective voices of Priya Nadesalingam, Vashini Jayakumar and the band of Biloela women who were at the forefront of the ‘Home to Bilo’ grassroots campaign rang clearly in a myriad of mediums that evening.Back to Bilo is premised on the nightmarish experiences of a Sri Lankan Tamil refugee family caught in an immigration maelstrom under the Dutton administration. More than being a compelling story for the ages, Back to Bilo came across as a prayer fulfilled in the sanctum, which was reverently sung into existence on the corner stage of Queensland Theatre’s Billie Brown Theatre. The moment was carried by composer Menaka Thomas’s soulful invocation of Vinayaga, the elephant-headed Hindu deity known as the remover of obstacles.
Image: Morgan Roberts
Writer Katherine Lyall-Watson’s crafting of the script in line with the conventions of verbatim theatre and director Caroline Dunphy’s delicate treatment of sensitive material resulted in a play that was a compact and well-paced powerhouse production. Unlike the plays I had previously encountered, there was no suspension of disbelief as the actors explicitly informed the audience of the characters they were about to embody at the very beginning. This straightforward approach signalled to the audience that the play was poised to deliver a purposeful punch. At its core was a fierce intention: to honour and give voice to the breadth of perspectives being told. Just as powerful was its commitment to capturing the intrepid efforts of a small rural community in Queensland. Their struggle, stretched across four gruelling years, became the heartbeat of the story.
The creative team’s collaboration with Tamil cultural and language consultants breathed a deep authenticity into the work where every choice felt anchored in care and respect. This was theatre intent on humanising the daunting lived experiences of Priya, Nades, and their daughters whose acts of resolve and resistance were met with a series of seemingly insurmountable challenges within a punitive system embedded in a harsher, more harrowing political landscape which went beyond Australia’s borders.
The nuanced threading of Tamil words, phrases, and lyrics made for an insightful and resonant tapestry of meaningful motifs and metaphors revealing the depth and richness of Tamil culture. One which I could especially, fully, and intimately appreciate in all its layered gravitas both as a woman of the Tamil diaspora and as a first generation immigrant to Australia who experienced rebirth in the form of motherhood in Magandjin/Meanjin.
Image: Morgan Roberts
In a moment of tenderness, Leah Vandenberg’s heartfelt portrayal of Priya and Matt Domingo’s gentle interpretation of the soft-spoken Nades came together as Vandenberg’s wedding sari was gathered to cradle an imagined baby, symbolising that they had become the proud parents of Kopika.This fleeting bit was poignant as it referenced a traditional practice where an expectant Tamil Hindu woman would be dressed in her wedding sari during a bangle ceremony conducted to wish both mother and child a safe passage during the time of delivery. A metaphor for hope was encapsulated in yet another tender exchange shared between the couple when Nades showed Priya the “murungai” seeds he had found on Christmas Island. The intention to have those seeds planted in a garden of their own spoke not only of their ability to dream in the most dire of circumstances in the detention centre but also served as an allusion to ancestral knowledge systems where the cultivation and ingestion of moringa, a plant with medicinal properties, was an integral part of Tamil cuisine. These instances which carried the essence of Tamilness subtly added much needed warmth and allowed space for the story to pause and breathe as it unravelled itself in a riveting way gaining sonic momentum through the audible playing of a pulsating ticking clock in the background. The fight for this family of asylum-seekers was a matter of urgency conveyed through a gripping aural backdrop.
Liz Buchanan’s, Sarah McIntosh’s, and Erika Naddei’s characterisation of Bronwyn, Simone, and Angela respectively showcased not only the different personalities of the women of Biloela but also the unyielding pioneering spirit they embodied to advocate fiercely for their friends. Naddei’s impassioned monologues in particular revealed a palpable sense of vulnerability which tugged at my heartstrings. In a similar vein, Vandenberg’s plea for mercy during times of crises which was verbalised in Tamil struck a chord with me on a cellular level. Her repeated articulation at select points of the play of ‘Kali achi amma, ennai kai vida maata,’ meaning the goddess Kali achi amma will not forsake me, was emblematic of her faith in the fearsome mother figure who is both the vanquisher and the protector.
The ingenuity of Govin Ruben’s set and lighting design was wonderful to witness and experience. It morphed like an adept shapeshifter providing context, painting vivid landscapes and a visual language for our minds to latch onto, seamlessly heightening our emotional connection to the plot in the process.
Back to Bilo’s painstaking efforts in amplifying the refugee story with so much attention to detail are praiseworthy. It is a necessary Australian story. One that needs to traverse terrains and timelines across the continent to the enduring hum of humanity.
Back to Bilo by Belloo Creative played 3-16 September at QT’s Bille Brown Theatre, South Bank, as part of the 2025 Brisbane Festival.
Priya Nadesalingam and Vashini Jayakumar. Image: Stephanie Coombes
