'The Sapphires' opens with an old fashioned box TV, the kind your grandma may still have. It is playing archival footage of the 1967 referendum when the federal government asked (among other things) whether Indigenous Australians should be included in official population counts.
This, in addition to the contemporary booing of generous Welcome to Country speeches on ANZAC Day, sets the context and mood of the play.
Based on the true story of four Yorta Yorta women who journey from regional Victoria to the Vietnam War to entertain American troops, the production carries both the buoyancy of a jukebox musical and the weight of lived history. From the outset, director Wesley Enoch leans into that duality. This is a show that sparkles, but it never lets you forget what sits beneath the gloss. The little bursts of horrifying racism never take centre stage, but are frequent enough to give the audience a tiny, bitter taste of what Indigenous people faced – and continue to face – on a daily basis.
As the women travel to Vietnam, performing for troops in the shadow of war, the tonal shift is palpable. The humour remains, but it’s threaded with a growing awareness of the dangers surrounding them and the racism they continue to face. The show doesn’t linger in darkness, but it doesn’t shy away from it either. Instead, it trusts the audience to hold both truths at once: that this is a story of exuberant performance and systemic struggle.
However, it is the show’s joy that leaves the biggest mark. The Sapphires, Gail, Kay, Cynthia and Julie, burst on to the stage with a chemistry that feels gloriously unmanufactured. Their sisterhood is messy, funny (oh my god, the 1960s slang!), occasionally fractious, but always grounded in something deeper than the script: a shared resilience that carries through every harmony and side-eye. As their Supremes-inspired act evolves from a country pub novelty into a polished soul ensemble, you can feel the shift not just in sound, but in self-possession.
Musically, the production is an absolute knockout. Backed by a live band, the show leans hard into its catalogue of ‘60s soul classics such as 'Respect', 'Ain’t No Mountain High Enough', 'The Shoop Shoop Song', and lets them breathe. These aren’t throwaway covers; they’re reclamations, each number infused with urgency and personality. The audience response is immediate and contagious. The intimacy of the Bille Brown Theatre works in the production’s favour, transforming what could feel like a large-scale musical into something almost immersive.
Visually, the production leans into a concert-style aesthetic, with choreography that captures the precision and flair of the era while still allowing room for character. It’s slick without being sterile, a balance that keeps the storytelling front and centre.
What lingers, though, isn’t just the music or the performances. It’s the sense of legacy.
More than 25 years after its debut, 'The Sapphires' remains one of Australia’s most significant theatrical works, not just because of its success, but because of the stories it centres. This production, led by a new generation of First Nations performers, doesn’t treat that legacy as something fixed. It’s alive, evolving, and still resonant.
By the time the finale lands (and it lands), the theatre feels transformed. Not just lifted, but connected, to the music, to the history, and to the enduring power of stories that refuse to stay untold.
Big-hearted without being naïve, celebratory without losing its edge, 'The Sapphires' is exactly what great theatre should be: entertaining, yes, but also illuminating, grounding, and defiant.
