THE DAPTO CHASER (2026)
THE DAPTO CHASER, Ensemble Theatre, 29 June-25 July 2026. Photography by Prudence Upton
This production of Mary Rachel Brown’s 2011 play is being sold by the Ensemble’s program with a quote from the Sydney Morning Herald (in 2011, by Jason Blake) that goes, “Brown wrings humour from every twist of the plot” the rest of the sentence – unquoted – is “…and the play glows in this well acted and thoroughly realised production directed by Glynn Nicholas.” It’s no wonder the quote is cut short for this bit of marketing, as this production is neither well-acted nor thoroughly realised.
The best elements of the show are Simone Romaniuk’s set and costumes, Matt Cox’s lighting, and the invisible greyhound, Boy Named Sue. The grotty living room of the Sinclair men’s Dapto home reeks of VB, old pizza, grubby upholstery, and dying hope and sadness. Old photos of pooches past decorate the walls, and the furniture is similarly weary.
Dad, Errol Sinclair (Peter Carroll), is a wily old bastard whose cheating ways did for his dog training career, and now he has terminal cancer. Naturally, he demands his younger son Jimmy (André de Vanny) get him a packet of fags and put seventy bucks on a dog, even though they are deeply in debt and without another dollar between them. Jimmy is as gentle as his father is a blustering bully, and his attempts to stand up to Errol – for his own good – are doomed to feeble.
Jimmy is also outgunned and outshouted by his elder brother Cess (Justin Rosniak), who is as big a bully as his father, but unlike the old man, is an uncommonly talented dog trainer, and determined to do it the right – honest – way.
Since the play was first produced a decade ago, at Griffin Theatre, the underlying suggestions of Brown’s tough 90-minute script have come to light: seriously dodgy betting, sleazy corruption, animal cruelty, plain old criminality, and treacherous characters have all made headlines or Four Corners. And now, in 2026, the end of dog racing is in sight for all those reasons, so there is an element of, if not nostalgia, then definitely a remembrance of things past.
Meanwhile, the Sinclairs are in the sights of local bigwig and heavy Arnold Denny (Marco Chiappi). Jimmy works for him at the track; he’s Errol’s lifelong nemesis, and by hook or by crook, he’s determined to own Boy Named Sue. And Cess is equally determined not to sell the dog he knows is going to make his fortune and save the family from self-inflicted ruin.
Unfortunately, director Anna Houston seems to have gone for sound and fury and left any chance of nuance, tenderness or humanity on the floor of the greyhound’s crate. When the Sinclairs aren’t shouting at each other, they’re bellowing, and when not bellowing, they’re yelling, snarling, and hollering. Arnold Denny is somewhat more modulated, but that’s not saying much. Trouble is, when the volume begins at Max, there’s nowhere else to go but over the top and beyond. It’s exhausting and, ultimately, boring.
The Friday performance (July 3) was several days after opening night and, more often than not, it should mean a production has settled. Nerves, if they had been present, are no longer jangled and, if it’s going to hum like a colourful racing identity’s Roller, it will have achieved that by this stage. So, quite why these fine actors spent most of 90 minutes shrieking at each other is an unpleasant and disappointing mystery. At the curtain, the audience response was tepid, if polite. Two stars for set and lighting, and the dog. Up to you.
