Juanita Hepi responds to Black Faggot, written by Victor Rodger, directed by Anapela Polata’ivao, at the Court Theatre, Saturday 17 May, 2025.
This is not a review.
For a review, go here — and interestingly, the ‘a’ in Faggot is replaced with an ‘*’.
Attending the opening night of Black Faggot at the Court Theatre, I’m apprehensive, of course. This play is old, and sometimes plays don’t age well. I’ve purposefully avoided reading it beforehand, and my last encounter with it was via Toi Whakaari actors performing some of the monologues – powerfully, performatively, and with a sense of “thank god there are plays for me to represent”, or be represented in. I’m on the fence.
I’m anxious because, like many actors across Ōtautahi, we have questions for places like the Court Theatre. Will they keep us safe? Will they go beyond tokenism? Will they pave the way for the future of performing arts in Ōtautahi?
I’m also hyper-aware of the narratives in the community. Black Faggot is an edgy title in 2025, the kind of title this government might suddenly take interest in. Furthermore, this is a historical moment: new building, new theatre, new vision…? And why are straight actors playing queer characters???
So before I even dive into the production – which I love, by the way – some context. Black Faggot was written in 2013 and premiered at Auckland’s Basement Theatre. Victor Rodger ONZM – Ōtautahi born and raised – wrote the work in response to Brian Tamaki’s ‘Enough is Enough’ March in 2004, and the subsequent protests against the Marriage Equality Bill in 2012. If you are in any way connected to the world, you’ll understand and recognise the relevance of a Black Faggot remount in 2025. Tamaki and his mates have been at it all year – violent, vitriolic, and empowered. You can find much relevant information about the play on Google, on RNZ where Victor Rodger speaks with Mihingarangi Forbes, in The Press’s interview with Black Faggot director Anapela Polata’ivao ONZM, or from a 2014 article in The Big Idea.
Very quickly, and because I am a decolonial scholar, some questions: why is the first Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa play not on the main stage? Why isn’t it Māori? And why isn’t it Kāi Tahu? Answers to these questions usually go something like: bums on seats, finance, commerce, what people want, there just aren’t any plays… etc. etc. etc. And it’s not just a question for the Court Theatre. It’s a question that needs to be asked of our big arts institutions across the country – until we don’t have to ask anymore.
As for that question about takatāpui, queer or LGBTQIA+ actors playing the roles in Black Faggot, two things: first, the characters in this play aren’t only queer. They’re straight parents, women, men, religious people, and sportspeople. They are White, Black, and in between, non-denominational, non-descript, and everypeoples. Secondly, and more importantly: how is it that gender bias has arrived in our institutions, lives, and theatres? Gender bias and the hypersexualisation of Black and Brown bodies arrived with colonisation, to both Sāmoa and Aotearoa. Our energy would be better spent decolonising the system, including our minds and bodies. Projecting blame only reinforces ‘othering’ binaries.
Right — the show (I mean, that’s essentially what the tickets were for…).
I have to confess: it’s the second standing ovation I’ve given Anapela Polata’ivao this year. The first was for Tinā, the movie, and now again for Black Faggot. Anapela is a master of her craft: acting, directing, storytelling. She has raised up and praised up countless artists across the country and, for many of us, she is a national treasure – a beacon of light in a sea of white. Her direction is stunning across the night.
Before I even arrived at the theatre, the night was warm, perhaps even Pasifika warm. I could see two oiled-up Sāmoan men in the auditorium handing out frangipani flowers for our ears, ensuring the audience were photographed, titillated, entertained. A rainbow carpet replaced the usual red carpet. Cute, I thought.
There was some kerfuffle over our seats when we entered the theatre and we accidentally ended up between the actors’ families. It felt like a privilege.
An enormous frangipani flower fastened to the back wall was the sole set piece. I’ll let you gather your own symbolic posturing when you see the play. Music and movement referenced lollipops, Britney Spears, Beyoncé and of course Scribe. At one point the DJ threw shade at the Ōtautahi music scene, and the mostly Ōtautahi audience probably felt simultaneous joy and shame.
The solo prop was a black and white xylophone. Again – I’ll let you gather your own symbolism.
Because my brain is on overtime 100% of the time, I couldn’t help but find meaning in the mundane, and quite possibly meaning where none actually existed. There was reference to a Sonny Bill Williams-in-his-undies poster, secured to the ceiling for ‘inspiration’. Do you remember when Sonny Bill berated us all with his anti-gay rhetoric? Well, he did it again in 2023 – this time toward the trans community. You can read about that here. And once again, we’re reminded of the timeliness and importance of the remount of this show in 2025. It feels offensive to have to write that, but when one of the characters refers to Sonny Bill as a ‘real man’, I get whiffs of Brian Tamaki and catch my breath.
I can’t actually go any further without referencing the vaka, the moana, and the vā. For this work, it is held by Jake Tupu and Gideon Smith, the two lone actors in a big black box. While I can speak to their movement, voice, character shifting, dynamism, and multidimensional play, perhaps the most striking thing to me was the tenderness by which Jake and Gideon held each character. No judgement. Just self-belief. That has always been the actor’s dilemma: to play the character without judgement. To say the most disgusting words to another human being – without judgement – and to do it publicly, loudly, and in front of an all-eyes-on-me audience. It’s possible to feign complicité, but very difficult to feign connection. Kā nui te mihi ki a kōrua, Jake and Gideon. If you’ve managed to read this far, trawling through my sea of endless words in motion, I loved watching you tell these stories. I intend to come again.
My hope, above all hopes, is that our Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa audience find their way towards this work, some who may need a bit of a helping hand in mind-changing, and some who just need to see themselves represented. Actor. Director. Excellent human. Black Faggot.
OK, I’m far too many words in, but maybe I’ll finish with a few final thoughts. The endless sexuality juxtaposed with family and kinship presented us with questions, notions and concepts of intimacy. Whether the relationship is strained, or loving, confused or heightened, intimate relationships are difficult, nuanced, and bring us the most joy. They are the things that make us feel alive in the world, and we should be able to explore them without shame, or pain, or guilt, or hiding. One of the more poignant moments came after a father found out his son was gay, and the character asserts: “He beat me into the closet for another thirty years.” Fathers need to do better for their sons.
I feel like I’ve already given away too much. And I feel like I could go on and on. (Although if you know me, you know that’s incredibly accurate.)
As a wahine Māori maker, I can’t tell you the amount of times I nodded my head in agreement or laughed the sadness away. Someone said I was cackling and lathered on the floor, I couldn’t help but feel offended, misunderstood, gendered, passively put down and undermined. As I have said before: Brown laughter gets you through to the other side.
I won’t finish on that boring whimsy, however- I’ll finish with what Court associate artistic director Tim Bain reminded us all of after the play had ended: Black Faggot premiered on the International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia and Transphobia.
Relevant? Yes.
Should you go see it? Most definitely!
Is there work to be done? 100%.
To Victor, Anapela, Jake and Gideon, nei rā te hā o Hineraukatauri, ki a koutou hoki ki te roopu o Te Court Theatre, well done for programming this excellent, relevant, and must see play!
Black Faggot runs until 14 June 2025. Book tickets here.
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