Review: Casey and Diana at The Loading Dock - Qtopia Sydney
- 1 hour ago
- 3 min read
Review by Kate Gaul
History has a way of feeling distant until theatre reminds us that it was lived by ordinary people.
Nick Green's Casey and Diana takes us to October 1991, inside Toronto's Casey House hospice, as patients and staff prepare for the visit of Princess Diana, a visit that would become one of the defining public moments of the AIDS crisis.
Rather than making Diana the focus, Green centres the people waiting for her. Their conversations are filled with wit, longing, irritation and hope. One patient wonders why his roommate has never seen Steel Magnolias; another obsesses over eggs that somehow smell like cat food. It is funny, disarming writing that constantly reminds us these are not symbols of a tragedy but people living complicated, vibrant lives.
Mi Todo Productions' Australian premiere embraces the play's warmth. This is an unapologetically old-fashioned two-act drama that allows relationships to breathe and characters to unfold without rushing towards its emotional destination. The production gently transports us back to the late 1980s and early 1990s, to memories of Diana's extraordinary compassion, the devastation of the AIDS epidemic, the fear, the stigma and, perhaps most importantly, how far we have come. Nancy Denis takes the reigns as director and is efficient and clear in her task.
Gabriel Alvarado delivers the standout performance of the evening. His work is beautifully understated, carrying enormous emotional weight beneath an outward calm. There is always another thought passing behind his eyes, another feeling left unspoken. It is a performance rich in nuance, never asking for our sympathy but quietly earning it.
Isabel Burton is equally impressive as the hospice nurse. She brings warmth, charisma and meticulous detail to the role, embodying the emotional labour of those who cared for patients when so many others turned away. Burton never allows the character's compassion to become sentimental; instead, she grounds it in the practical, everyday work of caring.
Lucy Miller provides the production's emotional centre. Her performance opens up painful questions about family, faith and the ways fear can fracture love, before revealing that human touch is ultimately worth more than ideology, possessions or judgement. It is devastating without ever becoming melodramatic.
Chad Traupmann, who also produces the work, confidently carries the central role with a convincing Canadian accent, expertly coached by Linda Nicholls-Gidley, who also appears in the production. Lib Campbell plays Diana. The ensemble as a whole works with generosity, creating a believable community whose humour and affection become as important as their grief.
The Loading Dock proves an ideal venue for this Australian premiere. Its intimacy makes Casey House feel immediate and lived in (Designer Maitê Inaê), drawing us close enough to witness not only the suffering but the extraordinary acts of everyday care that sustained people through unimaginable circumstances.
For many audience members, this will be an emotional evening. Tears were certainly shed around me. The subject matter remains confronting, and for some it may prove difficult viewing, but Green's play never wallows in grief. Instead, it honours the courage of patients, carers and advocates whose compassion challenged prejudice one conversation, one gesture and one human touch at a time.
There is also something quietly significant about this Australian premiere finding its home at Loading Dock within QTOPIA Sydney. As Australia's first dedicated centre for queer history and culture, QTOPIA provides more than a venue, it provides context. This is not simply a play about Princess Diana or the AIDS crisis. It is a work that remembers a community, celebrates those who cared when others would not, and invites a new generation to reflect on a history that continues to shape our present.
At a time when empathy can feel increasingly fragile, Casey and Diana reminds us that compassion is not abstract. It is built through ordinary acts: sitting beside a bed, holding someone's hand, refusing to look away. That is why this production matters here, now.
