Review: My Cousin Frank at The Studio, Sydney Opera House

Review by Kate Gaul

Rhoda Roberts AO steps onto the Sydney Opera House stage alone for My Cousin Frank, but the space never feels empty. Over 75 compelling minutes, she summons an entire world—family, Country, history, and the piercingly relevant legacy of policy and erasure—through the remarkable story of her trailblazing first cousin, Frank Roberts. It is solo storytelling at its most potent: intimate, unadorned, and devastating in its clarity.

Frank Roberts, a Widjabul Wia-bal and Githabul man from Cubawee, was Australia’s first Aboriginal Olympian. In 1964 he travelled to Tokyo as a boxer, dining with Emperor Hirohito, competing on the world stage with extraordinary courage and discipline. And yet, in a stark expression of the racism embedded in Australian law, he was denied an Australian passport because he was not legally recognised as a citizen of the country he represented. Roberts’ telling of this injustice lands like a body blow—quiet but catastrophic.

Directed with elegance and restraint by Kirk Page, the production leans into simplicity: a chair, a boxing bag, and projections that drift between archival resonance and poetic suggestion. AV designers Jahvis Loveday and Mic Gruchy create a visual language that never overwhelms the storyteller, instead extending her voice into a textured, living memory-scape. Under Associate Director Julien Louis’ guidance, the staging is confident in its minimalism, understanding that Roberts herself is the engine—and the heart—of the work.

And what a heart. Rhoda’s presence is generous, commanding, and deeply connected to story in the old way: not performance as display, but storytelling as custodianship. She traces her family’s journey from the era of dispersal and silence to the ongoing navigation of a world shaped, constrained, and sometimes catastrophically distorted by government policy. Yet she does so with extraordinary grace. There is fury here, but it is never untethered; sorrow but never defeat; humour, but never at the expense of truth.

Frank—known as “Honest Frank”—emerges as a figure of immense integrity. He fought in every sense the word implies: in the ring, in his advocacy, for his culture, for his family. Roberts honours him not as a mythic symbol but as a man whose life was shaped by contradictions—glory and discrimination, pride and systemic diminishment, triumph and trauma. In her hands, he becomes not only her cousin, but a mirror to the nation.

What is extraordinary about My Cousin Frank is the balance it achieves: searing in its critique, uplifting in its celebration, and profoundly human in every moment. Produced originally in regional Australia, the work arrives at the Opera House with a polish and grace that never compromise its grassroots strength. It feels held by community even as it speaks to the nation.

The result is an evening of storytelling that lingers long after the final image fades: a vital, beautifully crafted contribution to the narrative of Australia’s First Nations athletes—and a necessary reckoning with the costs of a country still learning how to honour its champions. Rhoda Roberts stands alone onstage, but she carries a whole mob with her. And we are privileged to witness it.

Image Credit: Kate Holmes