Last Friday I went to see Barrie Kosky's latest Australian directorial offering, The Women of Troy, currently in production at the Sydney Theatre Company. Kosky and Tom Wright, a long-time collaborator, who together last brought us the stunning, multi-award winning reworking of Ovid's Metamorphoses in 2006, have combined forces once again on their own translation of Euripides' powerful anti-war play. 

Kosky's blistering imagination has made its mark all over the staging of the production: this is a confronting, alarming, often highly distressing production. And what else would we expect of a production of a play looking at the suffering, despair and senseless cruelty that comes from the acts of war, and the aftermath.

A tiny boy was used in the production - two boys, in fact, who take turns playing the role on various nights. Each plays Astyanax, a voiceless character, son of the slaughtered hero Hector, a Prince in the Trojan royal family. Astyanax, we are told as he is dragged offstage by determined Greek soldiers, will be thrown from the top of the highest tower, and his body dashed on the rocks below. Later in the play we see a cardboard box carried in, his tiny little legs dripping with stage-blood. The Women of Troy is largely made up of various Trojan women (Hecuba, Cassandra, Helen) crying out in despair at the atrocious acts of war that have been performed by the Greeks, and reflecting on what the future could possibly hold for them now that their Kingdom has fallen. As actors in this grim, disturbing, compelling work, though unspeaking, these little boys would have been present for parts of the rehearsal, and would be backstage every time this work is performed.

I am a great admirer of Kosky's work, and see his bold, electrifying works as a wonderful contribution to Australian theatre. But I am uncomfortable at the decision to use such tiny boys in a deeply disturbing work. The performance of The Women of Troy saw the most walkouts in one performance I have ever witnessed. Usually one or two people would be the maximum, and even then it's a relatively rare occurrence. For Troy, there was by my count, roughly thirteen. If a swathe of grown adults can't stomach what they are seeing (and for that many to walk out it must be more than it simply not being to their artistic taste) how are kids meant to handle it?  

But the point we're at here is to ask more questions. Find out how the boys feel about it, how the parents feel. Whether Kosky has taken steps to ensure that the children are not present for most of the gruesome bits. Whether there are other precautions in place to make sure the boys handling what's happening onstage. Maybe being part of the rehearsal process, seeing the actors laughing and joking in between scenes, seeing the little pouches of fake blood being set up backstage, that it's pretend, is more than enough to ensure that the boys know this is a play, a story, and can distance themselves as a result. 

But it's impotant not to jump straight to high-octane, black and white, aggressive criticism. These kinds of issues are complex - there are shades of grey.  

Kevin Rudd sees Bill Henson's work as "revolting", he "just hates this stuff". Turnbull, after openly stating that he owns some of Henson's work, is now "outraged" at what the photorapher has done. Others feel a sense of "betrayal". Always howling, always extreme statements.   

This piece from Dr Leslie Cannold, a parent of a child at the Melbourne school which Henson visited looking for suitable models for his work, is an example of the more considered approach which I wish we could see more of  ("Look after our children without hysteria", The Age, Oct 7, 2008 [1])

After seeing a large-scale retrospective of Henson's work at the Art Gallery of New South Wales in 2005, I was hooked. Henson's work is exquisite, and we are lucky to be able to claim someone of such high international artistic standing as a fellow Australian.

I can understand how parents could be troubled by someone taking photos of naked eleven and twelve-year-olds in the name of art. But let's look at the details. Let's look at who he is, how he goes about it, how this work fits into the wider context of his other work. Check out his photos of landscapes, buildings, faces. Look at the shades of grey. Rather than going for a numbskulled, thick-as-bricks, simplified, black and white discussion of these kinds of issues, let's engage in discussion that is more considered, let's employ a dialogue that fits the complexity, the dialectic nature of what's being discussed.    

Things can be one thing, and another. Not just either, or. I loved Women of Troy, but I'm not sure if smearing tiny kids in buckets of blood is artistically justifed.

Let's talk.

Sonia Allan holds a B.A Communications (Theatre/Media) from Charles Sturt University, with training in performance, devised theatre, scriptwriting and cultural event practice, which explores ways in which theatre and creative events can directly benefit local communities. She worked throughout 2007 as an Event Manager for the Wakakirri National Storytelling Festival (a performing and visual arts festival for schools around Australia) and is a regular arts writer and reviewer for www.australianstage.com.au [2], Timeout Magazine and Artshub Australia. She is currently studying towards an MA (English) at the University of Sydney.