Collegiality
by Matt Crook
about the show.
Collegiality is a darkly comic psychological work set within the world of elite Australian boys’ boarding schools; institutions built on tradition, hierarchy, and silence.
Inspired by a series of real-world incidents that exposed cultures of misogyny, entitlement, and misconduct, the play examines the systems that allow such behaviour to emerge, escalate, and endure. Within these environments, patterns of behaviour are not only learned, but rewarded, absorbed into the fabric of what is considered normal.
Boys are not born broken. They are shaped.
At its core, Collegiality asks: how does an inherently good boy begin to make harmful choices?
The play operates with the logic of psychological horror; a world where identity is shaped under pressure, loyalty is enforced, and silence becomes a survival mechanism. Removed from family and immersed in a rigid social order, the boys are forced to navigate a landscape where complicity is currency, and resistance carries consequence.
While engaging with questions of class, power, and accountability, Collegiality remains grounded in friendship, finding a twisted humour in the absurdity of tradition, and the quiet, devastating cost of fitting in.
behind the scenes.
development history.
October 11–15, 2021 | Windmill Rehearsal Studio, Adelaide
CAST: Aarod Vawser, Chris Asimos, Elizabeth Hay, James Smith, Julia Vosnakis
CREATIVES: Dramaturg. Elena Carapetis | Producer. Matt Crook
This development of Collegiality was made possible through The Department of Premier and Cabinet (through Arts SA's Arts Recovery Grant) and supported by Windmill Productions. Windmill generously donated the rehearsal space in 2021 and honoured a contract for a COVID cancelled tour, that allowed me to write the first draft in 2020.
January 13–17, 2025 | ADT Studio, Norwood
CAST: Annabel Matheson, Antoine Jelk, Chris Asimos, Elizabeth Hay, James Smith
CREATIVES: Dir. Corey McMahon | Dramaturg. Elena Carapetis | Producer. Annabel Matheson
This development of Collegiality was made possible by Theatre Republic and supported by the Department of Premier and Cabinet (through Arts SA) and Lesley Forwood.
excerpts.
BRENN: There, see? You feel that? That’s the sweet visage of apathy my friend. It will ensure your survival. The less people know you care, the less they know about you. And the less they know about you, the better. That’s power. Don’t let no one take your power from you.
MERRITT: I don’t know about you, but I need to know, for me, that when the time comes, I deserve that spot amongst my forebears. Bottom line: this is my final year and I’ve been here too long to leave with anything less than my destiny.
LONGROVE: There’s a reason he’s third speaker on the state debate team.
RICHARDS: Do you think they know what goes on here?
BRENN: What?
RICHARDS: Our parents. Like, do you think they think about us at all?
BRENN: Are you kidding? They’re the ones who sent us away. They don’t give a fuck. Unless we flunk, which we won’t because we’re smart. We’re not their problem anymore. Until that time, we’re here and they’re there and that’s that.
RICHARDS: They must do.
BRENN: I can assure you, they put very little thought into it, old Joc and Tanja. Probably decided it before I was born.
RICHARDS: You gonna have kids?
BRENN: Yeah man. Once I’ve taken over from dad. You’re looking at the future CEO of Brighton-BrennCast baby.
RICHARDS: So, you're gonna get married?
BRENN: Yeah man. All successful guys do. Even if it’s just for optics, you know. I mean I’ll fuck around for a while, just sow my seeds and shit, but eventually I will. Dad was a pants man.
RICHARDS: A pants man? What’s a pants man?
BRENN: The clue is in the name, sunshine. But you know, eventually when I’ve put in some time at BrennCast and I’m old, like thirty- maybe, I’ll settle down and marry.
BRENN’s phone buzzes. Silences it again.
BRENN: You?
RICHARDS: No way. Life is hard, man. Who wants to raise something that’s going to experience all that someday, knowing how hard it is? Who wants to be an adult full stop?
BRENN: I do.
RICHARDS: Why?
BRENN: Why not? Everything is better. You can do what you want.
RICHARDS: I thought you could do what you want now.
BRENN: Yeah, but it’s acceptable as an adult.
RICHARDS: Why is that? They’re not actually good at anything. They pretend they are, pretend they know things, how the world works but they don’t. They make it up as they go. Just like we do. The blokes that work in parliament, Dad’s mates, they’re loose units. I’ve seen the Minister for Mental Health cry alone in a car park at midnight. I’ve seen the Minister for Trade try to do a keg stand at a fundraiser and throw up on his own policy draft. These are the people running the country. They’re no smarter, no better, no safer. No happier, that’s for sure. I don’t think anyone actually ever grows up. I think this is it. Nothing changes, nothing ever gets better, and high school never ends.
BRENN: That’s bullshit. It gets better.
RICHARDS: I don’t think it will.
BRENN: It has to. There ain’t no one trying as hard as me. Ain’t no one sacrificing like me. I’ve got cocurriculars coming out my arsehole. I’m shitting electives, brother. I’m giving every piece of myself. So don’t tell me it’s never getting better.
BRENN: I know you know that’s not true.