Mae lives on a farm in dire poverty with her not-brother, Lloyd. In an effort to excavate herself from this dreary existence, Mae is going to school and dreams of a future that doesn’t involve living among pigs. But Lloyd, well, he’s quite content wallowing in the pigsty. When Lloyd gets sick, Mae enlists the help of their neighbour Henry, and suddenly, it’s a love/hate triangle with more twists than a pig’s tail. Frustrated and desperate, Mae realises she must flee from these two men who rely on her. But has she already sunk too deep in the mud?
Written by the greatest playwright you’ve never heard of, María Irene Fornés, and presented by Salad Days Collective and PIP Theatre: Mud is bleak, grotesque, and utterly captivating—a play that revels in its unfiltered, uncompromising reality while unexpectedly inserting moments of dark humour that leave you laughing before you realise you maybe shouldn’t be. The entire production, presented by the newly Matilda Award-winning team, is a testament to how powerful theatre can be in the right hands.
Even before the show began, the audience was treated to Tiffany Payne's remarkable vocals out on the PIP Theatre patio. As part of The Vintage Belles trio, she established a nostalgic atmosphere—perfectly suited for the bygone world we were about to step into. And what a world it was. As I took a seat in the PIP Theatre (choose any seat, your sightline will be excellent), I was struck by how this intimate venue continues to reinvent itself. This time, the audience surrounds the stage on three sides. The set (designed by Laurent Milton) itself is a grim tableau—dirt, rags, and antique furnishings set the scene for a life of bleak, rural poverty that screams "Welcome to the middle of nowhere!" As the audience enters, Mae and Lloyd are already engaged in their activities—Mae is busy pressing clothes with an iron literally made of iron, and Lloyd is curled up in the dirt like an afterthought. He is visibly unwell and emanating decay, embodies filth and stagnation. Your first impression paints him as crude, uneducated, and rather primal.
From the very first moments, Mud is confronting. The language is harsh but infrequent, making it all the more jarring when it does strike. The dark comedy of the piece is immediate and unsettling—I caught myself laughing at moments I felt I shouldn’t, yet that discomfort seems entirely intentional. Jasmine Prasser delivers an arresting performance as Mae, a young woman clinging to education as a lifeline. Mae sees beauty in the simplest things—a mirror, a song, a moment of grace before a meal—yet she is painfully aware of her own insignificance. She is restless, curious, and utterly determined to claw her way out of this mud—both literally and figuratively. What makes Prasser's performance so striking is her ability to completely embody Mae in a way that makes her pain feel visceral. She can shift her entire energy depending on who she’s interacting with. Her disdain and resentment for Lloyd is palpable, but in that sibling-like way where you almost sense a sliver of affection buried beneath the frustration. With Henry, she’s hopeful, softer—until the dynamic shifts and that resentment creeps back in.
George Oates delivers a performance that is both deeply unsettling and strangely hilarious as Lloyd. He must navigate a role that demands the actor to strip away all sophistication. He must communicate with a severely limited vocabulary, struggling to form complex thoughts, and his lack of comprehension makes even the simplest exchanges frustrating. Lloyd is a pitiful figure and a source of grotesque humour, often in the same breath. There’s a casual mention of him having contracted something from a pig (a moment that earns a stunned, nervous laugh from the audience), and suddenly, everything about him feels even more revolting. And yet, you can’t look away.
Oates' physicality—flinching, cowering, shrinking into himself—paints a boy clinging desperately to the last scraps of control over his world. Watching him writhe in agony, unnoticed by Mae and Henry, was devastating—I found myself physically grimacing, torn between horror and sympathy. And yet, Mud never lets us settle into one emotion for too long. In the midst of all this filth and degradation, there are heartbreaking glimpses of innocence. When Mae proudly reads aloud from her book, Lloyd is momentarily ecstatic, filled with childlike wonder as she recites a passage about starfish. For a fleeting second, we see his genuine pride in her—only for it to curdle into something resentful almost instantly. It’s a gut-wrenching performance, and Oates plays every beat with a tragic honesty.
Mae's interactions with Henry, played with an awkward charm by Alexander O’Connell, reveal her desperate search for something more out of life—especially considering Henry is portrayed as decades older than Mae and Lloyd. To enhance this, O’Connell is styled with makeup and costume to appear significantly older (and slightly disturbing). He also adopts a British accent, setting him apart from the two Aussie characters and giving Henry an air of authority and sophistication. His vocal delivery is particularly striking—a unique choice that you must hear for yourself. Initially, Henry seems like the hero of this strange little tragedy—sweet, articulate, and devoted to Mae. But Mud doesn’t deal in easy heroes and villains, and O’Connell’s performance ensures we feel every moment of Henry’s decline—especially when the tables turn on him in a way that is cruelly ironic.
Directed by Calum Johnston, this one-act production is concise, with no moment wasted. The farmhouse kitchen is the singular setting, grounding us in the claustrophobia of their world. The lighting design by Noah Milne enhances every emotional shift. Scene transitions are hypnotic—punctuated by freeze frames, the ticking of a clock, and the eerie repetition of a distorted melody. The lighting subtly dulls and brightens, mirroring the passage of time and the suffocating cycle Mae is trapped in. The costumes reinforce the class divide—Lloyd in tattered underwear and grime, Mae in tattered dresses and skirts, and Henry in clothes that, while simple, signify a level of dignity the others lack. When Lloyd takes Henry’s dress pants (and money), it’s a powerful shift in their dynamic.
The play builds to a devastating climax (which I won't spoil). As Mae’s situation grows increasingly hopeless, Henry—once her escape—becomes just another weight dragging her down. The role reversal between Lloyd and Henry is brilliantly executed, with O’Connell’s transformation into a physically broken, yet still cruelly superior figure, being a darkly ironic twist. The comedy runs through the play like an undercurrent, continually catching the audience off guard time and time again. For example, Lloyd's attempt (and failure) to feed Henry is both hilarious and tragic to watch. Even in its darkest moments, Mud finds a way to make you chuckle—before immediately yanking you back into discomfort.
Mud is not an easy watch, nor should it be. It is ugly, harsh, and unrelenting, much like the life Mae tries to escape. At times, I found myself physically recoiling from the intense despair portrayed by all three actors on stage. A moment when Prasser turned towards my side of the audience, utterly shattered, lost, and trapped, left me stunned. It’s the kind of performance that sticks with you like glitter after a night out at the Beat—impossible to shake off once the house lights come up. It’s clear that this play has done exactly what it set out to do. It leaves you squirming, laughing, and, ultimately, devastated. Like a pig stuck in the mud, Mae is swallowed by her circumstances, and we, the audience, are left helplessly watching. And yet, it is beautiful in its brutality—an unflinching look at cycles of poverty and the tragic futility of self-improvement when the world refuses to let you rise. This production is a triumph, and a harrowing experience I won’t soon forget.
Content Warnings: Strong coarse language, sexual assault.
Now playing: 14th – 22nd March 2025
Tickets: Available here
CAST
Mae: Jasmine Prasser
Henry: Alexander O’Connell
Lloyd: George Oates
CREW
Produced By: Salad Days Collective
Producer & Stage Manager: Georgina Sawyer
Director: Calum Johnston
Assistant Director: Jackson Paul
Stage Hand/Operator: Cutter Harris
Lighting Designer: Noah Milne
Set Designer: Laurent Milton
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