Perth Festival 2025 brings the daily life of locals and an epic Mahabharata to the stage

I watched, mesmerized, as a man meticulously removed fat and skin from a cow's carcass. The way he handled the animal's body, peeling back the layers of skin and thick fat, possessed a strange beauty that was utterly captivating. This careful process highlighted the respect for the animal and the skill involved in preparing it for consumption.

Another man used a carving knife connected to a drill to hack at the cow's ribs, the blade slicing effortlessly through tendons and bone. Later, a man in galoshes waded in a spring, searching for mud crabs. When he found one, I cheered, and he grinned, holding up the mud crab for us to see. The entire scene was both primal and celebratory, connecting us to the source of our food.

All these scenes played out on large screens in front of and behind me, in a vast space above a bar, where I sat with about 100 other people. On another screen at the front of the room, a different video showcased drone footage of Western Australia's picturesque coastline. The juxtaposition of the raw butchery with the serene landscapes created a powerful contrast.

The animals I saw on screen being hunted, butchered, carved up, and cooked with local ingredients were soon served to us: kidneys, heart, and soy skewers; beef ribs and deckle with wild garlic; oxtail stew cooked in a camp oven. This was “[Killa: Pandan to Plate](https://www.abc.net.au/news/2025-02-08/indigenous-hunting-wild-cattle-for-food-on-show-perth-festival/104889844),” curated by Chad Creighton and Emilia Galatis of the Bardi and Nyul Nyul peoples, in collaboration with food providers and artists from the West Kimberley region. The event was a unique culinary and cultural experience.

It was a centerpiece of this year’s Perth Festival, offering a glimpse into the often-hidden aspects of our food consumption. Simultaneously, it immersed the audience in the cultural life of the West Kimberley's Indigenous people, where "killa" refers to bush cattle or fresh meat. As Creighton [told ABC Radio Perth](https://www.abc.net.au/news/2025-02-08/indigenous-hunting-wild-cattle-for-food-on-show-perth-festival/104889844) earlier this month: "Hunting is a big part of our lifestyle and our culture, and something we’ve learned from our parents and grandparents." The project aimed to highlight the importance of traditional practices and their connection to the land.

In the video work, he explained that the freshwater springs of the West Kimberley nourish humans, animals, and the land, making land conservation essential. "If we look after the land, the land will provide everything we need to survive," he said. "Killa: Pandan to Plate" aligned with much of my weekend at the Perth Festival. I often felt I was peering behind the scenes—or, perhaps, under a layer of fat. The festival's focus on sustainability and cultural awareness was evident throughout the various performances and installations.

The next day, I shared a vegetarian meal with my theater companions, bookending halves of the epic "Mahabharata." Sharada K Eswar, the creation assistant, and Ishan Sandhu, an actor, shared their reflections on the evolving meanings of the poem of the same name (on which the play was based). At the theater, I was engrossed in the 12-hour performance "12 Last Songs," presented in three installments. Thirty-two workers from all walks of life in Perth answered nearly 600 questions about their daily rituals, with some performing their jobs on stage before our eyes: a barber, a decorator, a baker. These diverse experiences offered a broad perspective on the community.

I visited the abandoned [East Perth Power Station](https://www.abc.net.au/news/2024-11-06/east-perth-power-station-reopening-perth-festival-venue/104562866) and saw the site transformed into a festival hub after being closed for over 40 years, with Melbourne DJ C.FRIM turning it into an underground rave. Even [American playwright Tina Satter’s "Is This a Room"](https://www.abc.net.au/news/2025-02-13/is-this-a-room-perth-festival-tina-satter-reality-winner/104924152) took me back to the FBI's real interrogation of whistleblower Reality Winner, with redacted portions indicated by jarring thuds and blackouts. The festival's use of unconventional spaces and formats added to its immersive quality.

As my weekend at the festival neared its end, Scratch Night was held at The Embassy in Perth Town Hall, where rising Perth theater makers Pavan Hari and circus performer Patrick McMaster tested new material. For Anna Reece, being the first Perth-born artistic director in the festival's 70-year history meant she could have a more nuanced conversation with the arts community about what the festival could and should be. This local perspective brought a fresh approach to the festival's programming.

"This is the first time we've had someone who was born in Western Australia running our international arts festival. I'm really proud of that, and that person is me," Reece said. "I can challenge the history of Perth Festival here," she said. "There's always a danger, perhaps in every festival and every city, that \[you say] 'Well, the festival has always been...' My role is to find a balance between the past, the present, and the future… What stories need to be told here? Which artists feel like they’re ready, and what do they have to say?" Reece's vision aimed to honor tradition while embracing innovation.

"It's a really exciting moment for the festival because we have to dig really hard and stay curious and responsive. Otherwise, we will lose our relevance." Reece hopes to encourage bold, ambitious artistic creation—the kind that large festivals have the resources to support. "When \[former federal Arts Minister] [George Brandis's funding cuts](https://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-02-20/$105m-budget-cut-caught-australia-council-by-surprise:-emails/7185900) came into effect in \[2015], I really felt like artists had stopped dreaming big," she said. "They would share ideas for these works with you, but they realized everything had to be small and easily tourable. It absolutely is my job to check that in this city, in our local industry. You have to encourage artists to dream big. It’s our job to support that as much as possible." Supporting artists and fostering creativity were key goals.

“The Mahabharata,” in particular, certainly dreamed big. Over roughly five hours, with two intermissions and a dinner break, theater makers Ravi Jain and Miriam Fernandes of Canada’s Why Not Theatre translated the 200,000-verse “Mahabharata” into a vibrant play that spanned generations. The production was a monumental undertaking, bringing a classic story to life on stage.

It’s the story of the Pandavas and the Kauravas, a group of cousins who each believe they are the rightful heirs to the Kuru kingdom. “For years, these cousins have been trying to find a way to live peacefully together, to share the kingdom, to live side by side, and they just can’t do it,” Fernandes [told ABC Radio National’s The Stage Show](https://www.abc.net.au/listen/programs/the-stage-show/mahabharata/104811446) in January. “They end up in this massive war that almost destroys everyone.” “Everyone” includes the natural landscape, which imbues “The Mahabharata” with a message about protecting the earth, aligning with the tone of conscious consumption in “Killa.” “The story really is trying to teach us to understand our human relationship to nature, to the natural world,” Fernandes said. The play's themes resonated with contemporary concerns about conflict and environmental stewardship.

Reece first saw "The Mahabharata" at the Barbican in London in 2023 and immediately knew she wanted to bring it to Perth. "I felt like my mind and my heart were opened," she said. "There was something really gentle and reassuring and a little bit nostalgic about it. Miriam Fernandes, the way she tells a story, the way a narrator takes you through a story from beginning to end, I hadn't experienced that in a really long time." The play's emotional impact and narrative style left a lasting impression on Reece.

As audience members, we learned about the enormous cost of greed and revenge through classical Indian dance, opera, and even [cine-theatre](https://www.abc.net.au/news/2022-08-28/cine-theatre-sydney-theatre-company-the-last-great-hunt/101360162), as well as more traditional theatrical storytelling; about the enormous cost of acting out of humiliation rather than loyalty and care. The message felt particularly relevant for us living in an increasingly divided time. As Eswar explained during a storytelling segment in the middle of the performance, the play asks: "How do we end this cycle of revenge where everyone thinks they're right and the other person is wrong?" The play served as a powerful reminder of the importance of empathy and understanding.

For me, the answer seemed to lie in cultivating empathy—the kind that can stem from glimpses into people’s real lives, as we did in “12 Last Songs.” The British theater production “12 Last Songs” by Quarantine contained profound insights, in which people who worked a variety of jobs shared the details of their everyday lives. This was the eighth iteration of the work since 2021, having previously been performed in the U.K., France, and Iceland. The production's focus on ordinary lives offered a unique perspective.

Director Richard Gregory [told ABC Radio National’s Sunday Extra](https://www.abc.net.au/listen/programs/sundayextra/12-last-song-perth-festival/104910712) earlier this month that his initial aim was “to make something that brings people together who wouldn’t normally share the same space.” “It felt like a useful, maybe important thing to try and do when we all live in our experience bubbles.” The project sought to bridge divides and foster connection among diverse individuals.

Audience members listened to accounts from people like Wendy, a mail carrier, who explained the rhythm of her day, which started at 3 a.m. As she answered questions from Adriano Cappelletta, one of the show’s hosts and a writer, a baker kneaded dough, a decorator wallpapered a set, and a barber patiently and meticulously braided a client’s hair. Audience members sat close, in a circle, leaning forward to hear their stories. The things people shared were the kind of minutiae we wouldn’t usually hear—unless from close friends. The intimate setting and personal narratives created a sense of shared humanity.

But they weren’t mundane at all, really. They were deeply compelling, reflecting the beginning and end of the day; the beginning and end of life—whether they were a midwife, an astrophysicist, or a retired politician. Gregory described the work as a form of portraiture: “Through their gathering across the day, it creates a kaleidoscopic, fragmented portrait, and we know it’s just a tiny fraction.” The production captured the essence of human existence through everyday moments.

In the show’s final hour, as the crowd watched technicians begin to pack up the stage, the hosts seemed to ask all of us to reflect on the hundreds of questions the workers had been asked—even if, if I’m being honest, I’d been asking myself each question throughout the performance. “Are you making the most of your time?” asked Sisonke Msimang, one of the show’s hosts and a writer. I wished I could have spent my time sitting there all day, absorbing how other people lived. I was reminded that I’ve spent my entire career talking to artists, trying to find out. The performance prompted introspection and reflection on personal values.

Reece said that by the end of the day, with people encouraged to come and go from the performance, more than 600 people had visited the theater. She reckoned she stayed longer than anyone: about 10 and a half hours. "I didn't want to leave," she said. "It really wasn't about the stories and about what they did. It was about why they did it." Reece's dedication underscored the profound impact of the performance.

Reece recalled a particular moment that moved her. Kylie, an environmental scientist in her 50s, and Hayden, a lifeguard in his 20s, were asked: “Do you feel hopeful?” After talking for several minutes about climate inaction, Kylie said she didn’t feel hopeful. But Hayden did: “Because I’m surrounded by people like Kylie. I’m surrounded by like-minded people who share my values, who really care about this place.” Reece said: “I just looked at him and thought, ‘Damn, is that really what we need for the future? This really challenging hope?’” After my weekend at the Perth Festival, I’m convinced it is. The festival highlighted the importance of hope and collective action in addressing pressing issues.