Written by Emmanuelle Mattana and directed by Marni Mount, Trophy Boys is a triumph in disrobing the many layers of misogyny that pervade private boys’ school debating environments, unearthing what this reflects on privilege, elitist education and modern feminist discourse.
The 70-minute play takes place entirely in a debating ‘prep room’ — a familiar environment for those unfortunate enough to debate in high school, where the team brainstorms ideas and prepares speeches over the course of an hour.
Of course, in an hour, teenagers rarely stay on task. This time-honoured truth was cleverly used by Mattana to expose how seemingly ‘progressive’ debater boys share unfiltered thoughts about feminism, away from the audience’s eye. The debating prep room was styled as a private girls’ school classroom, with famed ‘girlboss’ women and female activists lining the walls, making a mockery of the elitism that drenches the activity itself.
In a way, the audience is plunged into a boys’ “locker room”, emphasising how the male private-school debating culture fosters a fever of sexism and misogyny that parallels or even outweighs other cultures, such as sports. The actors control the atmosphere well; in one moment, when they realised there may be CCTV in the room, the tonal shift was instant, another reminder of how the sexism of ‘educated’ boys is tucked away.
On the affirmative, the boys are tasked with the ironic side of arguing: “that feminism has failed women”. Throughout the boys’ brainstorm of ‘subversive’ arguments to avoid blatant misogyny — and tarnish their reputation as debaters — they raise numerous critiques of feminism, as if rote-memorised, tied in buzzword-wrapped packages. It’s debating jargon at its finest.
Trophy Boys presents four characters, united by an awareness of their own moral superiority and promising futures. Fran Sweeney-Nash plays Jared, a quasi-jock not entirely around feminism who professes his love for women, in general, and disdain for the opposing all-girls team. Gaby Seow is Scott, transparently in love with Jared and not-so-transparently waiting for his trust fund. Leigh Lule’s David is the fourth-speaker with dreams to steer the team to victory. Mattana’s Owen has political aspirations and presents himself as a guiding light for a team lacking his own expertise on feminism. Each character cycles between feminist conviction and overt misogyny, although they exist on a spectrum of willingness to make openly sexist comments. On several occasions, Owen and David act as a moderating force against Jared and Scott’s blatant objectification — although their motivations apparently teeter between genuine care and self-preservation.
The diverse characterisation lends itself to a particularly nuanced critique of the manifestations of misogyny now present in our high schools. Traditional objectification remains ever present — the recent incidents at Bacchus Marsh Grammar and Yarra Valley Grammar School have proven as much — and are reflected in the boys’ behaviour. But at times the characters lend their voices to criticisms of feminism that would comfortably align with your ideologically-cleansed ForYou page: that it neglects to consider intersectional identities, that it encourages women to take on the same oppressive roles that men now fill. Whilst grounded in truth, these theories are cut off from their roots. Engaged with superficially at best, and maliciously at worst, the boys’ remarks whilst delivering these arguments unearth misogynistic motivations. Valid criticisms of ‘choice feminism’ as pandering to the male gaze for example, are propelled by the male gaze itself, assuming women’s behaviour operates for their pleasure. Mattana’s writing contends that modern misogynists no longer only espouse hatred for women — the boys’ sexism is evident long before they utter actual disdain — instead often cloaking their beliefs in language and lessons instrumentalised from feminist discourses.
The writing is at its best when Mattana’s character discovers that there has been a sexual assault claim lodged against one of the debaters in the room. The mood falls, as do the boys’ pretences about their “love of women” and “belief in feminism”. There is an uneasy, but realistic shift as the boys’ behaviours mirror the narratives they were recently condemning. Pointed fingers, victimising self-pity and blatant denial abound as the boys grapple with a reality of what they are debating. Their abysmal performance in doing so comments on their debating careers as masquerade, shielding the rampant sexism and individualistic culture ingrained into every private school boy.
Trophy Boys remains an enjoyable viewing experience despite broaching these issues. The absurdity of the characters’ self-perceptions makes for humourous comments without the appearance of a play milking a serious issue for laugh — you probably did know a small boy with a British accent, Junior Parliament anecdotes and a self-professed interest for the works of Yemeni feminists, or a person with some combination of similar traits. The drag genre enabled the actors to impersonate male debaters with a comedic flair and high-drama that further ridiculed their superficial appropriation of feminism. The actors could also depict misogyny realistically without engendering audience discomfort.
The play holds an instant appeal for any person who has dabbled in debating, its props and jokes nostalgic. But its incisive commentary on how misogyny contorts itself to escape the spotlight rings true for all audience members. Whether you find the prep room familiar or alien, poking fun at private school boys is a universal treat.
Trophy Boys is playing at the Seymour Centre until July 7.
