the worst of us - The Substation

The Worst of Us.perhaps, theatre.

The Substation, QTOPIA Sydney

What is the worst thing you've ever done?

A child says something he cannot unsay. A mother clings to a truth that may not be true. A man stands in a garden holding a hoe, facing the hardest decision of his life.

These are the questions and stories at the heart of the worst of us., a quietly extraordinary work from perhaps, theatre., woven from anonymous confessions and transformed into a meditation on guilt, forgiveness and the complicated business of being human.

When I attended, the audience numbered just two. In lesser hands that might have felt awkward. Instead, it felt like a gift. In an act of generosity and commitment, the show went on, creating an experience that was deeply personal, intimate and unexpectedly profound.

Performed at The Substation at QTOPIA Sydney, the worst of us. strips theatre back to its essentials. One performer. A clutch of stories. A guitar. A handful of lamps. From these simple elements emerges a rich and emotionally resonant hour of storytelling.

Emmett Aster is a compelling and generous performer. Unamplified in the intimate setting, he held the room with ease, weaving together spoken word, music and storytelling with quiet confidence. His writing is lyrical without becoming self-conscious, moving fluidly between narratives while maintaining a clear emotional throughline. The language is carefully crafted yet accessible, rich with imagery and moments of gentle insight. Scripts are available for purchase after the performance and I found myself wanting to spend more time with the text, to revisit some of its poetic observations and layered storytelling.

What is most striking is the show's profound empathy. These confessions are not presented for shock value, nor are they offered up for judgement. Instead, Aster approaches each story with tenderness, curiosity and compassion. The work acknowledges the harm people can cause one another while remaining deeply interested in the possibility of understanding, accountability and forgiveness.

The production's visual language is equally thoughtful. A collection of coloured lamps shifts throughout the performance, subtly altering the emotional landscape and marking transitions between stories. There are no dramatic lighting states or theatrical flourishes. Instead, the stories seem to emerge from the spaces between things, arriving softly and finding their way into the audience almost by stealth. As the light changes, our attention moves not only towards the performer but towards one another, creating a shared atmosphere of reflection.

This felt less like a performance delivered to an audience than an experience shared with one. With only two audience members present, the intimacy became part of the event itself. For sixty minutes, one storyteller and two listeners occupied the same space, carrying these confessions together. The result was a rare sense of connection and attentiveness.

the worst of us. is intimate theatre at its most affecting. Delicately crafted and beautifully performed, it explores the imperfect choices people make and the stories they carry long after those moments have passed. It invites us to look honestly at ourselves, to extend grace where we can, and perhaps to leave the theatre a little more open-hearted than when we arrived.

Review by Kate Gaul

Image by Sarah Findlay