Review by Priscilla Issa
Saints of Damour is certainly a living elegy to those who were silenced by sexual repression and fear amidst the AIDS crisis. But it is more than that. Performed within the haunting walls of the former Darlinghurst Police Station, this play is a love letter to those who once had to choose between freedom and family, between truth and belonging. It is a devastating lament for love lost to civil war. It is a detailed portrait of the Lebanese-Australian queer space in Sydney. It is a celebration of liberation.
The play follows Pierre, a young farmer from the coastal Lebanese village of Damour, as he flees civil war in the 1970s with his mother Zienab and wife Layla, leaving behind not just his home, but a secret lover, Samir. His journey takes him to rural Goondiwindi, Queensland, where he attempts to live a life acceptable to others. Yet, for Pierre, the heartache of migration and the promise of a new beginning is shadowed by the loss of his homeland and the loved one he left behind. Memories of Samir haunt him and he struggles to reconcile who he is and who he must become. Elazzi evokes the loneliness of resettlement, the sting of casual racism, and the daily tightrope of assimilation. To fill the aching void within him, Pierre relocates to Sydney - drawn to the vibrant, sexually charged energy of 1980s Darlinghurst.
Elazzi’s text evocatively brings to life the backbreaking work of farmers in tumultuous, war-stricken Lebanon where each dawn breaks over blistered hands and sun-scorched fields, and the relentless rhythm of tomato picking is both a burden and a lifeline. Every crate is carried not just for sustenance, but to uphold family honour in a village bound by watchful eyes and unyielding expectations. Amid the echoes of gunfire and civil unrest, the need to save face remains steadfast. Additionally, Elazzi captures a culture where family is everything - and yet, that very closeness becomes a gilded cage, locking away the desires and identities that don’t align with tradition. The intensity of love and loyalty among Lebanese family members runs deep but often demands silence, sacrifice, and self-denial. In Saints of Damour, love is shown not only in words but in the quiet acts of protection and the pain of unspoken truths.
Furthermore, the relentless tension between traditional cultural values and the yearning to live authentically pulses through every scene. Pierre’s journey is emblematic of many people torn between filial duty and personal truth. Elazzi allows us to witness the emotional cost of hiding in plain sight and the quiet, courageous rebellion that comes from finally stepping into the light - however late and bruised.
Director Anthony Skuse brings incredible sensitivity to the production. He superbly extracts nuanced performances from a talented ensemble. Each interaction oozes tension, every pause and glance layered with Lebanese intensity. Skuse masterfully deciphers each character’s complex psychology, allowing the audience to feel the weight of what is left unsaid.
Antony Makhlouf gives an extraordinary performance as Pierre. His portrayal is honest and powerful, impressively embodying a man caught in a rift between cultural duty and suppressed sexual desire. Makhlouf conveys Pierre’s inner turmoil through every faltering hand and averted gaze. His choice to let physical stillness speak louder than dialogue revealed the emotional toll of a life lived in halves. A truly noteworthy performance!
Saro Lepejian, as Samir, offers a counterpoint full of soulful gravity. Whether Elazzi chose not to linger on the slow burn of lust between Samir and Pierre, or a directorial decision to underplay the development of their relationship, Samir’s ever-present memory haunts the stage. Through subtle physicality, Lepejian delivers a performance that wordlessly reminds us that true love, once awakened, is not easily silenced.
Nicole Chamoun delivers a beautifully layered performance as Layla who navigates the tangled threads of loyalty and longing in marriage. She embodies the self-sacrificing wife who aches for intimacy and bends herself in quiet desperation to win back an emotionally distant husband. Yet, despite the heartbreak inflicted at every turn, Chamoun’s Layla is never pitiful—she is resilient, ultimately determined to reclaim her identity.
Max Cattana’s versatility shines as he easily inhabits multiple contrasting roles, notably as Todd, Pierre’s fleeting yet poignant love interest. From the playful lust of a nightclub encounter to the tender vulnerability of someone yearning for a lasting connection with Pierre, Cattana’s performance evolves subtly but remarkably. His final moments, imbued with the quiet gravity of a man facing the devastation of AIDS, left a hunting impression long after the lights went down.
Deborah Galanos brings comedic precision and heartfelt depth to the role of Zienab. Her performance brims with uncanny accuracy hilarious mannerisms and quips of Lebanese mothers. She embodies the frenetic presence of a small business owner juggling responsibilities, while also capturing the fiery conviction of a devout churchgoer whose faith anchors her identity. Beneath the outward sternness and disciplinarian edge - shaped by generations of cultural expectation - lies a well of fierce maternal devotion and self-sacrifice. Galanos’s performance is a masterclass in humour and heart. Her character portrayal is deeply recognisable, and in those final screams profoundly moving.
James Smithers’s simple yet thoughtfully curated set design, paired with Sam Wylie’s moody lighting and Akesiu Poitaha’s nostalgic soundscape of old Lebanon, creates a richly atmospheric world that feels suspended between memory and longing.
Saints of Damour is a profound reminder that migration stories are not only about movement—they are about what is left behind, what is hidden, and what must be reinvented. In a time when national identity is under constant renegotiation, Elazzi’s work speaks to the experiences of those who live in the in-between: between countries, between families, and between selves. This is a story of love interrupted, of silence imposed, and, while chilling in its conclusion, of identity reclaimed.
