The Weekend is a Trojan horse of a play. In setting and humour, the production shares a family resemblance to many of David Williamson’s comedies of middle-class manners. The scene is a beach house on the Central Coast of New South Wales over Christmas. Our characters are three white women of seeming privilege in their early seventies who throw around one-liners about sourdough bread and poke fun at the excesses of enfant terrible male theatre directors (think Simon Stone or Benedict Andrews). The women even dance, Big Chill style, to a Carole King song as they reminisce about their youth.