Virgins & Cowboys by Morgan Rose

Directed by Anthony Nicola

Presented by Flinders University Graduating Students

The Arch- Holden Street Theatres

March 03 -March 08

★★★★

Review by That Guy in The Foyer, John Doherty

As the promo states, “Welcome to the digital rodeo- where desire’s a glitch, purity’s a currency, and everyone’s one bad DM away from an existential crisis.”  American born Melbourne playwright, Morgan Rose gifts us a text at once surreal, sexy‑sad, cyber‑savvy and darkly humorous that throws five lost souls into the hellish world of online connection. It’s entirely reflective of a generation who grew up promised the world by the internet only to discover it comes with a heavy cost, lends itself to dopamine addiction and is often a massive let down.

Rose’s writing is darkly funny, observant, and unexpectedly drops emotional gut punches into the mix. The graduating actors of Flinders University Drama Centre, South Australia's well revived actor‑training institution under the deft hand of Renato Mussolino, bring Rose’s caustic commentary to vivid, anxiety‑inducing life. If the standard of performance here is any indication, Australia should brace for an influx of talented young performers.

Ostensibly a recently canned sitcom, “Virgins and Cowboys” which premiered in 2015 at Melbourne’s Theater Works, rapidly descends into a cocktail of present, past online and material realities and constructs.  Sam, a twenty-three-year-old dude stuck in a dead‑end job, meets two women online, both virgins. He embarks on a bizarre self‑assigned mission to “be the one who will be remembered.” Rose uses this uncomfortably hilarious setup to interrogate a demographic spat out the other end of the information age, people in a futile, relentless, painfully human pursuit of happiness. The fact that a ten-year-old play remains so relevant is testimony to the work.

Director Anthony Nicola wrangles chaos into a dynamic, engaging exploration of such empty pursuit.  Employing six looming screens, pumping music, and a simple set Nicola layers meaning upon meaning, tension upon tension. “Virgins & Cowboys” is a poignant, frightening mosaic of digital voyeurism, share‑house vibe, and the surreal limbo between online seduction and actual human interaction.

Tom Spiby’s sound design is magnificently edgy and evocative, sometimes disturbing, always precisely pitched. Monica Patteson’s lighting moves deftly between the looseness of a share house living room to the virtual chat rooms lit like liminal dreamscapes, and an eerie half‑world where digital longing meets real‑world loneliness.

But a show like this is about ensemble, and this ensemble works well.

Emma Gregory’s Sam, a young man so committed to his misguided crusade to “deflower a virgin” that he teeters disturbingly close to incel territory, is worryingly accurate. I sincerely hope Gregory has never encountered such a man outside the rehearsal room.

Jaxon O’Neill’s Dale, the pragmatist of the house, is a beautifully constructed performance. His arc rising above Sam only to fall prey to his own romantic entanglement is handled with deep attention to character and dry, affable wit.

Star Thomas, as Steph, is a force. Physical, precise, and playing her scenes with a power that suggests her character could delete a man from her phone and her life without second thought.

Tom Horridge gives Keiran the kind of goofy warmth that evokes Joey from Friends, but with added existential fitness‑bro energy. He’s ridiculous and endearing in equal measure.

And then there’s Anna Symonds as Lane. In full disclosure, as a teacher I observed Symond’s development as an actor over time. Symonds’ work is measured, layered, unpredictable and she easily snaps from comedic lightness to raw emotional truth in an instant. As Lane, a febrile nineteen‑year‑old virgin navigating a world she’s utterly unprepared for, Symonds gives a performance that is as funny as it is desperately sad.

Nicola’s directorial notes remind us that Rose’s text rejects the idea that desire can be neatly packaged, or that gender exists as a stable binary with predictable behaviour. The production embodies an unapologetic, current, dangerous “screw you” to the patriarchy wrapped in neon, humor, and heartbreak.

Adelaide Fringe seasons are often dominated by solo or two‑hander pieces, often brilliant, but there is something refreshing about watching an ensemble tackle the zeitgeist with such boldness, humour, and theatrical grit.

It’s a short season. 

So, Go. See it.