Interview of Tahlee Fereday by Freya Bennett
Darwin-born, Melbourne-based actor Tahlee Fereday brings depth, humour, and heart to every role she plays. In the world premiere of Black Light at Malthouse Theatre, Tahlee steps into the shoes of ‘Bub’, a young mother navigating separation while finding support in a close-knit community of Larrakia women. We spoke with Tahlee about honouring First Nations stories on stage, her journey as a queer artist, and the powerful role of collective care and motherhood in her work.
Hi Tahlee, how are you going and where are you speaking to us from today?
Hey what’s up! I’m well thanks. I am writing to you from Wurundjeri land.
What was it like stepping into the role of ‘Bub’ in Black Light, and what did you want to honour in her story?
Stepping into the role of Bub was at first actually really challenging. I felt like I couldn’t grasp who the hell this person was. I am someone who moves very quick, likes to make a joke when things get heavy, and I’m very literal. Whereas Bub is almost the opposite. They are very much in their feelings and anxieties, and they move through the world at a much slower pace. So, it was exciting to try and step into and investigate this character. And the more that I trusted Jada’s language, the more I was able to understand how to embody this way of being in the world.
Bub is extremely anxious about what is happening in the world and that is something that resonates with me. I think the beauty of Bub is that they are wanting guidance from their Elders. That’s something that propels Bub through the story like it does for a lot us younger mob.
I want to honour the messiness of Bub as a character. How Bub is not put together, doesn’t know the answers, and is always wanting reassurance. I want to showcase that version because I have been thinking a lot about motherhood and this is a version that we actually don’t get to see very often as mothers are always expected to have all the answers.
Bub is navigating a recent separation while being supported by her tight-knit community of Larrakia women. How did that sense of collective care shape the way you approached the character?
Jada Alberts, the playwright, has made it very clear that Bub is everyone’s child in the play. So, I think that the text is already informing how Bub sits in that family dynamic. For example, Bub calls three different women ‘mum’, and has an extremely close relationship with their Nan. I think that highlights how Bub is really supported by their family despite the hardships that the family have faced. There is a lot of heartbreak in this play and that’s what binds these Larrakia women together.
With Black Light now part of the 2026 VCE Theatre Studies Playlist, what do you hope students take away from seeing this work on stage?
First and foremost, I hope it’s a positive experience that could spark a lifelong love for theatre, as it can often be the first time a student has had the opportunity to see a play on-stage.
Also, we know that schools in Australia still have a lot of work to do when it comes to teaching Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history. And a lot of the time when it is included, it’s not taught and written by First Nations people. So hopefully having a play written and performed by First Nations people will help students understand the true nuances of First Nations perspectives, experiences, and stories.
For Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students, I hope that they can feel both inspired and that they do belong on our stages.
Your work across theatre, television, and film often centres identity, family, and belonging. What kinds of stories are you most drawn to telling at this point in your career?
I do love a comedy. There is a lot of chaos in the world and when people turn on the TV it’s nice to escape, laugh, and forget one’s worries – even if it is just for a brief moment. I also think that comedy is an extremely powerful form of healing.
I also really like queer coming of age stories because of how innocent, sweet and endearing they are, even though I’m getting a bit old for it now. It’s pretty special that these kinds of shows can be someone’s first glimpse into queer narratives on screen. We can never truly know how powerful this representation can be for an individual.
You’re also developing your own writing, including Womb for Improvement. What has writing opened up for you creatively that acting alone hasn’t?
Writing has given me an opportunity to be in charge of the narrative I get to tell. As an actor, you’re stepping into someone else’s story and helping tell that. But as a writer, you have full control over what you want to explore.
It has also given me a huge appreciation for the process and the effort that goes into a project. Some projects can take several years to get up, especially in film. The writers and the producers have been working on a project for so long before the actors come in. However, because actors are the face of a work, all those hundreds of people who have put in all the groundwork to get the project created can be easily underappreciated.
Looking back on your journey from Darwin to the Melbourne stage and screen, what advice would you give to emerging First Nations or queer artists finding their way into the industry?
For First Nations people, you already are a storyteller. We’ve been telling stories on this country for tens of thousands of years and that legacy will always be with you. So you don’t need to question if you can be a storyteller, you just need to find out where and how you want to tell those stories.
For emerging queer artists, thankfully stage and screen is starting to catch up to where we are as a society, (yes there is more to go). So, there are more opportunities for queer actors to play so many different types of roles and not just that cliché troubled queer we’ve seen so many times. My advice would be to know that you can do it and that there is a really strong queer community in the arts to support you.
Tickets to Black Light are available here.
