Marco Chiappi and Toby Truslove in Malthouse Theatre's Bliss (photograph by Pia Johnson)

Meanwhile, his wife, Bettina, played ferociously by Amber McMahon, longs to replace her husband at the agency to produce ads of wit and brilliance. She is sick of the way the world revolves around average men like Harry (the set revolves too, not always to any real purpose) and longs to reach her ultimate goal, a job in New York. Australia’s love–hate relationship with America is at the heart of Carey’s novel (his first). We love its wealth and success, the shiny goods and fast foods, the aura of power and confidence. We hate its brashness, its arrogance, its ignorance about everywhere that isn’t America, its lack of irony.

The American good life is tangible, material, you can buy it, you can be sold it. And the ad men do the selling. Back in the 1980s, the advertising world was a blokey place, especially in Australia, and this country’s advertisements were often local versions of American ones. Many things that were being sold were ruinous to your health or wrecked the planet, but no one cared, as long as they made you feel good. Carey was a highly successful ad man, so he knew that, and he knew that the Australian-American dream was also a nightmare.

Charlotte Nicdao, Amber McMahon, and Anna Samson in Malthouse Theatre's Bliss (photograph by Pia Johnson)

And Harry Joy’s nightmare, his hell, surrounds him on all sides. His wife ‘whose niceness cracked and broke on the third martini’ is being unfaithful to him with his fleshy American junior partner, Joel (played with smarmy charm by Mark Coles Smith). His son David is peddling drugs, his fifteen year-old daughter Lucy is a Communist (this really dates the book, and play), they’re dabbling in commercially-driven incest (she wants drugs, he insists she earns them on her knees) and everyone thinks Harry’s cracking up and needs to be committed to an asylum.

Into this maelstrom, while Harry pads around in a suite at the Hilton, avoiding the men in white coats, steps Honey Barbara, a hippy whore and beekeeper. She knows about the healthy life, the true path, but can Harry find his way there, through her? Honey Barbara, played by Anna Samson, is the warm heart of the play; she lives in a commune and only prostitutes herself for two months of the year, in order to pay for the commune’s needs ‘a water tank. A stove … half a horse’. (Carey lived for several years in a commune called Starlight, north of Brisbane, writing part time and selling himself one week a month writing advertising copy in Sydney).

Toby Truslove and Anna Samson in Malthouse Theatre's Bliss (photograph by Pia Johnson)

At three hours long, Bliss is a stretch, especially as so much of it is narrated rather than acted. There is also a meta text that amuses at times, jars at others; Bettina throws a cup that doesn’t break. ‘Clearly a prop,’ says Harry, commenting into his dictaphone. Later on, an inmate in the mental asylum appears with the same dictaphone. ‘Where did you get that?’ demands Harry. ‘The props table,’ he answers. The spare set, lighting, and sound scape are also insufficient to lift the words truly into the world of theatre. Only in the final scene, up in the rain forest with Honey Barbara and her communards, do we get a sense of the possibilities the set has to offer. Maybe hell is a wasteland of bright lights and glass walls.

Bliss (Malthouse Theatre) will be performed at the Merlyn Theatre, Melbourne, until 2 June 2018, and at Belvoir St Theatre, Sydney, from 9 June 9 to 15 July. Performance attended: 9 May.

ABR Arts is generously supported by The Ian Potter Foundation and the ABR Patrons.