When I was a teenager, I attended a theatre workshop organised by Australian Theatre for Young People. Nick Enright, who led the workshop, told a story about seeing the opening-night production of David Williamson’s The Removalists (1971) from backstage. Twenty years on, Enright’s description of the look on the audience’s faces as they contemplated the grisly dénouement of Williamson’s play stays with me. ‘They were the faces of people witnessing a car crash,’ he said, with a forthright sincerity that was utterly convincing. That moment, Enright said, had been a key milestone in his own development as a playwright.