Like the gnarled, densely layered scrub of the Mount Macedon brushwood, Picnic at Hanging Rock is buried under a thicket of cultural awareness. Heaped high with a vividly illustrative nostalgia, channelled either from Joan Lindsay’s 1967 novel or Peter Weir’s iconic 1975 film adaptation, this classic Australian narrative has percolated so potently through our collective subconscious that it has almost been elevated to a statement of historical fact rather than a work of fiction.

An attempt to refocus this story through an entirely original prism is inevitably a gamble: this act of theatrical bravery could easily be mistaken for blasphemy. However, director and Malthouse Theatre AD Matthew Lutton has not shied away from this challenge. Indeed, this intelligent, sharply detailed interpretation is a cleverly subversive account, rejecting the oppressive heat and brutal terrain that is such an unshakable presence in most people’s understanding of this text.

At its core, the essence of Lindsay’s story is largely preserved in Tom Wright’s new stage adaptation. On St Valentine’s day, 1900, three schoolgirls and their teacher, on an outing to the geological spectacle of the Hanging Rock, vanish without a trace. Their pale white skin, ankle length petticoats and...