VERSUS are, as well as being so much more, a directorial duo comprising Tanya Babić and Jason Sukadana who excel in reconciling the conventions of high-concept, commercial visuals with the authenticity of modern-day narrative and whose work we’ve revelled in for years here at DN. Their latest dynamic boundary-breaking short, commissioned by the iconic Sydney Opera House, occupies precisely such an intersection. Oleum is neither traditional opera nor conventional cinema, but rather a bold experiment that extracts the emotional intensity of the former and filters it through the visual language of the latter. This three-act visual symphony doesn’t just re-imagine what opera might look like on screen, it questions what happens when Opera’s grandeur is transposed into the grittier, more universal corners of contemporary Sydney. Oleum plunges us into the city’s industrial underbelly, garage spaces bathed in harsh light, dreamlike transitions through liminal urban spaces, and the quiet intimacy of a neighbourhood café. Through these settings, the film presents a fated romance, a tragedy worth the label Opera. The film’s visual grammar evolves across its triptych structure, beginning with stylised violence rendered with breathtaking elegance, transitioning through fever dream abstraction before finally settling into raw emotional realism. Light is both weapon and balm, creating compositions where shadows and highlights become characters in their own right. By assembling a diverse collective of Sydney’s creative voices VERSUS honour opera’s tradition as a total artwork while simultaneously democratising it, with the resulting piece speaking to universal themes of isolation and connection through a distinct Sydney vernacular. Returning for another in-depth look into their collaborative filmmaking approach, VERSUS talk to us about keeping their narrative rooted in a real Sydney while invoking the rich history of the stage.
Your work celebrates Sydney in all its glory and nothing is more symbolic of the city than the Opera House.
We have been fortunate enough to work with the Sydney Opera House for close to 12 years and like any great relationship, it has continued to strengthen over time. Being given the opportunity to conceive a work that is both an homage to the city we love and to one of the most significant cultural institutions in the world has been a dream come true. The legacy of Opera is evident in the House’s title but Opera is largely inaccessible to contemporary audiences for myriad reasons. We wanted to bring Opera, or at least the essence of Opera, to new audiences in a bold reimagining of the art form for screen.
Opera is typically a total work of art. There is a creative symbiosis at play which is what makes it such a remarkable art form. Similarly, film is one of the most genuine expressions of creative collaboration. This project is as much about the creatives involved as it is about the output. Sydney is woven into the fabric of this very special project. A Sydney Opera, Oleum, is a love letter to our city and the creatives which form its beating heart. Oleum reflects our commitment to crafting high-concept, culturally relevant and enduring work – and to highlighting a breadth of new perspectives.
There must be so much trust built over such an established relationship. How much creative freedom did you have for this project?
We were lucky enough to be given a somewhat open brief by the Opera House to create something for their new screen program. When the Opera House was first built, it had a cinema inside, and after many years of that space being repurposed as another stage, they have recently brought back the cinema. We were offered the opportunity to create something new and challenging for the screen program, and we came up with the idea of A Sydney Opera. A film work that at once reframes the perception of Opera, and also global perceptions of Sydney. Opera is considered to be a Gesamtkunstwerk, or a total work of art. In that every creative role is of equal importance and spotlighted as such. We wanted to bring this concept to the film by pulling together our favourite artists and creatives in this city to all collaborate on the project. The performers, the composer, the wardrobe designers, the production designers, the cinematographer, etc., all being heroed in the film. So the curation of these artists was a huge part of the project.
We wanted to show another kind of Sydney story. Utilising the people and places of Sydney that international audiences aren’t often privy to.
Importantly, this is the first time an Opera House commission has been shot entirely outside the grounds of the famed building. Obviously, it is an incredible architectural marvel, so the opportunity to film there is always taken when available. But we wanted to show another kind of Sydney story. Utilising the people and places of Sydney that international audiences aren’t often privy to. We moved away from the harbour and the beaches and kept the story rooted in the kind of Sydney that many of us grew up in.
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In crafting the narrative we wanted to maintain a level of experimentation, whilst also referencing traditional Operatic tropes. Hence the overt 3 act structure. The simple story of boy yearning for girl. The opening on high drama and violence. The odd side character encounters. But adding our twist to all of these concepts. The project took over a year from inception. But much of that was early stages of refining the concept and locking in our artists. Corin and Maina Doe collaborated to write the final song for a period so there was a sketch before filming began.
This is a lengthy piece from conception. How did your idea develop over that period and how did you distil the essence of an Opera and negotiate experimental storytelling within this classical framework?
We’ve always had a clear vision of what we wanted to achieve, grounded in an ethos of experimentation. Whether it influences what ultimately appears on screen or shapes our collaborative process, experimentation is central to how we craft our work. From the beginning, we saw the idea of reimagining opera for the screen as inherently experimental, not as a direct translation of the art form – but as an opportunity to rethink how its elements and tropes could be interpreted. It also challenged us to explore new, collaborative approaches with the diverse artists involved.
Opera is an art form more traditionally associated with grandeur and excess but you have used it as a lens to explore intimacy and disaffection in contemporary Sydney. Were you worried this might alienate some more conventional audiences?
We didn’t set out to alienate any lovers of opera – quite the opposite. We hoped it would make opera fans find something else to love about it, whilst engaging completely new audiences at the same time. But also, we were absolutely intent on subverting certain aspects of opera and the idea of a Sydney Opera felt like an opportunity to reframe both the art form and the city itself through a fresh lens. It was important to us to tell an opera story rooted in working-class experiences, not to exclude traditional opera fans, but to include those who often feel excluded by the art form. At the same time, it gave us a chance to showcase a side of Sydney that audiences, especially international ones, rarely see. Portraying a Sydney far removed from the beaches and harbour has always been central to our work. Like in many global cities, some of the most compelling creatives come from migrant and working-class backgrounds, and we grounded both our story and our artist selection in that reality. It was a perspective that deeply resonated with all the artists involved.
We were absolutely intent on subverting certain aspects of opera and the idea of a Sydney Opera felt like an opportunity to reframe both the art form and the city itself through a fresh lens.
Your previous work, Latitudes and music videos for Party Dozen, both show an obvious love and passion for the multi-cultural and modern Sydney, and this shines exceptionally brightly in Oleum. Tell us about the curation of artists and who you know would be right, and how you approached them for such a non-traditional piece of work and then aligned them to a singular vision.
From a curatorial perspective, this project was a no-brainer. We had a clear sense of the kind of artists we wanted to involve, so we put together a list of our favourites, some we’d worked with before, others we simply admired from afar. Bringing people on board was surprisingly easy; everyone was genuinely excited about the concept and the collaborative process. Sydney can feel like a big city, but in creative circles, it often feels like a small town. So while we were focused on assembling incredibly talented artists, we also prioritised working with good people – those who bring positive energy to a project. Through past collaborations or trusted word of mouth, we knew everyone we invited was not only exceptionally talented but also a legend to work with, which made the close collaboration all the more rewarding.
The term Gesamtkunstwerk implies total artistic equality. How did you curate and balance the contributions of performers, composers, designers, and technicians to honour this ideal?
Explaining our collaborative process is difficult, perhaps because it feels so instinctive to us. As a director/creative duo, collaboration is at the core of everything we do – it’s second nature. This project unfolded very organically. Each artist was given the freedom to contribute as much or as little as they felt comfortable with, and that autonomy was fully respected. There was no hierarchy; the environment remained open, creative, and genuinely collaborative throughout. For us, this process was just as important as the final outcome, the film itself. We were interested in experimenting with the idea of a Gesamtkunstwerk – a total work of art – created through a process where every artist stood on equal footing.
The opening act in the garage, as well as being violent and panic-inducing, also looks like the set for a high-end car advert. Why did you want to open up such violence with a shine and modernity you wouldn’t expect?
We loved the idea of opening with violence and tension, as it felt like a direct and immediate reference to many operas we know and love. We also wanted to nod to the stage, so the art direction and performances incorporate classic stage tropes. At the same time, we aimed to keep the tone distinctly VERSUS, a blend of dark polish and a beautifully gritty aesthetic.
Through all of the acts you use light in its darkest, flashiest and most obtrusive form which creates shadows, highlights and hides dark corners. Did you need lots of equipment and extra lighting to build these atmospheres?
Yes, we had a crap tonne of gear! And we were fortunate to receive a lot of support from our gear partners at Panvision, who helped ensure we had everything we needed to bring our vision to life. We also had an incredible crew who were deeply invested in the project. Despite the micro budget, the commitment from everyone involved was immense. We worked closely with DOP Tyson Perkins from the very beginning, sharing and refining the vision together. We feel incredibly lucky to have had him on board for this very special project.
How did you work with long time collaborator Tyson Perkins, who essentially captured three films with three colour palettes but united by a shared language?
We’ve been fortunate to work with Tyson for many years now. Much like our directing partnership, we’ve developed a shorthand with him that makes collaboration seamless. It doesn’t take much for all of us to get on the same page. We all brought in a wealth of ideas and references. It was a process of distilling the vision together to create something we all truly wanted to bring to life. And that was a lot of fun!
Alongside the recurring references to cars and oil, the film serves as an allegory for how vast and disconnected Sydney is in so many ways.
The tone shifts dramatically in the third act as he enters the cafe; it is much more grounded and real compared to the previous fever dream, but you build up stunningly to Maina Doe’s voice and what feels like our mechanic’s swan song. Why this contrast to the first two acts?
We wanted the first two acts to feel as if they were unfolding in a death-induced fever dream or perhaps in a state of purgatory. The third act, however, is intentionally grounded in reality. It’s the first time we truly see how much our protagonist craves a simple moment of connection, and just how far out of reach that is for him. Alongside the recurring references to cars and oil, the film serves as an allegory for how vast and disconnected Sydney is in so many ways. By the time Kevin reaches the café in Act 3, he’s too late for that final, fleeting connection he’s been trying to attain. It needed to feel heavy, sad, and real. So Maina Doe’s aria transitions from soft, intimate humming to a cappella, gradually building into a fever dream-like sequence, mirroring the first two acts as Kevin begins to experience the throes of death.
Corin Ileto’s score is pure genius. How did you brief her to bridge operatic tradition with contemporary experimentation?
Yes, Corin Ileto is undeniably a genius. We’ve worked with her before and have long been huge fans of her groundbreaking work — there’s truly no one else making music like her. We chose Corin as the composer because her sound carries something inherently operatic, and we knew she’d find a way to reference traditional operatic tropes while completely subverting them to create something modern and extraordinary. And of course, she more than delivered. We absolutely love the score. The collaboration between Corin and Maina Doe was incredible — two artists from entirely different genres and backgrounds coming together to take an idea and turn it into something unique and deeply affecting. It was a beautiful thing to witness and be part of.
Oleum feels like a manifesto for collaborative art and challenges the institution to embrace more radical work. What do you hope its legacy will be, for Sydney’s creative community, for opera’s evolution or for future Sydney Opera House commissions
Sydney Opera House’s Stuart Buchanan, who commissioned Oleum, has long been a champion of radical and groundbreaking work. So we’re excited to see more work like Oleum created with and by SOH in future. And we’d love to continue creating more Sydney Operas, working with the incredible Sydney Opera House team to commission other film directors and creatives to make the concept their own. The possibilities feel endless, with countless opportunities to create remarkable films and foster unexpected collaborations. For us, directing the first iteration wasn’t about flexing, but about showing other creatives what’s possible. We hope that, if we get the chance to create more, they will surpass Oleum in scale and impact. Additionally, we want to encourage other institutions and commissioning bodies to recognise that there’s a strong appetite for experimental work like this. Sydney is home to a wealth of talented creatives, and it’s time for the city to embrace more opportunities like this one.
Can’t wait to find out what you are working on next.
We can’t wait to share some of our upcoming projects with you. We have some real bangers in the works. Thanks always for the support. We have a lot of love for the DN fam!
