My Brilliant Career (STC) ★★★★★

Book by Sheridan Harbridge and Dean Bryant. Music by Mathew Frank and Lyrics by Dean Bryant. Based on the novel by Miles Franklin. Melbourne Theatre Company & Sydney Theatre Company. Roslyn Packer Theatre. 21 Mar – 3 May, 2026.

Why is it titled My Brilliant Career? Because My Brilliant-Ecstatic-Defiant-Poetic-Ambitious-Uplifting-Hilarious-Heartwarming-Beautiful Career doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. But it is all those things, and more.

My Brilliant Career arrives in Sydney fully formed, off the back of two successful Melbourne runs and more critical stars than you can poke a telescope at. But not every adored Melbourne show makes its mark here. Sometimes it’s something transcendent, like Red Stitch’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? And sometimes it’s… well… Bloom! So I walked in filled with anticipation — but not entirely with confidence.

Miles Franklin’s story of a country girl pushing against everything the world throws at her holds an almost mythic place in Australian pop culture — from the turn-of-the-century novel that became a touchstone for generations of young women, to the iconic 1979 Gillian Armstrong film that launched Judy Davis to international acclaim. Transforming it into a contemporary musical is no small undertaking. But this troika of creatives — Bryant, Frank and Harbridge — take their lead from their own lead character: they rush in with a gleeful lack of reverence that busts the story wide open.

Musically, the show is eclectic to a fault, criss-crossing genres without falling into pastiche. What elevates it above mere genre-play is the canny way the creative team — along with director Anne-Louise Sarks — use music not just to move the plot or reveal a character’s thoughts, but to actively manipulate the audience’s perceptions. It’s that sophistication which makes this one of the best new Australian musicals in years.

The design is impeccable. Marg Horwell’s sets and costumes are elegant in their simplicity — never empty, never unconsidered. Amy Campbell’s choreography brings an organic physicality to the piece, along with some genuinely funny comedic beats (a particular shout-out to Cameron Bajraktarevic-Hayward’s remarkable leg work). Anne-Louise Sarks’ direction is alive with the kind of micro-moments that only emerge from a genuinely free rehearsal process. No element is missing.

As Sybylla makes clear from the outset, this is “a yarn” — a story told directly to the audience, with the cast of actor/musicians filling the stage with movement and music, slipping between characters and instruments with complete ease. Kala Gare inhabits Sybylla’s skin so seamlessly she disappears — rambunctious and arrogant on the surface, achingly yearning underneath. Her performance is acrobatic: physically, emotionally, and vocally.

But what gives it genuine weight is the way the show allows Sybylla to grow. As she experiences more of life and slowly matures, My Brilliant Career takes on weightier territory — arriving finally at the question that drives every young artist: why do I write? What is the point of art? The answer she arrives at is almost spiritual in its execution.

Raj Labade gets to flex like a theatrical Swiss Army knife — swoon-worthy leading man, comedic foil, vocal and instrumental star. (He is also, not incidentally, extremely gifted with a bullwhip.) He embodies the audiences attraction and bewilderment to Sybylla’s iconoclastic ways with a gentle charm.

But the performance I find myself most wanting to single out is Melanie Bird’s. Across the evening she inhabits a whole host of different characters, from Sybylla’s younger sister Gertrude, a gloriously bratty M’Swat child, the cosmopolitan Blanche, and more — while also understudying Sybylla and playing a range of instruments. It is a performance of ebullient range, delivered with complete ease.

My Brilliant Career has something too many Australian musicals — and plays and films and television shows — lack: an artistic ambition that refuses to stop at “good enough.” Rather than retreating to easy quirk-comedy or knowing pastiche, it dares to be great on every level. And it succeeds. Accessible and smart, bold and inviting — and at its heart, a questing exploration of the birth of a young artist, told by artists who know exactly how that feels.