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Welcome to Cultural Binge
The rating system is simple:
★★★★★ – Terrific, world-standard. Don’t miss.
★★★★ – Great, definitely worth seeing.
★★★ – Good. Perfectly entertaining. Recommended. Individual mileage may vary.
★★ – Fine. Flawed and not really recommended, but you may find something to appreciate in it.
★ – Bad (& possibly offensive).
See more reviews over at The Queer Review.
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W (Old Fitz) ★★★½
Written by Madelaine Nunn. World Premiere. New Ghosts Theatre Company. The Old Fitz. 29 May – 14 Jun, 2026.
Big ambition is at the core of W, the AWFL themed play at the Old Fitz. Both the ambition of the players and their coach in the story, and ambition in the writing that could easily step out of the black box space onto a larger stage.
Rosie (Shannon Ryan), the team captain of an AWFL team, is at the peak of her career. She’s a media spokesperson, a wife to her teammate Alex (Grace Smibert) and a role model for younger players. She and Alex are trying to have a child, which doesn’t always fit with the schedule of an athlete and is causing the pressure to mount at home as well as on the field. Things only get worse as the team unity is starting to wobble with the addition of a new member, Casey (Celesté Cortes-Davis) who quickly earns the nickname “Mouth” for her outspoken attitude. As the team head to the Grand Final Rosie starts to realise she may not be able to get everything she wants in life.
Danielle Cormack & Shannon Ryan. Photo: Phil Erbacher. The strength of playwright Madelaine Nunn’s writing is her willingness to withhold. Together with director Rachel Chant, the themes of the play are ever-present but never over-laboured. The relative lack of respect for women’s sports, the creepy attention from male fans, the players’ sexuality and more are handled with a frankness that doesn’t try to milk them for obvious and well-worn drama. Nunn’s focus is on the characters and the combination of female ambition with the shifting realities of life.
And what’s in the design waters at The Old Fitz this year? It feels like every set designer has raised their game in transforming the space into something new. This time Meg Anderson gives us a high energy locker room with bold colours and clean lines, accentuated by Luna Yuet Yee Ng’s lighting. Sound by Clare Hennessy brings the stadium energy to the small stage.
Shannon Ryan & Celesté Cortes-Davis. Photo: Phil Erbacher. The cast each give us clear, distinct characters. Ally Morgan’s Brigid, juggling motherhood and sport and using physical activity as an emotional release she can’t find anywhere else, is a real highlight. Shannon Ryan gives Rosie a focused, stoic outlook that crumbles as she has to ask herself what she really wants out of life. Celesté Cortes-Davis makes an impact as the ambitious but undisciplined Casey pushing past others on the way to her goal. And Danielle Cormack’s Coach Sue is a well-pitched balance of comedy and heart.
As the play progressed I started to question the title W. I assumed it stood for “Women”, but it could easily stand for “Why”, “What’s next” or “Who am I?” There are big questions lurking just underneath the battered skin of this sporting drama and it’s a rich field to play in.
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Alfred Kouris and Harry Stacey Bake a Cake (Old Fitz Late) ★★★★★
Created & Performed by Alfred Kouris & Harry Stacey. World Premiere. Presented by Irregular Programming. The Old Fitz. 2-7 Jun 2026.
What’s with the culinary-themed theatre at the moment? Broadway has the transfer of London’s Two Strangers (Carry a Cake Across New York) and we’re about to get the dessert pie-themed Waitress in Sydney – but if you want bang for baked buck, there is only one late night stop to sate your theatrical munchies and it’s the Old Fitz.
Alfred Kouris and Harry Stacey Bake a Cake does exactly what it says on the tin – over the course of roughly 70 minutes, Alfred Kouris and Harry Stacey bake and ice a three-layered cake from scratch. It’s part morning TV segment, cooking reality TV competition, lip-sync for your life, computer game, surreal variety show, and a love story, that ends with, you guessed it, a cake to share with the audience.
Photo: Braiden Toko. I have no shame in saying it – I was more invested in both the friendship of Alfred and Harry, and in the fate of the cake, than I have been in most plays I’ve seen recently. Something about this insane show drove me to 80s-rom-com-punch-the-air joy. Strangely this is a show filled with an unbridled sense of hope (and the ghost of a fictional chef).
Photo: Braiden Toko. As Alfred and Harry vamp to pass the time as the cake bakes in the on-set oven (with a countdown ticking above their heads) things inevitably go off the rails – and these two young men keep things loose and unpredictable. Along the way we get a group singalong, some choreography, interactive mobile games and emotional drama. It’s hard to tell where the scripted moments end and the ad-libs begin, and that fluidity makes this genuinely “lean in” theatre. There may not be much plot, but there is a Mixmaster full of jeopardy.
Photo: Braiden Toko. For my day job, I have worked on reality TV cooking shows (new season of MKR coming soon), and this is by no means the most chaotic cook I’ve watched unfold live, but it is easily the most entertaining. As they parody cooking shows and lip-sync to clips of famous TV chefs I was left in stitches. I demand a longer season, I demand spin-offs — Alfred Kouris and Harry Stacey Make a Sunday Roast, Alfred Kouris and Harry Stacey Make a Pavlova…
I’m rushing this review out (I left the theatre just over an hour ago) as this initial run at The Old Fitz has a painfully short shelf life so you’ll need to be quick, but if we’re lucky this isn’t the last we’ll see of Alfred Kouris and Harry Stacey. I say this as both a theatre reviewer and as a producer of reality TV cooking shows – this is a must see.
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Prima Facie (Roslyn Packer) ★★★★★
Written by Suzie Miller. Griffin Theatre Company & Andrew Henry Presents. Roslyn Packer Theatre. 3-21 Jun, 2026.
Theatrical juggernauts are a rare thing, especially juggernauts that start in Australia, but Suzie Miller’s one-woman legal drama Prima Facie is nothing short of a phenomenon – and it’s back for a victory lap in its original form with Sheridan Harbridge back in the lead.
Tessa (Sheridan Harbridge) is a confident, you could say cocky, defence barrister who excels at playing “the game” of law. She believes in the legal system, and dispassionately argues the case of her clients. When she finds herself on the other end of the system, as the victim being cross-examined, she sees the flaws in the law that she believed to be pure.
Sheridan Harbridge. Photo: Brett Boardman. At this stage, there isn’t much left to be said about Miller’s global smash hit (Olivier Awards, Tony Awards, AWGIEs) that hasn’t already been said. Few plays can take credit for changing the legal landscape, with Prima Facie now mandatory viewing for new judges in Northern Ireland, and the formation of the UK group The Examination of Serious Sexual Assault (TESSA) by female barristers to rewrite legislation. The impact has been broader still in raising awareness and advocacy for clearer consent laws and educating audiences on the complex matters of sexual assault cases.
And it all stemmed from this one-woman show at Sydney’s Griffin Theatre back in 2019.
If you’ve never seen the show, then it simply is a “must see”. This is the most significant Australian work of the last decade, probably longer. If you saw the Jodie Comer-led London or Broadway productions (or the NT Live broadcast) it’s worth revisiting both for the sheer power of the play, and to see the original while you can. Think of the Comer version as “The Force Awakens” to Harbridge’s original “Star Wars” – it’s a flawed analogy but I’m sticking with it.
There is a simplicity to this restaging of Lee Lewis’ original direction, in the larger space of the Roslyn Packer – it trades in The Stables Theatre’s intimacy for a sense of scale and power. When Tessa stands alone under a spotlight you feel her isolation. When she swaggers across designer Renée Mulder’s clean open stage with pride, you feel her power fill the space. Paul Charlier’s audio work floods the imagination, while Trent Suidgeest’s lighting has a subtlety that speaks volumes.
Sheridan Harbridge. Photo: Brett Boardman. It seems almost wrong to talk about how funny and entertaining Prima Facie is, due to the severity of its subject matter and the importance of its message about sexual assault. But the truth is, Miller’s script and Harbridge’s performance bring an enormous amount of light and shade to the story – making the 90-minute running time fly by.
Harbridge’s chameleonic performance brings the cast of characters to life, painting a detailed picture of Tessa and her world – and the key to Prima Facie is the moment Tessa directly addresses the court and lays out the show’s thesis in clear, concise language. It’s almost as if Tessa steps away and Miller herself takes the stage to plead with the audience to understand: the system doesn’t work for these cases. When so many playwrights hide behind ambiguous endings or an emotional sleight-of-hand to avoid tackling big issues, Miller boldly makes her case. It’s utterly compelling and convincing.
In short – go and see it. The hype is real, and the reality more than lives up to it.
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Sheltering (Bangarra) ★★★★
Choreographed by Frances Rings, Glory Tuohy-Daniell, Daniel Mateo and the Dancers of Bangarra Dance Theatre. Sydney Opera House. 3-13 Jun, 2026.
Three different existing works are expanded and brought together by their thematic connection to First Nations cultural legacy in Sheltering, the new full-length show from Bangarra Dance Theatre, that celebrates the breadth of form in the community.
Keeping Grounded. Photo: Daniel Boud. The opening piece, Keeping Grounded (choreographed by Glory Tuohy-Daniell) focuses on the literal, physical connection to land – the earth beneath our feet. The most recent of the three works performed, it was first created in 2023 before being reimagined and expanded for the Joan Sutherland Theatre stage. Opening with a writhing mass of bodies released as a giant net is raised into the sky – there is a fiercely kinetic energy to the movement – a sharpness of execution that blends contemporary, commercial dance motifs into the storytelling. Shana O’Brien’s design, the rippled netting that gives texture to the dark stage, gives the work a dramatic sense of height, allowing the dancers to suspend in the air without defying the gravity that connects them to the ground. Of the three works, it was my favourite – I was left wanting more.
Brown Boys. Photo: Cass Eipper. The second work, the stunning short film Brown Boys by Daniel Mateo, is possibly the most exciting of the three for its sheer, refreshing change of form. Brown Boys is poetry, told through words and movement, captured by excellent direction, design and editing. There is a well-planned elegance to its execution (the slow transformation of Elizabeth Gadsby’s set itself has a choreography all its own). Filmmakers Cass Mortimer Eipper and Liam Brennan bring a sympathetic and emotive lens to Mateo’s words and movement. There is a richness of tone to the video-work that amplifies Mateo’s poetry, which affirm the beauty and power of brown skin – elevating Brown Boys from a “music video” into video art in its own right. It’s only six minutes long, but those six minutes are beautifully realised.
Sheoak. Photo: Daniel Boud. The major work of the night is Frances Rings’ Sheoak, first developed in 2015 in response to the Abbott administration. Of the three works in Sheltering, Sheoak carries the most weight – there is a defiance and pain that runs through it that now, more than 10 years on from its first staging, acts as a reminder of broken promises. From the symbolic use of suspended wooden beams, to the ethereal glow of a blanket of light – the piece transforms across its 48 minutes. While I feel like Sheoak perhaps starts to dip into indulgences at times, it is still a work of rebuke and resilience, of the long memory of culture, and of the power to stand – and even generate new hope – against pressure.
It’s another beautiful collection of works from Bangarra Dance Theatre that demonstrates their breadth of dancing and choreographing talent across generations. Sheltering revives the old through the new (new voices, new dancers, new media) and shows that legacy can form a strong foundation for the future.
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Tootsie (Teatro) ★★★½
Book by Robert Horn. Music & lyrics by David Yazbek. Based on the movie by Larry Gelbart, Murray Schisgal & Don McGuire. Teatro at the Italian Forum. 26 May – 21 Jun, 2026.
Sydney is in the midst of a Yazbek sandwich — the second David Yazbek musical opening in as many days on either side of the CBD. This time it’s the 2019 adaptation of the 1982 satirical gender-equality comedy Tootsie, now receiving its Australian premiere at Teatro. But times have changed significantly since both the film and the Broadway opening. Can Tootsie survive an update?
Struggling actor Michael Dorsey (Andrew Bevis) is a dick. His argumentative, self-righteous, self-absorbed nature makes him impossible to work with. When his ex-girlfriend Sandy Lester (Alana Tranter) complains about her audition for the role of Juliet’s Nurse in a new Broadway musical, Dorsey decides to audition for the role himself — in drag. To everyone’s surprise, he gets the part. One problem: he’s falling for his co-star Julie (Elenoa Rokobaro), who only knows him as an older female mentor. As the pressure mounts, Dorsey must choose between success as a woman or love as a man.
Brendan Irving, Lachlan O’Brien & Elenoa Rokobaro. Photo: Robert Miniter. Designer Dan Potra has traded the sequin-heavy look of The Prom for a wall of lights that alternately mimics a New York skyline or the colour-flash of a Broadway musical. Wig designer Helen Thatcher is working overtime — I’ve seen worse wig work in major commercial shows; here things look comedically elevated but always professionally slick. Director/choreographer Cameron Mitchell fills the stage with colour and movement, using the show’s large, talented ensemble to full effect.
On its own terms as a musical comedy, Tootsie is witty and fleet-footed, and this production goes to town with it. This isn’t Yazbek’s best score, but it’s a lot of fun — there’s a touch of the mania of Women on the Verge and the wordplay of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, and songs like “Opening Number” and “Jeff Sums It Up” combine classic musical theatre motifs with funny lyrical subversions. Tyran Stig steals the show as Michael’s best friend Jeff — he gets the best lines and lands every one. Lachlan O’Brien is equally delightful as the lothario director Ron, his contempt for everyone around him perfectly calibrated. Andrew Bevis has the difficult task of playing the unlikeable Michael in drag, vocally leaping from his normal range into falsetto — a complex juggle, and one that plays directly into my critique of the show.
Chris Huntley Turner & Andrew Bevis. Photo: Robert Miniter. Here’s the problem: Tootsie is working on two levels, and only one of them holds up.
Eighties cinema was filled with condescendingly well-meaning comedies about terrible men learning to be less terrible — please don’t try to watch the utterly misguided race “comedy” Soul Man — and the results vary. Within that tradition, Tootsie the film was one of the more thoughtful examples; its heart mostly in the right place. By the time it hit Broadway in 2019 the world of gender was already a far more contentious place, and the musical was tying itself in knots trying to honour the film’s big moments while addressing its flaws. In 2026, those flaws are only more evident.
Elenoa Rokobaro. Photo: Robert Miniter. The awkward irony is that in a musical ostensibly preaching gender equality, the female roles are shockingly underwritten. Rokobaro is under-utilised as Julie — a featureless love interest with next to no agency — and Tranter’s Sandy is saddled with the role of the neurotic ex-girlfriend. Meanwhile the show’s feminist commentary is almost entirely delivered by men: Michael speechifies about gender inequality, Jeff provides the woke asides. It’s the creative equivalent of mansplaining sexism to women. For all its good intentions, the show has nothing more to say about gender inequality than a few quips about Dorsey taking a pay cut because they think he’s a woman.
Which brings us back to Michael Dorsey, who is — as mentioned — a dick.
Tyran Stig & Alana Tranter. Photo: Robert Miniter. The show tells us he’s a talented performer, as if talent were an excuse for bad behaviour, and seems to believe that putting on a wig means he understands womanhood. But his deeper flaw isn’t that he’s sexist — it’s that he’s fundamentally self-absorbed, and that doesn’t change because he puts on heels. He ends the show exactly as he began it: chasing his own goals. A difficult protagonist isn’t automatically a problem — Groundhog Day works precisely because Phil Connors’ nastiness is directly tied to his arc. He is selfish; the plot forces him to a place of transformation. By contrast Michael Dorsey’s selfishness isn’t addressed. The wig is a plot device, not a cure.
My advice? Put your gender-critical brain to sleep for the night and head to Teatro for frivolous fun. Taken purely as drag comedy with silly jokes and belting tunes, Tootsie is an easy night at the theatre. It doesn’t bear thinking about too deeply.
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Continuity (New Theatre) ★★★
Written by Bess Wohl. New Theatre. 26 May – 20 June, 2026.
Art clashes with commerce and climate change in Bess Wohl’s scattershot black comedy, Continuity.
Indie film director Maria (Michelle Robin Anderson) is living the dream. Her wordy, dramatic spec script about climate change has become a big budget star vehicle for studio darling Nicole (Jessica Joseph-McDermott). But with big budgets comes big expectations and the arrival of her screen-writer ex, David (Nick Curnow), who has turned her drama into a full-blown action blockbuster. All Maria wants is to get the climactic confrontation shot before they lose the light but the annoying science advisor Laurie (Susan Jordan) has some issues with the increasingly unhinged script…
Photo: Bob Seary. Industry comedy mixed with existential dread is an unusual mix for a stage show, and Continuity never quite finds a way to have its cake and eat it too. But while the script struggles to juggle its many competing goals, this production is having fun bringing the movie-making chaos to the stage.
The trio of in-story actors Jessica Joseph-McDermott, Andrew McLaughlin and Sarah Nader have fun skewering the film industry’s on-screen talent while Nick Curnow and Michelle Robin Anderson reveal the chaos off-camera. A special shout out to Noah Rayner, whose slyly passive-aggressive First AD is a nice touch.
Jessica Joseph-McDermott & Nick Curnow. Photo: Bob Seary. Director Sahn Millington leans into the absurdity of the film-within-a-play’s terrible dialogue, while grounding the off-camera angst with a refreshing believability. David Marshall-Martin’s set is beautifully clean and layered, with shimmering plastic in the place of an ice shelf.
But Bess Wohl’s script is a mishmash of issues stuck in an endless loop. Structured around multiple takes of the same scene, the play’s central thesis — about how many of the attempts to educate the public about the climate crisis lose their focus — is ironically lost in the distraction of the plot set-up. The audience walks away with more investment in the fictional film, than the large scale crisis that motivates it.
Andrew McLaughlin & Jessica Joseph-McDermott. Photo: Bob Seary. When Continuity does start addressing the issue at hand, it feels like a heavy-handed left turn into hopelessness that feels even more depressing now than it would have back in 2019 when the play premiered. Laurie’s final speech strikes a tone of defeatism that threatens to suck the air out of the room.
Conceptually there is an elegance to Wohl’s premise — using a film set to show how we humans are distracting ourselves with token messages on repeat but never face the reality in front of us. Despite some cracking dialogue and laugh-out-loud moments, the execution lacks a clarity of thought.
The air of pessimism and frustration that fuels Continuity could have birthed a black comedy with bite, but the result is a bit more milquetoast than that. Despite the strengths of this production, and some fine performances (especially from Anderson and Curnow), the funny, film industry parody never truly connects with the social messaging to form a fully satisfying whole.
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Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (Hayes) ★★★★
Book by Jeffrey Lane. Music and Lyrics by David Yazbek. Based on the film written by Dale Launer and Stanley Shapiro & Paul Henning. Presented by Redfern Lane Productions in association with Hayes Theatre Co. Hayes Theatre. 22 May – 21 Jun 2026.
Go back to a time when grifters were charming and handsome, and not just Russian bots or slaves in scam farms somewhere in Southeast Asia. Urgh… modern life sucks – I’d rather escape to the musicals.
Welcome to Beaumont-sur-Mer on the French Riviera, an enclave for the rich and bored, and prime hunting ground for debonair con-artist Lawrence Jamieson (Blake Erickson). While he’s slowly fleecing the uber-rich widows, he spots a gauche American scammer, Freddy Benson (Rowan Witt) working nearby and worries that this is the infamous competitor known only as “The Jackal”. Deciding there isn’t room for both of them in this small town, they agree to a bit of friendly competition. The first person to swindle $50,000 from clumsy American heiress Christine Colgate (Kristina McNamara), “The American Soap Queen”, can stay and the loser has to leave town. As the competition escalates, they’re both about to get more than they banked on.
Rowan Witt, Kristina McNamara & Blake Erickson. Photo: John McCrae. I’m a fan of the Tony and Grammy Award winning David Yazbek’s work, which includes Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, Tootsie and the recently and shamefully overlooked Dead Outlaw. The score for Dirty Rotten Scoundrels has some of my favourite musical theatre songs, “Give Them What They Want” and “Here I Am”. Plus, the 1988 Michael Caine and Steve Martin film was one of my favourite films as a kid. But that kind of love and attachment can sometimes work against a new staging.
Thankfully, this production feels not only fresh but also reverent to the tone of the original. A lot of the success comes down to Jeffrey Lane’s witty book that manages to adapt the film without feeling like a cheap photocopy (*cough-Pretty-Woman-*cough). The wordplay comes fast and furious, and Yazbek’s lyrics follow suit. This is a show to listen to for the loving way the dialogue and songs have been crafted. There is a knowing touch of the absurd about it all.
Blake Erickson & Aurélie Roque. Photo: John McCrae. The three leads, and three main supporting performers (Aurélie Roque, Jordan Shea & Scarlet Lindsay) each put their stamp on the material. Director Rebecca McNamee has cast for comedy chops as well as vocal skills and it pays off. There is a sharpness to the humour that elevates the show above other musical comedies – an attention to timing that gives the show an edge over even other terrific recent Hayes comedies.
The double act of Blake Erickson’s suave stoicism and Rowan Witt’s physical comedy skills is wholly satisfying to watch. Witt’s malleable facial expressions go to battle with Erickson’s arched eyebrow to see who can get the bigger laugh. Watching them wage war on each other is pure gleeful joy. Witt adds a layer of youthful charm to Freddy that gives him a likability even when he’s being despicable. They are matched by Kristina McNamara’s delightfully guileless Christine – whose vocals range from big MT belting to soulful balladry.
Blake Erickson & Scarlet Lindsay. Photo: John McCrae. Along the way we get some brilliant MT set pieces, like “Oklahoma” (a scene-stealing moment from Scarlet Lindsay), the ridiculous “All About Ruprecht” and the double-crossing “Ruffhousin’ Mit Shüffhausen”. Not all the tunes work however, Freddy’s big intro “Great Big Stuff” lacks the lyrical finesse of other numbers and its reprise can’t carry the weight the plot needs it to, and “Like Zis/Like Zat” treads water.
Soham Apte’s set design evokes European wealth with a clever onstage revolve (that is perhaps overused, but once you’ve paid to have it installed you want to get your money’s worth I guess). Angelina Daniel’s costumes have an elegance with neat character traits. Along with James Wallis lighting, the show looks fantastic.
Kristina McNamara & Rowan Witt. Photo: John McCrae. The result is another big win for Hayes. Dirty Rotten Scoundrels has a tighter focus than David Yazbek’s Women on the Verge… and a more satisfying plot, while holding on to that same high energy. With Yazbek’s Tootsie premiering at Teatro, that just leaves his acclaimed The Band’s Visit and cult-hit Dead Outlaw waiting to be brought to Australia. May the theatre gods be kind and send them to us soon.
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Edward Albee’s At Home At The Zoo (Flight Path) ★★★
Written by Edward Albee. Joe Theatre. Flight Path Theatre. 20-30 May, 2026.
Well this is a great theatrical curio. Edward Albee’s two connected one-act plays, written more than 40 years apart, claw away at the veneer of civilised manners. Beneath the comforts of Manhattan’s educated elite, darker impulses are waiting.
We open with Albee’s 2004 prequel piece, Homelife, in which married couple Peter (Will Johnston) and Ann (Helana Sawires) form a new, honest connection around their baser instincts. Their comfortable Upper West Side life is slowly driving Ann to drink. As she tries to encourage Peter’s animal lusts it’s a tug of war between humanity’s bestial nature and its domesticated nurture.
In Act 2, we get Albee’s 1959 The Zoo Story, following straight on from Homelife, in which Peter has taken his book outside to Central Park to read in peace. That peace is short-lived as he is disrupted by Jerry (Evan Lever), a quirky and explosive man who has just visited Central Park Zoo and is unnervingly keen to tell Peter all about it.
Will Johnston & Evan Lever. Homelife treads familiar territory for fans of Albee. The echo of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf’s George and Martha haunts Peter and Ann, as Ann goads and prods her textbook-reading husband into action. Ann’s opening “We should talk…” sets up a conversation that reveals the travails of marriage — a waning sexual life, banal medical woes and existential wanderlust. Peter describes their conjoined lives as a “smooth voyage on a safe ship,” but they are both being numbed by their comforts and routines.
It’s classic Albee dialogue that bristles with barely contained aggression and contempt, delivered with a diabolical glee by Sawires. Her repressed sexuality clashing with his scholarly calm — “You’re very good, I just wish you could be bad sometimes.” There is tension, but no teeth to their chat. It’s about discovery, not destruction. The repartee between Sawires and Johnston takes a while to spark, not helped by their relatively quiet delivery competing with the sound of planes and the theatre’s large space. When it does, though, the scene comes alive.
Helana Sawires. The older The Zoo Story shows the hallmarks of a younger, more aggressive mind. The undercurrent of danger is palpable as the unpredictable Jerry effectively monologues, telling long stories of the seedier side of Manhattan life. It all feels like a prelude to something terrible. Lever conveys Jerry’s uneasy over-familiarity with a pugnacious, attention-grabbing edge. He’s a storyteller, a manipulator, and it’s clear the book-smart Peter is no match for the street-smart Jerry.
Director James Litchfield keeps things stripped back and simple, with elegantly minimal production designs, focusing on performance and text – which is a good fit for these plays that are all about language and subtext. At times the performances pitch themselves a bit too subtle for the space (as if they are acting for the camera in close up, rather than playing to a wide room). The comedy still lands but there is room for elevation still. Lever’s powerful performance in The Zoo Story shows a strong handle on the material and its ebbs and flows.
Evan Lever & Will Johnston. Taken all together it’s an intriguing double act that is intellectually engaging. How has Albee raised the stakes for The Zoo Story by fleshing out Peter — and how does that change if you encounter the two plays in purely chronological order, with the 1959 work first and the 2004 prequel after?
And you see the cares of ages creep through the juxtaposition of the two plays. Younger Albee is clearly more invested in the convention-busting Jerry than in the mild-mannered Peter. Jerry bursts with youthful energy and creative chaos. But the older Albee has come to Peter’s lived experience more fully in Homelife. Peter is no longer a cipher, a counterweight to Jerry — he is his own man, with an interior life as rich as his antagonist’s.
The result is two thematically connected vignettes that feel like a theatrical curiosity, a scholarly exercise in writing, rather than a piece of compelling drama in its own right. The core of both pieces is pure Albee — a distaste for civilised conventions and sterilised homogeneity — but they lack the narrative propulsion of his best works.
For the theatrically minded, seeing this rare Albee on stage is a must — you may not get another chance for quite some time. For general theatregoers it may be a less satisfying watch.
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Savior (Griffin) ★★★★
Written by Happy Feraren. Griffin Theatre Co. Belvoir Downstairs Theatre. 16 May – 14 Jun, 2026.
Jesus — or is that J.E.S.U.S. — takes the wheel in Happy Feraren’s deliciously funny disaster comedy Savior, which looks at the gap between good intentions and best practices.
Michelle (Chrissy Mae Valentine) works for an American NGO called SAVIOR, helping to coordinate relief efforts after a natural disaster. From the luxury of a five-star hotel room, she is doing the work of the LORD (the Lead Officer for Revenue Development), reporting to white tech-bro Joe, her personal JESUS (Joint Emergency Systems & Uplift Strategist, played by Michael Whalley).
When her best friend Janna (Chaye Mogg), out of boredom, makes Michelle a fake Tinder profile, she matches with the thoughtfully messianic Joe. Can Michelle’s hero-worship become romance? And what about poor Jobert (Mark Paguio), stuck on the ground in Tacloban handing out aid packages while Michelle is having a poolside date-slash-offsite-team-update with Joe?
Michael Whalley & Chrissy Mae Valentine. Photo: Brett Boardman. Rarely has a white saviour complex been so literal. Feraren relishes in using Christian iconography to drive home the message of self-ordained Westerners swooping in to help “victims” while raising millions of dollars those same people will never see. Over 90 minutes she aims her satire at everyone, mocking the fetishisation of white people (“Is he hot, or just white?”), the idolisation of westerners, and the transubstantiation of greed into altruism — and vice versa. Throw in some political corruption, corporate inhumanity, and tone-deaf Big Tech, and you’ve got yourself a solid, modern comedy.
Kenneth Moraleda directs with precise timing, keeping the jokes rolling. The cast make a decadent feast of the witty dialogue and awkward situations — never stretching or screeching to make the comedy land. Mogg’s scrappy, chaotic Janna is a delight, a fantastic counterweight to the serious and yearning Michelle. Whalley’s Joe (and assorted other white guys) is a milky cocktail of clueless earnestness and blithe privilege. Paguio manages to turn on a dime as the long-suffering Jobert, moving from waifer-thin politeness to camp glee to finally devastating grief. Together they keep the sitcom rhythms humming.
Chaye Mogg & Chrissy Mae Valentine. Photo: Brett Boardman. One of the joys of Griffin’s takeover of Belvoir’s Downstairs Theatre is seeing the space used to its maximum potential, and Savior continues that trend. On a chilly evening, the stacked lighting rig warms the place up nicely (strong work from BROCKMAN), Hailley Hunt’s set design has some neat tricks up its sleeve and DOBBY’s sound design gives the small space texture. Some scene changes take time, but the show earns more than enough goodwill to carry you through the pauses.
The satire itself is however relatively thin. Feraren is painting with a broad brush — her critique of white saviours doesn’t wrestle with the murky, complex web of incentives, needs, and motivations that make up the world of international aid. Savior flirts with grey areas but doesn’t commit to any of them; it is a comedy first and foremost (and a damn funny one at that), content to echo easy truisms rather than dive into messy truths.
Chaye Mogg, Michael Whalley, Chrissy Mae Valentine & Mark Paguio. Photo: Brett Boardman. And if the church-baiting humour gives you pause, rest easy: Feraren is mocking blind faith in organisations, not in God. The script stops well short of blasphemy — give or take a stigmata or two.
Taken purely as a comedy, Savior serves up ecstatic bliss. It may be reciting a familiar self-mocking liturgy for comfortable progressive audiences, but it’s doing so in fine voice. The show has the freshness you want from a new work, and this quartet of performers will keep you giggling for 90 minutes straight.
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Sonder (Old Fitz)
Book & Lyrics by Riki Lindsey. Music by Mitchell Sloan. World Premiere. Presented by Berlage & Co. The Old Fitz. 15-23 May, 2026.
Alexander Berlage’s set and lighting for Sonder are a stunning ballet of metallic sails and swirling light, and thank god for them — they were almost enough to carry me through the accompanying 60 minutes of lifeless personal epiphanies. All that glitters etc…
Romeo (performed by writer Riki Lindsey) is a gay Māori man arriving at a moment of realisation. Looking back at the traumatic events of his life, he finds his way to a place of peace and a capacity to forgive those who wronged him as he comes into his own.
Riki Lindsey. Photo: Jessie Obialor. His journey is told in disconnected snippets — as though you’re skipping through a film you’ve lost interest in, dropping into scenes without context or connective tissue. The show seems to be reaching for poetic abstraction but instead comes across as disjointed.
This is not a traditional musical and shouldn’t be judged as one. It’s closer to a sequence of non-sequiturs with a soundtrack and occasional vocals. The music is well produced, but the lyrics are repetitively flat and the melodies sometimes sit awkwardly outside Lindsey’s vocal ability. Even accepted purely as mood music — emotional atmosphere with no narrative obligation — the songs outlast their welcome, getting in the way of scenes and emotions instead of amplifying them.
Riki Lindsey. Photo: Jessie Obialor. The result is a cold, lifeless art installation straining to tell a human story: a boy whose childhood was stolen from him, who struggled to connect. The staging works against the narrative’s needs. The sharp architecture discourages human proximity. The cool mechanical pulse of the electronic score, pleasing as it is on the ear, conveys no warmth. The show has the visual language of a polished music video but none of the human connection that live theatre uniquely offers.
It’s this lack of dramatic narrative or emotional connection that sinks Sonder before it even has a chance to swim. It’s hard to invest in a story that withholds story. It’s hard to care for a character who is cloaked in shadows and half-light who we never get a chance to really know.
Style over substance, then: the show mistakes atmosphere for meaning. The technical elements all over-deliver, but they can’t fill the void at the work’s centre. I always appreciate a bold swing, and I had high hopes for this show when it was announced, but it’s a clear miss.
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Cultural Binge 