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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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Written by Alan Harris. Presented by Secret House in association with Bakehouse Theatre Company. KXT on Broadway. 11-26 Sep, 2026.

“Do we have a certain amount of light, and when that’s gone, we’re gone?”

Jimmy (James Smithers) and Kitty (Jane Angharad) are stuck in Newport, Wales, dreaming of different lives. Jimmy is in his 30s, living with his mother and working in Newport’s only drive-through donut shop. Kitty is a phone-sex worker saving to go to university. At first, their phone conversations are purely sexual, but over months the socially awkward Jimmy shares more about himself than just his fantasies — until one day Jimmy wakes up to discover that his hands have disappeared…

There is a surreally silly sweetness to Alan Harris’ short play. Beneath the magic lies the loneliness of people lost around the edges of modern life. Maybe the best you can hope for in life is a wank and a donut?

I couldn’t help but think about another KXT show from earlier this year, Gary Owen’s Romeo & Julie, another Welsh story of a young couple trying to find a path to a better future, and in some ways Jimmy & Kitty could be their older/multiverse versions. Both plays are filled with simple, honest heart, but where Romeo & Julie had the advantage of youthful optimism, Jimmy & Kitty feels like desperation has clawed deeper into their psyches, leading to a fantastical finale.

Jimmy & Kitty’s story is helped along by a particularly dry-tongued “Greek chorus” — Renée Billing, Pita Lolohea and Kira McLennan — who double as supporting characters. Director Braiden Toko uses James Smithers’ set of light boxes and mirrors to create an intimate space that bridges the physical separation between the characters. They rarely look directly at each other, but the connection always feels strong.

In many ways this is a slight work. Just over an hour long (I won’t lie, I rejoiced at the running time) and focused on a simple story, it would be easy to dismiss were it not for the easy elegance of the comic writing and the charm on display from the whole cast.

While the ending of How My Light Is Spent reaches for a beautiful, magical conclusion to these characters’ pain (and it is nice to indulge in a beautiful fantasy), only one feeling really remains… melancholy. Real life can’t be this poetic in the end.

Presented by Doppelgangster. Sydney Fringe. Fringe on the Rocks. 9-20 Sep, 2026.

N.B. – I’m not giving star ratings to Sydney Fringe shows.

I wasn’t going to review Cold War 2.0. I walked out of the theatre bewildered, frustrated and annoyed — while feigning mild bemusement to my friends who attended with me. I really wasn’t going to write this review because I felt like I had nothing to say about a show that is bombastic and seems to say so much — but I just couldn’t grasp it in any form that would translate to anything approaching a “review.” As I write this, I’m still not sure I will post it — is this a review? We’ll find out.

But then, as I was sitting in the afternoon sun, unironically listening to Mariah Carey’s seminal EP “MTV Unplugged” (I’ve rediscovered my CD collection) I was struck by one of my favourite quotes:

“Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.”

No, that’s a lie, the quote I thought of is actually “Talking about love is like dancing about architecture,” which is a misquote from a mediocre 90s movie I secretly love (“Playing By Heart,” starring Gillian Anderson, Sean Connery, Angelina Jolie and many more). But then no one has any idea whose quote it is, or where it started originally so it’s all fair game really.

And I realised why I was struggling to wrap my limited mental faculties around Cold War 2.0. I was trying to write about a piece of art that felt more like a dance work than traditional theatre. I was trying to be literal, linear and considered in the face of something that was never designed that way. Suddenly all my feelings and frustrations clicked into place — what if I stopped trying to understand its words and simply felt the performance.

I have no idea if that is what provocateur collective Doppelgangster had in mind, but that is how I responded to the work, and all responses are valid in art so fuck what they think.

Cold War 2.0 made me feel stupid, with its offhand references to political theory, philosophy and other smarty-pants blah-blah I never studied. Cold War 2.0 made me angry because it made my ears ring incessantly from the screams of music (I’m calling this a musical by the way. Cold War 2.0 is a punk musical, whether they fucking like it or not). Cold War 2.0 made me sad. Sad at the flailing impotence of rage, sad at the ineffectual nature of art to create change, sad at the fact that Sydney’s theatre scene is so narrow that we rarely get work with this much emotion, rough power or devotion.

Don’t get me wrong — I kinda hated the whole damn thing. I would not go back to watch it again. But I love the fact that it exists and refuses to conform.

Take the lyric: “Titannic was an inside job. Never was an iceberg. Never was a god.” – what does god have to do with it other than forming a slant rhyme? Urgh – funny lyric, but also still annoying for its imprecision.

I felt uncomfortable by design (the paranoia of losing your phone, or the fear of being pulled up on stage, or even dancing in public) but the question is, what was the point of that discomfort? Falling back to those safe and familiar critical maxims — What is the artist trying to do? Are they doing it well? Is it worth it? The answers are, ‘I don’t know’, ‘I don’t know’ and ‘if that’s your kind of thing’, but they were definitely doing something with a lot of sweaty gusto.

Like a screaming baby, it may not be the most nuanced or effective way to communicate, but you get the idea pretty quick — I’m hungry, or I just shat myself.

What I can confidently say is Cold War 2.0 is a show that I saw. After that, you’re on your own — buy a ticket and see for yourself. Or don’t. Up to you. But if you do — take ear plugs!

P.S. I hope performer Tobias Manderson-Galvin’s ribs are okay.

P.P.S. Don’t be fooled by the promo image, there is no polar bear in the show.

P.P.P.S. Oh crap, they’re going to use “I just shat myself” as a pull quote aren’t they?

Written by Emily Steel. Sydney Theatre Company. Sydney Opera House Drama Theatre. 5 Sep – 17 Oct, 2026.

Despite the domestic double-meaning of the title, Housework is less about washing, ironing, vacuuming and cooking – although there is discussion of all of those – it’s about the ways the greasy pole of politics changes people. Idealism is cute and all, but power is better.

Anna (Emily Taheny) is the hard-working chief of staff for a first term MP in a marginal seat, Ruth Mandour (Susie Youssef). Along with Media Advisor Ben (Laurence Boxhall) and junior staffer Kelly (Franca Lafosse) she tries to keep Ruth on the straight and narrow – not an easy task. To help Ruth table her first bill, Anna uses her past relationship (professional and otherwise) to get time with a senior Minister, Paul (Johnny Nasser). But when Paul’s attentions are more focused on the young and naive Kelly, rather than Ruth’s women’s health bill, a scandal is brewing that could topple the PM (Indira Naidoo) and make or break careers.

I love a political comedy. Shows like Yes, Minister, Veep or The Thick of It still hold up today because the nature of politics doesn’t change. The mix of power, greed and vanity brings out the most ridiculous in people. Let’s face it, you need to laugh or you’ll cry.

What Emily Steel has managed to do with such finesse is tackle a lot of tricky topics with a lightness of touch. Questions of consent mix with toxic work cultures and big questions about the calculus of power without ever feeling didactic. And best of all, it doesn’t rely on obvious answers or two-dimensional characters to make its point. This comedy sings along without short-changing the issues at hand.

These are the kinds of comedic performances that I love to see. Heightened but still rooted in character and humanity, they’re real-ish people in extraordinary circumstances, not caricatures waiting for a punchline. It’s easy to laugh with, and at, them because we’re also feeling a whole range of emotions along with them – anger, frustration, attraction, love.

At the play’s core, Taheny and Youssef play things straight, full of wry wit as they try to work together. Taheny’s Anna is trying to balance motherhood and marriage with her life in politics, while Youssef’s Ruth just wants to make her mark and improve the lives of women. But it’s the satellite duo of Boxhall’s Ben and Lafosse’s Kelly where things shine even brighter.

Franca Lafosse’s over-enthusiastic and wide-eyed Kelly has a heart as big as her mile-wide grin, and her brilliant characterisation keeps the audience wondering – is she hopelessly idealistic and being taken advantage of, or is she a grown woman capable of making her own choices? As she learns some life lessons the hard way, Lafosse takes Kelly through a whole range of emotional states without losing her core innocence.

On the other end of the spectrum is Laurence Boxhall’s media-manipulating Ben, a harried but friendly presence till he isn’t. It’s another nicely layered performance that keeps revealing itself as the play goes on.

But really, it’s the script that makes Housework work so well. It’s tight, it’s funny, it’s balanced like one of those fancy Japanese kitchen knives, and just as cutting. The political faithful and the political agnostic will both have fun with this one.

Written by Sophie Davis. World Premiere. Sydney Fringe. The Old Fitz. 1-11 Sep, 2026.
N.B. – I’m not giving star ratings to Sydney Fringe shows.

Watch the end of a relationship. And the start of a relationship. And the middle of a relationship. In a non-linear story of love, trauma and mental health. The end may be a foregone conclusion, but the pain is in the details.

We meet Andi and Sasha in a waiting room. Andi is chasing to have a medical procedure to erase her memories of Sasha. Her now ex-girlfriend Sasha is against the whole thing. We then flash back to their “meet-cute” in a hospital years earlier when they both suffered concussions. We see their friendship, then their love, grow — but it’s clear Andi has demons haunting her, and despite their best efforts, sometimes simply forgetting someone seems like the easiest way to deal with the pain.

The concept is pure Charlie Kaufman / Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but the vaguely sci-fi premise of a medical procedure that can erase people from your memory is simply a background MacGuffin. In many ways Forget Me, Please reminded me more of the slow intertwining and breaking apart of a relationship in all its brutal detail, à la Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story.

The interesting twist is in casting two performers who are maybe best known for their work in musical theatre. Shannen Alyce Quan, an alumna of Six, The Dismissal and a host of Hayes shows, has been hitting our main stages in dramatic works like Holding the Man at Belvoir and Doubt at STC to great acclaim, and gives a beautifully tortured performance that slowly reveals its depth. Against her, Kala Gare, the fireball of energy that powered MTC/STC’s My Brilliant Career (and also a former Six queen), brings the light and dynamism. They’re a well-balanced duo, and their chemistry keeps Forget Me, Please moving.

Designers Isobel Sanby & Chris Davis have created a multi-faceted set that made my Tetris-loving heart sing with its clean lines and myriad of combinations (although they do make for some elongated scene transitions). Jessica Meier & Alex Meier’s sound design fills in the gaps and gives us an instant sense of place as the play jumps through space and time. Combined, they make for an interesting show.

Which is vital, as there is a lack of dramatic tension to the story. Starting at the end of the relationship may add a layer of intrigue, but playwright Sophie Davis’ script struggles to back up that initial premise with a story of equal strength. Andi and Sasha’s relationship is fairly mundane, and the story’s discussion of trauma and its lingering effects never builds to a suitable climax. In the end, the play can’t quite get us up to the level to justify the opening scene.

What Forget Me, Please showcases both Shannen Alyce Quan and Kala Gare as dramatic performers who have more to offer than just their powerhouse vocals. I’m curious to see them take on even more nuanced and dynamic roles in the future.

Written by Izzy Azzopardi. Jezebel Productions. Sydney Fringe. The Actor’s Pulse Playhouse. 1-5 Sep, 2026.

N.B. – I’m not giving star ratings to Sydney Fringe shows.

I’m going to be honest – if you’re thinking of seeing Sorry I’m Late, or already have tickets, then stop reading. It’s impossible to discuss without spoilers and it’s much better to go in knowing nothing.

You have been warned…

Okay, if you’re still here that’s on you.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Izzy Azzopardi (Traffic Light Party) pulls apart her own psyche in the 70-minute two-hander Sorry I’m Late, about a writer pulling apart their own psyche. Time is running out to make an impact, be an artist, build a career, build a life… it’s a shame she keeps getting distracted.

Directed by Rebecca McNamee (Abigail Williams/Dirty Rotten Scoundrels), the lights come up on a room mid-conversation (or is it?) between Dorothy (Azzopardi) and Mackenzie (Jessica Garnett). But Mackenzie has no memory of how the conversation began. Or how she got to be in the room. Or why her shoelace is tied to a chair. What is clear is that Dorothy knows more than she’s letting on, and for all her therapist-like prodding and questioning, something unusual is happening.

Told in a succession of short scenes with blackouts, we follow Mackenzie as she tries to find out what’s happening, and why Dorothy keeps talking about her life in the past tense. Is she in a hospital? Is she dead? Is this all happening in her mind?

After an intriguing start, Azzopardi’s script starts to ramble, before bringing itself back for a fun third act (the show was originally billed as being 60 minutes, and it feels like that would have been the ideal length). Like all “puzzle box” stories, there’s a risk that the secret will underwhelm when finally revealed, and there is a little of that here. This feels like a fun writing exercise that has taken on a life of its own, but after a bold, existential opening, what’s revealed to be the travails of a young creative in an early-life crisis feels less urgent.

Both Azzopardi and Garnett give solid performances in bringing the script to life, helped by Tait Gibbons’ sound design, Lila Browning’s lighting and Daisy Hughes’ production design, which all hit the brief.

Sorry I’m Late is an interesting look at the hurdles of living a creative life that feels like the stub of something deeper and more fun — like the central artist themselves, this story has room to grow.

Book by Abe Burrows, Jack Weinstock, Willie Gilbert. Music and Lyrics by Frank Loesser. Based on How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying by Shepherd Mead. Presented by LPD Productions in association with Hayes Theatre Co. Hayes Theatre. 28 Aug-27 Sep, 2026.

It’s won the Tony. It’s won the Pulitzer. It’s a classic comic satire of the rise of corporate culture and the smoke & mirrors that disguise the hollow fictions of capitalism – skewering the business charlatans who scam their way into positions of power, maybe even politics. It’s a show that could speak to the modern world with a wink and smile. But the new production of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying opts for a shallow, simple reading.

J. Pierrepont Finch (Jake Speer), a window-washer seeking to improve his prospects, starts reading the self-help book, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, giving him step-by-step tips on how to rise up the corporate ladder. Through a mix of cunning, gumption, and good timing, Finch manages to run rings around his boss J.B. Biggley (Simon Burke), his corporate rival Bud Frump (Max MacDonald), and the girls in the secretarial pool. But surely someone will see through his fakery? Right?

The cast is stacked with hidden treasures lurking in the ensemble, doing great work in smaller roles. Georgia Laga’aia has fast become my favourite Laga’aia for her knock-out vocals as the show’s love interest Rosemary Pilkington. She’s joined by Noni McCallum’s Miss Jones and Stacey Thomsett’s Smitty – two side roles given oodles of character and charm.

Christine Mutton’s costumes are a real stand out, hitting the bold colours and cuts of the era with flare. Dominic Foffani’s set is impressive, but suffers from a lack of practicality – the scene changes are a clunky rush of furniture rearranging that gives the show a heaviness that fights the breezy comedy.

I’ll be frank, this is simply not the kind of musical theatre I enjoy, and while it shows signs of how the medium would change over the 60s – growing deeper, telling more complex stories – How to Succeed succeeds in simply being twee and quaint. Cute 60s sit-com touches, and funny songs can only get you so far.

I just couldn’t warm to the lead character of Finch, despite Jake Speer’s performance. A character of no redeeming qualities, whose finest point is that he’s not as bad as the other male characters. It’s a low bar. And without that investment, the show’s nearly three-hour running time was keenly felt.

While not a failure on any technical level, this is a failure of ambition. In an age ruled by corporate & political charlatans who hide behind a technocratic illusion, the lessons of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying are a little tone deaf.

Book, Music & Lyrics by Laurence O’Keefe & Kevin Murphy. Based on the film Heathers by Daniel Waters. Presented by Bill Kenwright Ltd, Paul Taylor Mills, GMG Productions and Stoddart Entertainment. Roslyn Packer Theatre. 1-19 Sep, 2026.

September 1st, 2026. Dear Diary, just when the stench reeking from the previous cadaver of a movie-turned-musical has cleared, another rolls into town… but wait… seriously Cultural Binge, what’s your damage? Could it be that Heathers: The Musical is actually, genuinely good? Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw!

If the thought of turning the 80s troubled-teen classic into a high school musical makes you squirm, you can unclench – against all odds, they’ve made this one work. The dark comedy of the film has been given the primary-coloured satirical treatment of a pop/rock musical – this is Sweeney Todd mashed with Legally Blonde (with whom it shares a writer).

Heathers has reached Sydney with its fandom at fever pitch. With a cleverly timed opening night (landing on September 1st, “Heathers Day” – the day of Veronica’s first diary entry), the show has already been known to generate legions of young fans. In London, audiences complained about the level of screaming that drowned out dialogue at some performances. And it’s easy to see why the show connects to MT-teen-fangirls. With a cast of characters close to their own age, and a score full of big belting songs that I guarantee are on every drama student’s audition list, the show is almost perfectly designed to tap into their dreams and aspirations.

On that level, Heathers shoots and scores. It’s sexy – plenty of short-skirted girls and shirtless boys for the audience to ogle. The tunes are satisfyingly big belters – every song hits a high note worthy of the finale of The Voice. It’s subversive enough to avoid being cloying but also cleaned up enough that you can still bring your parents. There is no smoking. My favourite line from the film “If you want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly” is absent bar an oblique reference in one of the lyrics.

And this cast can sing! Emma Caporaso, who as Veronica Sawyer rarely leaves the stage, has come out of the gate as one of our brightest new stars. With vocal and comedy chops that feel well-honed, and an appealing charisma that draws you in – she instantly stands out compared to our other young leading actresses who, for all their powerful vocals, leave me cold on stage.

Conor Beaumont’s brooding, angular J.D. is a fantastic counterpoint, towering over the cast with disdain and a what-a-cruel-world-let’s-toss-ourselves-in-the-abyss type attitude. Calista Nelmes, who instantly impressed as Maureen in the recent tour of Rent, makes for a formidable Heather Chandler who again has to balance the vocals with the cartoonishly-bitchy comedy. The ensemble play into their pantomime high school personas of 80s Swatch dogs and Diet Coke heads with glee.

Heathers is proof that touring musicals don’t need to be high-tech extravaganzas that cost a fortune to move round the country. The staging is charmingly lo-fi, with the ensemble constantly wheeling the set in and out of position. Maybe the failing blockbusters can learn a lesson – keep it simple, cast for talent not “celebrity” and play to smaller houses – it seems to be working. [An aside – did you hear the complaint that theatre critics killed the Waitress tour? Please, we wish our critical-angst bullshit had a body count!]

With the sausage-factory roll out of movie-to-musicals the original film is usually the show’s best friend, and worst enemy (same difference). But somehow O’Keefe and Murphy have made the film dialogue work on stage without coming across like a punchline waiting for a laugh. A lot of that credit has to go to director Andy Fickman who pitches the show just right to relish in the musical theatre excess and satire without simply trying to put the film’s big moments on stage and expect the audience to cheer.

It’s actually annoying that Heathers is so damn good. Just when you think it’s safe to write off the “myriad” of lazy movie-to-musical adaptations we’ve been assaulted with (I’m still not over how pointless & cynical Pretty Woman was, and don’t get me started on London’s The Devil Wears Prada that we can only pray never makes it over here), along comes one that reminds you these musicals aren’t all awful. In fact, I think I’ll be going back for a second viewing.

Head First Acrobats. Sydney Fringe Festival. Entertainment Quarter, Fool’s Paradise, The Virago. 22 Aug – 11 Oct, 2026.

If you stepped out of a screening of Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey wondering where all the gods were, look no further. They have been made flesh, a lot of flesh actually, at Sydney Fringe where they’re getting up to all sorts of high-flying hijinks. Yes, it’s the Return of the Godz — they’re back and they’re ready to party.

What was once a four-piece, has now had its members swollen to five as Cal Harris, Thomas Gorham, Liam Dummer, AJ Saltalamacchia & Mat Piva channel the Greek gods and one demi-god. They are here to play hard and dazzle us with feats of strength, balance, skill and gravity-defying aerials.

But what makes Head First Acrobats stand out from many other “sexy circus” acts is their sense of humour, bringing a larrikin/juvenile silliness to events. The dick jokes abound along with plenty of camp flirting and teasing of the audience. The nudity will put a smile on your face.

If you saw the show back in 2024 it’s still much the same, with some additional acts woven in – including AJ Saltalamacchia’s knife throwing and Mat Piva’s fire act. This time around, Head First Acrobats are building on their international success, with a larger performance tent and a six-week run at Sydney Fringe. They’ve also brought back their Rated-G show All Star Circus with a focus on more family-friendly acts (more clothes, fewer knives).

It’s clear the audience was having a ball, from the identikit 30-something Darlinghurst gays, the duos of 40-something straight women having a giggle, the intrepid adult kids bringing their mum, even the bewildered straight men who obviously had no idea what they were getting themselves into. The circus talents are impressive, the camp nonsense is just the cherry on top.

So if you’re in the market for some raunchy physical comedy mixed with some cunning stunts, Return of the Godz might be just what you need.

Written by Timmy and Sophea Op. Flight Path Theatre. 25-29 August, 2026.

Apart from having the best title of any play this year, Magic & Sphen: The Unofficial Story of Sydney’s Gayest Penguins, or, The Gay Penguin Play manages to also possibly be the most adorable. Riffing off the real-life Magic & Sphen, the world’s first gay penguin couple in captivity, who lived at Sydney Sea Life Aquarium, the play messes around with form and content to bring us a tap-dancing, fourth-wall-breaking, sitcom-inspired tale of queer family.

Magic (Timmy) and Sphen (Sam Martin) are the performing hits of Sea Life Aquarium, drawing crowds of humans to watch them. But despite having been nesting together for years, Sphen’s best-friend-since-hatching, Judy (Holly Horsfall), hasn’t put two and two together. Now that Sphen is thinking of stepping back from the performing world to have a chick of their own, it’s putting pressure on the relationship, and it feels like the dream couple are at risk of losing it all.

Magic & Sphen is stupid, and heart-warming, and sad, then heart-warming again, then sad again — okay, there are some structural issues, but by this point I was so invested I didn’t really care. Watching two adult performers in penguin outfits dancing to a 90s power ballad against a backdrop of romantic photos had me hooked.

Despite the ridiculous set-up and the fringe-budget execution, director Casey Elder manages to keep things simmering at just the right level of silly and sincere. Timmy and Sophea Op’s script juggles gay parenting, homophobia and a bunch of penguin jokes with a charming lightness of touch. The dinner party scene is an exercise in absurd beauty.

Timmy and Sam Martin sell Magic and Sphen’s relationship as one of gay lovers moving into a new phase together. After sacrificing his own dreams to support Magic’s performing career, Sphen wants to start a family. Meanwhile his best friend Judy is showing clear signs of homophobia that threaten to ruin their friendship. They’re all real enough dramas to invest in — the fact they have beaks on their heads is beside the point.

The MVP of the whole affair is Dominique Purdue as the kid-friendly, overly enthusiastic penguin handler having to treat the human-sized cast as if they were pint-sized penguins. It had me giggling the whole time.

But for all the love, the structural issues are actually real. The story hits its emotional peak early and Sphen’s fate gets revealed twice. For a story that has been paced so well, it’s the only real speed bump.

Magic & Sphen is simply a joy. It’s a shame the show’s season was so short, and I really hope we get to see Magic & Sphen staged again soon.

Written by Miriam Battye. Sharehouse Productions. Flight Path Theatre. 25-29 Aug 2026.

Dating sucks. And that reality is the fuel behind Miriam Battye’s caustic rom-com Strategic Love Play, which sees two singles drop the pretence to get what they really want… but will it actually work?

An unnamed Woman (Georgia-Paige Theodos) and Man (Caleb Jamieson) meet in a bar for a blind date. He’s recently single after his girlfriend moved to America (it’s more complicated than that), and she’s been single dating for so long she has no more f*cks to give. He’s nice. She’s sarcastic. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. All she wants is some honesty. Over 70 minutes, they talk it all out.

Strategic Love Play is a single conversation that ducks and weaves its way around the world of dating. It’s well-worn territory, but Battye skips the usual moaning about dating apps and gender politics and homes in on the hypocrisy underneath it all — dating requires people to subtly lie about themselves to try to impress another person who is also subtly lying about themself. What if everyone just spoke the truth, laid all their weird deal-breakers on the table, and asked for the things they really want?

Despite not having character names, the Man and Woman are not universal stand-ins. The two characters are constantly being layered with depths, slowly revealed to the audience. Thankfully, Theodos and Jamieson are both charming enough to hold the audience for 70 straight minutes of chat, and good enough actors to deliver these roles with nuance and a sense of fresh discovery.

Director Ava Rusch has a nice sense of timing that keeps this conversation from feeling stale, finding new ways to keep the characters physically moving (although I was horrified the moment Woman left her credit card unattended on the bar table). In a wonderful display of the extravagances only fringe theatre can afford, the stage includes four other couples sitting at tables who do nothing but fake “rhubarb-rhubarb” conversations in half-light to fill out the space. Kudos to the ensemble for pitching in with little personal reward.

Sound Designer Otto Zagala brings a mix of bar ambiance and subtly changing music that helps to give the scene dynamics (oh, and a quote from me in their bio! Lol, that’s a first, I think). Similarly, lighting by Lila Browning conveys a warmth and intimacy to the large Flight Path stage space.

Miriam Battye’s dialogue is a fantastic showcase for performers, giving the two leads space for comedy, romance, heartbreak and drama, making for an easily entertaining hit of theatre.