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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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Guys & Dolls (Handa Opera) ★★★★
Book by Jo Swerling & Abe Burrows. Music & Lyrics by Frank Loesser. Handa Opera on Sydney Harbour. 21 Mar – 20 Apr 2025.
Do you ever forget how much you like a show? Guys & Dolls has been burned into my brain over the years, so much so that I take it for granted. This show is fast, funny, and full of some of the best tunes in musical theatre. Now, blown up to Sydney Harbour scale, its colourful characters take on epic proportions.
Handa Opera on Sydney Harbour Guys & Dolls. Photo: Neil Bennett. I approached this embiggened production slightly wary, unsure how Guys & Dolls would work on such a large scale. Add to that the fact that I’ve seen so many productions of Guys & Dolls, ranging from school halls to West End blockbusters (and the groundbreaking, immersive 2023 Bridge Theatre, London production, which remains one of my all-time theatre highlights – I’m listening to the cast recording as I write this). Would this urban fable sink or swim on Sydney Harbour?
There is a simple charm to the rom-com complications, filled with twists and turns, bolstered by some sharp dialogue. Most musicals flounder with simplistic or lazy scripts, but Swerling and Burrows keep the script for Guys & Dolls tight and full of zingers. Sure, some of the humour has dated, the sexual politics are decidedly questionable, and some of the language feels peculiar to modern ears (all based on Damon Runyon’s short stories), but in the exaggerated space of Brian Thomson’s set, the show’s implausible plot feels right at home.
Angelina Thomson. Photo: Neil Bennett. Angelina Thomson dazzles as the ditzy and lovable Miss Adelaide, a euphemistic “hot box dancer” with a perennial cold that may come from dancing every night in her underwear, or possibly from a psychosomatic reaction to the fact that she’s been engaged to her boyfriend for fourteen years. Thomson not only belts her tunes so the stars above can hear her, but her broad comedy also lands perfectly – it’s easy to read those big expressive eyes, even from the cheap(ish) seats.
Annie Aitken gets less to work with as the romantic lead, Sister Sarah Brown, but has fun when Sarah lets her hair down. Some nice vocal work too as the drunk Sarah slips into a more earthy register, rather than her prim & proper earlier tones. When Sister Sarah and Adelaide form an unlikely friendship, they become joyously unstoppable, asserting their own agency over the story.
Cody Simpson & Bobby Fox. Photo: Neil Bennett. Bobby Fox is great as Adelaide’s no-good gambler boyfriend, Nathan Detroit, a sympathetic, lovable cad. Cody Simpson’s Sky Masterson makes a strong visual and vocal impact but lacks the megawatt charm needed to command a pack of unruly retrobates on such a big stage.
The real show-stealer is, perhaps unsurprisingly, Jason Arrow as Nicely-Nicely Johnson. One of the great musical theatre comedy roles, Arrow manages to sneak sly moments of extra humour into his scenes before blowing the metaphorical roof off the place with “Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ The Boat” – the show’s best number. It’s worth the price of admission alone. They should have saved the customary fireworks for the song’s finale!
Jason Arrow. Photo: Neil Bennett. Director Shaun Rennie has played with the musical, adding some unique touches that keep things fresh. Lt Brannigan (Thomas Campbell), usually a one-note grumpy cop, gets instant laughs with a new speech impediment, as does General Cartwright (Naomi Livingston), who has become a rather randy revivalist. Some queer touches to Sarah and Sky’s visit to Cuba help push back against some of the more regressive, 1950s elements of the story. Not every original idea hits these high notes, however, with a weasely, coked-up Big Jule (Doron Chester) failing to intimidate or amuse.
Cody Simpson & Ensemble. Photo: Neil Bennett. The big numbers are where this production truly impresses. From Adelaide’s Hot Box numbers to the whole company performing “Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ The Boat,” the stunning choreography of “Luck Be A Lady” (Kelley Abbey’s work brings the stage alive), and the simple comedy of “Adelaide’s Lament,” it’s clear a lot of attention has been paid to elevate the key songs.
Brian Thomson’s set boldly reimagines the New York locale, dominated by a gigantic “One Way” sign looming over the stage (it was wonderful to see the band performing over the action below) and an oversized yellow taxi cab. But the open-air environment can’t fully capture the underground gambling sequences. The ‘Save A Soul’ mission set, however, felt like an afterthought.
Annie Aitken & Cody Simpson. Photo: Neil Bennett. While Guys & Dolls lacks the epic dramatic scale of West Side Story or The Phantom of the Opera, it has an old-fashioned, comfort-food warmth that is a welcome panacea to some of the real-world chaos right now. It’s big, it’s silly, and it’s the kind of comedy that’s easy to sit back and enjoy – especially with a glass of bubbles in hand and the Sydney Harbour Bridge in the background.
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MJ The Musical (Lyric) ★★★★
Book by Lynn Nottage. Music & Lyrics by Michael Jackson et al. Lyric Theatre, Sydney. From 25 Feb 2025.
No one has captured the pure joy and excitement of music quite like Michael Jackson. From pre-teen superstar to adult musical pioneer, MJ The Musical threads the needle between sugary pop perfection and a weighty examination of the man behind the mass hysteria. The result is a technically excellent piece of musical theatre that exceeds expectations. Put simply, MJ The Musical is… wait for it… thrilling.
I approached MJ The Musical with trepidation. Even before entering the theatre, it had three strikes against it: 1) It’s a jukebox musical, which I generally despise. 2) Its book is written by Lynn Nottage, a writer I don’t particularly enjoy. 3) Jackson’s legacy is tarnished by accusations of sexual abuse. Even the most generous viewer can’t completely avoid the ick factor.
Roman Banks and the ensemble of MJ The Musical. Photo: Daniel Boud. The show is set in the rehearsal room of Jackson’s groundbreaking 1992 Dangerous World Tour, when Michael was at the peak of his power. After the iconic triple hit of his first three solo albums—Off The Wall, Thriller, and Bad—the world awaited to see if he could continue the streak. 1991’s Dangerous was seen by many as a creative wobble: good but not on the same level as his past work. MJ The Musical is framed around a fictional interview with MTV, looking back at his earlier career and questioning him about the pressure to remain number one, as well as the many ridiculous tabloid stories about his life.
For most of Act 1, I felt the typical “biographical jukebox musical” pieces fall into place. Classic songs were presented as flashback performances, while others were slowly woven into the narrative as slightly awkward musical theatre songs, revealing inner thoughts and emotions. The show is part “covers concert,” part familiar history—all the usual elements you expect from a jukebox show.
Penny McNamee, Derrick Davis and Roman Banks. Photo: Daniel Boud. And it’s staged brilliantly, with many of the cast playing dual roles, often aided only by Natasha Katz’s expressive lighting design. Derrick Davis especially shines in his dual roles as Michael’s father, Joseph, and Rob, the tour manager. Derek McLane’s scenic design, combined with Peter Nigrini’s projections, is equally impressive, seamlessly transitioning scenes so subtly you barely notice. It was when these seemingly small, often overlooked elements began to add up that I started to appreciate the craft on stage. Yes, it’s a jukebox musical, with all the usual problems that entails, but it’s executed with art and precision.
Book writer Lynn Nottage and the creative team have been astute in their choices. Setting the show in 1992 allows them to avoid the abuse allegations, which became public a year later. It’s a sidestep, but a clever/cynical one, giving the show plausible deniability and letting Jackson’s legion of fans (and the audience in general) momentarily off the hook.
Roman Banks and the ensemble of MJ The Musical. Photo: Daniel Boud. The other advantage of basing the show around the Dangerous World Tour is that it limits the musical choices to Jackson’s glory days. While I personally enjoy some of the tracks from his later albums, they don’t have the same cultural impact as these early staples. As Michael strives to continuously raise the stakes on the tour and accomplish feats unheard of at the time (many of which are commonplace now), Nottage sketches out the image of a man driven to succeed by his personal pain. At its heart, this is a story about a boy and his distant, abusive father.
Act 2 is where the show really begins to shine. I’ve already mentioned the slightly awkward retrofitting of some pop songs into internal monologues, but once again, there is a smart use of the material to give MJ some psychological depth. A song you think has been featured and discarded in Act 1 makes a brilliant comeback in Act 2 for an absolutely show-stopping moment—you can probably guess which song I’m referring to.
Director/choreographer Christopher Wheeldon is a master at telling a story through movement (his choreography for An American In Paris remains one of my favourites— that dream ballet!). Reworking classic Jackson moves and creating new pieces that reference some of the greats, he draws clear connections between classic cinema, Soul Train, and Fosse’s style, all linked to Jackson. This show is electric, barely giving you a second to catch your breath.
Roman Banks and Josslyn Hlenti Afoa. Photo: Daniel Boud. The actors playing Michael are the heart and soul of the show. Roman Banks is astonishing as the adult Michael, and it’s clear why he was brought over from the US. He captures the humour and drive of the man, imbuing him with a humanity often missing in the caricatures we typically see. His vocal and dance performance do justice to the legend. Liam Damons radiates charm as Michael at his creative peak, making his solo albums while battling family pressure and industry indifference. Less guarded than Banks’s older version, Damons makes Michael both supremely likeable and sympathetic.
Josslyn Hlenti Afoa and Liam Damons. Photo: Daniel Boud. For many, the dark shadow of abuse allegations will hang over MJ The Musical, and while the show begs us to focus on the music rather than the man, it also goes to great lengths to suggest Jackson came to some kind of emotional epiphany (accompanied by The Man in the Mirror)—which is clearly false. Michael Jackson never changed his ways. His many demons remained with him to the very end.
There’s no denying the fact that this show excels on multiple levels. Michael Jackson’s influence and success are impossible to dismiss, ignore, or deny. He is also impossible to reduce to a musical, but MJ tries its hardest. The audience was ecstatic watching their musical hero come to life on stage (with the odd bit of drunken, rambunctious chatter and annoying singalongs – jukebox musicals tend to draw a less “theatrely” crowd).
The creative team have taken the limitations placed on them and made a show that is genuinely exciting and entertaining… it just depends on how much you care for Michael Jackson himself.
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No Love Songs (Foundry) ★★★
Music by Kyle Falconer. Book by Laura Wilde & Johnny McKnight from an original idea by Kyle Falconer & Laura Wilde. Foundry Theatre. Mar 7 – Apr 5, 2025.
Everyone’s life has a playlist, and this is Lana and Jessie’s. But don’t come to No Love Songs thinking this is some fun, pop/rock-infused, rom-com gig-musical. This show is less (500) Days of Summer and more Next To Normal, if you know what I mean.
Lana (Lucy Maunder) is a university student, working in retail and keen for a night out, when she sees Jessie (Keegan Joyce) fronting a band in a pub. It doesn’t take long for them to stumble home together. From there, things move quickly as a pregnancy turns their budding romance into a fully-fledged family. But the young couple aren’t prepared for how much their lives are about to change, and when Jessie goes on an international tour to make enough cash to support the new family unit, the pressure of raising a newborn falls solely on Lana’s shoulders.
Lucy Maunder & Keegan Joyce. Photo: Brett Boardman. No Love Songs has a classic “indie musical” feel. Its budget-friendly construction (two performers and an exposition-heavy book reduce the need for sets or costume changes) puts the focus on the talented leads whose personal charm is paramount. Moving the action to Australia is seamless (you wouldn’t know the show was originally set in the UK if you weren’t told), and there is a welcome warmth to both Joyce and Maunder, which helps to fill the large “black box” of the new Foundry Theatre.
Lucy Maunder & Keegan Joyce. Photo: Brett Boardman. Adapted from songwriter Kyle Falconer’s 2021 solo album No Love Songs for Laura—an upbeat slice of indie pop—the tunes are catchy, especially in the early moments. As the show progresses, it becomes clear that they weren’t written as narrative vehicles, like traditional musical theatre songs, and, despite some re-written lyrics, don’t always convey the plot or internal motivation effectively.
This becomes an issue as the show pivots from the meet-cute into the rocky realities of parenthood, which, to the show’s credit, are taken very seriously. No Love Songs is a darker show than the sweet imagery and cute tagline might suggest, and the songs and script struggle to find the right balance. The result is a series of lengthy monologues in which both characters tell the audience what’s going on rather than dramatising it, or using the music tell the story.
Keegan Joyce. Photo: Brett Boardman. Keegan Joyce makes a strong impression as the endearing but out-of-his-depth musician, Jessie. His voice is well suited to this material. Lucy Maunder has the tougher job of the two. Carrying the weight of a mental health storyline that literally saps Lana of her personality. It’s much harder to make her fully engaging and the middle of the show suffers from a lack of energy.
Musicals that really tackle mental health issues head on are few and far between, and No Love Songs admirably works hard to show us issues of postpartum depression with nuance and succeeds more often than not. The thing it’s most lacking is songs that get to the heart of the matter rather than being retrofitted to the moments.
Despite a strong start, fun tunes, and oodles of charm, the show can’t quite overcome these flaws in its construction. It has the guts of something unique and the ambition to tell a real story, but it needs to be set free from its pop-record origins to become truly satisfying.
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The Boys in the Band (Chapel Off Chapel) ★★★
Written by Mart Crowley. Chapel Off Chapel, Melbourne. 27 Feb – 15 Mar 2025.
Mart Crowley’s 60s gay classic The Boys in the Band has seen it all. It’s been adored, revered, filmed, dismissed, reviled, revived, filmed again… It’s the Cher of gay theatre. Does it still have something to say in 2025? Are modern gay men still full of self-destructive self-loathing? Are we just better at hiding it behind botox, wellness, and the mask of societal acceptance? Is that too deep a question to ask post-Mardi Gras?
It’s 1968, and a group of gay friends/frenemies gather to celebrate the birthday of Harold (Mason Gadowski), who is turning a ripe old thirty-two. Michael (Maverick Newman), the host, is holding it all together through blind determination and crippling credit card debt, helped by Donald (Jack Stratton-Smith), his handsome, neurotic ex. But when Michael receives a distraught phone call from his straight college friend Alan (Mitchell Holland) asking to come over and speak to him, he panics.
Jack Stratton-Smith & Maverick Newman. The Boys in the Band. Despite his seemingly open exterior, Michael isn’t out to everyone, and this gaggle of gays in his home will be hard to hide—especially the camp interior designer Emory (Ryan Henry), the studiously fey Bernard (Adolphus Waylee), and the loving/fighting couple Hank (Stephen Mahy) and Larry (Andy Johnston). And then there’s the gorgeous but scantily clad rentboy (Harry McGinty) that Emory has brought over as a gift… it won’t be the uptight Alan’s kind of scene. Or will it?
Director Alister Smith and designer Harry Gill have embraced the camp aesthetic of a Mardi Gras float. Walls of shimmering silver streamers, a bold red carpet with blue velvet furniture, and an ominous pop-portrait of Judy Garland staring down on proceedings—it’s time to “glitter & be gay.”
The cast of The Boys in the Band. At first, you’re left wondering if it’s “too gay” (is there ever such a thing? No!). Will this dazzling and distracting set handle the nasty drama to come? Excellent lighting by Tom Vulcan tackles the play’s sharp mood swings with ominous ease.
The cast attack the script with gusto. Maverick Newman steps right off the Murder for Two stage into The Boys in the Band with barely a change of outfit—his queer southern charm is still a joy to watch. As Michael, the play’s central character, he gets a lot more dramatic meat to chew on here, and his camp playfulness descends into shrill rage with frightening force. He proves there’s grit under the silliness worth a dramatic turn.
The cast of The Boys in the Band. Around him are a parade of gay caricatures—the outrageously camp one, the slutty one, the straight-acting one, the studious one, the insecure snarky one… all ready to snap at each other. In a room full of this much shade, it’s a wonder we can even see them.
The slow-building comedic farce is fun to watch as Michael’s fear hits peaks and troughs with each ring of the doorbell. But once we get past this, things start to lose steam as the cast and creatives struggle to reveal the heart of the play.
Harry McGinty & Mason Gadowski. The Boys in the Band. The Boys in the Band is a story full of self-loathing in which none of the characters are happy; they are snatching moments of happiness where they can. It taps into the fear and sadness of queer life pre-Stonewall and the Gay Liberation movement of the 60s and 70s, when gay men were only “free” behind closed doors, with the curtains firmly shut. There is a lack of depth to the despair on stage, which struggles to find firm footing under all the confetti.
Perhaps the fact that this relatively youthful production team doesn’t quite manage to translate that generational pain is a sign of progress—it’s not a time we ever want to return to.
The cast of The Boys in the Band. In a similar vein to the concurrent revival of Joanna Murray-Smith’s Honour at Red Stitch Actors Theatre down the road, there is a core truth to The Boys in the Band that keeps the play relevant today. Not everyone lives with the queer freedoms we have in the metropolitan centres of a liberal democracy (and even then, many people in smaller communities within our cities are still closeted for fear of exclusion), and there is power in recognising that and letting it inform a period piece like this.
This production of The Boys in the Band is colourful and as moving as a drag queen lip-syncing a ballad—it only goes so deep, but we get to have fun along the way. It’s an important piece of queer theatre (a gay Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) that deserves to be remembered for the way it helped change public perception of gay men in a time when they were hidden in the shadows of society. And some of the dialogue… oooh, you’ll be cackling all the way home.
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Honour (Red Stitch) ★★★½
Written by Joanna Murray-Smith. Red Stitch Actors’ Theatre, Melbourne. 15 Feb – 23 Mar, 2025.
It’s sadly a “tale as old as time”: a middle-aged man leaves his family for a younger woman. While Joanna Murray-Smith’s 1995 international hit Honour may show some signs of its age, it retains an emotional truth that keeps it relevant.
George (Peter Houghton), a much-loved and awarded journalist, is being profiled by Claudia (Ella Ferris), a fiercely intelligent 29-year-old writer. Around the edges is his wife Honor (Caroline Lee), a writer herself who hasn’t published in over 20 years, dedicating herself instead to raising their daughter, Sophie (Lucinda Smith), and caring for George. Their marriage seems bulletproof, built on love and mutual admiration. But when George announces that he’s in love with Claudia, recriminations arise. Is Claudia to blame? Is George being a fool? Has Honor given up her own creative career for nothing?
Lucinda Smith and Peter Houghton. Photo: James Reiser. It’s always useful to take a step back and revisit the basics before building on decades of thought, and that’s what this presentation of Honour does. It reminds us of the sexual politics and public debates that form the foundation of our modern view of relationships. It also starkly highlights the fact that these issues still occur, in exactly the same way, today. When Claudia points out that it’s “always the woman” who sacrifices for the man in a relationship, it still rings true in 2025, as women continue to bear the brunt of domestic duties even when both adults are working.
That’s not to say Honour is without its rough edges. Watching it today, one might yearn for the intellectual and emotional interrogation to dig deeper than it does. The dissection of love and relationships feels somewhat narrow these days.
Peter Houghton. Photo: James Reiser. In the intimate Red Stitch Actors Theatre, all attention is on the acting. In a space this size, performers can invest in micro-moments and nuance without the need to play to the cheap seats. When not involved in a scene, the cast sit or stand at the side of the stage, observing the action, always in character. Without the distraction of a set (the staging is reduced to a white stage with two chairs), all eyes are on the actors.
Peter Houghton is superb as the brilliant George, who is sharply self-aware but still falls into the middle-aged cliché of the mid-life crisis. His opening scene, full of stutters and changes of thought, is a lesson in open interiority. Each character’s thoughts and shifts are clear and honest, while maintaining the rhythm of the script. He is a man who “thinks through his mouth,” and this mass of text feels alive. As this seemingly self-assured man is rocked by the attention of a younger woman, his newfound insecurity is wonderful to behold.
Caroline Lee and Peter Houghton. Photo: James Reiser. Caroline Lee’s Honor travels a similar yet distinct arc, moving from wry observation to grief, then to self-reliance. It’s a suitably intelligent performance that benefits from the small theatre space, allowing her to live in the smaller moments. Honor is often quiet and thoughtful, which can seem passive, but here it represents a journey of a woman rising from within. When she bites back, it’s a delicious shock of unexpected energy, fuelled by her own disappointments.
Ella Ferris’s Claudia is a harder role to balance, often reduced to being an external agent of change, rather than a fully fleshed-out character herself. Murray-Smith’s script layers the role with complex motivations: she is a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman aware of her power but also deeply concerned about her own emotional capacity. Ferris plays the role broader than the others, which at times felt overly demonstrative against the smaller, subtler performances around her.
Ella Ferris. Photo: James Reiser. There is a coldness to Honour. The sharpness of Murray-Smith’s text is muddied by overly fast delivery; the humour is never given space to land, nor are the emotions allowed room to build. For all the talk of passion, George and Claudia’s romance feels more like a concept than a rush of excitement. Honor herself often seems depressed, and that depression dampens the atmosphere.
Is Honour still relevant? Yes. The emotional question at its core holds true as long as we live in a world where relationships end and new ones begin. Audiences will always approach classic plays with fresh eyes and minds, discovering new truths in the text. Built on excellent, lived-in performances, Honour will continue to strike hard at the predominantly middle-aged and older audiences who fill the theatre.
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Truth (Malthouse) ★★★½
Written by Patricia Cornelius. Malthouse, Melbourne. 13 Feb – 8 Mar, 2025.
Patricia Cornelius’ exploration of the power of whistleblowers and the intrusion of state power in Truth is powerful and portentous but ultimately so one-sided that it risks being dismissed as propaganda. With little new to say about the state of digital surveillance in which we live, it proves to be entertaining and lively. However, you can’t escape the fact that this is a simple hagiography through and through. We’re not here to debate Assange but to venerate him.
Five performers take to the dark, encaged stage to play the hacktivist hero (or traitor) Julian Assange. From his youthful days in Melbourne’s early computer scene to his eventual imprisonment and controversial plea deal, we move through Assange’s life, with extended stops along the way, in a recitative form—five voices speaking as one, finishing each other’s sentences.
Photo: Pia Johnson. The first thing that strikes you is the ominous set design by Matilda Woodroofe. An imposing metal gantry and wire fencing dominate the rear of the stage, above which hangs a screen displaying bold text. The edges of the stage are littered with microphones and cameras. The only other staging consists of five desks with old-fashioned computer monitors and keyboards. The cast dashes around and through this set with the clandestine fervour of a spy drama or revolutionary guerrilla war.
As a five-strong chorus, Emily Havea, Tomas Kantor, James O’Connell, Eva Rees, and Eva Seymour have very little in common other than the ill-fitting suits they wear. Notably, none have Assange’s recognisable shock of white hair. Their varying heights, ages, and appearances suggest that this version of Assange is the “everyman”—the activist in all of us. As the play progresses, each slips into secondary roles that suit their particular moulds (Edward Snowden, Chelsea Manning, etc.).
Photo: Pia Johnson. And it’s thrilling to watch. Director Susie Dee, a long-time collaborator with Cornelius, animates this wall of text with furious, but never needless, action. Cornelius’ text has a rhythm that the ensemble slips in and out of, giving it a natural flow. Yes, it’s a lecture, but it’s never a dull one.
The events around Wikileaks have been dramatised numerous times in film already, and while Truth anchors itself on Assange’s biography, it is more interested in the broader way the public is kept ignorant and reality is hidden from us all. A replay of violent drone footage, showing the US military killing and injuring civilians, hits hard—a reminder that this isn’t an abstract examination of concepts, but a literal life-and-death issue.
Photo: Pia Johnson. However, it’s in the tension between discussing Assange himself (including the allegations of rape) and the broader examination of deception and informed democracy that things get fuzzy. What is “truth” anyway? Is it facts without context, and who dictates that context? All storytelling is an act of manipulating attention, so can a play speak of “truth” while manipulating the audience to achieve its desired ending?
Photo: Pia Johnson. Sadly, for Assange and for the play, the idealistic notion that revealing information to the public can make the world better has proven to be shockingly false. Truth never grapples with the age of mass disinformation and “flood the zone with shit” politics. Nor does it tackle the erosion of faith in institutions, which has led to the fracturing of modern politics, the rise of conspiracy thinking (from Wikileaks to QAnon isn’t much of a leap), and the structural nihilism that is breaking down society.
With its laser focus on Assange, Truth lets bigger and more contemporary issues pass by without deeper examination, and that is perhaps my biggest frustration with the play. While it is undoubtedly an interesting and engaging piece of theatre, it strangely feels like a timely revival of an old play, rather than a new work for 2025. Assange is a fascinating figure in our history, and his work revealing the hypocrisy of the modern West is rightly to be applauded. However, its legacy is more complicated than Truth lets on.
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Never Have I Ever (Melbourne Theatre Co) ★★★★
Written by Deborah Frances-White. Australian Premiere. Melbourne Theatre Company. 15 Feb – 22 Mar 2025.
Lately, I’ve been bemoaning the lack of fierce, contemporary political thought in our theatres. Recent works tackling modern topics have felt more like one-sided polemics, with their conclusions locked in from the moment the lights go down, or overly polite pieces that lightly touch on thorny topics. I just wanted an intelligent playwright to dig beneath the surface and present ideas I hadn’t already read about or thought of myself. Finally, Never Have I Ever hit the mark!
Photo: Sarah Walker. Four friends meet up in a restaurant for dinner and an awkward conversation. Couple Jacq (Katie Robertson) and Kas (Sunny S Walia) are the owners who, after several years, have had to declare bankruptcy and close their business. Tonight, they’re breaking the news to their posh banker friend and major investor, Tobin (Simon Gleeson), and his wife, their university chum, Adaego (Chika Ikogwe). What starts off as a cheerful “What’s £120,000 between friends?” chance to drink the great wine in the cellar, turns into a raging, cocaine-fueled bender where long-held truths are spoken, and an indecent proposal is laid on the table.
Australian-born, UK-based writer Frances-White squeezes so much liberal discourse into one play that it’s dizzying to behold. Like having a wine-fueled evening with your most politically engaged, educated mates who love an argument, this conversation forces its fist down the throat of “wokeness” and not only deconstructs it piece by piece, but eviscerates it from within. Going beyond the platitudes and token gestures, it begins with a joke about which of the four of them is the most woke, and gleefully proceeds to find the hypocrisy in our liberal pretensions.
Photo: Sarah Walker. Is Adaego the most woke? She’s a Black woman in business, a master networker and a speaker for change – the perfect “identity politician”. Or Jacq, the bisexual chef who worked her way out of poverty to create her own business while holding onto her socialist ideas. Or Kas, the second-generation “respectable immigrant” who has dedicated himself to getting along, working hard, and making sure the women around him have their own voice. Or perhaps it’s Tobin, the cisgender, rich white guy who champions ethical investments from the back of his Ducati, donates his time, money, and space to marginalised people, and pushes back against the greed of the City (while still getting filthy rich himself). And when ethics meet cold hard reality, who will stick to their beliefs?
The script is very British… VERY British. Everything from collecting Nectar points (the UK equivalent of Everyday Rewards points), the Brexit vote, and the price of courgettes is used for punchlines that may or may not land with you, depending on your own knowledge. Names and places fly past, but most are easy to understand through context. The result, however, is that the pace of the comedy is sometimes thrown off by a micro-moment of confusion or reflection. As an ex-Brit, though, it hit every mark for me.
Photo: Sarah Walker. Frances-White knows how to plant a joke or plot point that will pay off later, and when to liven the mood with a dash of silliness. The text is sharp and funny, with moments that let the actors play. The most exciting part is how Frances-White never sacrifices the intellectual stance for the sake of a quick laugh. Jacq’s stance on her bisexuality never wavers (just because she’s in a relationship with Kas doesn’t mean she’s “gone straight”). Even the discussion about the ethics of accepting a small fortune in return for a sexual act is a complex dance of dilemmas ranging from bodily autonomy, capitalism, colonisation, and the status of sex work. Just as on her podcast The Guilty Feminist, Frances-White works through some complex thoughts on identity politics, social activism, cultural appropriation, privilege, relationships, feminism, and more while playing with them along the way.
All four cast members balance the heightened comedy with the cold, harsh edge of the drama playing out underneath. These aren’t “comedic performances,” but rather the comedy rises from the situation, heightened by alcohol. Both Robertson and Gleeson are chilling in their ability to turn from laughter to rage. They all know when to undersell a punchline and let the audience catch it—nothing is forced, nothing is false. It’s a joy to watch them play out this hilariously awful scenario.
Photo: Sarah Walker. Zoe Rouse’s costumes are brilliant signifiers for each character, but the expansive, multi-level stage design, while offering plenty of opportunities to stage conversations in different places, sometimes makes for long scene transitions that weaken the comedic pace. Director Tasnim Hossain grounds the comedy in character, elevating the presentation, but some moments felt too restrained. A moment of full-out farce seemed within arm’s reach and could have spiced up the evening with a bit more variety. When the play moves into dark drama, Hossain is on very strong footing, having done the groundwork with the characters earlier.
Despite its UK specificity and occasional pacing oddities, Never Have I Ever is one of the most interesting and funny plays I’ve seen in a while. It interrogates “the left” as only someone steeped in intellectual discourse can—not from a desire to fight against it, but in a desire to truly explore the thoughts and strengthen it from within. The fact that this discussion is hidden inside an utterly entertaining comedy and perfectly plotted drama is the cherry on the cake.
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Song of First Desire (Belvoir) ★★★½
Written by Andrew Bovell. Belvoir. 13 Feb – 23 Mar, 2025.
There’s a ghost haunting Song of First Desire. Well, two, actually: the Ghost of Stories Past and the Ghost of Stories Future. I’ll explain what I mean by that in a few paragraphs. All you need to know right now is that four utterly compelling performances are happening on stage at Belvoir, with Sarah Peirse shining like a star.
Borja Maestre & Sarah Peirse. Photo: Brett Boardman. The dual narrative of the play begins in present-day Madrid, where Carmelia (Peirse), an elderly mother, lives with her bitter adult twin children, Julia (Kerry Fox) and Luis (Jorge Muriel). Carlos has offered room and board to a Colombian man he met at the doctor’s office, Alejandro (Borja Maestre), who can help care for Carmelia. It doesn’t escape Julia’s notice that Carlos is infatuated with Alejandro, and she takes pleasure in manipulating her brother’s affections.
In flashbacks, we see events in 1968, where a mother, Margarita (Peirse again), confronts a wealthy couple about the events of the Civil War, in which she lost both a husband and a child. The scars of this conflict will be felt for generations to come.
Sarah Peirse, Borja Maestre & Kerry Fox. Photo: Brett Boardman. If the rough outline of the play sounds familiar, it might be because it bears a striking, albeit coincidental, resemblance to the plot of Counting & Cracking (the Ghost of Stories Past I mentioned earlier). A present day mother reflecting on the events of her youth in a country torn-apart by civil war. The resemblance is purely superficial, but once the thought crossed my mind, I couldn’t shake it. It was then that the universality of the story really hit home for me. It doesn’t take much for people to turn on one another—man’s inhumanity to man, and so on.
In the show’s programme, writer Andrew Bovell talks about the resonance of Spain’s unspoken trauma and the concept of Dos Españas or the “Two Spains”—in which two conflicting ideas of Spain exist side-by-side—and its parallels to Australia’s unresolved national colonial sins. But my thoughts were firmly rooted in the future, reflecting on what it takes for a civilisation to go from prosperity to mass murder.
The events of the Spanish Civil War and the authoritarianism of Franco’s regime are still recent history, and I couldn’t shake a feeling of dread when thinking about current politics and where the rise of fascism in 2025 might be leading us (the Ghost of Stories Future I mentioned). What would it take for Australia to descend into those depths? Will it be long before America falls over the edge? Was I just blindly fortunate enough to live in a relatively peaceful time in our history?
It’s a lot to process while watching a play.
Kerry Fox, Jorge Muriel, Borja Maestre & Sarah Peirse. Photo: Brett Boardman. I could have easily gotten lost in these thoughts if not for the riveting performances on stage. Sarah Peirse is mesmerising in her dual roles, effectively communicating the shifting time periods. Borja Maestre’s authenticity and conviction radiate anguish. Kerry Fox and Jorge Muriel deliver a toxic, codependent dynamic that is as funny as it is unsettling.
The dual, dovetailing narratives present an odd mixture. The 1968 storyline is a gripping, gut-wrenching tale filled with rage and politics, while the modern-day narrative edges toward a bitter familial comedy (reminiscent of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? or August: Osage County). At times, I struggled to find a tonal connection between the two. However, when the layers of exposition reveal the links, it is disturbing and disorienting to reframe much of what you’ve already seen.
Kerry Fox & Jorge Muriel. Photo: Brett Boardman. It was in the closing moments that the play started to lose me, as the events threatened to veer into melodrama, almost hitting misery porn levels. This last-minute piling on felt out of step with the rest of the play, which had carefully parcelled out its information slowly and deliberately.
As a cautionary tale of the depths to which humanity can sink, Song of First Desire is frightening. As an exploration of the personal impacts of historical events, it is both beautiful and upsetting. There is no denying how exceptional these four performers are, which makes this a rich and rewarding piece of theatre.
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Picnic at Hanging Rock (Sydney Theatre Co) ★★★★
Written by Tom Wright. Adapted from the novel by Joan Lindsay. Sydney Theatre Company. 17 Feb – 5 Apr, 2025.
Disquiet. Two worlds are colliding, and the space is filled with an air of disquiet. The land refuses to conform to the will of the humans on its surface.
Tom Wright’s adaptation of Picnic at Hanging Rock is told more through sound than vision. Composer and sound designer James Brown creates a universe of possibilities in the darkness, with the cracking of rocks, the rush of wind, and the never-ending movement of Mother Earth. It is this soundscape that evokes an unceasing sense of unease, permeating Ian Michael’s eloquent and sinister production.
Picnic at Hanging Rock. Photo: Daniel Boud. You’re probably already familiar with the story from Joan Lindsay’s gripping 1967 novel, Peter Weir’s stunning 1975 film, or the 2018 TV miniseries. It’s a tale that has haunted our national imagination for generations. On Valentine’s Day in 1900, a group of schoolgirls go on a picnic at the nearby ‘Hanging Rock’, or Ngannelong, as the native Kulin people call it. At the picnic, four of the girls – Miranda, Edith, Irma, and Marion – explore the natural monolith, despite being forbidden to do so. When Edith returns in hysterics, with no memory of what happened, a search party is sent out. But there is no trace of the missing girls, or their teacher Miss McCraw.
Determined to find the girls, an Englishman, Mike Fitzhubert, sets off on his own to search the rock, only to be found later dazed, alongside the recovered Irma. As more and more tragedies unfold at the rock and in the town, the question of what happened lingers in the air.
Picnic at Hanging Rock. Photo: Daniel Boud. I’ll be honest – I was initially disappointed by the absence of a giant rock in Elizabeth Gadsby’s set design. However, that feeling was soon dispelled by the evocative darkness and the looming threat of the giant, white shape hanging above the stage. Like a ghostly monument, always present in the lives of the townsfolk, it gives the story an extra touch of otherworldliness. At times, this production of Picnic at Hanging Rock veers toward horror or science fiction.
Wright’s script incorporates elements of the novel’s posthumously released “missing final chapter,” without offering any hard and fast explanations. The subtext conveys a constant sense of the land and the spiritual force it holds – a power that cannot be taken by the European descendants on the surface.
Picnic at Hanging Rock. Photo: Daniel Boud. The cast of five – Olivia De Jonge, Kirsty Marillier, Lorinda May Merrypor, Masego Pitso, and Contessa Treffone – move between roles as they both dramatise and recite events. Their collective sense of fear brings to mind the more frightening moments of The Crucible. All five are extraordinary, weaving their roles together seamlessly.
Picnic at Hanging Rock. Photo: Daniel Boud. But it is Ian Michael’s vision that is the showstopper here. With an all-encompassing, anxiety-inducing atmosphere, marked by some stunning breaks (I won’t spoil how, but you’ll know them when you see them), the show is an achievement in tone and storytelling.
Picnic at Hanging Rock plays out like a supernatural horror film with an intense, existential dread for the unrelenting 85-minute running time. Or perhaps it is a revenge thriller, with the land taking its tribute from the people above. Either way, you might need a drink afterwards.
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She Slayed: A Drag Murder Mystery (Qtopia) ★★★★
Created by Nicholas Reynolds. Qtopia Loading Dock Theatre. 20-22 Feb, 2025.
The comedy queens have brought their diabolically fun murder-mystery She Slayed to Sydney for Mardi Gras, and it’s not what you expect. Well, it IS what you expect (murderous drag queens + lip syncs – part comedy show, part club act), but it’s also a stealth musical theatre cabaret featuring live singing. Yes, these killer queens croon!
Welcome to Dolly Diamond’s glamorous show at the… um… okay, it’s a loading dock, but she’s determined to make the most of it. With a cast of government-funded charity cases, including the young POUSSAY, the “elderly” Rose Garden, and South African immigrant Jens Radda, Dolly is set to put on a show – no matter what that bastard critic in the front row thinks. The traditionally bitter banter of drag queens takes a darker turn however, when one of them goes from drop-dead-gorgeous to drop-dead!
She Slayed. Photo: Harper. Design: Joel Van Echteld. She Slayed is jam-packed with showtunes to satisfy even the most up-to-date musical theatre fan. The opening number is ripped straight from the current Broadway season: the brilliant “For The Gaze” from Death Becomes Her. As the tight 70-minute show unfolds, we hear hits from Cabaret, Chicago, Annie, and more, plus some hits from gay pop icons like Kylie Minogue, Lady Gaga, and others. Each performer sings live, with the occasional lip sync included. And that’s the key to the show’s success – these drag queens are cold, hard pros who know how to work the crowd.
The murder mystery plot, full of jealousies and dumb-ass jokes, serves as the scaffolding around which these four divas riff. It’s in the ad-libs and crowd interactions that the show really sparkles. When pesky things like sound system issues, underperforming air-conditioning, or wardrobe malfunctions arise, they know how to salvage the moment and generate even more laughs.
Of the many highlights, Dolly Diamond’s audience banter is among the best. Like the seasoned pro she is, she knows how to mock the crowd without turning them against her. Another standout is Jens Radda’s brilliantly absurd rendition of “I Can’t Do It Alone” from Chicago – drag physical comedy at its finest.
With plot twists, a rapid-fire gag rate, and four top-notch drag talents, She Slayed is a definite crowd-pleaser – get your friends, grab a drink, and get a seat.
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Cultural Binge - Independent Theatre Reviews 