Review: The Addams Family: The Musical (Hayes Theatre)

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Venue: Hayes Theatre Co (Potts Point NSW), Jul 11 – Aug 9, 2026
Book: Marshall Brickman, Rick Elice
Music and Lyrics: Andrew Lippa
Director: Julia Robertson
Cast: Elliot Aitken, Deborah Galanos, Jenny Guigayoma, Erika Heynatz, Evan Lever, Rory O’Keeffe, Georgia Oom, Marcus Rivera, Alexander Tye, Teagan Wouters
Images by James Reiser

Theatre review
Wednesday Addams has invited a young man and his parents to dinner with her famously macabre clan. The Beinekes are devoutly conventional, so Wednesday has extracted solemn promises from everyone to behave, just for one evening. The Addams Family: The Musical does not succeed on the strength of its plotting; rather, it endures through the brilliance of characters first conceived by Charles Addams in 1938 for his single-panel cartoons, and subsequently immortalised through television and film. The book, in truth, frequently falls conspicuously flat, yet the sheer likeability of these iconic figures—combined with Andrew Lippa’s genuinely accomplished songwriting—renders the production a worthwhile entertainment. Director Julia Robertson shapes the material with astute precision, delivering a show that may not provoke uproarious laughter but sustains a steady, pleasurable amusement throughout.

Robertson’s direction is a thorough delight, marrying keen narrative instinct with an impeccable visual sensibility. Dann Barker’s production design is nothing short of spectacular, drawing inspiration from the classic television series to conjure a monochromatic palette that is at once ravishing and mischievous, its whimsy perfectly attuned to the world we are invited to inhabit. Barker’s sets and costumes do not merely trade in nostalgia; they have been thoughtfully modernised, achieving a contemporary inventiveness that proves deeply satisfying. Jasmine Rizk’s lighting maintains the spectral pallor for which the Addamses are renowned, yet remains endlessly dynamic—frequently, and quite unexpectedly, beautiful. Zander Gaal’s musical direction captures the extravagant spirit of these characters with richness and verve, though it is occasionally undermined by sound engineering whose technical execution proves inconsistent.

Among the sixteen-strong cast, several performances distinguish themselves. Erika Heynatz is every inch the vamp we remember Morticia to be, her physicality endlessly idiosyncratic whether centre stage or in the shadows, and she supplies precisely the quotient of camp without which no Addams Family production can survive. Evan Lever’s Uncle Fester is an undeniable scene-stealer; granted the evening’s finest material, he excavates every nuance to leave an indelible impression. Jenny Guigayoma’s Wednesday brings the house down with formidable vocal power, as does Marcus Rivera’s Gomez. Both are technically commanding, yet neither can quite transcend the pedestrian dialogue they are required to navigate.

In 1938, as fascism gathered its dreadful momentum and autocratic ideologies seduced the compliant masses, The Addams Family stood defiantly apart. They remain emblematic of resistance to rigid, polite codes of behaviour founded upon little more than nonsensical logic. The Addamses may revel in the peculiar, but at its heart this is a reach for authenticity—a conviction that we ought to regard convention with suspicion, interrogating what so rarely is, and recognising that it ultimately serves only the privileged few.

www.hayestheatre.com.au | www.jrpaustralia.com

Review: Afterglow (Griffin Theatre Co)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Jul 9 – 25, 2026
Book and Lyrics: Sheanna Parker Russon
Music: Lillian M. Hearne, Sheanna Parker Russon
Directors: Cassie Hamilton, Lily Hayman
Cast: Lincoln Elliott, Cassie Hamilton, Lillian M. Hearne, Nat Jobe, Nic Prior
Images by Lucy Parakhina

Theatre review
Michael and Tom first cross paths at a barbershop quartet convention in 2012, back when the scene remained a strictly male preserve. There is an instant spark between them, yet neither has quite learned to love themself; as a result, they discover they cannot love each other as fully as they had hoped. Sheanna Parker Russon and Lillian M. Hearne’s Afterglow uses romance to explore gender authenticity on an intimate scale, while the competitive barbershop world surrounding it illustrates how gender is performed and policed in social spaces. A comedy musical with plenty of amusing moments and several charming songs, the piece nonetheless struggles to render its characters with sufficient depth; we never quite invest in their journeys, and the plot lurches forward abruptly at times, giving the narrative an occasional air of contrivance.

Directors Hearne and Lily Hayman compensate for the script’s limitations with undeniable verve, yet the production never achieves the crispness that would fully immerse us in the story and its characters. Geita Goarin’s set and costumes, while hardly surprising in their design, competently serve the world and its inhabitants. Tyler Fitzpatrick’s lighting could stand to be more responsive to the characters’ shifting emotional temperatures, though the overall visual quality remains adequate. As musical director, Hearne sets her sights admirably high: with only a keyboard and a cappella voices, she attempts to capture the full complexity of the emotions at play. The ambition is impressive, even if the execution occasionally falls short of its own reach.

Hamilton leads the cast with remarkable exuberance, infusing the proceedings with infectious, indomitable cheer. Nic Prior, playing the more subdued Tom, proves less mischievous but ultimately more convincing, fashioning a character that feels genuinely lived-in. Lincoln Elliott as Matt and Nat Jobe as Rupert also deserve mention; in smaller roles, they supply sharp comic timing and a welcome polish.

In reality, self-acceptance does not resolve everything the moment one arrives at a fuller understanding of gender. Yet it is true that for someone in turmoil over their identity, the world can feel relentlessly dark. When we first meet Michael and Tom, they are still chrysalises; by the final curtain, they seem to emerge complete. The more honest truth, perhaps, is that they have merely found their wings. The real work of learning to fly still lies ahead.

www.griffintheatre.com.au | www.purpletapeproductions.com

Review: Thirty-Six (Qtopia)

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Venue: Qtopia (Darlinghurst NSW), Jul 8 – 18, 2026
Playwrights: Jo Clifford, Bayley Turner
Director: Kitan Petkovski
Cast: Bayley Turner
Images by Andrew Kim

Theatre review
Turning thirty-five might ordinarily invite a quiet celebration, but for Bayley Turner, the milestone carries a heavier shadow. The spectre of that oft-cited, entirely unsubstantiated statistic—that trans women seldom live beyond thirty-five—looms over her birthday, colouring the occasion with an unavoidable gravity. Yet the anxieties it stirs are hardly spectral alone; they are tethered to the tangible hardships of trans existence, the material and psychological tolls that accumulate in a world still reluctant to make room.

For all the generations of trans people who have lived, loved, and endured before us, their voices have rarely been granted the platforms or the permanence to offer those who follow something solid to hold onto—reference points, roadmaps, or simply the comfort of being understood. Thirty-Six, the one-woman play Turner has created with her seventy-five-year-old mentor Jo Clifford, arrives as something rare: an intergenerational conversation rendered in performance, giving shape to the sorrow and fear, but also the unexpected joy and stubborn inspiration, of living openly as trans in an era of unprecedented visibility. The work is unflinching in its honesty, and both creators have evidently plumbed its ideas with a depth that leaves few difficult truths unexamined.

If the purpose of art is to haul what remains unsaid into the light, then Thirty-Six is an undeniably significant achievement. Where it falters is in its theatrical imagination: the writing, for all its emotional intelligence, could sit almost as comfortably on the page as it does on the stage. It lacks the particular immediacy that distinguishes drama from literature—those irreplaceable collisions of body, voice, and space that demand live performance.

Fortunately, director Kitan Petkovski intervenes with ingenuity, finding visual textures to animate the monologue and expanding the hour-long staging into something that nearly matches the words in captivation. Spencer Herd’s lighting bathes the space in a warm, flattering glow that never quite lets us forget the melancholy threading beneath; it is an invitation into sentiment without surrendering to it. Aron Murray’s video projections lend variety to the visual landscape, while Jack Burmeister’s score moves nimbly between uplift and sombreness, calibrating atmosphere with a deft hand.

As performer, Turner is a compelling presence—effortlessly charismatic, possessed of a confidence that keeps the audience held close throughout. There is an ease to her delivery that reassures, even if one senses she is capable of still greater dramatic complexity given more demanding material.

The myth of the thirty-five-year lifespan may be exactly that, but the reality it gestures toward is no fiction. Without stable housing, secure employment, adequate healthcare, and communities that sustain rather than isolate, trans lives are routinely foreshortened—made not only harder but often less fully lived. For as long as the standards of care and dignity remain so starkly divided between cis and trans existence, works like Thirty-Six that insist on naming these disparities will remain not merely welcome, but essential.

www.qtopiasydney.com.au | www.instagram.com/apertureprods

Review: Doubt: A Parable (Sydney Theatre Company)

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Venue: Roslyn Packer Theatre (Sydney NSW), Jun 30 – Aug 2, 2026
Playwright: John Patrick Shanley
Director: Marion Potts
Cast: Zindzi Okenyo, Shannen Alyce Quan, Pamela Rabe, Sam Reid
Images by Prudence Upton

Theatre review
Sister Aloysius is convinced that Father Flynn has engaged in inappropriate conduct with at least one student at St. Nicholas Church School, and she is determined to see him removed. When Doubt: A Parable by John Patrick Shanley premiered in 2004, revelations of sexual abuse and institutional cover-ups within the Catholic Church were dominating headlines around the world. Two decades later, while public attention has shifted to other forms of moral and political failure, the play continues to resonate with an alarming disquiet. Its enduring power lies not only in the persistence of abuse by those in authority, but in the unsettling ease with which certainty is formed without proof, and belief sustained in the absence of evidence.

Under Marion Potts’s direction, however, the production resists becoming an overtly political reading. Instead, it returns the play to its theatrical core: a taut, claustrophobic drama driven by tension, moral ambiguity, and competing convictions. The result is gripping from start to finish, sustaining an atmosphere of mounting unease that keeps the audience in a constant state of uncertainty.

The performances are superb across the board. Pamela Rabe’s Sister Aloysius is steely and unyielding, her severity edged with conviction that is as compelling as it is unsettling. Sam Reid brings a volatile emotional interior to Father Flynn, carefully calibrating warmth and defensiveness in a way that keeps his guilt or innocence deliberately opaque. There is an implied undercurrent of homophobia in the accusations against the priest, and Reid navigates his subplot of resistance with remarkable nuance and power.

As Sister James, Shannen Alyce Quan astonishes with her precision in a complex role that demands multiple shifts in allegiance; she consistently depicts heightened psychological transformations while maintaining a believable naturalism that renders an extremely challenging part utterly convincing. Zindzi Okenyo is unforgettable as Mrs. Muller, bringing fierce tenacity and genuine spirit to this intense production.

Design elements are equally accomplished. Bob Cousin’s set is perfectly proportioned, showcasing austere locations in ways that are as dramaturgically sound as they are visually striking, balancing narrative necessity with a refined sense of theatricality. Damien Cooper’s lighting is subtly rendered, never overreaching in a play that demands visual restraint. Jessica Dunn’s music is a particular highlight; each interlude enhances the emotive qualities of the visceral storytelling, most impressively through the splendid incorporation of live singing by the cast.

It has been nearly two years since seventy-seven million Americans voted to return Donald Trump to the presidency. Despite extensive evidence of misconduct and conviction on multiple felony counts, his political support has remained largely intact, sustained by narratives that persist in defiance of fact. The details differ, but the underlying mechanism feels familiar: certainty without verification, belief hardened against contradiction. In that sense, Doubt remains less a period piece than an unnervingly contemporary one, reflecting how easily blind faith can override evidence, and how costly that substitution can be.

www.sydneytheatre.com.au

Review: The Day Of The Triffids (New Theatre)

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Venue: New Theatre (Newtown NSW), Jun 30 – Jul 25, 2026
Playwright: J. James-Moody (based on the novel by John Wyndham)
Director: J. James-Moody
Cast: James Collins, Claudia Elbourne, Nathan Farrow, Tony Llewellyn-Jones, Kate Mannix, Max Ryan, Umai Shantharajah, Natasha Todd
Images by Chris Lundie

Theatre review
In the wake of a devastating meteor shower that leaves swathes of humanity blind, carnivorous plants known as triffids emerge to prey upon the vulnerable. John Wyndham’s 1952 novel, The Day of the Triffids, is indelibly a product of its time—an era when science fiction writers sought to metabolise the recent trauma of war through allegories of invasion by extraterrestrial or mutated foes, as though mass destruction could only be processed when refracted through the lens of the fantastical.

J. James-Moody’s new stage adaptation nods toward contemporary relevance with scattered technological references, capitalising on the peculiar modern terror of artificial intelligence and the men who orchestrate its proliferation. Yet these gestures feel insufficient; the text remains stubbornly dated, bogged down by protracted exposition that offers the audience few footholds for emotional engagement. We scarcely find ourselves resonating with the narrative or its characters, and the production struggles to inspire genuine sentiment.

Where James-Moody fares considerably better is in his direction. He cultivates a carnival-like atmosphere, alive with mischief and playfulness that wins us over, at least intermittently. The staging abounds with imagination; while this inventiveness certainly entertains, it does little to advance the story with any real purpose.

The design elements, by contrast, are immaculate. Holly Nesbitt’s lighting is dynamic and resourceful, delivering one striking visual tableau after another. Aubtin Namdar’s sound design and music are meticulously calibrated, enriching each scene with atmospheric precision. If the production fails to tell its story with clarity, it nevertheless astonishes with its technical and aesthetic faculties.

James Collins, playing Bill, the biologist navigating the apocalypse, provides a steadying centre—reliable, if never quite commanding. The seven-strong supporting ensemble proves equally personable, rising to the challenge of creating a spirited, occasionally raucous energy, though they never fully seize and hold our attention.

Wyndham’s novel ultimately celebrates the solidarity that can form in resistance to terror. Yet there is something unsettling about characterising the enemy as fundamentally alien—a narrative reflex of the postwar period that now feels increasingly difficult to endorse. Surveying the crises of our own age, one cannot escape the uncomfortable truth that we ourselves are the agents of so much that is destructive, even as we remain among its casualties.

www.newtheatre.org.au

Review: The Dapto Chaser (Ensemble Theatre)

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Venue: Ensemble Theatre (Kirribilli NSW), Jun 29 – Jul 25, 2026
Playwright: Mary Rachel Brown
Director: Anna Houston
Cast: Peter Carroll, Marco Chiappi, André de Vanny, Justin Rosniak
Images by Prudence Upton

Theatre review
The Sinclairs have made a ruin of their lives, pouring everything into the quixotic pursuit of greyhound racing. In Mary Rachel Brown’s The Dapto Chaser, we watch generations of men tether themselves to a fixation they mistake for destiny, convinced that persistence alone will deliver them from their circumstances. To the audience, the arithmetic is mercilessly clear: the house never loses. It is tempting to read their devotion as mere folly, the wages of poor choices. Yet Brown invites us to recognise a more uncomfortable mirror. Most of us may not wager on the dogs, but we commit to capitalism with a comparable fervour, persuaded that the system pays out fairly to those who play by the rules. The truth, of course, is that capital rewards capital; the rest of us navigate by dim light, following the doctrines handed down by those who profit from our faith.

Brown’s play is not, at its core, a political treatise, though it certainly concerns itself with Australian class structures. First and foremost, it is a masterclass in wit, delivered with precision and velocity. The humour, rich in ocker texture, will prove satisfying especially to those who favour that particular style of language. Anna Houston’s direction sharpens the comedy to a needlepoint, mining every beat for maximum effect so that even viewers who find the cultural milieu foreign will be laughing despite themselves. Her attention to dramatic architecture is equally assured, inflating the stakes until they feel perilous, and securing our emotional investment with deceptive ease.

The production design reinforces this immediacy. Simone Romaniuk’s set and costumes evoke poverty not as aestheticised misery but as lived-in dilapidation, telling their own visual story with unflinching honesty. Between scenes, Matt Cox’s lighting and Madeleine Picard’s score seize every opportunity for theatrical flourish, enriching the dramaturgy while lifting the production into something more expansive than naturalism.

At the centre stands Justin Rosniak as Cess, delivering a performance of captivating intensity. His emotional volatility and fearless comic timing ensure we remain locked to the family’s trajectory, finding entertainment and pathos in equal measure. He is ably supported by Peter Carroll, Marco Chiappi, and André de Vanny, all of whom demonstrate the skill this bittersweet comedy demands.

We want the Sinclairs to break their patterns, to glimpse the impossibility of the dreams they have chased for so long. More than that, we are left wondering whether our own capitalistic commitments—to the promises of merit, of fair reward, of the system’s eventual benevolence—are any less delusory than a winning ticket at the track.

www.ensemble.com.au

Review: First, Do No Harm (KXT on Broadway)

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Venue: KXT on Broadway (Ultimo NSW), Jun 24 – Jul 4, 2026
Playwright: Grace Malouf
Director: Charley Allanah, Grace Malouf
Cast: Kate Bookallil, Barry French, Richard Hilliar, Josh Merten, Shan-Ree Tan
Images by Laura Elaine

Theatre review
Alexei is an Olympic hopeful whose swimming career has begun to falter at just nineteen years of age. He harbours a secret that is compromising his athletic performance, yet revealing it would invite controversy of the most personal kind. As the burden of concealment becomes unbearable, the truth can no longer remain hidden.

Grace Malouf’s First, Do No Harm transcends its ostensible sporting milieu to interrogate a far more fundamental proposition: the sovereignty of the body itself. The drama excavates the reverberations of a single individual’s corporeal self-determination, tracing how such a decision propagates through the social fabric with disquieting complexity. Malouf’s dramatic structure may lack formal daring, yet it grips with undeniable force; what it sacrifices in stylistic flair, it repays in intellectual and emotional depth. The work avoids theatrical showmanship, but its careful thought is unmistakable, emerging from an unflinching engagement with a subject that remains, in contemporary discourse, not only relevant but urgent.

Co-directed by Malouf and Charley Allanah, the production forgoes imaginative spectacle for an almost austere directness—an approach that, rather than diminishing the work, forges an uncommon intimacy with its audience, engaging both intellect and affect with precision. The staging distills narrative to its essential elements; this reduction, though occasionally risking oversimplification, ultimately crystallises the play’s conceptual preoccupations with remarkable efficacy.

Holden Jane Cohle’s production design requires more work to invite visual interest, while Theodore Carroll’s lighting offers occasional moments of striking inventiveness, even if such flourishes are used sparingly. Ellie Wilson’s sound design is likewise understated, but it rises effectively to the demands of the drama at key emotional moments.

Josh Merten inhabits Alexei with a passion that never tips into histrionics, grounding an ostensibly implausible psychological condition in emotional authenticity. His performance renders the extraordinary not merely credible but viscerally immediate. Richard Hilliar, as Alexei’s father and villain of the piece, Robert, constructs a figure of compelling contradiction—simultaneously antagonistic and vulnerable, comprehensible yet beyond easy absolution. Kate Bookallil, Barry French, and Shan-Ree Tan complete the ensemble with commendable proficiency.

The ordeal Alexei endures may be deeply unsettling, yet the play insists on a challenging idea: however objectionable his desires seem, only he has the right to decide. First, Do No Harm shows us how much we tend to believe that our own views entitle us to govern how others live. The production offers a vital reminder that the most durable achievement of democratic life lies not in consensus, but in our mutual tolerance—the willingness to allow one another the liberty to inhabit our own lives.

www.kingsxtheatre.com

Review: House Of Rot (Hayes Theatre)

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Venue: Hayes Theatre Co (Potts Point NSW), Jun 23 – 28, 2026
Director: Dino Dimitriadis
Cast: Paul Capsis, Adam Noviello, with Victoria Falconer
Images by Gianna Rizzo

Theatre review
Much like the women of the celebrated documentary Grey Gardens, Addy and their parental counterpart exist in a state of mutual captivity—inseparable, yet hardly serene. House of Rot unfolds principally through torch songs and standards drawn from the past century, with dialogue kept to a bare minimum.

Though its form is fundamentally cabaret, its theatrical scope renders it far more substantial than the category typically permits—a distinction owing much to Leila Enright’s economically incisive dramaturgy. Brockman’s lighting, in particular, demands recognition for the artistic elevation it brings; consistently mesmerising, it possesses the rare capacity to arrest time itself—an effect crucial to a narrative about two people locked in a vicious cycle of tender devotion and bitter dependency. We behold them frozen, unable to advance, yet we are compelled to discern whatever sublimity resides in their stasis.

Victoria Falconer’s musical direction harnesses the transcendental power of song, reshaping familiar numbers into freshly romantic configurations that cohere into a unified whole. The result is a work that either articulates a meaningful narrative—subject to each spectator’s personal interpretation—or, at minimum, facilitates a visceral experience that proves both persuasive and resonant, propelled by an unmistakable sense of deliberate intention. Falconer remains onstage throughout, providing flawless accompaniment while also delivering the show’s prologue and epilogue.

Paul Capsis inhabits the parental figure with a baroque sensibility, wielding a singular fusion of the macabre and the glamorous. The effect is not merely visually arresting but emotionally penetrating; Capsis conveys instantaneous gravitas through every gesture and saunter, even when the rational mind struggles to assign immediate meaning to these portrayals. Such impact derives not solely from the visual plane, but from vocal capacities now the stuff of legend—enthralling precisely because of their steadfast refusal of conventional prettiness. Adam Noviello, though not yet possessing the seasoned depth to fully match a living legend, nevertheless sings with comparable skill, albeit in a wildly divergent register.

Nicol & Ford’s costumes distil the essence of the Edies into a contemporary idiom, evoking eroded wealth, regrettable choices, and unvarnished beauty to ensure we fall in love with these characters anew. Dino Dimitriadis’s direction does more than retell the saga of entwined aristocratic Americans; by placing Capsis and Noviello in parallel, Dimitriadis transposes the Grey Gardens mythology into a narrative of intergenerational queerness—one that speaks to the inheritance of trauma alongside more wondrous bequests.

House of Rot interrogates how a community ought to move forward in a world that, while ostensibly growing more accommodating, also seems to demand the shedding of cultural particularities. It aches for queer people to claim a luminous future, yet warns with a tremor in its voice that we must not surrender every trait that makes us who we are—must not melt ourselves down to be palatable to those who have never once, not for a single heartbeat, considered loosening their grip on power. To do so would be to lose not merely our history, but the very pulse of what makes us consequential and irreplaceable.

www.hayestheatre.com.au | www.greendoortheatrecompany.com

Review: The Roommate (Ensemble Theatre)

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Venue: Ensemble Theatre (Kirribilli NSW), Jun 19 – Jul 25, 2026
Playwright: Jen Silverman
Director: Lee Lewis
Cast: Lucy Bell, Belinda Bromilow
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
Sharon, newly divorced, finds herself unmoored—liberated from the obligations of marriage and motherhood yet utterly unprepared for autonomy. Having spent decades in Iowa as wife and mother, she has never cultivated an identity beyond servitude; the sudden absence of duty leaves her not merely free but adrift, hollowed out by a life lived in reflexive deference to others. Into this vacuum steps Robyn, a transplant from New York whose existence—vivid, self-determined, almost voluptuously full—represents a universe Sharon can scarcely comprehend, let alone inhabit. The collision between these two women proves both transformative and darkly comic; what begins as an education becomes an emancipation.

In The Roommate, Jen Silverman crafts a narrative that transcends the familiar midlife-awakening template. The play interrogates the architecture of submission—how the rules imposed upon Sharon were never benign conventions but instruments of subjugation, internalized so thoroughly that freedom itself becomes disorienting. Silverman understands that metamorphosis is not merely political but physical: a woman relearning her own appetites, her own voice, her own capacity for transgression. Director Lee Lewis approaches Sharon’s trajectory with evident relish, mining the text for its comic exuberance while never trivializing the radical nature of her reinvention. The production recognizes that joy, here, is itself a political act—the pleasure of a body and mind finally claiming ownership of themselves.

Lucy Bell delivers a performance of remarkable dexterity as Sharon, charting the character’s evolution from desperate, almost feral hunger to something approaching sovereignty. She locates the absurdity inherent in Sharon’s naïveté without condescending to it, and grounds the later acts of rebellion in genuine emotional stakes. There is both levity and gravitas in this portrait of self-discovery; Bell renders Sharon’s awakening not as a gentle blooming but as something more disruptive, more voracious.

As Robyn, Belinda Bromilow offers a necessary counterweight—less exuberant than Bell, perhaps, but possessed of an authenticity that prevents the dynamic from collapsing into caricature. Robyn is not merely the catalyst for Sharon’s transformation but a woman undergoing her own quiet excavation, similarly engaged in the arduous work of self-definition.

The production design by Simone Romaniuk operates with astute visual economy, evoking the American landscape through carefully calibrated contrasts—costume and spatial details that externalize the friction between Robyn’s cultivated cosmopolitanism and Sharon’s unexamined provincialism. Matt Cox’s lighting provides understated but precise atmospheric modulation, tracing the characters’ shifting psychological registers without ostentation. Madeleine Picard’s compositions, deployed during scene transitions, maintain narrative momentum with inventive sonic textures that sustain our anticipation for each new development.

What resonates most profoundly is the play’s recognition that Sharon’s ignorance has been structurally cultivated—partly self-imposed, yes, but largely enforced by a hegemony that reduces her to fungible labor, a minor component in an indifferent apparatus. Yet The Roommate refuses easy binaries of victimhood and liberation. Robyn, too, is in flight from a past that no longer fits; her apparently charmed existence conceals its own disillusionments. The feminist dimension of Silverman’s work is unmistakable but never didactic—her argument extends beyond gender to encompass anyone reduced to instrumentality, anyone whose self-possession has been systematically eroded. The play ultimately insists that claiming one’s life is not a single dramatic rupture but a continuous, often comic, occasionally terrifying process of becoming.

www.ensemble.com.au

Review: Straight Panic (ATYP)

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Venue: The Popsy (Sydney NSW), Jun 16 – 27 , 2026
Playwright: Lachlan Parry
Director: Lily Hayman
Cast: Andrew Fraser, Emma Kew, Esha Jessy, Pierse Cant, Evelina Singh
Images by Phil Erbacher

Theatre review
Set in Sydney, 2005, three discrete locales stage simultaneous scenes of casual, despicable homophobia—communities unwittingly laying bare their prejudices for the audience’s scrutiny. Straight Panic, Lachlan Parry’s triptych of short plays, interrogates the extent to which attitudes toward gay people have—or conspicuously have not—shifted across two decades. Though characters and settings diverge, Parry’s exuberant wit remains the production’s through-line, unmistakable and relentless. Director Lily Hayman leans fully into the text’s intentional absurdity, yielding a production memorable for humour that oscillates between the brazenly broad and the unexpectedly subtle.

The ensemble of five proves uniformly winning: each performer deploys confidence and exuberance to animate distinct personalities, rendering all three narratives urgently contemporary. Their chemistry is palpable, their collective delight infectious; the audience succumbs readily to their charm. Soham Apte’s production design achieves elegance through restraint, facilitating narrative clarity without unnecessary embellishment. Tyler Fitzpatrick’s lighting and Daniel Hertern’s score operate with comparable efficiency—accomplished, unostentatious, and entirely effective.

Straight Panic may refrain from delivering its political thesis with strident force, yet it demonstrates that certain behaviours resist sanitisation regardless of the humorous gloss applied. Across these narratives, we witness the evolution of public discourse: while private sentiment remains unknowable, the vocabulary of prejudice has acquired constraints. This is not progress in its ideal form, perhaps, but it is progress nonetheless—and not to be dismissed.

www.atyp.com.au