Tag Archives: belvoir

Review: Stocktake (25A Belvoir)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Oct 4 – 25, 2026
Playwright: Jess Zlotnick
Director: Tasha O’Brien
Cast: Lib Campbell, Lucy X Dunning, Bridget Haberecht, Megan Kennedy, Kate Skinner
Images by Jane Coates

Theatre review
In one of the thousands of women’s clothing stores scattered throughout Australia’s shopping malls, a group of employees is required to conduct a stocktake after hours. Nobody particularly wants to be there, but the realities of economic survival demand that people suppress their own inclinations, grit their teeth and endure, if only to ensure that there is food on the table.

Jess Zlotnick’s Stocktake is a searing indictment of the plight of the working class under contemporary late-stage capitalism, although it is equally likely to be remembered for its riotous comedy. Clearly informed by lived experience at the lower rungs of the retail hierarchy, Zlotnick’s writing is as keenly observed as it is wildly imaginative. The play marries an acute understanding of low-wage precarity with surreal manifestations of systemic oppression, exposing the increasingly grotesque consequences of oligarchic power in a world where economic inequality continues to deepen.

Director Tasha O’Brien brings an uncompromising sense of gravity to a production that makes no attempt to disguise its solidarity with the working class. At the same time, she finds inventive ways to exploit the increasingly absurd circumstances, ensuring that the material remains as theatrically engaging as it is politically charged. The result is a work that insists we laugh even as the full indignity of our circumstances unfolds before us. O’Brien renders the injustices experienced by wage earners with admirable clarity, while layering each indignity with such irreverent humour that the production becomes both comedically irresistible and politically inescapable.

The visual elements of the staging are somewhat less assured. Hampered by obvious budgetary constraints, production design by Alice Vance and lighting by Caity Cowan do not always achieve the sophistication the material might warrant, although these limitations do little to diminish the overall effectiveness of the production. Harry Reid’s sound design is a particular strength, establishing an unsettling sense of metaphysical distortion that helps persuade us of the increasingly outlandish phenomena unfolding within an otherwise unremarkable clothing store.

The five-woman ensemble impresses through its collective commitment to this proletarian indictment. There are discernible disparities in performance experience and technical proficiency, but the cast’s collective achievement is consistently compelling. Together, the performers create a theatrical experience whose force derives less from individual virtuosity than from the cumulative power of their shared endeavour, lending the work a resonance that extends beyond the circumstances of its characters.

In an era of unprecedented billionaire wealth and the prospect of the world’s first trillionaire, it is tempting to succumb to political despondency, to assume that the battle has already been lost and that the 99 per cent is powerless to alter a trajectory seemingly destined for catastrophe. Stocktake, however, repeatedly reminds us that its women retain a measure of agency, even when the choices available to them are profoundly constrained. They must continually make decisions, often between alternatives that offer little more than different forms of deprivation. Such choices can appear futile, their outcomes dictated by a system that makes survival itself contingent upon submission.

Yet it is precisely through this recurring insistence on the necessity of choice that the play offers glimpses of what courage might mean under such conditions. Courage emerges as the fragile determination to act when every available option appears inadequate, and when the prospect of meaningful change seems increasingly remote. In a world determined to diminish us, surrendering the possibility of resistance would amount to accepting the very conditions from which we long to escape. Perhaps it is useful to imagine courage as something almost supernatural, a miraculous instrument capable of delivering us from circumstances that otherwise seem insurmountable.

www.belvoir.com.au

Review: A Room With A View (Belvoir St Theatre)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Oct 3 – Nov 1, 2026
Playwright: Grace Chapple (from the novel by E.M. Forster)
Director: Hannah Goodwin
Cast: Kate Atkinson, Tom Conroy, Tomáš Kantor, Hayley McElhinney, Nathalie Morris, Patrick Williams, Luke Wiltshire, Charles Wu
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
There is little doubt about the enduring significance of E.M. Forster’s A Room with a View. Its examination of class and its suppressive force, particularly in relation to women, alongside its critique of women’s complicity in upholding patriarchal values, allows the novel to retain considerable contemporary resonance more than a century after its publication. In this stage adaptation, Grace Chapple wisely foregrounds the novel’s quietly radical feminist undercurrent, and much of the dialogue glitters with a welcome modern wit. Yet for all the charm of Forster’s prose, one suspects the source material was never entirely suited to the stage: a slender plot, more texture than event, strains to sustain a full evening of theatre.

Chapple endows each character with endearing particularity, and the cast is easy to follow; even so, the narrative grows rather lacking in its later stretches, precisely when one expects tensions to crest. Director Hannah Goodwin’s instinct, then, to compensate with sheer theatricality, is well founded. It is her mischievous reimagining of key scenarios, in tandem with choreographer Elle Evangelista, that supplies this production’s visceral pleasures. A tennis match, a lakeside swim, an impromptu road trip — these sequences abandon dialogue altogether and surrender instead to the irreducible magic of live performance, to wonderful effect. Madeleine Picard’s sound design and Grace Ferguson’s music amplify these moments of heightened theatricality beautifully, while Amelia Lever-Davidson’s lighting conjures unexpected textures against a disappointingly drab set by Zoë Atkinson, who fares far better with costumes that evoke the period elegantly without ever encumbering the performers.

As Lucy, Nathalie Morris is immediately likeable and impressively attuned to both the comedy and pathos of the role. Yet the abrupt psychological transformations her character undergoes remain difficult to fully comprehend. Her love interest, George, is played by Luke Wiltshire with an appealing vulnerability. More immediately memorable, however, are the production’s comic crowd-pleasers, with Kate Atkinson, Tomáš Kantor and Hayley McElhinney displaying exquisite timing and an instinctive understanding of the humorous possibilities of their characters. It is ultimately the production’s entertainment value, rather than the dramatic force of its source material, that makes the strongest impression.

At the story’s conclusion, we witness a woman breaking free from the shackles that have entrapped so many women for centuries. Lucy’s experience, however, is presented as an exception: her freedom appears to be the consequence of her individual courage to love, a courage that enables her to escape the constraints imposed upon her. But there is something troubling about this formulation. It is not that women have historically lacked courage. The more difficult truth is that courage alone is rarely sufficient to overcome the deeply entrenched forces that constrain women’s possibilities for genuine fulfilment.

Lucy changes the circumstances of her own life, largely through an act of individual defiance. But this is where the story feels less convincing from a contemporary feminist perspective. Emancipation cannot depend solely upon the exceptional courage of an individual woman to resist the structures around her. It is far more often through solidarity, collective action and the dismantling of those structures themselves that meaningful liberation becomes possible. Lucy may find her way out, but the question that lingers is what happens to all the women who she leaves behind.

www.belvoir.com.au

Review: The Book Of Everything (Belvoir St Theatre)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Aug 22 – Sep 20, 2026
Playwright: Richard Tulloch (from the novel by Guus Kuijer)
Director: Neil Armfield
Cast: Julie Forsyth, John Gaden, Claire Jones, John Leary, Rebecca Massey, Bridie McKim, Pamela Rabe, Matthew Whittet
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
Nine-year-old Thomas lives in the shadow of a tyrannical father whose religious fanaticism manifests as routine violence against his wife and children. Next door lives a witch who appears to stand in direct opposition to everything the Christian church represents, yet she is the one who offers Thomas the greatest comfort and inspiration. Guus Kuijer’s The Book of Everything is a story with a profound moral centre, and Richard Tulloch’s stage adaptation captures that depth while remaining irresistibly joyful, funny and ultimately uplifting.

Neil Armfield’s direction brims with effervescence. Whether the production is boisterous or intimate, it is consistently moving, finding genuine emotional truth without ever tipping into sentimentality. The Book of Everything is about childhood innocence, but its reflections on growing up feel timeless rather than saccharine.

Much of that success rests on Matthew Whittet’s extraordinary performance as Thomas. He plays the boy with boundless energy and infectious delight, yet every burst of exuberance feels completely sincere. His portrayal is so emotionally open that we become wholly invested in Thomas and instinctively share both his fears and his hopes.

Julie Forsyth is equally captivating as Mrs Van Amersfoort. She brings effortless charisma and warmth to the role, making it easy to understand why Thomas is drawn to her. The tenderness of their evolving friendship becomes the emotional heart of the production.

Throughout, live music by Jack Ward underscores the action with remarkable sensitivity. He calibrates every shift in tone with surgical precision, guiding the audience seamlessly from moments of gravity and introspection to scenes of childlike playfulness. His score gives the production a magical sheen that invites younger audiences into Thomas’s imagination while reminding older ones how to reconnect with their own sense of wonder.

Kim Carpenter’s set design is built around the seemingly simple concept of an oversized book unfolding into each new scene. What could have felt obvious instead becomes wonderfully effective, framing the story within a world of innocence and possibility. Against that backdrop, the narrative’s darkest ideas about faith and fanaticism become even more confronting. Nigel Levings’ lighting is not especially showy, but it is meticulously judged, creating atmosphere with precision and maintaining beautiful visual balance throughout.

The Book of Everything ends on a note of hope, though Thomas’s future remains unwritten. Having witnessed the damage wrought by his brutal father, one might easily imagine him repeating that cycle of harm. Yet we have also seen the redemptive influence of Mrs Van Amersfoort, and the possibility that Thomas might forge a better path. More crucially, perhaps, the play reminds us that becoming one’s own person means the freedom to choose at every turn—and that the courage to choose wisely is the truest measure of character.

www.belvoir.com.au

Review: The Birds (Belvoir St Theatre)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), May 16 – Jun 7, 2026
Playwright: Louise Fox (from the story by Daphne de Maurier)
Director: Matthew Lutton
Cast: Paula Arundell
Images by Pia Johnson

Theatre review

In Louise Fox’s stage adaptation of The Birds, the opening scenes find Tessa repelling fifty invading avian assailants from her home with fierce, maternal resolve. By the second day, the sky has darkened with swarms bent solely on human annihilation. In this contemporary reimagining of Daphne du Maurier’s 1952 narrative, Fox not only shifts the protagonist from husband to wife but also transposes the story’s psychic register—from post-war unease to the distinctly modern terrors of ecological collapse and technological dominion. Working within the conceit of horror fantasy, Fox crafts a vividly absorbing meditation on the paralysis that accompanies our present awareness of impending, seemingly inevitable catastrophe.

Paula Arundell commands the stage alone, her eminently sympathetic presence grounding the surreal narrative in an air of authenticity. She renders Tessa with such sustained credibility that the audience remains unwaveringly allied with her struggle, compelled to will her survival even as circumstances turn increasingly phantasmagoric. Director Matthew Lutton leans into the text’s genre elements, drawing spectators into Tessa’s escalating dread while prompting reflection upon our individual and collective relationship to the disquieting features of our current moment. Yet the production occasionally suffers from Lutton’s largely restrained approach; a work of such unbridled imagination might have flourished under a more audacious, extravagant directorial hand.

Kat Chan’s production design opts for elegant simplicity—largely effective, though the text’s expansive vision clearly invites a more spectacular scenic realization. Niklas Pajanti’s lighting memorably punctuates the drama’s most harrowing junctures with startling precision, but it is J. David Franzke’s sound design and composition that truly conjure the atmosphere of foreboding, rendering the murderous flock’s malevolent presence viscerally, irrefutably real.

The birds’ ferocious, overwhelming assault mirrors the paralysis induced by our contemporary predicament—not merely environmental and technological crises, but the relentless barrage of political conflict and warfare. In an era saturated with information, we find ourselves perpetually stupefied and disempowered by the unceasing torrent of horrors arriving from every quarter. Tessa’s distinction lies in her refusal of passivity; confronted with hopelessness, she can do nothing but resist. It is a lesson that resonates with urgent, uncomfortable clarity.

www.belvoir.com.au | www.malthousetheatre.com.au

Review: Drive Your Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead (Belvoir St Theatre)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Mar 28 – May 10, 2026
Playwright: Eamon Flack (from the novel by Olga Tokarczuk)
Director: Eamon Flack
Cast: Paula Arundell, Marco Chiappi, Gareth Davies, Emma Diaz, Alan Dukes, Nadie Kammallaweera, Colin Moody, Daniel R. Nixon, Pamela Rabe, Ziggy Resnick, Bruce Spence
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
In Eamon Flack’s stage adaptation of Olga Tokarczuk’s 2009 novel Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead, the protagonist Duszejko prowls her provincial Polish town prophesying that “the animals are taking revenge” in response to a spate of recent local deaths. Yet her warnings, delivered with messianic fervour, seem merely to reverberate against indifferent ears; the town dismisses the elderly woman’s agitation as the harmless eccentricity of advanced age. Flack’s rendering possesses unmistakeable whimsical charm, though at three and a half hours, its duration feels excessive rather than justified, lacking the narrative propulsion or emotional crescendo requisite for such temporal investment.

While Flack’s direction and writing illuminate the everyday absurdities of rural existence, the production never compels us to commit intellectually or viscerally to its philosophical preoccupations, however weighty they may appear. One hungers for gravitational pull—for the narrative elements to coalesce into something of genuine resonance—but such synthesis remains elusive. Leading lady Pamela Rabe, although unable to elicit our empathetic alignment with Duszejko’s anxieties, commands respect through sheer stamina; her virtually uninterrupted presence constitutes a dazzling accomplishment of concentration and performative integrity.

The ten-member supporting ensemble, regrettably, operates largely under capacity. Though each actor enjoys fleeting opportunities to demonstrate competence, only a minority are granted material of genuine substance. Foremost among these is Daniel R. Nixon, whose portrayal of Dizzy injects the production with a welcome colourfulness, enlivening this bleakly comic vision of Poland with idiosyncratic vitality.

The technical execution, conversely, rises above. Romaine Harper’s scenic design undergoes constant metamorphosis, transporting us through the many locales of Duszejko’s adventures, with remarkable fluidity. Though deceptively minimalist in conception, the transformations occur with such seamless efficacy as to constitute their own form of theatrical alchemy. Ella Butler’s costuming largely hews to archetypal fidelity, yet a sequence depicting a town fête erupts into delightful sartorial eccentricity, offering moments of genuine visual pleasure. Morgan Moroney’s lighting design proves even more remarkable, not merely illuminating Duszejko’s external environs but rendering her psychological interiority with great nuance, achieving repeated moments of visual transcendence. Alyx Dennison’s sounds and music complete this sensorial immersion, conjuring a Poland at once fantastical and earthbound—capable of elevating our consciousness toward wonder whilst maintaining an unwavering connection to the narrative’s ecological substrata.

Nature’s vengeance, it seems, is not mere metaphor but manifest reality. Climate catastrophe signals tectonic ecological shifts that we interpret as apocalyptic only because humanity occupies the centre of our own narrative; conceivably, the planet has simply determined that its most pernicious pest requires elimination, undertaking transformations calculated for its own perpetuation rather than ours. Compounding this existential precarity, humanity accelerates its own dissolution through interminable warfare and the unconscionable and accelerating rapacity of unfettered capitalism—systems that devour the very populations upon which they depend. The cosmos will persist, indifferent; the duration of humanity’s insignificance within that vast continuity remains the only uncertainty.

www.belvoir.com.au

Review: A Mirror (Belvoir St Theatre)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Feb 21 – Mar 22, 2026
Playwright: Sam Holcroft
Director: Margaret Thanos
Cast: Eden Falk, Faisal Hamza, Yalin Ozucelik, Rose Riley
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
A clandestine troupe stages a subversive theatrical production, its barbs aimed squarely at the Ministry of Culture and its censorious apparatus. Interwoven throughout are meditations on the nature of representation itself—whether literal or fictitious—as though artists must cleave to one pole or the other. Sam Holcroft’s A Mirror opens and closes with considerable force, yet the intervening dramaturgy wanders in states of descriptive and ideological confusion.

The decision by director Margaret Thanos to render an authoritarian regime through Australian voices, produces an effect of unintended absurdity, particularly when measured against the evident depth of our own democratic institutions (in comparison with other nations). There is, undeniably, a kernel of truth in the play’s suggestion that socioeconomic forces shape the conditions under which art is made, but whether Holcroft’s heightened, schematic approach can resonate meaningfully beyond that observation is less certain. What lingers is not the intricacy of the political critique, but the more elemental, perhaps eternal, truth that enduring work has always demanded of its makers one indispensable quality: courage.

The principal quartet—Eden Falk, Faisal Hamza, Yalin Ozucelik, and Rose Riley—bring considerable acuity to their respective roles, yet seldom cohere into an ensemble that transcends the sum of its parts. For all the mounting urgency of their narrative arc, little of enduring resonance remains once the final curtain falls. The design elements, too, settle for competence rather than distinction. Angelina Daniel’s set and costumes, while serviceable, lapse into staidness precisely where theatrical boldness is most required. Phoebe Pilcher’s lighting and Daniel Herten’s score prove their mettle in moments of heightened tension, yet falter during the protracted stretches of naturalism, which grow unnecessarily dour.

It is undeniable that fascism is ascendant across the globe. In Australia, democratic institutions appear, for the present, intact—yet the historical record offers scant comfort. Subversion, after all, requires no novelty of method; the same infiltrations attempted for centuries persist, adapted to contemporary conditions. Authoritarian regimes, almost without exception, train their sights first on the arts and the media—not merely as instruments of propaganda, but as sites of potential resistance. History demonstrates that while the wholesale destruction of a creative culture may require extreme force, the systematic erosion of democratic voice is altogether more achievable, more insidious.

The possibility that such a future could take root here is not abstract; it is a latent condition, ever-present. What stands against it is not inevitability, but resolve. The more tenaciously we hold to our convictions—the more defiantly we insist upon critical thought, and the messy, generative space of artistic freedom—the less hospitable this society becomes to the despots who would claim it. Resistance, in this sense, is not a dramatic gesture, but a sustained practice.

www.belvoir.com.au

Review: Amplified (Belvoir St Theatre)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Jan 29 – Feb 8, 2026
Playwright: Sheridan Harbridge
Director: Sarah Goodes
Cast: Sheridan Harbridge
Images by Jade Ellis

Theatre review
There have been few Australian women in the public eye whose rebelliousness has been openly celebrated, and Divinyls frontwoman Chrissy Amphlett remains the most indelible of them. Confrontational, anarchic and unapologetically wild, her on- and off-stage antics are rightly legendary, embodying a form of feminism that is still too easily dismissed as unpalatable. Amplified: The Exquisite Rock and Rage of Chrissy Amphlett, written by Sheridan Harbridge, insists that Amphlett be properly revered and memorialised. A biographical work woven through with many of the Divinyls’ greatest hits, Amplified is a tribute that is both accessible and surprising, effortlessly engaging while finding inventive ways to honour the life and legacy of a woman who refused convention at every turn. In Harbridge’s creation, we rediscover an Amphlett who continues to expose how little space Australia truly allows its women to misbehave.

As performer, Harbridge is faultless, deftly balancing our desire for a theatrical invocation of the icon’s essence with the grounded authority of a narrator whose warmth and enthusiasm we willingly surrender to. Under Sarah Goodes’ direction, Harbridge is given the space to tell Amphlett’s life story in a manner that feels consistently truthful and intimate, rarely relying on mimicry or lapsing into cheap sentimentality. The result is a work of rare sincerity—anchored, generous, and emotionally exacting—that achieves what the finest art aspires to: opening our hearts to a story worth telling, and in doing so, nourishing in us something that is collective and enduring.

Glenn Moorhouse’s exacting musical direction ensures a seamless flow between commentary and song, one that feels instinctive, purposeful, and never forced. The four-piece band brings ferocious spirit to this Australian rock-and-roll story, suitably cacophonous and libidinous in its energy. In fitting dialogue with this post-punk aesthetic is Michael Hankin’s production design, which balances rawness with clarity, meeting the visual demands of a one-woman show while allowing it to feel assured and fully realised. Paul Jackson’s lighting is similarly evocative, casting the narrative in shifting, enigmatic tones and conjuring vivid echoes of Amphlett hitting her stride on stages both humble and monumental.

In an ideal world, women would be free to become whoever they choose and to behave however they wish, so long as no harm is done. In the world as it exists, however, it falls to those with access—however limited—to power to exert it in the service of redressing systems that remain transparently unjust and exploitative. Chrissy Amphlett had ample incentive to obey every rule of the music industry and of the society that shaped it; many of her peers did exactly that, and were rewarded with far greater wealth and security. Amphlett’s defiance—calculated and instinctive alike—endures however as a legacy that remains dangerous, necessary, and worth remembering. Women may learn obedience as a means of survival, but progress is never secured through compliance; it is forged by recognising moments for resistance and exploiting them, again and again, to fracture a status quo that depends on silence to endure.

www.belvoir.com.au | www.jacarandaproductions.com.au

Review: Dear Son (Belvoir St Theatre)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Jan 8 – 25, 2026
Playwrights: Isaac Drandic, John Harvey (adapted from the anthology by Thomas Mayo)
Director: Isaac Drandic
Cast: Jimi Bani, Waangenga Blanco, Isaac Drandic, Kirk Page, Tibian Wyles
Images by Stephen Wilson Barker

Theatre review
Based on Thomas Mayo’s 2021 book of the same name, this stage adaptation of Dear Son brings to life twelve letters written by Indigenous men to their sons and fathers. Adapted by Isaac Drandic and John Harvey, the work translates Mayo’s exploration of love and vulnerability into theatrical form, extending his interrogation of modern masculinity beyond the page. In doing so, it reimagines how men on these lands might speak to one another—seeking to dismantle the harmful and toxic norms that have too often underpinned traditional models of male behaviour.

Framed as a men’s group gathered around a campfire, with the letters spoken into lived, embodied presence, Drandic’s direction of Dear Son foregrounds the intimacy that can exist between men. The production reveals the depth of emotional support made possible when fear, shame, and embarrassment are set aside, allowing connection and care to take their place.

Kevin O’Brien’s set design anchors the production in an earthy, grounded sensibility, while Delvene Cockatoo-Collins’s costumes lend each character a sense of everyday authenticity. David Walters’s lighting is emotionally resonant throughout, shaping each moment with care, and Wil Hughes’s sound design infuses the work with a quiet tenderness that gently guides and deepens our empathetic response.

Jimi Bani, Waangenga Blanco, Isaac Drandic, Kirk Page and Tibian Wyles comprise an ensemble representing First Nations men from across the continent. Each performer brings dignity and clarity of intention, and together their easy chemistry renders these portrayals of aspirational masculinity wholly convincing—models grounded in care, accountability, and a shared commitment to healing, both personal and communal. In their hands, healing is not an abstract ideal but a lived, generous practice—one that reaches outward, inviting audiences to imagine its possibilities for themselves.

www.belvoir.com.au

Review: The True History Of The Life And Death Of King Lear & His Three Daughters (Belvoir St Theatre)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Nov 15, 2025 – Jan 4, 2026
Playwright: William Shakespeare
Director: Eamon Flack
Cast: Ahunim Abebe, Peter Carroll, Tom Conroy, James Fraser, Charlotte Friels, Colin Friels, Raj Labade, Brandon McClelland, Conor Merrigan-Turner, Sukhbir (Sunny) Singh Walia, Alison Whyte, Charles Wu, Jana Zvedeniuk
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
The “orange menace” has been re-elected, ruling from the White House with narcissism more brazen than ever, even as he appears to drift into senility on the cusp of eighty. We may be tempted to call these times unprecedentedly strange, yet Shakespeare wrote King Lear centuries ago—proof enough that the spectacle of a deluded sovereign is hardly new. Perhaps it is merely our overly idealistic sensibilities that persuade us that today’s disorder is somehow exceptional.

Directed by Eamon Flack and bearing the charmingly elaborate title The True History of the Life and Death of King Lear & His Three Daughters, this production is an unambiguous showcase of exceptional performance, even if its visual world feels short on ambition. Bob Cousins’ set design and James Stibilj’s costumes appear deliberately nondescript, yet their quiet elegance remains unmistakable. The music, however, is a sheer delight: intricately composed by Steve Francis and Arjunan Puveendran, with live accompaniment that draws out every atmospheric nuance, pulling us wholly into the narrative at each turn.

Leading man Colin Friels inhabits the psyche of the titular character with unwavering conviction, offering a performance marked by sustained authenticity, even if he does not always command the stage with equal magnetism. It is, perhaps, the supporting cast who linger more vividly in the mind, many of them seizing their moments with flashes of astonishing brilliance that hold us rapt. Raj Labade as Edmund, Brandon McClelland as Kent, and Alison Whyte as Gloucester, to name but a few, distinguish themselves with performances whose precision and vitality give the production much of its dramatic force.

It was, after all, in this very year of 2025 that we witnessed the emergence of the No Kings movement and the two massive protests it inspired. We need no elaborate justification for its urgency, but King Lear seems to articulate perfectly our present sentiments with tragic precision. In its portrait of power unmoored from wisdom, the play reminds us that the call to dismantle the crown is not a novelty of our age, but a lesson humanity keeps forgetting—until the kingdom burns again.

www.belvoir.com.au

Review: Meow’s Meow’s The Red Shoes (Belvoir St Theatre)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Oct 4 – Nov 9, 2025
Creator: Meow Meow
Director: Kate Champion
Cast: Kanen Breen, Mark Jones, Meow Meow, Dan Witton, Jethro Woodward
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
In Hans Christian Andersen’s original tale, a young girl is condemned to dance without end, her obsession consuming her entire being. Meow Meow’s The Red Shoes transforms this fable into a self-reflexive performance piece, with Meow Meow — the self-proclaimed “eternal showgirl” — embodying an autobiographical figure who cannot stop performing, trapped in the perpetual motion of her own artistry. She describes her practice as non-linear and anti-narrative, and those qualities are evident here. Yet if the work falters, it is not because of its structural resistance to story, but rather because its gestures, however extravagant, begin to feel drained of true inspiration.

Nonetheless, Meow Meow’s song writing remains unequivocally delightful, buoyed by Jethro Woodward’s musical direction, which is both sophisticated and deeply satisfying. The staging of each number, under Kate Champion’s direction, abounds with visual allure, though the production’s overall lack of emotional resonance can leave one curiously hollow. Dann Barber’s set and costume design are splendidly realised, conjuring an atmosphere of apocalypse without ever relinquishing a sense of glamour. Meanwhile, Rachel Burke’s lighting is nothing short of transcendent, transforming the space with a radiance that is as visceral as it is luminous.

Meow Meow is, without question, a consummate performer — her voice rich and expressive, her physicality precise and magnetic. Yet beneath the impeccable technique lies a curious detachment, as though the machinery of performance turns flawlessly, but the spark within flickers faintly. In contrast, Kanen Breen radiates exuberance and conviction as her onstage companion, his presence a buoyant counterpoint that reanimates the stage. Exquisite musicians Mark Jones and Dan Witton, alongside Woodward, contribute not only live accompaniment but a heady air of bohemian decadence, infusing the production with an intoxicating sense of play.

Andersen’s 1845 tale The Red Shoes may glimmer with romance, yet beneath its sheen lies a stern puritanism — a warning against the woman who dares to follow her own desire. In Meow Meow’s hands, that cautionary fable is turned tenderly inside out: love, not vanity, becomes the pulse of her relentless motion. It is the reach for connection, not self-admiration, that keeps her dancing — as if true salvation lies in crafting communion, even in a space as fleeting and ephemeral as the theatre.

www.belvoir.com.au