Tag Archives: comedy

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 Transgender Woman On The Internet, Crying (Old Fitz Theatre)

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Venue: Old Fitzroy Theatre (Woolloomooloo NSW), Mar 26 – Apr 11, 2026
Book, Music & Lyrics: Cassie Hamilton
Director: Jean Tong
Cast: Blake Appelqvist, Cassie Hamilton, Rosie Rai, Teo Vergara
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
A Transgender Woman on the Internet, Crying by Cassie Hamilton is a work of considerable ambition: a musical that interrogates the fractious politics of contemporary trans identity with both intellectual rigor and genuine entertainment value. The narrative centres on Avis, a social media influencer whose transition to womanhood is conducted almost entirely through the counsel of her followers—an arrangement that strikes her would-be friend Corrin as not merely misguided but politically retrograde. Corrin’s overtures of friendship, we soon discover, are calculated; they intend to expose Avis and dismantle her influence. What emerges is a drama less about betrayal than about the impossible question of whether there exists, in Hamilton’s formulation, any “correct” mode of being trans.

Under Jean Tong’s direction, the production achieves that rare alchemy of the serious and the playful. The tone is urgent without being hectoring, consistently amusing yet never trivializing the stakes at hand. Lillian Hearne’s musical direction deploys electronica to construct what one might call a deceptively frothy soundscape—girl-pop textures that, upon closer listening, reveal considerable compositional sophistication. Dan Ham’s choreography pushes the performers to their limits, delivering bursts of energy while ensuring every movement remains flattering. Rachel Lee and Nick Moloney’s lighting design navigates the production’s numerous location shifts with efficiency, though one wishes for more granular calibration of emotional atmosphere. Ruby Jenkins’ set design leans toward the simple side but never feels insufficient.

Hamilton herself proves a formidable stage presence as Avis, negotiating an impressive emotional register with a nuance that compels genuine investment in her predicament. Her excellent singing voice is a genuine joy, only amplifying the appeal of her catchy songwriting. The compelling Blake Appelqvist brings necessary credibility to the challenging role of Corrin, and the chemistry between the two principals lends the production its persuasive force. In supporting roles, Rosie Rai and Teo Vergara deserve particular mention for their depiction of a gender-nonconforming community rendered with humour and, crucially, tenderness.

Women, cis and trans alike, have historically laboured under regimes of visibility that dictate permissible self-presentation, imposing unreasonable requirements and unattainable ideals. There always exist however, those who refuse such mandates, who proliferate alternative definitions of being, who continually expand the circumference of what womanhood, and indeed gender itself, might signify.

There is no question that gender remains a system of control, and though few of us can claim to have fully evaded its grip, there are countless ways to twist and subvert its rules, even to the point of exposing their meaninglessness. Conversely, those rules can certainly be followed strictly—so long as those who choose to adhere, learn to accept that others will find their own ways, of being human.

www.oldfitztheatre.com.au | www.instagram.com/atwotic

Review: The Prom (Teatro)

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Venue: Teatro (Leichhardt NSW), Mar 24 – Apr 26, 2026
Book: Rob Martin, Chad Beguelin
Music: Matthew Sklar
Lyrics: Chad Beguelin
Directors: Andrew Bevis, Nathan M. Wright
Cast: Erin Bruce, Renae Corser née Berry, Murray Cunninghame, Paige Fallu, Brad Green, Ewan Herdman, Nina Hurley, Scott Irwin, Abbey McPherson, Sophie Montague, Brendan Mungar, Caroline O’Connor, Luke Reynolds
Images by Robert Miniter

Theatre review
When a clutch of fading Broadway luminaries descends upon rural Indiana to champion a lesbian teenager barred from escorting her girlfriend to the high school prom, the 2016 musical The Prom possesses a compelling premise, yet its execution frequently falters; the book and songs, for what is ostensibly a deeply emotional story, seldom earn the investment they demand, and the humour often falls flat.

Directors Andrew Bevis and Nathan M. Wright nonetheless infuse the proceedings with ample dynamism and a spirited flair; Wright’s choreography, in particular, distinguishes itself through infectious exuberance executed with commendable vigour by a spirited young ensemble. Nick Fry’s set design is unapologetically flamboyant, draping the entire backdrop in shimmering, multi-hued sequins that delight the eye. Cornelia Cassimatis’s costuming matches this chromatic audacity, though occasionally sacrificing sartorial sophistication for spectacle. Roderick Van Gelder’s lighting, whilst compositionally conventional, nonetheless succeeds in amplifying the production’s kinetic vitality.

The cast labours with palpable dedication, their commitment evident even as the material proves resistant to transcendence. Among them, Brendan Monger’s Barry emerges as a singular delight, his impeccable comic timing compensating for the script’s deficiencies. Caroline O’Connor, portraying the narcissistic Dee Dee Allen, deploys a calculated theatrical excess that miraculously breathes life into even the most anemic one-liners.

That The Prom addresses queerphobia with such explicit moral clarity feels almost achingly prescient given its pre-Trump provenance; the subsequent decade has witnessed a grievous retrenchment of LGBTQIA+ rights throughout the American heartland, rendering the musical’s conceit not merely relevant but increasingly urgent—a sobering reminder that what once played as contemporary fiction now reads as documentary reality, contemplated with genuine anguish.

www.teatroitalianforum.com.au

Review: Bette & Joan (Ensemble Theatre)

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Venue: Ensemble Theatre (Kirribilli NSW), Mar 20 – Apr 25, 2026
Playwright: Anton Burge
Director: Liesel Badorrek
Cast: Jeanette Cronin, Lucia Mastrantone
Images by Prudence Upton

Theatre review
Anton Burge’s 2011 play Bette & Joan offers a backstage glimpse into the lives of Hollywood legends Davis and Crawford during the making of the classic film Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Set against the fraught atmosphere of that production, the drama examines their legendary feud and fraught intimacy, while exposing the deeper vulnerabilities of two aging muses navigating a merciless industry built on rigid hierarchies and the constant threat of obsolescence.

Burge’s script navigates the labyrinthine psychology of these titans with admirable precision, yet the work itself proves uneven in its ability to sustain engagement. Under Liesel Badorrek’s direction, the production’s stylistic elements are cohesively managed, resulting in a production that looks and sounds exquisite—but one that never quite draws us into its central concerns. Grace Deacon’s production design evokes the insular world of a soundstage, with the rear facades of filmmaking flats forming a backdrop. The two dressing tables, though impeccably glamorous, feel somewhat confining. Deacon fares better with her costuming, which achieves a haunting verisimilitude in resurrecting the stars’ 1962 silhouettes—the tweed and talons, the calculated armour of glamour under siege.

Cameron Smith’s video projections—whether pre-recorded or live—are seamlessly integrated and visually splendid, conjuring the texture of an earlier cinematic era. Lighting designer Kelsey Lee and composer Ross Johnston contribute moments of heightened drama, infusing this tribute to old Hollywood with flashes of theatrical beauty, even as the production rarely penetrates beyond surface-level homage.

Performers Jeanette Cronin and Lucia Mastrantone command the stage with palpable confidence, holding our attention through the sheer artistry of their mimicry. Cronin, in particular, delivers a strikingly accurate portrayal of Davis, capturing her distinctive mannerisms, vocal inflections, and a face seemingly sculpted from the same volcanic material as her subject’s.

At its core, Bette & Joan grapples with the phenomenon of female rivalry, revealing that even at the highest echelons of success, women remain bound by shared struggles within a system that depends on their diminishment. By cannibalizing each other’s reputations, they performed the industry’s work of self-sabotage, ensuring that the true mechanisms of dominance remained invisible and intact. Power in its most insidious forms flourishes when the disenfranchised are kept apart—persuaded that their true enemy lies beside them, while the forces that exploit them operate with impunity.

www.ensemble.com.au

Review: My Brilliant Career (Sydney Theatre Company)

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Venue: Roslyn Packer Theatre (Sydney NSW), Mar 21 – May 3, 2026
Book: Sheridan Harbridge, Dean Bryant (from the Miles Franklin novel)
Music: Mathew Frank
Lyrics: Dean Bryant
Director: Anne-Louise Sarks
Cast: Cameron Bajraktarevic-Hayward, Melanie Bird, Lincoln Elliott, Victoria Falconer, Kala Gare, Raj Labade, Drew Livingston, Ana Mitsikas, Christina O’Neill, Jarrad Payne, Jack Green, and Meg McKibbin.
Images by Pia Johnson

Theatre review
First published in 1901, when Miles Franklin was merely twenty-one, this seminal novel chronicles a teenage protagonist’s fierce determination to transcend restrictive gender conventions and forge an autonomous existence within the artistic sphere. Now, My Brilliant Career—that cornerstone of the Australian literary canon—has been reimagined as a stage musical by the formidable trio of Dean Bryant and Sheridan Harbridge, who craft the words, and composer Mathew Frank. Together, they amplify the original’s spirited verve to revelatory effect, delivering a production as profoundly moving as it is inspiring.

Under Anne-Louise Sarks’s astute direction and Amy Campbell’s sensitive choreography, the production arrives with startling immediacy, rendering its feminist discourse with the electrifying urgency of a revelation only just unveiled. Sybylla Melvyn, that indomitable protagonist, captivates utterly; every element of the staging conspires to forge an unbreakable empathic bond, compelling our complete investment in her trajectory.

Kala Gare delivers a thoroughly virtuosic performance in the central role, commanding the stage with breath-taking intensity to create an indelible theatrical experience. Remarkably, Gare and the supporting ensemble assume the dual responsibility of dramatic interpretation whilst simultaneously constituting the instrumental foundation of the entire musical landscape—a demonstration of extraordinary artistic versatility. Under Victoria Falconer’s expert musical direction, each composition emerges as a triumph of exuberance, sustaining a level of entertainment that never once falters.

Set and costumes by Marg Howell evoke the visual vernacular of the late nineteenth century, yet—like every other element of the production—deploy considerable artistic license to ensure the work feels distinctly contemporary. Eschewing any slavish fidelity to historical accuracy that might risk feeling dowdy or remote, preventing the work from collapsing into the fusty dreariness of period-bound exactitude that might otherwise alienate contemporary sensibilities. Matt Scott’s lighting makes sparing use of grand gestures, focusing instead on the nuanced cultivation of atmosphere, achieving its mood-crafting objectives with impeccable restraint and consummate efficacy.

Girls should be taught not only that they possess every right to shape their own lives, but also that the denial of independence precipitates inexorably a descent into despondency, corrosive resentment, and a misery that permeates the very marrow of being. Sybylla’s narrative stands as a testament to resistance—particularly arduous resistance, for she must steel herself not against hardship, but against pleasure itself; she must privilege the austere dictates of intellect over the intoxicating, ephemeral promises of romantic entanglement.

Every instinct of her adolescent being strains toward those deceptively beautiful, ultimately hollow comforts, yet it is precisely this opposition to that which appears most desirable that renders her struggle both agonizing and transcendent. In her defiance, we recognize the heart breaking truth that the most exquisite cages remain cages still, and that the price of genuine freedom is often the conscious, painful renunciation of that which sparkles most brightly.

www.sydneytheatre.com.au

Review: Stage Kiss (New Theatre)

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Venue: New Theatre (Newtown NSW), Mar 18 – Apr 11, 2026
Playwright: Sarah Ruhl
Director: Alice Livingstone
Cast: Emma Delle-Vedove, Nicola Denton, Victoria Fowler, Lynden Jones, Nicholas Papademetriou, Frank Shanahan, Jason Spindlow
Images by Bob Seary

Theatre review
In Sarah Ruhl’s comedy Stage Kiss, an actress, cast opposite the very man with whom she once had a bitter falling out, finds herself helplessly ensnared in a backstage romance. Though her husband and daughter look on with dismay, she surrenders to the peculiar intimacy of the stage, where simulated passion gives way to genuine longing. The play’s central conceit—that the body cannot tell a feigned kiss from a real one—becomes a sly meditation on how art blurs the line between imagination and truth.

Alice Livingstone’s direction mines every vein of comedy in the text, yielding a production of genuine charm. As the central figure, Emma Delle-Vedove is wholly convincing, imbuing her performance with a satisfying depth that lends the storytelling real substance. Opposite her, Jason Spindlow matches her stride for stride, his timing and comic sensibility proving an ideal complement. The supporting ranks are enlivened by Nicholas Papademetriou and Frank Shanahan, both of whom generate uproarious laughs through their intrepid, delightfully unguarded performances.

The production’s visual language is shaped by Merle Leuschner’s set, which capably navigates the play’s spatial requirements, and Bianca De Nicola’s costumes, which neatly delineate character. Together, the two elements inadvertently echo the resourceful aesthetic of regional theatre, conferring a certain lived-in verisimilitude. Holly Nesbitt’s lighting contributes welcome nuance, its selective details lending the stage visual depth. The sound design, however, proves a notable shortcoming—its lack of energy frequently undermines the production’s momentum, leaving it feeling less dynamic than the material demands.

To observe that a woman possesses the right to shape her own life is perhaps to state the obvious, yet the sentiment bears repeating. In Stage Kiss, we encounter a woman who does precisely that—choosing to be artist, mother, wife, and lover, often in uneasy succession. Where conventional parlance would accuse her of trying to “have it all,” the play instead presents her simply sampling what is on offer, fumbling through each decision, and making mistakes with disarming regularity. In a culture saturated with glossy, unattainable ideals of achievement, watching her flawed navigation proves a far more honest—and surprisingly inspiring—spectacle.

www.newtheatre.org.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: Head Over Heels (Hayes Theatre)

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Venue: Hayes Theatre Co (Potts Point NSW), Feb 20 – Mar 22, 2026
Book: Jeff Whitty
Adaptation: James Magruder (based upon The Arcadia by Sir Philip Sydney)
Director: Ellen Simpson
Cast: Thomas Campbell, Nancy Denis, Gaz Dutlow, Ellen Ebbs, Alana Iannace, Minerva Khobande, Lucy Lalor, Jenni Little, Adam Noviello, J Ridler
Images by Kate Williams

Theatre review
Adapted from Sir Philip Sidney’s 16th-century prose romance The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia and set to the effervescent catalogue of The Go-Go’s (including solo work by lead vocalist Belinda Carlisle), the jukebox musical Head Over Heels follows King Basilius of Arcadia as he flees into the wilderness with his royal court, desperately seeking to outmanoeuvre a quartet of ominous prophecies. While a deliberate queering of the narrative lends the production a timely, subversive edge, the 2015 creation remains conceptually thin—an exercise in nostalgic pastiche that, for all its exuberance, ultimately fails to transcend the limitations of its own conceit.

Ellen Simpson’s direction is conventional without being uninspired, yet it fails to cultivate the crucial investment that might elevate the piece beyond its modest virtues. The production’s buoyancy is its greatest asset, an infectious lightness that often carries the day even as the characters remain at a narrative arm’s length. Music director Zara Stanton and choreographer Ryan González follow suit, offering pleasant, polished contributions that are content to serve the material’s needs rather than striving for innovation.

Josh McIntosh’s set sketches a charming pastoral world through its key features—a graceful proscenium arch and an evocative backdrop—but the effect is compromised by rolling units whose rustic utilitarianism clashes with the design’s more delicate aspirations. Sidney Younger’s lighting, though visually restrained, demonstrates scrupulous calibration, modulating energy and atmosphere with precision if not poetry. The cast, uniformly accomplished and visibly committed, labour against a fundamental limitation: the show’s characters are drawn as caricatures, and no amount of performative investment can quite animate them into three-dimensional life.

Head Over Heels illuminates the slender margin between inspired invention and well-worn trope. The production brims with undeniable flashes of creativity, yet they never quite coalesce into something genuinely artistic. Instead, the whole resolves into something more modest: a serviceable vehicle for entertainment, one with which many audience members will undoubtedly leave content, if not transformed.

www.hayestheatre.com.au | www.welldonecreative.com.au

Review: The Elocution Of Benjamin Franklin (Griffin Theatre Co)

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Venue: Belvoir St Theatre (Surry Hills NSW), Feb 21 – Mar 29, 2026
Playwright: steve j. spears
Director: Declan Greene
Cast: Simon Burke AO
Images by Brett Boardman

Theatre review
Robert O’Brien leads a life of deliberate seclusion, his world contained within the walls of his home where he devotes himself to the exacting art of vocal pedagogy, instructing pupils across the full spectrum of age and aspiration. The equilibrium of this carefully calibrated existence is disrupted when Benjamin—a twelve-year-old of startling precocity and unsettling sophistication—arrives to reveal himself as nothing short of prodigious. This narrative unfolds in the early 1970s, an era of terrifying peril for all who share Robert’s sexual orientation; even his most careful navigation of social propriety cannot insulate him from the devastating ease with which circumstance may turn into accusation, suspicion into ruin.

Half a century has elapsed since steve j. spears’ The Elocution of Benjamin Franklin inaugurated its world premiere upon the Sydney stage, and while the landscape of queer liberation has undergone transformation beyond measure, the play’s explorations of intolerance, prejudice, and bigotry remain as piercingly relevant as ever—a testament to the uncomfortable truth that while laws may evolve, the fundamental human capacity for cruelty and hate often endures.

Under Declan Greene’s direction, the production carries an unmistakable reverence—a profound acknowledgment of a generation for whom queerness meant navigating a world far more hostile than today’s youth might readily comprehend. The work functions, quite clearly, as homage to those forebears and elders who charted paths through terrain that could, at any moment, turn treacherous. Yet the production never settles into mere period tribute; it remains astutely attuned to the present, using its historical lens to examine the seemingly cyclical nature of persecution and the ease with which any minority can become scapegoat du jour. The Elocution of Benjamin Franklin ultimately wields considerable power in its address, even as its dramatic traction proves somewhat uneven—with individual scenes varying in their capacity to compel as the narrative unfolds.

Isabel Hudson’s production design conjures a genteel nostalgia—an aesthetic meditation upon queer history that attends with equal sensitivity to the elegiac allure being manufactured and to the precariousness underlying its surface. Lights by Brockman prove instrumental in choreographing our temporal passage, whether languorous or abrupt; its mercurial unpredictability generates a distinctly satisfying theatrical frisson. Working in intimate concert, David Bergman’s sound and music prove equally indispensable, enabling the production’s transcendence of material realities to reach the essential core of its thematic concerns.

Simon Burke AO delivers a performance of remarkable depth and emotional acuity in his portrayal of Robert. Whether navigating registers of flippant vivacity or mortal gravity, he maintains a presence at once reassuring and undeniably sincere—radiating a warmth that secures our attentive vulnerability, rendering us receptive to the excavation of a queer historical epoch that demands our permanent remembrance.

Just when one might have reasonably supposed our community could begin to shift its focus from old battles to new horizons, these last forty-eight hours have delivered via the news, harrowing accounts of violence against young gay men—assaults whose contours bear chilling resemblance to those that recurred with grim regularity before decriminalisation, before marriage equality, before any number of legislative milestones we imagined might signal lasting change.

It is clear that legal frameworks, however essential, cannot alone dismantle the deeper machinations of prejudice. The same streets that witnessed violence decades ago continue to witness it still; the same fear that coursed through gay men navigating public space in the previous century courses through their counterparts today. Progress, for all its genuine achievements, does not move in an unbroken forward trajectory. It stalls, it falters, and sometimes it reveals itself to be far more fragile than we wish to believe. Hate crimes against queer people are not anachronisms—they are the present, demanding we reckon with how much remains undone.

www.griffintheatre.com.au 

Review: Evil Dead (Seymour Centre)

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Venue: Seymour Centre (Chippendale NSW), Feb 20 – Mar 21, 2026
Book & Lyrics: George Reinblatt (based on characters created by Sam Raimi)
Music: Christopher Bond, Frank Cipolla, Melissa Morris, George Reinblatt
Director: Daniel Stoddart
Cast: Grace Alston, Jake Ameduri, Elaina Bianchi, Oliver Clisdell, Harley Dasey, Harrison Riley, Emma Wilby
Images by Peter Stoop

Theatre review
Five college students venture into a remote cabin for spring break, only to succumb one by one to demonic possession—unleashing bloody carnage upon their unsuspecting friends. This is Evil Dead: The Musical, a stage adaptation of Sam Raimi’s seminal horror film. Where the 1981 original genuinely terrified audiences, the musical version leans gleefully into slapstick, transforming the source material’s gruesome set pieces into comical, blood-soaked punchlines. The result plays less as parody and more as affectionate tribute—a theatrical love letter to a film that has since ascended to iconic cult status.

While the material itself may not consistently land with comedic precision, director Daniel Stoddart compensates with an infusion of irrepressible exuberance that propels the production forward. The contributions of choreographer Lochlan Erard and music director Mark Bradley, while adhering to conventional frameworks, provide a polished and professional foundation for the production.

Much of the evening’s success rests upon the sheer infectiousness of the cast’s enthusiasm, which effectively distracts from jokes that can otherwise skew toward the trite. In the central role of Ash, Harley Dasey demonstrates technical competence, even if his portrayal falls somewhat short of the roguish, beleaguered heroism the part demands. More memorable are supporting players like Emma Wilby as Cheryl and Harrison Riley as Jack, whose impeccable comic timing yields the production’s most substantial laughs.

Eric Luchen’s set design proves memorable in its effective realization of the narrative’s supernatural demands. Together with Renata Beslik’s costumes, the production’s visual landscape achieves a faithful, if overly conventional, period authenticity. It is Jason Bovaird’s lighting design, however, that injects genuine dramatic tension, its increasingly dynamic palette mirroring the story’s gradual descent into high-octane chaos and effectively propelling the production toward its bombastic conclusion.