Tag Archives: drama

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: Split Ends (Qtopia)

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Venue: Qtopia (Darlinghurst NSW), Jan 20 – 24, 2026
Playwright: Claudia Schnier
Director: Claudia Schnier
Cast: Claudia Schnier
Images by 

Theatre review
In her one-woman show, Claudia Schnier candidly reveals a lifelong pattern of obsessive behaviour, tracing it back to childhood, when she found herself compulsively trimming her own hair. In Split Ends, we witness her gradual unravelling in the aftermath of sexual assault by a former partner, as she revisits the regret-laden hindsight of missed warning signs and the painful inability to extract herself from a relationship that was, in retrospect, unmistakably toxic.

Schnier performs the work clad in gym attire, her muscular athleticism on full display as she interrogates both her own perceived vulnerability and the moral brutality of the person who exploited it. Much of Split Ends is deliberately confronting, making for an often uncomfortable viewing experience; however, the artist’s commitment never wavers and is beyond question. While the dramaturgical material itself may at times lack sufficient richness, Schnier’s assured command of video projection, lighting, and sound design significantly elevates the work, underscoring her impressive aptitude across multiple disciplines.

At the outset of the piece, Schnier repeats a refrain about “being enough,” deploying it as a kind of incantation—an attempt to ward off a pervasive sense of inadequacy and to summon a security that remains persistently out of reach. Girls and women are compelled to survive within environments engineered to erode self-esteem and undermine self-possession. Economic and social systems do not merely rely upon our subjugation, but flourish through our internalised surrender to the belief that we are perpetually lacking—that completion lies elsewhere, in something or someone beyond ourselves. The truth is that we require very little; yet to exist without yearning for what we have been so thoroughly conditioned to desire is an extraordinarily difficult undertaking.

Review: Takatāpui (Trans Theatre Festival)

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Venue: Carriageworks (Eveleigh NSW), Jan 10 – 15, 2026
Playwright: Daley Rangi
Cast: Daley Rangi
Image by Alec Council

Theatre review
The show opens with the artist preparing to head out for a date. Poised before a mirror and confronted by his own reflection, it becomes clear that what is being rehearsed is less a social ritual than a state of psychological readiness—an attempt to negotiate self-doubt as much as appearance. Daley Rangi’s Takatāpui is a one-person work that interrogates otherness and marginalisation. Rangi occupies multiple positions of difference: Māori within a predominantly white world, and visibly queer within a milieu structured by heteronormativity. Almost inevitably, the work unfolds as a meditation on isolation and loneliness, tracing the quiet distances that emerge when identity is continually rendered peripheral.

Takatāpui is threaded with humour, though its gravity is never in doubt. Rangi’s magnetism holds the audience in effortless thrall across the hour-long duration, his lucid embodiment of complex emotional states lending a visceral clarity to the poetic language he deploys with such quiet authority. What emerges is a portrait of profound vulnerability tempered by considerable strength: in his reflections on being brown and trans, Rangi articulates a narrative of injustice that resonates deeply, not as abstraction but as lived experience, felt and shared in the room.

It is striking that, despite being staged within the starkest of settings—an empty stage anchored only by a microphone stand outfitted with small electronic contraptions—the production’s lighting and sound design are intricately conceived and exuberantly realised. These elements do far more than support the action: they actively extend and enrich the storytelling. The resulting sensorial depth comes as a welcome surprise, amplifying the work’s theatricality and lending a layered, immersive quality to what might otherwise read as austere minimalism.

Takatāpui is written from a place of profound personal intimacy, offering perspectives and experiences that are singular and unrepeatable. That human beings possess a means by which such interiority can be shared at all is something to be cherished and fiercely defended. Art may be intrinsic to our species, yet it remains fragile—perpetually vulnerable to being sidelined, muted, or censored. In the present moment, artists have become increasingly rare, and alarmingly, this scarcity is met with a troubling complacency: an acceptance that human endeavour should be reduced to the bare logic of economic survival. To relegate art to the realm of the rarefied, to treat it as a luxury rather than a necessity, is both a disgrace and a danger. In doing so, we risk forfeiting our capacity to apprehend meaning, complexity, and truth itself.

www.greendoortheatrecompany.com

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: Born On A Thursday (Old Fitz Theatre)

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Venue: Old Fitzroy Theatre (Woolloomooloo NSW), Nov 28 – Dec 14, 2025
Playwright: Jack Kearney
Director: Lucy Clements
Cast: Deborah Galanos, James Lugton, Owen Hasluck, Sharon Millerchip, Sofia Nolan
Images by Phil Erbacher

Theatre review
April returns to her family home in Western Sydney after several years in Denmark, only to find that the landscape she left behind has shifted in ways no one is willing—or equipped—to articulate. In Jack Kearney’s Born on a Tuesday, the family’s chronic ineloquence becomes a kind of endurance test: months pass, crises mount, yet they orbit around their wounds with quiet desperation, unable to summon the intimacy or vulnerability required for meaningful connection. The result is a drama in which very little seems to occur, and although it captures certain truths about Australian parochialism, the writing rarely deepens those insights into a fully satisfying theatrical experience.

Lucy Clements’ direction lends the production an unmistakable gravity, keeping us attuned to the persistent despondency saturating April’s household, but that solemnity never quite translates into emotional engagement. These characters are not unsympathetic, yet we are seldom invited far enough into their inner lives to feel invested in their journeys.

The performances, however, are uniformly strong. Sharon Millerchip, as April’s mother Ingrid, delivers an impressively layered portrayal, marked by meticulous detail and a striking naturalism. Sofia Nolan’s April is earnest and committed, though the evasive quality of the writing often constrains her. Owen Hasluck brings a welcome charisma to April’s brother Isaac, while Deborah Galanos and James Lugton infuse their neighbour characters with a vividness and vitality that guard the piece from tipping entirely into gloom.

Soham Apte’s set design and Rita Naidu’s costumes evoke the suburban milieu with precision, yet offer just enough chromatic lift to keep the stage visually compelling. Veronique Benett’s lighting and Sam Cheng’s sound design are both applied with discernment, subtly shaping atmosphere and shading in tensions. Together, they support a production that strives to give weight to the many things ordinary people seem, all too often, unable to put into words.

Beneath all that reluctance to engage in difficult conversations lies a dense accumulation of resentment. The characters in Born on a Thursday, young and old alike, understand that life is no bed of roses—that its curve balls can, in fact, be catastrophic. Yet we must still find ways to keep moving. To compound those hardships by shutting out the very people to whom we are bound by kinship is its own small tragedy, and one the play suggests may be the most Australian silence of all.

www.oldfitztheatre.com.au | www.newghoststheatre.com

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: Gravity (Qtopia)

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Venue: Qtopia (Darlinghurst NSW), Nov 12 – 29, 2025
Playwright: Bradford Elmore
Director: Anthony Skuse
Cast: Wesley Senna Cortes, Annabelle Kablean, Drew Wilson
Images by Phil Erbacher

Theatre review
Christopher is sleeping with David, which is a problem because he lives firmly in the heteronormative world and remains deeply in love with his wife, Heather. The late discovery of his bisexuality is proving highly inconvenient, especially in a milieu where monogamy is the norm and hearts shatter at the faintest whiff of infidelity. In Gravity, Bradford Elmore charts a double-pronged coming out: a man who finds himself unexpectedly same-sex attracted, and simultaneously yearning for a polyamorous life. Elmore’s play is sensitively rendered and undeniably thoughtful, but its narrative ultimately drifts in circles, its ideas stagnating and looping without sufficient progression.

Direction by Anthony Skuse is deeply respectful of the experiences being depicted, perhaps a touch too solemn for a story that is ultimately not all that heavy. His set design mirrors his directorial sensibility—elegant, measured, and marked by a tasteful restraint. James Wallis’ lighting is a quiet triumph, infusing the staging with a tender, luminous beauty. The cast of three deliver focused, committed performances, though their occasional drift into melodrama feels misplaced. A sharper vein of humour would have gone a long way toward making the production a more engaging and dynamic watch.

People cannot help how they fall in love, and Christopher’s story reminds us that what is utterly natural becomes endlessly tangled by societal norms. Gravity reveals how the lives we imagine for ourselves are so often built on fanciful ideals and inherited conventions. Humans struggle to simply let things be; we push against our own nature, believing our choices to be rational, even as they lead us down winding, fruitless paths. The place where Christopher finally arrives should always have been clear, yet it seems we must wander through frustration and heartache before recognising the truths that were quietly waiting for us all along.

www.qtopiasydney.com.au | www.rogueprojects.com.au

Review: Get Sando (Flight Path Theatre)

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Venue: Flight Path Theatre (Marrickville NSW), Nov 12 – 22, 2025
Playwright: Claire Haywood
Director: Claire Haywood
Cast: Mark Lee, Susan Ling Young, Emily Sinclair, Di Smith
Images by 

Theatre review
Brianna is determined to expose Sando, a local councillor with a dubious past, while Micky pursues her own vendetta, convinced Sando is tied to a cold case murder. When the two women meet, their goals align in a bold attempt to take down the corrupt politician. Get Sando by Claire Haywood is a spirited and incisive work that sparks conversation about corruption, enlivened by sharp dialogue and thoughtfully drawn, likeable characters.

Haywood’s direction, however, lacks precision, leading to moments where the storytelling becomes confusing. The humour remains enjoyable, yet the frustration of missing key plot points is hard to ignore. The ensemble of four bring warmth and energy, yet the production would benefit greatly from sharper pacing and more rigorous rehearsal.

Unlike the precarious business of independent theatre, local government brims with the promise of profit. For decades, opportunists have slithered through loopholes and backdoors, reminding us that where money gathers, morality tends to scatter. The machinery of bureaucracy, polished by charm and paperwork, provides endless hiding places for those who know how to navigate its shadows. Every regulation conceals an escape hatch, every committee meeting a chance to trade favours in plain sight. It is a theatre of another kind — one where the stakes are higher, the scripts are dirtier, and the applause is measured in contracts and kickbacks.

www.flightpaththeatre.org | www.wonderlandproductions.com.au

Review: Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf (Sydney Theatre Company)

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Venue: Roslyn Packer Theatre (Sydney NSW), Nov 7 – Dec 14, 2025
Playwright: Edward Albee
Director: Sarah Goodes
Cast: Emily Goddard, Kat Stewart, David Whiteley, Harvey Zielinski
Images by Prudence Upton

Theatre review
Martha and George are locked in perpetual combat, their hostility not merely private but performative. Their decision to invite a young couple into their home becomes an act of exhibition, a deliberate staging of their mutual destruction. In Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Edward Albee exposes the tenacity with which individuals cling to their own suffering, sustained by an insatiable attachment to prestige, privilege, and power. Though Martha and George possess the agency to abandon their cyclical torment, they remain ensnared by the illusion of respectability, choosing the stability of social appearance over the uncertainty of liberation.

At sixty-three years old, the play has become something of a grand old dame of the theatrical canon, yet its genuinely subversive sensibilities ensure it remains as confrontational and affecting as ever. Under the direction of Sarah Goodes, the work gains renewed vitality: she not only excavates the raw truths within Martha and George’s volatile dynamic but also deftly unearths the humour embedded in their vicious exchanges. Goodes has taken an enduring classic and rendered it freshly incisive—polished to a gleam, yet capable of striking with the force of a blunt instrument.

Harriet Oxley’s production design evokes the period with accuracy—perhaps a touch conventional, yet undeniably effective in grounding the drama. Matt Scott’s lighting, together with music and sound design by Grace Ferguson and Ethan Hunter, begins with subtle restraint, almost imperceptible at first, but grows increasingly potent as the evening unfolds. By the time the bickering subsides and the underlying trauma surfaces, their contributions prove essential, shaping the production’s emotional crescendo with impressive efficacy.

Kat Stewart could hardly be more compelling in the role of Martha. She delivers a richly nuanced portrayal, demonstrating an intricate grasp of the character’s psychological intricacies while imbuing every moment with delectable theatricality. Her gestures, whether minute or grand, command attention, and we remain enthralled by each. As George, David Whiteley conjures the precise timbre of the mid-century American bourgeoisie through his masterful vocal modulations. His comparatively restrained approach proves just as resonant and magnetic as Stewart’s flamboyance, creating a riveting equilibrium in this deliciously acrimonious marital duel. By contrast, the younger couple, Honey and Nick—played by Emily Goddard and Harvey Zielinski—are less persuasive. Though their performances elicit steady laughter, their characterisations lack conviction, never fully embodying the personas they attempt to construct.

We can see so clearly that Martha and George could lead far better lives, if only they could embrace a simpler existence. Yet the seductive allure of wealth and status keeps them shackled to their interminable misery. Each day, they choose to persist in their poisonous habits, unable—or unwilling—to relinquish the trappings of class that sustain their suffering. In the end, we recognise something of ourselves in their torment—the way we cling to what hurts us most, simply because it feels like home.

www.sydneytheatre.com.au

Review: So Young (Old Fitz Theatre)

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Venue: Old Fitzroy Theatre (Woolloomooloo NSW), Nov 7 – 22, 2025
Playwright: Douglas Maxwell
Director: Sam O’Sullivan
Cast: Aisha Aidara, Ainslie McGlynn, Henry Nixon, Jeremy Waters
Images by Richard Farland

Theatre review
Just three months after Helen’s death, her husband Milo finds himself in love again—with Greta. When Helen’s best friend Liane learns the truth over dinner, her fury is as sharp as it is justified. In So Young, Douglas Maxwell turns his attention to grief, and to the bewildering variety of ways we try to survive it. His writing glimmers with wit and tenderness, and though he captures the ache of love and loss with real conviction, the story’s moral crescendo feels a shade too emphatic—leaving us moved, yet faintly smothered by its sincerity.

Sam O’Sullivan directs with a keen psychological instinct, guiding each confrontation with an honesty that keeps us firmly inside the characters’ heads. The production might benefit from sharper attention to its comedic undercurrents, but it never loses momentum, even as emotions flare and settle in quick succession. Kate Beere’s set design grounds the story in familiar domestic realism, while Aron Murray’s lighting is finely tuned to our shifting emotional responses. Johnny Yang’s understated sound work offers just enough texture to sustain our focus without distraction.

Aisha Aidara, Ainslie McGlynn, Henry Nixon, and Jeremy Waters are evenly matched in their performances, each as compelling as the next. Their portrayals are strikingly authentic, revealing with clarity and empathy the distinct emotional truths that collide within the play’s central argument. Through their efforts, we discover a touching immediacy, revealing how grief seeps into every connection, reshaping love and loyalty in its wake.

Time is the slow balm that touches every wound, even if it never truly restores what was lost. Sorrow and anguish are woven into the fabric of being alive, as constant as breath itself. The yearning to escape pain is ancient and human, yet in watching ourselves grieve, we learn what it means to endure. To see how we break is to see how we love—and how we might heal without hurting more. However impossible it feels, the truth endures: the living must matter more than the dead.

www.oldfitztheatre.com.au | www.outhousetheatre.org