Tag Archives: drama

Review: Es & Flo (Old Fitz Theatre)

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Venue: Old Fitzroy Theatre (Woolloomooloo NSW), Feb 13 – 28, 2026
Playwright: Jennifer Lunn
Director: Emma Canalese
Cast: Annie Byron, Eloise Snape, Fay Du Chateau, Erika Ndibe, Charlotte Salusinszky
Images by Robert Catto

Theatre review
Esme has turned seventy-one, and the encroachment of dementia is becoming unmistakable. Her de facto partner of thirty-six years, Flo, remains steadfast in her commitment to care for Esme at home. Yet Esme’s son, asserting familial authority, is equally resolved to relocate her to an aged care facility. In Es & Flo, Jennifer Lunn examines a predicament all too familiar to many same-sex couples of a certain generation: the systematic erasure of their relationships by both kin and legal institutions, stripping them of companionship and patrimony precisely when bodily decline renders them most vulnerable.

It is a deeply affecting work, one that, under Emma Canalese’s astute direction, strikes precisely the right register to resonate with its audience, delivering a theatrical experience at once moving and meaningful. Annie Byron is particularly compelling as Esme, capturing with remarkable subtlety the complex metamorphoses that accompany the advance of age. Her portrayal of authentic tenderness toward her partner does much to render their bond credible, thereby securing the audience’s emotional investment in the narrative. Fay Du Chateau’s Flo truly comes into her own as the drama intensifies, revealing layers of fortitude and vulnerability. The supporting ensemble—Eloise Snape, Erika Ndibe, and Charlotte Salusinszky—likewise distinguishes itself, bringing thoughtfulness and nuance to every moment.

Soham Apte’s set design evokes a recognisable domestic sphere even as its spatial demarcations permit scenes to unfold with fluidity. Alice Vance’s costuming conjures persuasive archetypes while conferring upon the stage a distinct, understated elegance. Luna Ng’s lighting, though never ostentatious, illuminates each interaction with precision, calibrated to elicit the requisite emotional response from an audience confronting a narrative at once tender and consequential.

The love between the two elders in Es & Flo is rendered as indissoluble, yet even now such unions remain perpetually imperilled. Statutory equality and the legal recognition of same-sex marriage have not extinguished the social dynamics capable of sundering these bonds—particularly when queer individuals advance into infirmity and can no longer safeguard their own interests. Equality on paper is but a parchment promise unless the circle of kinship closes around us, unless the community becomes armour against the gathering dark of our final queer years.

www.oldfitztheatre.com.au | www.mitodoproductions.com

Review: Gia Ophelia (KXT on Broadway)

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Venue: KXT on Broadway (Ultimo NSW), Feb 11 – 15, 2026
Playwright: Grace Wilson
Director: Jo Bradley
Cast: Annie Stafford
Images by Phil Erbacher

Theatre review
Gia is desperate to play Ophelia in Hamlet at Sydney’s premier Shakespeare company, yet at twenty-nine she confronts the dawning realisation that this ambition will likely remain unfulfilled. At home, her boyfriend Dan pressures her toward motherhood, rendering their relationship increasingly transactional. In Grace Wilson’s Gia Ophelia, we witness an actor gradually overwhelmed, drowning in disappointment and sorrow—much like the role she covets most.

Wilson’s dramaturgy emerges as the earnest offspring of Shakespearean inspiration, whilst simultaneously offering a laceratingly frank excavation of a young woman’s interiority in the contemporary West. Though punctuated by humour, Gia Ophelia proves ultimately disquieting—almost exasperating in its steadfast adherence to a conception of femininity four centuries old, its refusal to grant Gia the autonomy and agency that her modern circumstances ostensibly afford her.

Direction by Jo Bradley proves steadfastly faithful to the spirit of the text, ensuring that the anguish rendered resonates palpably—an unflinching examination of one woman’s conviction of her own failure. Holly Nesbitt’s lighting design confers a superb sense of theatricality, suffusing the stage with wistfulness and melancholy, discovering moments of unexpected beauty in the protagonist’s struggle-worn expressions. Otto Zagala’s sound and music, though occasionally abrupt in their intrusion, are effective additions to the production’s atmospheric intensity.

Annie Stafford delivers a remarkable performance as Gia, navigating with apparent effortlessness from the play’s levities to its despondent core. Whether in moments of lightness or shadow, Stafford proves eminently compelling—quite miraculously preventing the prevailing sadness of Gia Ophelia from estranging its audience.

One might hope that in this modern age, a woman like Gia could locate peace, happiness, and fulfilment beyond the purview of masculine design. Yet the long shadow of hegemonic patriarchy persists, its ancient architecture still shaping the contours of our lives. This is not to suggest, however, that Gia exists merely as its creature. Women have indeed traversed remarkable distance, and the legacy of her forebears has bestowed possibilities of liberation that Shakespeare and his ilk could scarcely have imagined. The past bequeaths its constraints; it also bestows its momentum.

Review: The Normal Heart (Sydney Theatre Company)

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Venue: Sydney Opera House (Sydney NSW), Feb 9 – Mar 14, 2026
Playwright: Larry Kramer
Director: Dean Bryant
Cast: Nicholas Brown, Mitchell Butel, Tim Draxl, Michael Griffiths, Emma Jones, Evan Lever, Keiynan Lonsdale, Fraser Morrison, Mark Saturno
Images by Neil Bennett

Theatre review
The story begins in 1981, at the very dawn of the AIDS crisis that would devastate gay communities around the world. As a marginalised group, attempts to secure recognition and support proved extraordinarily difficult. Yet the indefatigable activist Ned Weeks refuses to accept indifference or rejection, as vividly portrayed in Larry Kramer’s seminal work, The Normal Heart.

Written four decades ago and drawing heavily on Kramer’s own experiences, the play arrives from a vastly different social and medical landscape. Encouragingly, much has changed — not only in the treatment and understanding of the disease itself, but also in the broader recognition of gay rights. As a result, the work can at times feel overtly expositional to contemporary audiences. However, as a historical lens on one of the most defining public health and social crises of modern life, it remains deeply significant, even if not always uniformly resonant.

Dean Bryant’s direction delivers a production of fitting urgency, capturing the emotional temperature of the era and offering a clear sense of what it meant to work on the front lines of the fight for HIV and AIDS to be taken seriously. It is a passionate and deeply sincere staging, imbued with a palpable sense of commitment, even if it does not always sustain meaningful engagement.

The cast is led by Mitchell Butel, who brings admirable presence and authenticity to the role of Weeks, grounding a story that continues to demand retelling. Powerful monologues are delivered with memorable force by performers such as Emma Jones, Tim Draxl, and Evan Lever, each contributing striking moments of dramatic intensity.

Production designer Jeremy Allen underscores the desperation of the era with a set that appears subtly worn and frayed at the edges, quietly reflecting a world under strain. His costumes evoke the textures of early-1980s gay culture, with characters embodying the archetypal looks and sensibilities we now associate with that period.

Nigel Levings’ lighting is largely unobtrusive, allowing the performances to remain the focal point, before gently asserting itself in key moments — particularly towards the conclusion — when a more overt sentimentality emerges. Cellist Rowena Macneish provides live accompaniment of extraordinary sensitivity, her playing elegantly underscoring the production’s most powerful emotional currents.

While antiretroviral therapies have transformed HIV/AIDS from a death sentence into a manageable condition, The Normal Heart endures as an indictment of institutional indifference—a reminder that political structures remain perilously susceptible to abandoning their most vulnerable constituents. We entrust governing bodies with the intricate machinery of public welfare, yet those who wield power frequently subordinate communal wellbeing to private interests, ideological rigidity, or bureaucratic inertia. The disquieting symmetry between Kramer’s era and our own is difficult to ignore: in Sydney mere days ago, state violence was deployed against citizens exercising their right to dissent, while across the Pacific, democratic institutions in the United States appear to be unravelling with vertiginous momentum. Larry Kramer waged his battles until his final breath; his unyielding moral clarity demands not our nostalgia, but our emulation.

www.sydneytheatre.com.au

Review: Purpose (Sydney Theatre Company)

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Venue: Wharf 1 Sydney Theatre Company (Walsh Bay NSW), Feb 2 – Mar 22, 2026
Playwright: Branden Jacobs-Jenkins
Director: Zindzi Okenyo
Cast: Grace Bentley-Tsibuah, Deni Gordon, Markus Hamilton, Tinashe Mangwana, Maurice Marvel Meredith, Sisi Stringer
Images by Prudence Upton

Theatre review
The Jaspers of Chicago are a prominent family, with patriarch Solomon having left an indelible mark on American history as a luminary of the Civil Rights movement and a pillar of his community, counting Dr Martin Luther King Jr. among his many friends. Yet, at some point, things began to unravel.

In Branden Jacobs-Jenkins’ Purpose, we witness how a legacy can be tarnished, in a story that explores broken dreams, misplaced faith, and the quiet dangers of human complacency. As we discover that the Jaspers are not who they are believed to be, we are confronted with the illusory nature of celebrity and reputation, and reminded that true democratic agency — and personal destiny — ultimately demands individual vigilance and control.

It is a sensational piece of writing, rich with humour and sharp insight, and driven by a plot that is thrillingly unpredictable. Zindzi Okenyo’s direction keeps the audience riveted as each dramatic surprise unfolds with sustained force. Under her guidance, the relationships feel fully realised and believable, allowing us to invest deeply in the complex dynamics at play.

The cast is broadly likeable, if somewhat uneven, with Markus Hamilton leaving the strongest impression, delivering a mesmerisingly profound performance as Solomon. His daughter-in-law Morgan is brought to life by a remarkable Grace Bentley-Tsibuah, who is magnificent in her intensity, inhabiting a role brimming with resentment, rage, and defiance.

Production design by Jeremy Allen creates a Jasper residence that feels suitably traditional and respectable, its windows looking out onto heavy, persistent snowfall that quietly reinforces the play’s sense of place. Lighting by Kelsey Lee shifts in subtle gradations to mirror changes in mood, while consistently flattering and revealing the nuances of each character.

James Peter Brown’s score enters sparingly, transporting us into something more ethereal between the very grounded disputes that form the scintillating emotional core of Purpose. The effect is to create moments of distance and reflection, as though inviting us to consider these deeply human interactions with greater objectivity.

It is natural to have political heroes, but they should serve as sources of inspiration rather than saintly figures upon whom we pin all our hopes and dreams. Solomon may have achieved a great deal in his lifetime, yet we must remember that political projects are never truly complete; they are ongoing, unfinished, and constantly contested.

The systems in which we operate are often made to feel beyond our control, with power appearing distant and elusive. In truth, these structures are bendable and mutable, if only we push harder to exercise our democratic rights and restore faith in the power of collective action — especially in an age marked by the rise of reprehensible authoritarianism and heinous oligarchic influence.

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