REVIEW: 35MM: A Musical Exhibition - QAEMT Conservatorium Griffith University

Presented by QAEMT Conservatorium Griffith University

Cremorne Theatre, QPAC

Music and Lyrics: Ryan Scott Oliver

Based on Photographs by: Matthew Murray

Director: Jason Klarwein

Musical Director: David Young

Choreographer: Dan Venz

Designer: Josh McIntosh

Lighting Designer: Keith Clark

Sound Designer: Steve Thornely

Photography: Kenn Wylchi

Some musicals ask you to follow a plot... 35MM: A Musical Exhibition asks you to follow a feeling by letting you peek into a stranger’s life before whisking you away.

Presented by the third-year cohort of QAEMT Conservatorium Griffith University, this 70-minute multimedia song cycle is a photo album of love, lust, grief, violence, nostalgia, ego, adolescence, heartbreak, killer prom queens, vampires, and a deeply concerning baby. What more could you want?

With music and lyrics by Ryan Scott Oliver, inspired by photographs from Matthew Murray, 35MM is more a strange little gallery of snapshots than a traditional musical. There is no single plotline or genre to hold onto. Instead, each song exists for a brief but vivid glimpse, before the lens shifts again. Under Jason Klarwein’s direction, this production embraces that fractured structure beautifully, letting the work become both a performance showcase and a sentimental scrapbook for this graduating class.

Josh McIntosh’s design used white sheets for projections and shadow silhouettes, a raised platform for the band, and portraits pegged up like memories drying in a photo studio. The stage sat somewhere between darkroom, rehearsal room and yearbook. While the original photographs that inspired the songs were not shown during the production itself, they appear in the program for anyone curious. Instead, the show used photos of the students at various life stages, displayed through what appeared to be a real slide projector (...was it?). It was a sweet touch because nothing tugs at the heartstrings quite like seeing a bunch of graduating performers being confronted with their tiny past selves.

Opening with Stop Time, Lily Bennetts acted as a kind of vocal tour guide for this strange gallery of moments. She was our camera queen, popping up during transitions to change slides or snap a Polaroid, and later leading the fabulous femme cast in Immaculate Deception with a very satisfying command of the room. And that femme cast looked lovely in their fur coats and pristine frocks, and their glorious “hallelujah” harmonies lingered in the air like a spritz of high-end perfume.

Crazytown burst onto the scene, throwing any semblance of innocence out the window. Jackson Hughesman courageously led this daring piece with endurance. The ensemble embraced Dan Venz’s modern choreography with bodies flying, silhouette shadows of wolves, and a frenzy of orgiastic energy. It was outrageous, sweaty, and utterly committed. Just as it was written to be.

AJ Betts tackled On Monday with rock-musical fervour, throwing themself into the song with impressive melismas and passionate “head over heels” energy. Harry Ince followed with Caralee, singing about a “satanic” baby girl with hilarity and terrific vocal modulation. He adapted his tone to match the mood of each lyric, turning it into one of the most characterful moments of the show.

Zoe Allsopp Lander shifted the palette with The Party Goes With You, leading with a versatile, confident vocal while three couples slow danced around her in moonlit orbit. Priya Gill and Saul Kavenagh powered through Make Me Happy with comic edge, restless energy and the kind of endurance that totally justified their well-deserved lie down during the following song.

Good Lady tossed Lachlan Dunks into a fantasy realm where he had to fight off assassins and rescue the damsel, played by Tayler Ramsay. However, the character becomes so swallowed by the game that reality slips past him. This concept was intriguing, and the supporting characters were great, even though Lachlan had to contend with the band’s volume, which caused some vocal strain to creep in. Nevertheless, the offstage vocals, especially in this piece, demonstrated how well the ensemble could back a soloist from the shadows.

One of the evening’s gentlest gut-punches came with The Seraph. Caelan McCarthy led on acoustic guitar and sang with stunning stillness and sincerity, later joined by Sam Thomas for a harmonious ending. It required no spectacle. It just needed breath, blend, and trust, and they had all three.

Then came Leave Luanne, and suddenly we were whisked away into a mini cinematic story. Led by the unstoppable trio of Sam Thomas, Saul Kavenagh, and Ned Kelly, with Ella Wood dancing as Luanne, this seven-minute number was the strongest storytelling piece of the production. The band surged, the fury built, and the whole stage seemed to shake with sound, haze, and motion. Ella danced with incredible gusto, while the boys delivered gospel vocals that ignited the heat of the number. Oh, and Saul, I caught that coin trick you so effortlessly pulled off amidst the chaos.

The whole company’s performance of Mama Let Me In was a lovely reset, with an a-cappella prayer moment that let their voices shine together without any background score overpowering them. Addisyn Herndon, Hannah Mohr, and Tayler Ramsay took the lead on Why Must We Tell Them Why, nailing those tough harmonies with incredible drive. It looked truly exhausting.

Twisted Teeth was deranged. I thought it was titled “Sucking Me Dry,” which tells you everything you need to know about the vibe of the song. Lottie Smith was divine here (or maybe devilish), giving a deliciously twisted performance opposite Ned Kelly and an ensemble armed with crazy black wigs, dead eyes, vampiric absurdity and a wicked sense of humour.

Cut You a Piece brought us back into grief, with Addisyn Herndon and Caelan McCarthy delivering the song with passionate emotion. The alcove beneath the band platform was used beautifully here, giving the number a more private, tucked-away feeling. Aarya Doolabh also deserves mention for a stunning soprano voice that cut through with real clarity.

Hemming and Hawing, performed by Lucas Harm, Hannah Mohr, Anni Reilly and Sam Thomas, carried a couple-song softness with thorny dissonant harmonies woven through it. Sam and Anni blended especially beautifully. The number seemed to sit a little low for Lucas and Hannah in places, but the quartet still found shape and intimacy inside the musical difficulty.

The Ballad of Sara Berry saw Alessia Charman storm in with a handheld mic and a killer glare. She led the number with sharp attitude, and the company matched her with fierce (and exhausting!) choreography. I would gladly watch the show again purely to catch this choreography once more. The handheld mic worked wonderfully as a prop, though I was less convinced by its use as a sound source. Across the production, the sound from the handhelds created a noticeable difference compared with the head mics the performers already wore, and I preferred the cleaner, more consistent sound of the latter.

The band, with David Young on keys, truly earned its own applause. This score wasn’t a gentle stroll through musical theatre. It twisted, lurched, belted, whispered, snapped into complex rhythms, and required constant precision. Joel Sanchez-Carn on guitar, Evie Scott on violin, Laura Boon on cello, Hayley Gravina on bass, and Marcelle Gunning on drums handled the madness with style.

Keith Clark’s lighting and Steve Thornely’s sound helped carve each song into its own pocket of reality, with lighting doing particularly strong work through the silhouette sequences and shadow formations. Dr Melissa Agnew’s voice and dialect work was evident in the cast’s articulation and stylistic confidence, while NJ Price’s intimacy direction was important in a work that moved through sexual references, relationship tension, and depictions of domestic violence.

The last piece pulled the frame back into focus on the cohort themselves, presenting a touching compilation video of their time together at the Conservatorium. Following a show built around fragments of lives caught mid-motion, it felt right to end it with evidence. These students had matured together in rehearsal spaces, classrooms, and backstage hallways, and now they stood here, singing on the brink of whatever lay ahead.

35MM is an odd beast, and I mean that with affection. It is messy by design, vocally bold, emotionally slippery and stylistically restless. It gave this cohort room to show versatility, humour, courage and the kind of ensemble trust that cannot be faked.