REVIEW: Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune - Ad Astra Theatre

Director: Fiona Kennedy

Assistant Director & Set Design: Prue Robb

Intimacy Coordinator: Heidi Gledhill

Stage Manager: Isabel Foland

Lighting & Sound Design: Kyle Royall-West

Set Build: Scott Lymbery

“This is not a spontaneous person you have before you!”

Walking into Ad Astra’s brand-new black box space, Pluto, feels a little like déjà vu. There’s an echo of their much-loved Fortitude Valley venue here: close walls, low ceilings, and that quiet hum of anticipation that only a tiny theatre can hold. Upstairs, the Galaxy waits for the big, bold productions… but downstairs? Down here is where intimacy thrives. And honestly, Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune is the perfect christening.

The house lights dim, the theatre drops into darkness, and we are immediately thrown into the unmistakable sounds of enthusiastic lovemaking. Bed squeaks, grunts, giggles... there’s no easing us into this one! Before we even see Frankie and Johnny, we’re eavesdropping on one of the most vulnerable moments two humans can share. When the lights lift, we land in Frankie’s 1987 New York walk-up apartment, a tiny but homely apartment made up of a kitchenette, a cramped bathroom, a bed, and their clothing scattered like evidence across the floor.

Candice Hill’s Francis (Frankie) sits right on the edge of that post-intimacy awkwardness: half flattered, half panicking, already tidying the room like she wishes she could tidy away the whole situation. Beside her, Nathaniel Currie’s Johnny is a whirlwind of words, babbling with the confidence of someone who believes he has just discovered destiny. Frankie, on the other hand, is trying desperately to remain polite while pushing him toward the exit in her mind. Candice is mesmerising to watch. Her avoidance of eye contact, the way she curls into herself when he compliments her, the tightrope walk between wanting connection and wanting to survive it; every expression tells a story she’s terrified to speak aloud.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel leans into Johnny’s chaotic sincerity. He’s weird, irritating, intense… yet disarmingly endearing, with a perfect Brooklyn accent. When he looks at Frankie, he sees his Brigadoon... a magical place that appears once in a hundred years. When she looks at him, she’s torn between “please leave!” and “please don’t leave me alone.”

The natural humour between them bubbles up organically. Their small talk is painfully real; picture the kind of chat you have when you’re half-naked with a co-worker and pretending it’s totally normal. As the night unfolds (well, 3am), their first impressions unravel into something far deeper. They share memories, fears, old wounds. They fight. She explodes, quite literally destroying parts of her apartment in a panic spiral. He stands there, bewildered and bold, insisting that love is worth the risk. “When it comes to love, life is cheap and short,” he says, and even though it sounds like a line from a tragic romance novel, in the moment, it lands with truth.

The set by Prue Robb and Scott Lymbery is wonderfully lived in: rotary phone, tiny television, radio humming with soft piano throughout the night, and lighting hat gradually shifts from the sleepy glow of lamps to a gentle morning warmth as the sun rises. Those small production choices make the long night feel real, like time is truly stretching around them.

Director Fiona Kennedy and Assistant Director Prue Robb keep the blocking fluid and natural, especially in the scenes where Johnny cooks for them. Watching a real sandwich being made while the pair discuss lost time and lost dreams somehow grounds this heightened night into everyday reality. It’s a clever juxtaposition: grand emotions nestled in the banality of late-night snacks. The two actors seem utterly alone in this room; no audience, no world outside, just two flawed adults battling their own loneliness. Frankie’s terror of being hurt again comes pouring out of Candice, raw and vulnerable. Johnny stands in it, unwavering, offering not perfection but presence.

This production celebrates everything black box theatre does best: closeness, honesty, discomfort, humour, and the quiet bravery it takes to be seen. With only 50 seats, every breath of the performance lands directly in your lap. It’s unfiltered, human, and beautifully messy.

If you’re after a date night that promises honesty, laughter, and a surprising amount of emotional truth, Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune is absolutely worth the trip to Pluto.

Just… prepare yourself for the first 30 seconds!