REVIEW: Octopolis – Observatory Theatre

Samantha Hancock
Jun 7
3 min read

Octopolis – Observatory Theatre

Presented at: PIP Theatre

Written by: Marek Horn

Directed by: Bronwyn Nayler

In Octopolis, the complexities of human communication and the curiosities of animal consciousness swam in a sea of intellect, grief, and philosophical exploration. Brought to life by the daring team at Observatory Theatre, this production made its Australian independent debut with two actors and one deeply enigmatic octopus.

The story follows George, a disheveled, chaotic professor grieving her dearly departed husband while cohabitating with Frances, the octopus in question. Enter Harry, an anthropologist with grand theories and a curiosity that just won't quit. The dynamic between George and Harry quickly becomes electric, marked by academic sparring, emotional deflection, and the (not actually present) presence of Frances, who camouflages herself in her tank, silently observing them.

The set was deliberately stark: a large carpeted area scattered with endless papers, no props beyond what was mimed, and a glowing blue rectangle of light representing Frances’ tank. Projections helped guide the story, displaying both visuals and text, including bursts of scientific terminology. The lighting was elegant and moody, with gentle fog adding to the ambiance. A subtle soundscape brought in oceanic textures, and a bit of Bowie (because apparently Bowie is having a theatrical renaissance lately?).

Caroline Sparrow as George was an absolute force. From drunk ramblings to intellectual tirades to moments of devastating vulnerability, she commanded the space with emotional depth and fearless authenticity. She was messy, brilliant, guarded, insecure yet confident—a whirlwind of contradiction. There was something fascinating in the way she raged, not with aggression, but with articulate intellectual fury, only to crumble into one of the production’s most moving monologues about loss, connection, and the unknowable.

Dudley Powell played Harry with precision and subtlety, serving as a counterbalance to George's disorder. He was blunt and grounded, but cracked open as the play progressed, particularly in a poignant monologue of his own towards the end. Dudley and Caroline's scenes together were like a dance—sometimes literal, often verbal, and always layered.

And then there was Frances. Not a puppet or a person, but an unseen presence, projected in both imagery and metaphor. The actors' interactions with her—how they talked to her, responded to her, observed her—fed into the underlying tension of the play. The octopus became a mirror, a confidante, an emotional support creature, and ultimately a symbol of everything that was mysterious, beautiful, and simply beyond human comprehension.

Movement and intimacy coach Sherri Smith’s work shone in the moments when physicality became the primary language. Scenes mimicking underwater fluidity were mesmerising and dreamlike. Lighting and video design by Teddy Waddingham transformed simple visuals into rich symbolism, and Lachlan Driscoll’s sound design anchored the world in place. Through Bronwyn Nayler's direction, every element worked together to create a world that was simultaneously sparse and dense.

This wasn’t a light or easy piece—it was a brain-twister that demanded your full attention, especially when it dove into the deep end with philosophy, psychology, or science. The timeline jumped, but the actors provided narration. The debates about science, God, consciousness, and love didn’t shy away from complexity, but for those who enjoy cerebral theatre that also packs an emotional punch, this was a rare gem.

While the runtime may have stretched a touch long (mainly from the extended movement sequences), it was a minor quibble in an otherwise thought-provoking, boldly staged piece. By the end, the audience was left pondering not only the mysteries of octopuses but the even deeper, messier complexities of being human.

Octopolis was a beautifully intellectual and emotionally stirring production. With articulate performances, sleek design, and a script that challenged both cast and audience, this show offered a deep dive into connection, sentience, and the quiet power of observation.

Cast:

George – Caroline Sparrow

Harry – Dudley Powell

Frances the Octopus – Use your imagination

Cast: