REVIEW: The Middle Room - Grace Spinks, PIP Theatre

The Middle Room, written, composed and directed by Grace Spinks, began life as a single song inspired by family stories. From that seed has grown a deeply nostalgic, quietly devastating, and beautifully intimate piece of theatre that wears its heart on its sleeve. Grace describes these stories as a kind of mythology. The tales that surround us when we are young and shape us long before we understand their significance. That idea pulses through every moment of this work.

In just 60 minutes, The Middle Room spans decades and somehow makes them feel fleeting. Set in Queensland in the early 1990s onward, the story follows three siblings, Elizabeth, Rae, and Jamie, and their mother Mary, as time quietly but relentlessly reshapes their lives. The Middle Room is about the family home. What it means to grow up in it. What it costs to leave. What draws us back. Sometimes by love. Sometimes by obligation. Sometimes by grief.

PIP Theatre is one of my favourite spaces in Brisbane, and this show feels tailor-made for its intimacy. The audience was large, the room was full, and the energy was warm and attentive. The kind of crowd that leans in collectively for a show that is built on listening.

The set is simple to suit the small space. A piano and a bedroom, anchored by a small band led by guitarist Jeremy Stafford and bassist Charlie Green. Time passes through unfussy prop choices. Rotary phones give way to landlines, then to smartphones. Fashion subtly updates. Decades slip by without scene changes ever feeling heavy-handed.

This show drips with nostalgia. The songs are melodic, harmonic, and emotionally generous, full of love and light without ever tipping into saccharine territory. There is a strong singer-songwriter soul in Grace Spinks’ writing, and it serves the material beautifully. Dialogue feels like staged thoughts between real people: conversations we have in bedrooms, on late-night phone calls, or the ones we only ever rehearse in our heads.

One of the great strengths of The Middle Room is how well these performers blend. In an unmiked space, the cast demonstrate exceptional musical discipline. Balancing dynamics, supporting the lead line, and knowing exactly when to step forward and when to melt back into harmony.

Standout musical moments include:

• Gone, a radiant group number about the joy and invincibility of being seventeen, buoyed by gorgeous ensemble harmonies.

• Sydney, sung by Elizabeth (Chloe Flanagan), capturing the exhilaration of leaving a small town: trading a boyfriend in Townsville for a new city and new possibilities.

• Boyfriend, where Rae (Kate Hudson-James) and best friend Louise (AJ Betts) rant in parallel about young love and relationships, thoughts spilling out faster than they can be filtered. Their chemistry here is joyful, relaxed, and deeply believable.

• Unchanged, sung by AJ Betts, featuring the lyric “I think I have a soul for childhood”, which lands like a quiet, devastating truth. They are emotionally precise and musically assured in this stunning solo.

• My Limits, a beautiful trio between AJ, Kate and Christina is restrained, honest, and painfully relatable. And my personal favourite!

• With or Without Me, a boppy, bittersweet number marking the growing difficulty of staying connected to your children once they have families of their own.

• His Room, sung by Mary (Christina Keen), the most unforgettable piece of the show. She portrays a mother’s rage at the injustice of her child’s health situation with breathtaking clarity. She narrates her strained relationship with Jamie. The son who left home at fourteen…. The so-called problem child. Guilt, grief, anger, and love collide all at once in this confronting moment.

• The finale, Down the Highway, sees set pieces physically removed as characters leave the space. Mary's lyric “They think they need to hold me or I’ll fall apart” had me tearing up, thinking about my own mother, grandmother, and uncle.

This cast is made up of six bright-eyed beauties who feel like real people rather than characters. Kate Hudson-James portrays Rae, the middle child, with quiet authority. The one who manages everything, absorbs everyone else’s emotions, and never allows herself to crack. Chloe Flanagan’s Elizabeth, the eldest sister, delivers some of the evening’s most affecting moments. From early optimism to the heartbreak of Muscle Memory, a song reflecting on the end of her marriage, Flanagan navigates Elizabeth’s arc with grace and emotional clarity. AJ Betts’ Louise is deeply compelling. A character navigating queer identity, a strained relationship with their mother, and the refuge of chosen family. There is warmth, humour, and vulnerability here in equal measure.

Andy, Rae’s husband, is played by Max Baldock, and he absolutely earns his small moments. His lead number Open Mic / Get Round To It is an absolute blast. A delightfully daggy dad doing an open mic night with his mates while his supportive wife films proudly from the crowd. Baldock also shines in Warmth That Remains, a tender duet with Kate Hudson-James. A sleepless night shared between partners while Chloe Flanagan plays piano in the other room. Grace Spinks captures the texture of a long-term, high-school-sweetheart relationship with remarkable sweetness here.

Christina Keen is extraordinary as Mary: stubborn, grounded, and fiercely strong. Definitely a Virgo or Taurus. Her line “Going from a full house to an empty one is fucking miserable” lands with brutal honesty. She embodies the Townsville mum clinging fiercely to her home while feeling the pressure to move closer to her children in the city; torn between memory, independence, and proximity.

One of the most striking choices in the show is Jamie, played by Saul Kavenagh. Jamie never speaks. He communicates solely through piano. We learn he has a degenerative neurological disorder that increasingly limits his independence, so his siblings and mother become his carers. It is a brave, sensitive presence that speaks volumes. And the fact that I know Saul has a stunning singing voice only makes this silence more powerful.

Scenes are short, snappy, and thoughtfully constructed by Grace Spinks, allowing the audience to fill in the gaps while leaving room for future expansion. Partners, estranged parents, and children are mentioned rather than seen, and I loved that choice. It keeps the spotlight exactly where it should be, on this family and the space they share.

As this is a work-in-progress musical, a few gentle notes for future development:

• Clearer signposting early on in the script, including character names, relationships, years, and locations, or a brief synopsis in the program, would help orient first-time audiences (and because I'm slow on the uptake).

• On a larger stage, this piece would sing with three distinct rooms and split-stage moments that lean into the idea of “the middle room”.

• A vintage upright piano would better suit the period than the electric keyboard.

• Casting Mary as slightly older could really rip out our hearts! Christina Keen’s portrayal is OUTSTANDING, but a matured actor could add an extra layer of lived history to deepen the emotional impact: the sense of time lived, children raised, and loss endured, particularly in a story so grounded in generational legacy and the quiet endurance of motherhood.

This is one of those rare shows where I felt like I really knew this story and these characters. The music-filled house. The pressure to move to Brisbane. The stubborn parent holding onto the family home. The sibling who stays. The one who leaves. The one who needs care. It is almost freakish how closely this story mirrors my own family, right down to a musically gifted uncle receiving a scary diagnosis. Watching The Middle Room, I was not just an audience member or a reviewer. I was a participant, quietly grieving and remembering alongside these characters.

At Stage Buzz Brisbane, we champion new Australian stories because they hold up mirrors we did not know we needed. The Middle Room proves that big, universal stories do not require spectacle to land, only honesty. In an intimate room, with a small, mighty cast and a handful of instruments, this show captures the quiet complexity of family, caregiving, memory, and home in a way that feels deeply familiar and fiercely local. Supporting work like this means so much to me, backing artists at the beginning of their journey.

This is a beautiful first outing for a new Brisbane work, and I cannot wait to see where it goes next.