Title: The Architect Presented By: Centenary Theatre Group Genre: Contemporary Australian Drama Synopsis: Award-winning Australian playwright Aidan Fennessy's The Architect is a moving and uplifting contemporary drama about friendship and the unexpected connections that can change our lives. When Helen's partner John heads overseas, she reluctantly agrees to employ a temporary carer. Against all expectations, she chooses Lennie – a young drifter and jack-of-all-trades whose qualifications are questionable, but whose enthusiasm for life is undeniable. As an unlikely friendship develops, Helen and Lennie help one another confront difficult truths, discovering that hope, humour and companionship can be found in the most unexpected places. Warm, funny and deeply human, The Architect explores end-of-life choices, resilience and the comfort we find in meaningful connection. Audition Date: Saturday 11 July 2026 Audition Time: 10:00am Audition Location and Address: Chelmer Community Centre, 15 Queenscroft Street, Chelmer QLD Audition Requirements: All auditionees will be required to cold read excerpts from the play. Performance Dates: 5–27 September 2026 Performance Location: Chelmer Community Centre, 15 Queenscroft Street, Chelmer QLD Warnings: Themes of terminal illness and end-of-life choices. Director: Brian Hinselwood Production Website: https://www.centenarytheatre.com.au/auditions For enquiries, contact Brian Hinselwood on 0417 622 553 or brian@hinselwood.net. Available Roles/Character Breakdown: Helen (Female, 60s–70s) - Intelligent, fiercely independent and confronting a life-changing diagnosis. A complex, emotionally rich leading role. Lennie (Male, 20s–30s) - A charismatic drifter and jack-of-all-trades with boundless optimism and a significant secret. Warm, engaging and full of life. John (Male, 60s–70s) - Helen's devoted partner. Practical, caring and deeply committed to those he loves. Jeremy (Male, 30s–40s) - A doctor and close friend of Helen and John. Compassionate, professional and supportive.

Fireface Presented by: The Velvet Collective Venue: PIP Theatre Attended: 26 June 2026 Written by: Marius von Mayenburg Translated by: Maja Zade Director: Nic Davidson Stage Manager: Ursula Heesh Composer and Sound Designer: Hannah Page Lighting and Vision Designer: Teddy Waddingham Set and Costume Designer: Harrison Thorne Graphic Designer: Lucille Bennett Intimacy Coordinator: Cindy Ambridge “Those who don’t eat get eaten. Those who don’t burn, get burned.” There are dysfunctional families, and then there is the family at the centre of Fireface... Every warning sign is blinking red, the teenagers are building Molotov cocktails, and somehow nobody thinks, “Perhaps we should intervene immediately.” Written by Marius von Mayenburg and translated by Maja Zade, Fireface follows siblings Kurt and Olga, two teens who are dreading growing up and becoming like their parents. Their unhealthy co-dependence grows more dangerous when Olga begins a relationship with Paul, an outsider carrying his own bruises from home. This is not a gentle family drama. This one’s got incest, sexual trauma, violence, arson, neglect, and several more choices that had me internally yelling, “Can someone please be the adult here?!” Spoiler alert: no one steps up to the plate. Harrison Thorne’s set places the family inside a sparse home. With just a bed, a dining table, a TV, and some dividing walls for good measure, it’s like a starter kit for suburban living. It’s familiar enough to recognise, but there is little warmth or privacy. Teddy Waddingham’s lighting and vision design makes the space even more uneasy. A TV monitor works like a nosy neighbour peeking through the blinds. The characters are constantly visible, yet rarely understood. The digital window, with its lone tree outside, is another clever touch. Hannah Page’s composition and sound design builds the tension steadily. By the final scenes, the lighting, video, and sound turn the home into a domestic hellscape. Mayenburg’s script is made up of short fragments, with scenes beginning and ending before the audience has time to settle. Characters step out of the action to share memories, thoughts, and strange pieces of narration. Some of these asides were intriguing, while others remained difficult to follow. The rapid shifts also meant that a few emotional moments passed before they could fully land. The early performances had some stiffness too, where several exchanges and arguments sounded recited. As things became more dangerous, though, the acting stepped up a notch. Logan So gives the standout performance as Kurt. You can spot his isolation right from the start through his statue-like stillness, thousand-yard stare, and habit of drifting away from the people around him. His fascination with bombs, fire, and violence is unnerving because he often discusses destruction with the passion of someone describing a hobby. As Kurt’s mental health deteriorates, he becomes increasingly detached and eventually almost non-verbal. The line, “His mind had closed off. The shutter had come down,” suits So’s performance perfectly. He draws Kurt inward until the eventual violence seems like the result of every warning being ignored. Ava Ryan takes on the difficult role of Olga, a character who cries, provokes, controls, and eventually attempts to escape the relationship messes she created. Her incestuous bond with Kurt is intentionally unsettling to witness and designed to make you squirm. Cindy Ambridge’s intimacy coordination allows the production to depict that relationship clearly without dwelling on it unnecessarily. Olga initiates the sexual contact, while Kurt does not resist, leaving both siblings trapped in a relationship where affection, sexuality, and childhood have become tangled together. Ryan captures Olga’s volatility and fear of abandonment, and she embraces the ugliness of the role. Adam Dobson brings a welcome naturalism to Paul. At first glance, he seems like the average Joe boyfriend stumbling into this unusual household. It turns out he’s sticking around because his own father is violent, and this family offers him shelter. Dobson and So create one of the production’s most convincing conflicts. Paul and Kurt come across like two emotionally numb young men who see a bit of themselves in each other, even as Olga stands between them. Their scenes had a natural flow that some of the family exchanges lacked, and their physical tussle was handled convincingly. Amy Chien-Yu Wang as the Mother worries about her children’s increasingly alarming behaviour, yet never seems able to do anything useful about it. Her exhausted line, “Don’t even try, I’ve given up,” was darkly funny and appalling under the circumstances. Christopher Farrell as the Father retreats behind his newspaper and stories about serial killers (probably hoping the news about serial killers will make his parenting seem top-notch by comparison). They have different parenting styles, but neither offers the children any real stability. It’s like the parents and kids are living on different planets. The teenagers show little affection towards their parents, while the adults become increasingly frightened of the people they raised. Every warning is dismissed as puberty, temperament, or difficult teenage behaviour. Kurt becomes fixated on weapons, kills animals, builds explosives, commits arson, and withdraws from speech before anyone takes meaningful action. Director Nic Davidson keeps the pace sharp and uses the space well. His blocking often places the family close together while making their emotional distance obvious. The play does not excuse Kurt and Olga, but it does ask how they reached this point. Angry, lonely, and frightened of growing up, they drink, insult one another, dissociate, and chase destruction simply to feel something. Once their behaviour becomes calculated and murderous, there is no redemption. The question hanging over the play is how many cries for help can be ignored before tragedy stops being unexpected. Its abrupt ending suits the story. There is no recovery, final lesson, or indication that anyone has learned from the catastrophe. It simply reaches the end of its destructive path and stops. I have never seen a drama quite like Fireface. It was confronting, unpleasant by design, and increasingly gripping as the family spiralled towards catastrophe. Fireface is a play about teenagers setting fires while every adult nearby complains about the smoke. By the time someone finally acknowledges the flames, there is very little left to save.

Rusalka Presented by: Opera Queensland, with the Opera Queensland Chorus and Queensland Symphony Orchestra Venue: Glasshouse Theatre, QPAC Date Attended: 25 June 2026 Composer: Antonín Dvořák Conductor: Vladimir Fanshil Director: Sarah Giles Set Designer: Charles Davis Costume Designer: Renée Mulder Lighting Designer: Paul Jackson Video Designer: David Bergman Movement and Intimacy Coordinator: Lyndall Grant Chorus Master: Narelle French Photography: Steph Do Rozario / Murray Summerville “Be carefree, just like you were before the world deceived you.” There is no brightly coloured underwater kingdom here. No cheerful fish sidekicks, no crustacean percussion, and certainly no guarantee that changing your entire body for a man will work out well. Opera Queensland’s Rusalka instead opens beneath a vast ceiling of lily pads. Pale figures sit scattered across a black, reflective lakebed. It is bleak as hell. It is also gorgeous. Antonín Dvořák’s opera follows Rusalka, a water nymph who has fallen in love with a human prince and longs to leave her underwater existence. Sound familiar? She begs her father, Vodník, to let her become human, but when he refuses, she turns to the witch Ježibaba. Her wish is granted, but she will be mute among humans, and returning home after rejection will bring terrible consequences for both her and the Prince. Director Sarah Giles frames the story as a dream, a nightmare, and a cautionary fairytale. Rusalka escapes one restrictive world only to discover ours. It is essentially The Little Mermaid with considerably more supernatural damage. Charles Davis’ set is sculptural and deliberately unfamiliar. Scrims and backdrops shift between reflection and transparency, opening layers above, behind and beneath the performers. Suspended strands suggest falling droplets or tendrils, while lily pads float overhead like the underside of another world. David Bergman’s video design deepens the illusion. Early in Act I, a figure swims through the lake across the scrim as Rusalka reaches towards him. Later, ripples and drifting wisps make it difficult to tell where the physical set ends and the projection begins. The opening moves slowly, but the Queensland Symphony Orchestra draws us in before anyone sings. Under Vladimir Fanshil’s direction, the score shimmers, sighs, and occasionally surges with frightening force. At the centre of it all is Eleanor Lyons in an extraordinary performance. Rusalka is a punishing soprano role, requiring control, dramatic power and considerable stamina. Lyons meets every demand with a radiant tone. Her Act I scenes establish Rusalka as sincere and dangerously idealistic. She begs Vodník to let her leave the lake and, when Daddy says no, she naturally goes to the local sparkly witch instead. Her famous “Song to the Moon” is a plea for escape. Lyons lets the melody float through the theatre beautifully, while Rusalka prepares to abandon everything for a man she doesn't know (ew). The transformation into human form happens onstage through a slick quick change. Rusalka gains hair, glamour and a completely unfamiliar pair of legs. Watching her learn to use them is delightful. Lyons waddles like a toddler, stumbles on stairs and is baffled by human shoes. The physical comedy makes her vulnerable and immediately endearing. By Act II, she is serving Barbie bombshell while having absolutely no idea what is happening. Renée Mulder’s gold-and-black gown gives her enormous sleeves and a striking silhouette, while making movement look almost impossible. She appears spectacular and profoundly uncomfortable. Silent, pale and completely out of her depth (pun intended), Rusalka clings to the Prince, tries to charm him without words and grows increasingly jealous as the Duchess enters his orbit. Her muteness becomes a prison. It is tough having a human soul, isn’t it? Rosario La Spina gives the Prince a commanding vocal presence. He is drawn to Rusalka’s beauty and strangeness, then becomes frustrated once that strangeness inconveniences him. Then his ex arrives at his engagement party! What a hag. Eva Kong’s Duchess is confident, expressive and completely at home within the court. Kong commands attention immediately, bringing vocal brilliance and sharp dramatic instincts to a role that needs very little time to destabilise the engagement. The entire human court looks as though it has wandered in from the Capitol in The Hunger Games. Mulder’s costumes are magnificently excessive, with compressed fabrics, exaggerated proportions and rigid silhouettes. The chorus wears masks and stylised wigs that create an eerie sameness beneath all that fashion. Their long tableaux are particularly effective, with coordinated hands and frozen expressions making the court seem like one watchful social organism. The feast is also one of the best fake stage feasts I have seen. There is abundance everywhere, yet Rusalka remains completely isolated within it. Despite their visual differences, the two worlds are not so far apart. The underwater creatures are bald and dressed in similar flowing garments. The humans exaggerate individuality through fashion, but hide behind masks and strict social behaviour. Ashlyn Tymms has an excellent time as Ježibaba, and so do we. Ježibaba is sassy, sparkly and dngaf. Her trolley is loaded with human rubbish “treasure”, probably gathered from supermarkets, op shops and lost-property departments across Brisbane. At one point, she casually eats a banana? Tymms brings rich vocal colour and excellent comic timing, while keeping the danger beneath Ježibaba’s humour. Maia Andrews, Eleanor Greenwood and Shikara Ringdahl are equally memorable as the Wood Sprites. Their bark-like bodies, branch crowns and enormous trailing arms transform them into strange sculptures. They resemble haunted woodland couture versions of wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube creatures. Their voices are quick and mischievous, while their movement brings welcome playfulness to the production. Act III becomes particularly strange when the trio launch into what I can only describe as a supernatural ego trip, accompanied by playful flute. Warwick Fyfe gives Vodník considerable authority while keeping his grief close to the surface. He warns Rusalka about humanity, then has to watch every one of his fears come true. His anger towards the Prince comes from helplessness and heartbreak. Fyfe’s scenes with Lyons are among the strongest of the evening, particularly when Rusalka regains her voice and laments her regret as the orchestra rises beneath them with enormous force. Act III transforms the stage again. Rusalka returns veiled, pale and almost spectral. Her makeup leaves her looking neither alive nor dead, while lily pads and layered video surround her in a watery limbo. Elevated beneath a narrow shaft of white light, she resembles a drowned saint or an apparition from her own funeral. She no longer belongs above or below the surface. Lyons spends long passages almost completely still, looking rightfully tortured. It is a powerful image, although I did occasionally wonder how bored she must have become standing up there. Rusalka began the opera desperate for movement and change, only to end trapped inside her own transformation. Paul Jackson’s lighting frequently isolates performers beneath narrow silver spotlights, repeatedly drawing our attention back to Rusalka’s loneliness. Lyndall Grant’s movement and intimacy work is equally important as Rusalka shifts from fluidity underwater to comic awkwardness on land, then rigidity at court and near-total stillness. Even the surtitles become part of the production design, moving above different characters as the blocking changes. It is a clever solution that keeps the audience’s attention near the action. The two intervals are understandable given the scale of the set changes, and necessary so everyone involved can rehydrate before returning for further emotional destruction. There is no single moral in Rusalka, and the production does not force one upon us. It can be read as a warning against changing yourself for love, but Rusalka is also brave enough to admit that her world makes her unhappy. She wants freedom and a life beyond what she has been given. Her choices are catastrophic, but they are still hers. Opera Queensland’s Rusalka is a visual and musical triumph. The orchestra is glorious, the voices are magnificent, and the design turns the Glasshouse Theatre into a beautiful mythical world.

Singin' in the Rain Senior (Ages 55+) Presented by Brisbane Arts Theatre Directed by Adelle O’Connell and Kathy Kunde Musical Direction by Laraine Griffiths Choreography by Marisa Bucolo Photography by Kris Anderson - Images by Anderson "If we bring a little joy into your humdrum lives, it makes us feel as though our hard work ain't been in vain for nothin'" - Lina Lamont I can't remember the first time I watched Singin’ in the Rain. But, I do remember the warm fuzzy feeling it gave me. It was part of the soundtrack of my childhood, first loved by my mum and then, inevitably, by me. The songs, the laughs, the old Hollywood magic, and all that tap-dancing talent made it one of those rare musicals that seems to have happiness baked right in. Now, Brisbane Arts Theatre brings that golden-age show to South Bank this July with Singin’ in the Rain Senior, an adapted version of the beloved musical performed by a cast aged 55 and over! Set during Hollywood’s bumpy transition from silent films to talkies, the story follows screen star Don Lockwood, his longtime buddy Cosmo Brown, aspiring performer Kathy Selden, and the famously shrill Lina Lamont. It is a musical about an industry finding its voice, adapting to change, and performers stepping into something new. In this Senior adaptation, that theme of reinvention takes on new meaning. It also offers a joyful counterpart to the Junior and Teen editions so often seen on Brisbane stages, reminding audiences that the thrill of performance does not belong to one age group. Ahead of their season, we spoke with co-director Kathy Kunde about the Senior adaptation, the joy of working with this cast, and the value of creating opportunities for older performers on Brisbane stages. Samantha: I have seen my fair share of Junior and Teen editions of musicals around Brisbane. But, a Senior edition is something my readers and I are far less aware of. Given that there are only a handful of Senior musicals currently available for licensing, what made Singin’ in the Rain Senior feel like the right choice for Brisbane Arts Theatre, especially as a company with such a long history of its own? Kathy: Finding out Brisbane Arts Theatre was doing a Senior adaptation of Singin’ in the Rain was very exciting. When I first discussed the directing opportunity with the President of Brisbane Arts Theatre, Paje Battilana, she noted that they wanted to put something in the season that their older members could become involved in and enjoy. I suppose I have been very lucky over the last number of years, being involved with MATES Theatre Genesis in Birkdale. As part of the season program, they always put on a senior production in the month of October to celebrate Seniors Month. I have worked with many and varied seniors over this time who bring a huge amount of experience with them, including having an opportunity to write scripts to perform on stage, and for many of the actors involved, being able to fulfil a dream of “treading the boards” that, in their busy lives, they may not have had time to do. A number of these seniors are also involved with U3A, University of the Third Age, which also puts productions on during the year. Samantha: To be involved, performers must be aged 55 and over. What has been special about working with a cast who bring such rich life experience into the rehearsal room? What do you think this version offers the performers and audiences that a traditional community theatre season may not? Kathy: The Brisbane Arts Theatre Singin’ in the Rain Senior adaptation has brought in people who have never done theatre before. They may have danced or sung in their lives, but not experienced performing live on stage. We had a wonderful group who auditioned for us, with some even auditioning while travelling overseas. As I keep on telling anyone who will listen, they are all much fitter than I am! Over the last couple of months of rehearsals, I have been continually impressed with every single person and what they are bringing with them. Everyone is so kind to each other, always on time (or actually there before rehearsals start), checking in with someone who may have missed a rehearsal, and downloading apps so we can all communicate together. It has been wonderful. I should also note that the oldest member involved with the production is not actually on stage. This is our beloved Una, who is helping with set design and set/prop construction. She is 91 years young! Samantha: The show sits in that golden Hollywood world of charm, comedy, romance, and spectacle. What directorial approach have you taken for the performance style and world of the musical? Kathy: Sitting down with members of the cast and talking about characterisation has been a joy. They bring in their own experiences, and reflecting on the time that this musical is based in, around the silent movie era, has certainly provided a lot of conversation. The result is a production that does not simply recreate the familiar characters, but allows the cast to find their own way into them. Both Laraine (MD) and Marisa (Choreo) have ensured that the cast are able to work with the music and the dancing so that the show brings a wonderful energy. Helping Adelle direct this musical has been a wonderful and fulfilling experience. I know that the audience will enjoy the show and the experiences that the cast bring to the stage. If Singin’ in the Rain Senior proves anything, it is that there is no expiry date on performance. Some cast members are dusting off skills they have carried for years, while others are bravely stepping into live theatre for the first time. For audiences, the appeal is twofold: the cherished sparkle of Singin’ in the Rain, seen through performers whose own experiences infuse the story with something beautifully unique. It's your chance to enjoy a classic musical while cheering on a production that gives the spotlight to performers who are often overlooked. And if that does not convince you, tickets are only $25 for concessions and $35 for adults, which is about the cost of one dinner delivered to your couch, except this is worth leaving the house for. Plus, my mum is playing Lina Lamont, so I am proudly biased and obnoxiously telling everyone within earshot to get a ticket. Singin’ in the Rain Senior will be presented by Brisbane Arts Theatre from 2–11 July 2026 at TAFE Queensland South Bank Auditorium. For tickets and more information, visit the Brisbane Arts Theatre website.

Homegrown Presented by: Loose Tooth Theatre as a co-production with PIP Theatre Writer: Sarah Esser Co-Directors: Annabel Gilbert and Grace Longwill Set and Costume Designer: Scarlett Hughes Lighting and Vision Designer: Charlii Lobley Sound Designer: Annabel Gilbert Puppet Fabricators: Sarah Esser and Grace Longwill Photography: Annabel Gilbert and Sarah Esser “Every relationship has a gardener and a flower.” I've accidentally sent enough houseplants to the great garden in the sky to understand their dramatic nature. However, it wasn't until seeing Homegrown that I considered they might also be emotionally manipulative. Presented by Loose Tooth Theatre at PIP Theatre, Homegrown is a 90-minute play blending dark humour with unsettling strangeness. It begins in the painfully realm of infertility and relationship strain, then sprouts into something closer to The Exorcist: Bunnings Edition. Written by Sarah Esser and co-directed by Annabel Gilbert and Grace Longwill, the play creeps between relationship drama, psychological thriller, magical realism, and botanical horror. The story follows Tash and Sophie, a couple who share a home, a life, and a semi-successful gardening publication. After eight failed cycles their dream of motherhood has curdled into sorrow and exhaustion. When Sophie’s latest attempt fails, Tash wishes to close this chapter move on, while Sophie is not ready to give up. When a spilled fertility drink mixes with a mysterious plant spray, something starts sprouting beneath their floorboards. Tash assumes it's a weed and wants it gone. Sophie, still grieving and drawn to the possibility of new life, pleads to study it instead. Before they know it, the plant is growing faster than a teenager's appetite and becoming more like an overbearing roommate with zero regard for boundaries! At the centre of the play were two vulnerable and physically demanding performances from Geena Schwartz and Billy Fogarty. Tash was supportive and practical, but underneath, her life was a compost bin of unresolved messes. She was carrying religious trauma, nightmarish premonitions, sensual dreams about the overtly sexual postman, and the tension between her queer identity and her mother’s faith. Schwartz had to let all that inner chaos spill out through voice modulation, choking, gagging and stage combat, and she made every bit of it seem truly connected to Tash’s fear and frustration. Fogarty was equally strong as Sophie: a loving partner, wounded, stubborn, and consumed by the desire to have a family. As a character with a doctorate in botany whose world was built around growth, the infertility carried an especially cruel irony. Fogarty captured the frustration and devastation of that with painful accuracy, especially in lines like, “I wanted so bad to follow the rules of my own biology. To think nature has got my back.” Both Schwartz and Fogarty gave realistic intimacy, arguments, breakdowns, and frightening screams of trauma. Their performances had that awful recognisable rhythm of two people who love each other, but have been stuck hurting in the same pattern for too long. The Plant, played by Indiah Morris, was a standout stage creation. Painted green and bonneted, it looked like a curious baby straight from Whoville. Morris had such particular physicality in her movements — toddling, crawling, tripping, and observing everything with wide eyes. The way she played it was both cute and unsettling. The costuming and puppet fabrication were well-crafted too, subtly evolving scene by scene as the Plant claimed more space in the house. The Plant was not scary in a “feed me, Seymour” kind of way. At least, not at first... It was a reflection of what both women desired and dreaded. For Sophie, it offered a sense of motherhood, attachment, and nurture. For Tash, it became an invasive sickness, a poison pushing her toward psychosis. The Plant was not inherently harmful; it was more like an infant: needy, grabby, and amoral. Oscar Thelander brought great comic contrast as the Postman, strutting in with an aggressive commitment to package delivery. His scenes interrupted the domestic tension, allowing Homegrown to explore farcical elements amid the heavier themes. The writing captured the exhaustion of fertility treatment with brutal simplicity: “Run all the tests, rack up all the costs, and then… nothing.” That line sums up so much of the play’s emotional terrain: the endless tests, money, hope, routines, humiliation, and feeling abandoned by nature while others seem to bloom. Homegrown took that pain and externalised it into something impossible to ignore. Scarlett Hughes's set design features an expansive lower and elevated stage with a dollhouse, tattered couch, and plant décor, and an underlying hollow space that gave the whole thing a secretive, rotting-under-the-surface quality. The dollhouse was a clever visual metaphor too: a mini version of the perfect home they desired, while their real home grew feral around it. Multimedia elements, including videos, graphics, and sound, conveyed a sense of reality distorting and glitching. Charlii Lobley's lighting and Annabel Gilbert's sound design make the home feel progressively unstable. Homegrown kept diverting expectations, beginning as an intimate relationship drama before twisting into something stranger, bloodier and much harder to categorise. It dug into infertility, grief and sacrifice, while still making room for wit, imagination and bold choices. It was a curious little beast of a play and it trusted the audience to follow it all the way into the garden shed of emotional doom.

EPIC Love Stories Presented by VOX Theatre Arts at The Loft, West End Directed by Tayla Simpson Hosted and Vocal Direction by Rhona Bechaz Band: Sean Alan Fagan, Benjamin Richards and Nathan Cho Set Design: Tamzen Hunter Sound and Lighting: Maddy Simons, Steve Maples and Melanie Simons Photography: Aylish Tan – Artist Focused Valentine's weekend can be a bit of a minefield. Maybe you're happily loved up, maybe you're rolling your eyes at the price of roses, or maybe you've watched The Princess Bride enough times to firmly believe that nobody will ever top Wesley and Buttercup (Just me?) Thankfully, VOX Theatre Arts had the perfect answer. Epic Love Stories was a cheeky cabaret-burlesque celebration of iconic couples from film and musicals, taking all those swoon-worthy romances, grand gestures and wonderfully ridiculous tropes we know and love and turning them up several notches. And what a collection of couples it was! Dirty Dancing, Titanic, Wicked, The Addams Family, Mamma Mia!, Rocky Horror, The Great Gatsby, Death Becomes Her, Brokeback Mountain, Little Shop of Horrors, Barbie and Ken, and even the Mystery Inc. gang all got their moment in the spotlight. The Loft in West End was made for this sort of show. Audience members enjoyed themed cocktails while settling in for a night of romance, nostalgia and blushing. Guiding us through the evening was vocal director Rhona Bechaz, whose old-Hollywood accent, dimpled smile and gloriously bad jokes quickly won over the crowd. Under Tayla Simpson's direction, the show gleefully embraced every cliché. There were longing gazes, dramatic dances, discarded items of clothing, and enough smouldering looks to fog up the room. No matter what nonsense arrived next, everyone threw themselves into it without hesitation. The evening opened with a sweet rendition of L-O-V-E, before Hannah Box brought all the sass and razzle dazzle required for Funny Honey (Chicago). She later joined Aimee Segal for a spirited queer rendition of What Is This Feeling? (Wicked), complete with plenty of knowing glances between Elphaba and Glinda. Historia Scott and Campbell Briggs made a highly convincing Morticia and Gomez, bringing plenty of passion to Live Before We Die (Addams Family), while Ashlin Cork looked like she was having a blast in the wonderfully silly I'm Just Ken/Barbie Girl mash-up. Venus brought Romy and Michele's particular brand of disco glamour to life and had me singing along! Elsewhere, Lay All Your Love On Me (Mamma Mia) delivered all the yearning that young love could muster, while Billy Gray arrived in gold hotpants and absolutely no shame for Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me (Rocky Horror). Skye Schultz and Jack Barrett's Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy gave Brokeback Mountain a theatrical makeover, leaning into the joke with cowboy hats, hobby horses, and absolutely no concern for subtlety. Annie Rose Paroz proved to be one of the vocal powerhouses of the evening. Her voice soared through several numbers, particularly Back to Black, where her vocals accompanied Tayla Simpson's sultry performance inspired by Daisy and Jay from The Great Gatsby. Paroz returned later with a gorgeous rendition of My Heart Will Go On, while Angelina Mustafay and Skye Schultz turned Jack and Rose's doomed romance into something far less tragic and far more ridiculous as Rose gradually strip off while displaying very little concern for poor Jack's fate. I never thought I'd find myself laughing like a hyena through a song that normally leaves me sobbing. Somehow, Titanic, burlesque, and a few well-placed props proved to be a winning combination. Speaking of props, Jack Barrett's Grow For Me alongside a particularly frisky Audrey II puppet provided one of the biggest laughs of the night. That plant had absolutely no business behaving the way it did, and yet somehow the audience accepted its questionable behaviour without hesitation. And then there was Let's Get It On. Featuring the Mystery Inc gang and Mark James singing as Scooby-Doo himself, the number descended into complete nonsense. You really haven't lived until you've witnessed a Scooby-Doo orgy parody. And somehow, this is actually my second... The live band, featuring Sean Alan Fagan, Benjamin Richards and Nathan Cho, brought a warmth and spontaneity that recorded tracks simply can't match. Tamzen Hunter's oversized heart set piece dominated the stage with all the subtlety of Sharpay Evans entering East High. Lighting and sound from Maddy Simons, Steve Maples and Melanie Simons kept pace with the show's constant swings between romance, comedy and after-dark antics. By the time the company came together for This Will Be (An Everlasting Love), I left feeling exactly as a Valentine's cabaret should make you feel: transported, thoroughly entertained, and perhaps just a little bit flustered. In a world that feels permanently glued to bad news headlines, I can't think of a better excuse to indulge in a little fantasy for a couple of hours. Epic Love Stories reminded me that sometimes it's perfectly okay to surrender to the cheese, root for the happy ending, and sing along to the love songs. Because the world could always use a little more epic romance...

Into the Blue Presented by: The Australian Voices Artistic Director / Composer / Conductor: John Rotar Tides of Ocean — Matthew Orlovich Pearl — Gordon Hamilton Anthos — Alys Rayner Meteora — Meta Cohen And There Was No More Sea — Margaret Tesch-Muller Island Songs — Stephen Leek Bellbird Valley — John Rotar Into the Blue — John Rotar Waltzing Matilda — Traditional, arranged by John Rotar “There is a magic in the world when you’re a kid” There’s nothing quite like strolling into a choral concert and being whisked away on a mental vacation across the vast Australian landscape, all through the power of voices. No orchestra, backing tracks, or elaborate staging — just lungs, humans, harmony, and vocal control that makes me wonder if these singers have superpowers! Founded over 30 years ago, The Australian Voices is renowned for championing contemporary Australian choral music, and this program was a strong reminder of just how much variety, imagination, and emotional colour can exist within a choir. Led by the maestro of melodies, John Rotar introduced the inspiration behind the program and its individual pieces. The concert explored the vastness of the Australian environment, from the deep seas to open skies, flower fields to childhood beaches and the little mythologies we build around places. John spoke passionately to offer context that shaped the listening experience and encouraged us to engage our own imaginations actively. After all, listening to music is not a passive activity. The venue itself beautifully enhanced the visual and auditory experience. The tall archways and brickwork of St Brigid's Church were illuminated with gradients of colour, transitioning through blues, violets, oranges, and pinks based on the mood of each piece.The acoustics were so clear that you could pick out individual voices distinctly, even within the full ensemble sound. At one point, a little songbird in the eaves joined in, which was either a coincidence or excellent unpaid immersive design. The concert opened with Matthew Orlovich’s Tides of Ocean, which ended up being my favourite. It was bright, consuming, and full of movement, with the choir creating wave-like sounds that pulled the audience straight into the water. Without any instruments, the singers created an entire oceanic world through shifting vocal patterns. It was like being serenaded by a school of musical fish. Gordon Hamilton’s Pearl was like a musical cloud floating through the room, with layered harmonies, descending trills, and some beautifully controlled soprano lines floating above the ensemble. The low bass moments were particularly resonant too. The balance between the voice parts and dynamics was one of the choir’s major strengths, with the ensemble shifting swiftly from delicate transparency to a much fuller sound without losing clarity. Alys Rayner’s Anthos and Meta Cohen’s Meteora redirected our attention skyward, moving from flower fields and blue skies to a cosmic journey through galaxies and vast distances. Both pieces explored ideas of separation and connection, particularly the image of two people gazing up at the same sky from different corners of the world. Meteora was especially demanding, playing with repeated text, canons, and tempo changes. In Anthos, the phrase “under the air” returned again and again in different forms, passed around the ensemble until it seemed to orbit overhead. Margaret Tesch-Muller’s And There Was No More Sea took us on a deep dive into the murkier waters of life’s big questions. Penned by a member of the choir, the piece explored mortality, chaos, and the sea, with the men’s voices bringing a low, thunderous weight to the sound. It was something of a philosophical storm at sea, giving the program a moment to sit with something more existential. Stephen Leek’s Island Songs honoured the choir’s founder, and I had a little personal flashback here. I once sang the good old Monkey and Turtle in a bossa nova arrangement — a sentence that will make instant sense to choir people and absolutely no sense to everyone else. That small connection was a lovely reminder of how widely Australian choral music travels through classrooms, choirs, and community spaces, often shaping musical memories in ways we do not realise at the time. John Rotar’s Bellbird Valley was one of the most moving parts of the concert. Based on a family poem and a location held in memory, the piece captured the warm, bittersweet nostalgia of looking back at a place you cannot quite return to — not because it has vanished, but because you are no longer the person who first knew it. The world premiere of Into the Blue transformed John Rotar’s childhood memories of Coonarr beach into a grand narrative. The work had a childlike mythology to it — the way a beach can become an entire kingdom when you are small. The composition featured depictive lyrics, percussive vocal effects, manipulated vowels, and even a cheeky nod to the Jaws motif for the bull sharks. It captured the magical blend of wonder, danger, and imagination in childhood memories. This concert differed from my usual coverage of plays and musicals, which involve characters, staging, choreography, design, and narrative all working together. Into the Blue was far more stripped back, but definitely not simpler. If anything, it required closer attention because the music is exposed and immediate. No lighting cue or costume change could save a harmony or mask an imperfect entrance. It served as a reminder that skilled singers like these can evoke landscapes, weather, tension, humour, memory, and movement with just their voices. The Australian Voices performed with focus, stamina, discipline, and a shared understanding of the music. Most pieces were memorised, with eyes fixed on John’s conducting as entrances, cut-offs, dynamics, and tempo shifts landed with impressive precision (and some seriously strong breath control!). John was visibly working hard too — conducting contemporary choral music is clearly not a low-sweat activity. The large crowd packed into the church seemed very willing to take the journey with them, and it was heartening to see hundreds of people turn up for contemporary Australian choral music. Unfortunately, I had to leave before the finale because Into the Blue was only the first stop on a three-show review day! But watching a video later of John Rotar’s arrangement of Waltzing Matilda confirmed what a fitting closing choice it was. Concluding a program of sea, sky, landscape, and national sound with a fresh percussive take on a familiar tune perfectly suited a choir dedicated to evolving Australian music. Into the Blue was thoughtfully programmed, exquisitely sung, and deeply connected to place. More than anything, it showed how powerful a room full of voices can be when they are used with this much care, imagination, and purpose.

Long Gone Lonesome Cowgirls Presented by Ad Astra Written by Philip Dean Directed by Prue Robb Music Direction by Meg Kiddle Set Design: Prue Robb Costuming: Erin Lowry Lighting Design: Dan Endicott Sound: Danielle Park Photography: Kris Anderson - Images by Anderson “A good friend is better than a husband. And more reliable!" Brought to you by Ad Astra, Long Gone Lonesome Cowgirls is a heartwarming two-hander about lonely women and unreliable men. Written by Philip Dean, it first hit the stage at La Boite back in 1995, and it still has that distinctive Queensland feel, making it a perfect fit for Ad Astra’s black box theatre, Pluto. With a soundtrack full of Hank Williams, the play has country music flowing through its veins. Good thing I wore my Texan cowboy boots... Theatre demands commitment, folks! In a small outback town during the 1960s, a young Catholic housewife and a no-nonsense barmaid are dealing with similar relationship issues, despite their wildly different personalities. Vicki is at home taking care of her baby while her husband is always on the road, and Rae is already fed up with her new cowboy husband, Earl. One is restless, the other is stuck, but both strive to create a fulfilling life from what the men around them have failed to offer. When Rae gets abandoned in town, she crashes at Vicki's place (after sweetening the deal with some rare vinyl records), picks up a bartending gig, and starts dating around the local scene. They quickly hit it off in that special way women sometimes do when life throws a curveball. They drink Jim Beam, play dress-up, sing “Crazy,” and form a sister-like bond. Together, these two women navigate life's highs and lows. The setup (design by Prue Robb) gives off an old-school Aussie country hall feel. You've got vintage posters, homely 60s décor, vinyl records, and a live band right inside the world of the play. The piano, drums, and guitar are not simply accompaniment; they make the whole space come alive. especially love the detail of Vicki’s American-obsessed secret cupboard. She may be living in a tiny Qld town, but mentally she's halfway to Nashville, chatting away to her framed photo of Hank Williams like a teen with a celebrity poster on her wall. Some things never change... like having a hopeless crush on a musician. We’ve just traded Hank Williams for Harry Styles. Cheney Hossack gives Vicki a sweetness that makes her easy to love from the start. She's got her head in the clouds, romanticising America and frontier wives as though they might offer her a doorway out of her dull, sheltered life. Always imagining her marriage could be something grander than it is. Hossack’s lovely singing voice suits that softness, while still letting us see the frustration simmering beneath it. And Vicki is certainly no fool. She’s not getting the appreciation or love she deserves, and she’s starting to see that the issue isn’t that she “expects too much.” Nah girl. You expected the bare minimum, and even that was apparently too ambitious. Isabel Kruse makes Rae impossible to ignore from the moment she arrives. She's got a voice that could send a beer flying off a pub table and a gritty confidence that makes the line “You sayin’ I’m not f*ckin’ refined?” land exactly as it should. But underneath her bluntness and tough exterior, there's a woman bruised by disappointment, and Kruse lets that hurt surface during her solo “Walking After Midnight.” It's one of the standout musical moments, full of real heartbreak. She doesn’t even need a mic for that song (which is lucky because it wasn’t working!) The script uses that dry Aussie humour that does not need to announce itself. What could easily become a string of ordinary domestic scenes instead becomes surprisingly engaging, because the writing and performances give every situation something to play with. The structure moves quickly across multiple years, and I really enjoy that we only see the story through the lens of these two women. Husbands come and go, babies arrive, brothers complicate things, neighbours gossip, and yet these people around them exist through conversation alone rather than appearance. The stage belongs firmly to Vicki and Rae. These women are learning that no cowboy, contractor, musician, brother, or fantasy man is coming to rescue them. But they do have each other, and eventually, they find themselves too. Prue Robb’s direction keeps the story moving well, with clear affection for these women and their world. The pacing lets the emotional shifts hit home without turning the whole thing into a misery rodeo. Rae’s monologues from the rolling bar help give context to her life outside Vicki’s kitchen, while Vicki’s phone calls with her husband remind us of the marriage she is trying to make sense of. The kitchen set is functional and well-used as a grounded domestic centre. Given the limits of a black box space, I can understand why the band is tucked around the corner, though I do wish they were a little more visible as such a key part of the production’s world. There were also a few times, particularly on stage left, where some conversations are directed towards the wall instead of the audience. The hospital scene after Vicki gives birth is the main moment where I found myself wanting a clearer view of their faces. The country songs arrive in neat little bursts, never overstaying their welcome and always giving the women something they cannot quite say in plain conversation. The band, led by Oscar Lowe on piano as assistant musical director, sounds fantastic. Plus, Oscar gets a few chances to shine vocally, which is great to see. Erin Lowry's costume work gives Rae a short visual journey, from wearing flannels and denim shorts to rocking those bright 60s dresses. Her outfits show how Rae goes through different phases of reinvention. On the other hand, Vicki's look pretty much stays the same, with the same demure dresses and hair across the years. Rae changes because she wants to keep moving forward, while Vicki stays in the same domestic loop. The production also balances its comedy with some heavier 1960s context. Around Vicki and Rae’s personal dramas, Australia is shifting too - feminism, contraception, conscription, and Vietnam all pressing in at the edges. It gives the story more substance without turning it into a history lecture. When the reality of the war comes knocking, Vicki’s reaction lands with a jolt. By that point, these women are dealing with more than just lousy husbands and lonely nights. The whole country is shifting around them, for better or worse. Long Gone Lonesome Cowgirls understands the strange miracle of being found by the right friend at the right time. Vicki and Rae don't magically fix each other’s lives, but they give each other a place to share their loneliness. Ad Astra’s production shines because of the two performers who make every moment of that friendship feel real, from the first spark of connection to the ache of being apart. This is friendship as a lifeline: messy, musical, slightly tipsy, and held together by someone who loves you enough to welcome you back when you finally ask for help.

A Steady Rain Presented by Aparo Theatre in co-production with PIP Theatre Written by Keith Huff Directed by Megan Hind Set and Costume Designer: Stefan Cooper-Fox Fight and Intimacy Co-ordinator: NJ Price Accent Coach: Helen Howard Photography: Creative Street / Kris Anderson - Images by Anderson / Pip Suschinsky “We should know the eyes of a demon when we see one.” Presented by Aparo Theatre in co-production with PIP Theatre, Keith Huff’s A Steady Rain is an intense buddy-cop play about loyalty, corruption, guilt, and the difficult decisions that keep narrowing until no good options remain. Directed by Megan Hind, the production starred Matthew Filkins as Denny and Zac Boulton as Joey, two Chicago cops recounting their versions of events to Internal Affairs after a bullet was fired through the front window of Denny’s family home. The play gained widespread attention after opening on Broadway in 2009, starring Hugh Jackman and Daniel Craig. It explores a friendship built on brotherhood, dependency, damage, and denial, where loyalty becomes harder and harder to separate from self-preservation. A gritty buddy-cop tragedy is not generally the thing I run towards with open arms and my trusty pink notebook. But this production had me properly gripped. The writing moved at a cracking pace, the performances were intense, and the story unfolded like a puzzle being revealed piece by piece. Just when I thought I had figured out where it was going, another shocking piece fell into place. I lost track of how many life-ruining decisions were made per minute. Upon entering the studio theatre, we found Filkins and Boulton already onstage, situated in what resembled an interrogation room. Stefan Cooper-Fox set design was sparse: a white corner space, two chairs, fluorescent lights overhead, and a clock. Not exactly a room you’d want to be invited into for a friendly chat. Without theatrical clutter, there was nowhere for these performers to hide, and the emphasis sat firmly on the storytelling. And for a play centred on memory, confession, contradiction, and self-justification, this was precisely the right focus. Denny, played by Matthew Filkins, was the so-called family man, though mainly in the technical sense that he had a wife and two boys. I found his character to be loud, impulsive, foul-mouthed, prejudiced, violent, and constantly rationalising his awful behaviour as a means of protecting his family. Filkins gave him a frightening momentum. Denny was perpetually on the verge of exploding (and often did). Yet Filkins made sure we saw his fear underneath the rage, especially when Denny recounted his two-year-old son being injured by glass shrapnel after the gunshot shattered the window. It was a classic action-movie “family threatened, man leaps into action” moment, but with messy and painful repercussions. Filkins’ soliloquies were utterly vivid. When Denny spoke about his infidelity, his altercations with pimps, his enemies on the street, and the tangled mess of people orbiting his life, I could picture it all with uncomfortable clarity. Sometimes more clarity than I particularly wanted in my mind’s eye, which was probably the point. He painted the world of the play so powerfully that the invisible characters — Connie, Rhonda, the children, the criminals, the victims — all seemed to occupy the room with them. Zac Boulton brought a very different weight as Joey. Joey was Denny’s longtime partner, his oldest friend, and a man with his own battle with alcohol, but he was also the one trying to hold the crumbling pieces together. Boulton gave Joey a haunted restraint that balanced Denny’s volatility. He was softer, but not weak; damaged, but not passive. His descriptions of Connie revealed so much: Joey was clearly enamoured with her and seemed capable of offering the care and stability that Denny lacked. The interaction between the two performers shared a brotherly rhythm: quick to interrupt, quick to defend, quick to wound, and all too accustomed to compensating for one another. A particularly telling line was, “I’d been covering for him for so long, I couldn’t keep the lies straight.” Their bond was so deep that it had turned into a trap. And the underlying physical tension between the men was always palpable. Both actors handled a huge amount of dialogue with impressive skill. The pace was fast, the Chicago accents consistent, and neither performer seemed to falter, despite the sheer volume of text! Filkins’ anger and Boulton’s trauma were both intensely convincing, and together they carried the 90 minutes with stamina. I just know that both actors must have needed about five litres of water afterwards! The play effectively used perspective by presenting both sides of the story, revealing shifting truths based on the speaker’s intentions and omissions. This was especially apparent in the incident with a young Vietnamese boy discovered naked and distressed in an alley. Unable to communicate with him, the officers couldn’t determine whether he was high, traumatised, dangerous, harmless, or something else entirely. As one line put it, “99% of the f*ckin’ city is traumatised.” The scene highlighted issues of language barriers, assumptions, policing, who is believed when the full picture is unclear, and who is culpable when darkness is brought to light. Megan Hind’s direction kept the production tight. The play began right in the middle of the action and barely gave us a chance to settle. The pacing worked especially well for me because there was no room to drift. We were drip-fed information, then forced to re-evaluate it. A gunshot through a window led to a revenge mission, which led to broken protocols, job suspensions, car chases, violence, infidelity, guilt, and eventually, avoidable deaths. As the title suggests, the physical and metaphorical rain fell relentlessly throughout the story, sitting underneath the action as a dark, inescapable backdrop. The gunshots were loud and realistic, so consider that a warning for anyone sensitive to sudden sound. There were no props, yet the miming was precise enough that I never felt like anything was missing. Every drink, weapon, injury, stressful car ride, and violent encounter was conjured through performance alone. The fight and intimacy coordination by NJ Price played a crucial role, especially for a production where the action unfolded through memories rather than direct staging. This was not an easy watch, and nor should it have been. It asked uncomfortable questions about loyalty, masculinity, corruption, and the stories people tell so they can live with themselves. “It’s strange the things you have to lose in order to gain what you want” sat heavily over the final stretch of the play. By the end, I had reacted viscerally more than once, which indicates that a play has managed to get under my skin. Aparo Theatre and PIP Theatre delivered a stripped-back, hard-hitting production. It was tense, confronting theatre, and a reminder that sometimes the most unsettling storms are the ones people try to explain away.

Factory Made – A New Musical Book, Director, Set Design: Douglas Berry Composer, Music Director: Your Man Alex Smith Choreography, Costume Design, Props, Hair and Makeup: Jemma Crowhurst Lighting Design: Maddy Bosanko Sound Design: Ben Cooke and Angelina Mustafay Photography: Images by Anderson and Josh Sweeney “Music has to say something to be good. But robots have nothing to say...” Factory Made is a brand-new musical by Douglas Berry and Your Man Alex Smith, presented at Phoenix Ensemble. This show asks us whether art can still mean something if a robot helps to create it... all while serving up killer rock songs, dastardly corporate villains, tap dancing, improv, and one very loveable escapee from the factory floor. The story follows OceanSix, a corporation so aggressively greedy it has managed to monopolise status over everything (ahem, Amazon). With robots running its factories, one robot named Pru makes a daring escape and crash-lands into the life of Stu, the anxious frontman of the band Friendship Alliance. Stu was eagerly expecting a guitar amp but instead receives a sunshiny robot with the worldly wisdom of a goldfish. Stu’s band is gearing up for their debut performance when one of their members bails, leaving Pru as the emergency replacement. The problem is, the band’s entire persona is speaking out against OceanSix and corporate exploitation. So, using a robot in their music makes them look a bit… hypocritical. And thus, the story poses an intriguing question: have they become the very thing they are fighting against? In a world currently drowning in conversations about AI, art, creativity and ownership, the show has plenty to say. Beneath the punchlines and pratfalls, there's a real argument being made about why art matters, why effort matters, and why music needs to come from somewhere inside. Phoebe Imberger portrayed Pru as a walking ray of sunshine, full of brightness, sweetness and oddness. Her clear, gentle singing voice gave the character an extra warmth beneath the robotic quirks. She had a Janet-like quality from The Good Place: helpful, chipper, otherworldly, and impossible not to love. Her friendship with Stu was the show’s emotional epicentre, like a heartwarming buddy comedy where you totally get why this ragtag group would want to protect her. Alex Smith was wonderful as Stu, giving him all the awkward, anxious, hopeful musician qualities needed to make the character work. Stu was the kind of person who clearly had big feelings and big principles, but very little ability to calmly process anything. His number “Robots, They Ain’t Got It” was one of the early standouts, with big Dewey from School of Rock flavour as Stu argued that music needs struggle, soul, and something to say. The chemistry between Imberger and Smith had such a sweet, odd-couple quality to it, and the show was at its strongest when it let these two bounce off each other: think Lilo and Stitch, Buzz and Woody, Mantis and Drax. A standout sequence was “I’m a Detective,” a mini-musical within the musical where Stu and Pru pretended to be cops, fought crime, and were so committed to the bit that it actually worked. The songwriting, storytelling, choreography, and props all combined for perfect comedic effect. It was a blast watching the duo discover just how far they could push their 'improv' without being caught out. Jemma Crowhurst rocked the stage as Tess. She had the rock chick attitude, the voice, and the stage presence. Plus, she managed to choreograph the show, design the costumes, props, hair, and makeup.. so apparently sleep is just an option in her life. Emma Erdis brought some serious Terminator vibes as M.A.X., especially when rocking out to the hard-hitting tune “To the Xtreme.” And I can't forget Abi Pineda, who nailed it as the tap-dancing(!) Robot Assistant. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to master the art of walking without rolling my ankle every damn day. Rae Rose was fantastic as Deeandra, the big boss of OceanSix. All greed, grins, and power poses, they owned the opening number “Factory Made” like a corporate villain straight out of a comedy-horror flick. Rae had the crazy villain look and voice mastered to a tee. Each time they strutted on stage Deeandra was as slick as a shark in a business suit, with a dash of mean girl nastiness and a sprinkle of sarcastic glee. The Shareholders, played by Oliver Catton, Liam Hartley, Torin Cook, and Daniel Lelic, were the epitome of wealthy snobs, cranked up to about one trillion on the snooty scale. Their motto was “F*ck poor people,” which pretty much told us all we needed to know about them. All four were so funny that I do not know how anyone on stage survived without breaking. I would have been useless. The casting was excellent across the board. Douglas Berry’s script was hilarious to me. Not just “polite theatre chuckle” funny either. The kind of funny where you hear people still repeating lines to each other at interval. The direction made room for all the silliness in the story, mixing awkward pauses, silly costumes, background gags, goofy physicality and witty one-liners. It had a very Starkid-adjacent flavour: homemade, high-concept, nerdy, self-aware, oddly sincere, and completely willing to run at a ridiculous idea until it became emotionally sincere. It was anti-capitalist sci-fi, buddy-cop, and musical fever dream rolled into one. I swear I wrote a play just like this two decades ago called The Random Adventures of Bobble and Spoink. The music was the show’s not-so-secret weapon. Alex Smith tossed in a wild mix of rock, synth, barbershop quartets, villain ballads, detective jingles, and revolutionary musical theatre. The Act II opener, “The Spectrum,” was my personal favourite. I need it immediately so it can become my ringtone, my alarm, and my entire personality. It was on the nose, catchy, and odd in the way the best musical theatre songs often are. “To the Shop,” the barbershop quartet number, was another impressive highlight (special shoutout to Daniel’s falsetto!) “Enough Wasting Time” was an intense theatrical solo before expanding into a full-cast moment, complete with an intentional rock pulse and flag wave that felt very “Do You Hear the People Sing?” if Les Mis had been hijacked by robots. Then, near the end, Alex’s ballad brought a real sweetness back into the story. For all its chaos, the show did have a heart, and the final emotional beats worked because the production had taken the time to build genuine affection between its characters. Jemma Crowhurst’s choreography was a major strength of the production. The opening number used mechanical precision beautifully, instantly setting up the world of the show. That physical language carried through the production, balancing comedy, storytelling and musical flair. The Dream Ballet was a particular standout, giving us M.A.X.’s villain origin story through cinematic music, slow-motion movement and dramatic blocking. Visually, the production had a playful and cohesive identity. Douglas Berry’s set design supported the shifts between factory, band space, and urban streets. There was a lot of humour baked into the design, particularly in the costumes and prop work, that gave the whole show an extra boost of personality. Maddy Bosanko’s lighting helped shift the production cleanly between comedy, corporate menace and rock-concert flair, giving each part of the world its own visual punch. Ben Cooke and Angelina Mustafay’s sound design was also excellent, not only supporting the sci-fi setting but landing some of the jokes itself. Sound design being funny is not something I get to write often, so I was very pleased to enjoy the rare treat. The audience was completely hooked. Laughter constantly echoed around the theatre, and by interval, people were already swapping favourite moments and predicting where the story might go next. We were invested and we wanted answers! I had a great time with Factory Made. It had its own strange beating heart and was packed with songs I wanted to hear again.

Title: Legally Blonde The Musical Presented By: ROCKIT Productions Genre: Musical Theatre / Youth Production Program Synopsis: Elle Woods appears to have it all until her boyfriend, Warner, ends their relationship so he can attend Harvard Law School and find someone more “serious.” Determined to win him back, Elle charms her way into Harvard, where she faces dismissive classmates, demanding professors and assumptions about who she is capable of becoming. With support from unexpected new friends, Elle begins to realise that she does not need to change herself to earn respect or success. Packed with pop-infused songs, energetic choreography and comedy, Legally Blonde The Musical follows Elle’s transformation as she challenges stereotypes, discovers her own abilities and learns to pursue her dreams on her own terms. Audition Date: Sunday 12 July 2026 Audition Time: Auditions: 10:00am–3:00pm Callbacks: 3:30pm–7:30pm Auditionees will be allocated a 90-minute group session. Not all auditionees will be required at callbacks. Audition Location and Address: ROCKIT Launchpad Studios, 36 Old Cleveland Road, Capalaba QLD 4157 Audition Requirements: Auditions will be conducted in small workshop-style groups and will assess singing, acting, dancing and suitability for available roles. Participation in one weekly technical dance class is also a prerequisite for joining the Senior Program. This may be a streamed ballet or jazz class, or an adult introductory ballet or jazz class. Audition Registration: Enrol in the ROCKIT Senior Musical Theatre Program Performance Dates: Thursday 10 December 2026 Friday 11 December 2026 Saturday 12 December 2026 Sunday 13 December 2026 Performer Age: Students in Grades 10–12 Other information: This production forms part of ROCKIT’s Elite Senior Musical Theatre Program. The program runs across two school terms. A costume-hire fee of $42 per term applies, totalling $84. Students may also need to provide basic costume items, undergarments and footwear. Payment plans and multi-class discounts are available. Enquiries: hello@rockitproductions.com.au or 0435 115 339.

Title: The Pink Panther Strikes Again Presented By: Sunnybank Theatre Group Genre: Comedy / Farce / Slapstick Synopsis: Chief Inspector Jacques Clouseau, the world’s most unusual criminologist, finds himself fighting for his life and the future of mankind in a bizarre and dangerous caper. His former boss, Paul Dreyfus, has been driven mad by Clouseau’s undeserved success and now threatens the world with the Doomsday Machine unless Clouseau is delivered to him. Full of verbal humour, physical comedy, farcical accents and slapstick chaos, The Pink Panther Strikes Again brings the comic spirit of the classic film to the stage. Audition Date: Saturday 20 June 2026 Audition Time: 1:30pm Audition Location and Address: Sunnybank Theatre, 14 Mains Road, Sunnybank QLD Audition Requirements: Auditionees must register to be considered. Strong accents are required, especially for lead roles. The production calls for French, English, Asian, Egyptian, Russian, Indian, German and other farcical accents. Physical comedy and comic timing are important, particularly for Clouseau and Dreyfus. Audition Registration: Register for an audition Audition Pack: Download the audition notice Performance Dates: 4–19 September 2026 Performance Location: Sunnybank Theatre, 14 Mains Road, Sunnybank QLD Creative Team: Director: Lesley Davis-Oliver Playwright: William Gleason Production Website: Sunnybank Theatre Group Auditions Available Roles/Character Breakdown: Roles that do not double: Clouseau — Chief Inspector of the Surete. French accent. Dreyfus — Former Chief Inspector and Clouseau’s arch-enemy. French accent. Cato — Clouseau’s oriental manservant/butler. Asian accent. Dr. Fassbender — Inventor of the Doomsday Machine. English accent. Margot — Dr. Fassbender’s daughter. English accent. Olga — Russian agent and Clouseau’s love interest. Russian accent. Hindu Harry — Dreyfus’ gangster cohort. Indian accent. Cairo Fred — One of Dreyfus’ henchmen. Egyptian accent. Roles that may double or triple: Waiter — Restaurant waiter. French accent. French Lady — Lover in restaurant. French accent. French Man — Lover in restaurant. Non-speaking role. Dr. Duval — Dreyfus’ psychiatrist. English accent. Inmate — “Indian” inhabitant of lunatic asylum. French accent. Orderlie 1 & 2 — Asylum orderlies. Non-speaking roles. Francois — Clouseau’s driver. French accent. Jarvis — Dr. Fassbender’s butler. English accent. Mrs Japonica — Dr. Fassbender’s maid. English accent. Mrs Leverlilly — Dr. Fassbender’s housekeeper. English accent. Mrs Bullock — Dr. Fassbender’s cook. English accent. Mr Shork — Dr. Fassbender’s gardener. English accent. Mrs Stutterstutt — Dr. Fassbender’s beekeeper. Non-speaking role. Drummond — Inspector, Scotland Yard. English accent. McLaren — Inspector, Scotland Yard. English accent. Emcee — Mirage Club host. English accent. Chuck — Head waiter at the Mirage Club. English accent. Couple 1 & 2 — Spectators at Mirage Club. Non-speaking roles. Man – Mafia Type — Henchman/assassin. New York Mafia accent. Technician — Works in Dreyfus’ television studio. English accent. Messenger — Bearer of bad news for Clouseau. German accent. German Girl — Spy with poisoned pretzel. German accent. Buxom Waitress — Assassin 1. Non-speaking role. Chinese Assassin — Assassin 2. Non-speaking role. Arabian Assassin — Assassin 3. Non-speaking role. Italian Assassin — Assassin 4. Non-speaking role. Polish Assassin — Assassin 5. Non-speaking role. Japanese Assassin — Assassin 6. Non-speaking role. Nigerian Assassin — Assassin 7. Non-speaking role. Swede Assassin — Assassin 8. Non-speaking role. Mexican Assassin — Assassin 9. Non-speaking role. Desk Clerk 1 — German, any gender/age. German accent. Desk Clerk 2 — German, older, mid-late 50s. German accent. Tournier — Bank robber. French accent. Pink Panthers x3 — Stagehands and actor/dancer roles. Non-speaking.