Sydney theatre latest reviews

In 1901, the word ‘bondmaid’ was found to be missing from the Oxford English Dictionary. A century later, this simple oversight catalysed an epiphany in the formation of the theatrical debut of The Dictionary of Lost Words. Directed by Jessica Arthur and adapted for the stage by Verity Laughton, this play based on Pip William’s bestselling novel is an astounding performance set during the seismic events of the late 19th and early 20th century, at the height of the women’s suffrage movement and the dawn of World War I.   The play begins with protagonist Esme Nicoll (played by Tilda Cobham-Hervey) observing her father, the lexicographer Harry Nicoll (Brett Archer) from beneath his desk as he is researching and curating the first Oxford English Dictionary. In what can only be described as the first vibrations of a ripple effect, a slip of paper with the word and definition of ‘bondmaid’ (a "slave girl") falls onto the floor, where a five-year-old Esme innocently watches her father and his colleagues work. This moment reverberates into Esme’s interest in the compilation of ‘lost words’ – those words discarded, forgotten and considered not worthy enough for the Oxford dictionary. (And why is it, that so many of those words that fell through the cracks have something to do with women?) Laughton’s script exceptionally translates the novel to stage…allow[ing] for greater emotional investment The Drama Theatre at the Sydney Opera House is transformed into the scriptorium of Oxford for

To paraphrase a line in Oil: “as soon as mankind had the audacity to dream it could keep itself warm when the sun went down, we were at war”. The Earth became an extractive commodity to be fought over; abstract lines sprung up into nation-states; division, jealousy and greed became society’s ever-burning fuel. Colonialism, empire, capitalism, modernity: the same basic impulse to escape cold and darkness rules them all.  In pioneering British playwright Ella Hickson’s ambitious modern play, it also rules a wilful (and often problematic) mother’s love. A time-bending, continent-hopping, multi-layered sci-fi epic and mother-daughter drama, Oil transports (by magical stretch of the imagination) her two main characters from the Industrial Age in Europe when crude oil was discovered, to the oil-rich Middle East at the turn of the century, to nondescript suburbia, and into the future. In each time period, the scene is some manner of dining room, which rests upon a vast mound of blackened soot (Emma White does a brilliant set). Paul Jackson’s lighting is crucial to our perception of what’s going on, and it is fantastic – moving us through greasy pools of waxy candlelight, to thrusting candelabras of boastful brightness, to rainbow fanfares, and to bleached and glaring whites.  ...the grim yet always entertaining adage of Oil has left me in a dark pool of reflection. STC has achieved a commendable feat. Directed with maturity and panache by Paige Rattray (The Lifespan of a Fact, Blith

I’ve been thinking about collectivism a lot lately; about what happens when we reframe the way we think and work. What if, instead of attempting to step over others, we were to fall in step with our friends instead? Sometimes this is tricky, because capitalism and neoliberalism are very good at teaching us to value ourselves over everyone else, and that achievement looks like being the richest, the prettiest or the smartest person in the room. But what does a world based on caring about each other look like? How can we imagine something so impossibly different? The Master and Margarita, an epic novel penned by Soviet writer Mikhail Bulgakov under Stalin’s regime – and now a work of collective insanity adapted and directed by Eamon Flack at Belvoir St Theatre – is a lesson in imagining. On paper, the story is ridiculous: the Devil turns up in a park in Moscow, meets a couple of writers, and tells them about a novelist called “the Master” and his great love, Margarita, who becomes a (naked) witch to protect the Master’s manuscript (but also just, because?). The Master’s manuscript is told in pieces between the Devil and his entourage (including a giant black cat and a very thin man wearing pince-nez glasses) as they wreak havoc on Moscow, and draws parallels between the power structures in ancient Galilee and Stalin’s Russia.  So much theatrical beauty and recklessness happens in this show... and Sydney’s stages are better for it. The Master and Margarita, the novel, was writte

Think Jay Gatsby hosted the best roaring '20s parties? Not anymore. It’s time to crack open some Champagne, because this scintillating smash-hit show is back for a third encore run! The sparkling toast of the Sydney summer, Blanc de Blanc Encore has been wowing audiences since it opened in January in the totally refurbished cabaret venue the Grand Electric (on the Redfern side of Surry Hills). Clearly, Sydney can't get enough of this much-loved cabaret, circus and burlesque show. The Blanc experience serves up the top shelf of cabaret-burlesque-circus entertainment with a devilish smile and a knowing wink. This show is bubbling over with hilarious hosts, talented perfomers dressed up (and down) in dazzling couture-fashion-level costuming, interactive stunts and so-rude-it's-right jokes. It's quite an accomplishment to stage a variety production that can so seamlessly gear-change from clownish wielding of crotches to superb aerial artistry, and from phallic percussion to a soulful pop crooner – all while maintaining a fun, playfully risqué vibe.  The internationally sourced cast packs some of the most stunning talents from near and far, with numerous Cirque du Soleil alumni in the ranks. Want an idea of the calibre? The inimitable Jake DuPree (they/them) – burlesque performer, fitness instructor, lingerie model and the first non-binary person to perform at the famous Crazy Horse in Paris – recently came direct from LA to join the Blanc de Blanc Encore cast for a strictly limi