Heavens to Murgatroyd, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd is a mysterious affair of style.
Yes there are scars of Australia laid bare in Dear Son, but there is much humour too, a salving balm that promotes healing and connectivity.
Jack Kearney’s kitchen sinker, Born on a Thursday takes three hours to traverse ten months, a calendar stroll through 1999. Did a year really unfurl at such glacial pace back then?
Vivacious and virtuosic, Pinchgut Opera’s intimate rendition is rooted deeply in research and the practice of historical performance, yet unmistakably Sydney – unmistakably Australian – in its swift, vibrant, and exhilarating delivery.
This show is cold and unyielding even when subjected to the fire of performance.
The Festival of Death and Dying is not just a festival – it is a tender, artist-led act of remembering, and a deeply human invitation to witness ourselves, one another, and the stories that insist on being carried forward.
Festooned with verbal foliage that has not desiccated over eight decades, Noel Coward’s Present Laughter is a present of much needed laughter leading up to the silly season.