“This is not a story of reconciliation” but rather a pedal-to-the-metal indigenous revenge fantasy, presented as a giddy, gaudy and glorious pastiche of vigilante-superhero narratives and American Blaxploitation cinema.
Capturing both the careworn oppression and the wry impishness of her former self beginning to burst back up to the surface, Millerchip is a delight and a powerhouse, carrying the show almost effortlessly on her shoulders.
An extraordinary new play which takes us on a family saga across three generations of Pyrmont residents, encompassing the history of Sydney’s perpetual gentrification.
It might go down a treat as a Nanny's business card, but it seems to have little currency for Tara Marice's character, Sandra in Brooke Robinson's Good Cook. Friendly. Clean.
The tale of a kangaroo who breaks from the mob and chases her dream of dancing, was originally a book written by Jackie French. The leap from the pages to the stage appears effortless and none of the book’s charm is lost.
HG Wells' The Time Machine provided the clearest insistence on the insecurity of progress and the possibility of human degeneration and extinction, written towards the end of an era, shot through with pessimism and impenitent socialism.
Mary Anne Butler's text sounds like the enunciated version of a tonal poem. There are no emotional explosions, the tone throughout is cool and casual. Flat. Prattling on in poetic prose that is heavy with exposition from elliptical beginning to end, engendering recitation rather than a performance.
Welcome to The Flick, a Worcester, Massachusetts movie theatre, home to one of the last motion picture projectors in the state. The Flick is a dinosaur in the digital age, owned by an unseen proprietor and operated by a sassy projectionist and two general hands who clean and run the box office and the candy concession.