Harold Pinter’s The Homecoming is playing at the Athenaeum until 3 October, and it is about as Pinteresque as Pinter gets. If you know his work, you know the terrain: the power plays, the disillusionment, and dialogue that always feels like it is missing something,. You find yourself hunting for meaning inside the words because what is being said rarely lines up with what is actually happening. This production, directed and designed by Greg Carroll, plays with Pinter in a way that feels fresh. Lines are blurred and you are never sure whether you are watching someone’s internal world, something unfolding in the room, or a subtext that is treated as the truth.
If you want a night of theatre that leaves you thinking and feeling, rather than absorbing and walking away, this is the one for you.
The cast is thoughtfully assembled. The household is three sons, their father, and their uncle, all packed into the same house, and the production draws out every fault line running between them. You watch the rivalries between the brothers, the manoeuvring between fathers and sons, and the strange sideways tension between each member of the house, and it never lands any where safe. Richard Piper’s Max presides over the chaos, with David Field as his brother Sam, and Ben Geurens, Eddie Orton and Peter Houghton as the three sons circling one another for position.
Then there is the woman we never see. The dead mother is spoken about so constantly that you build a whole picture of her, an idealised feminine presence hovering over the house. When Teddy comes home from America and brings his wife, Kate Kendall’s Ruth, you meet another idealised feminine figure, except she arrives as the inverse of the mother, an idealised whore rather than a Madonna. The Madonna and whore split runs right through the piece.
Ruth is the one and only female character on stage, and by the end of the play she has become the figure around whom the entire family’s plans for the future turn. Watching that progression of power unfold is one of the real pleasures of the production, because it opens up a genuinely interesting look at what gets counted as feminine power. It felt dated and contemporary at the same time, which says as much about the tangled worlds we live in now as it does about the play. Kendall gives Ruth a mysterious presence and a commanding hold over every room she enters, and she is perfect for the role.
The set is all dark, heavy, Victorian Gothic furniture, and it does a lot of the storytelling. It feels oppressive and confined, which is exactly right for a group of people this trapped with one another. The lighting stays mostly flat until a handful of pointed moments break the action open and make you question whether what you just saw was real at all. It is a heavy play and it gives you a great deal to think about, which is precisely the point.
Kokuho (Opening Night Reception – Japanese Film Festival) Rating
★★★★★
Click if you liked this article
The Japanese Film Festival is in its twenty-ninth year, and the festival continues to build its reputation as one of the most significant celebrations of Japanese cinema outside Japan. What began in 1997 with three small community screenings has grown into a nationwide cultural program that brings together new releases direct from Japanese cinemas, rare 35 millimetre prints, guest appearances, Q and A sessions and opportunities to experience both traditional and contemporary Japanese culture.
Opening night in Melbourne this year was buzzing from the moment the audience arrived. There was a warm sense of community at this festival, and that feeling was matched by a spread that included some of the best mochi I have ever had, generously provided by Roboto. The mood was festive, the theatre was full, and the anticipation for the flagship film was high.
This year’s opening film is Kokuhō, directed by Lee Sang il. The title means National Treasure, a fitting name given the cultural impact the film has had in Japan. Based on the best-selling novel by Shūichi Yoshida, Kokuhō stormed the Japanese box office in mid-2025 and continued to grow in popularity throughout the year. Audiences flocked to it repeatedly, word of mouth turning it into a major cultural milestone.
Unusually for a live-action drama, Kokuhō also became a major force on the international festival circuit. While Japanese films that break into global award categories are often animated features, Kokuhō made waves at Cannes and several other significant festivals. It was one of the most awarded and widely discussed Japanese films of the year, raising expectations ahead of its arrival in Australia.
A Story Shaped by Lineage, Ambition and Art
The story begins in Nagasaki in 1964 with a moment of shocking violence. Young Kikuo witnesses the murder of his father, a powerful leader of a yakuza organisation. This trauma marks him for life and shapes his intense desire to build a new future for himself. After his father’s death, Kikuo is taken in by the great kabuki master Hanjirō Hanai, played by the legendary Ken Watanabe. Under Hanai’s strict yet compassionate guidance, Kikuo begins to train as a kabuki performer alongside the master’s own son, Shunsuke.
The film follows the intertwined destinies of the two boys as they grow into men and into rivals. Their training is demanding. Their devotion to kabuki becomes an all-consuming pursuit that demands sacrifice, emotional depth and personal transformation. The film spans several decades, charting their rise through acting schools, rehearsal rooms and eventually onto Japan’s most prestigious kabuki stages.
Ryō Yoshizawa gives a powerful performance as Kikuo. He carries the weight of grief, ambition and longing with remarkable nuance. Ryūsei Yokohama as Shunsuke provides the perfect counterpoint, the son of a famous master who must grapple with the burden of legacy and expectation. The complex relationship between the two men provides the emotional core of the film. They are raised like brothers, yet they push and pull against each other constantly as their shared ambition becomes a source of love, frustration and pain.
Drama in Every Sense of the Word
Kokuhō is a drama in the richest sense. It is a story about artistic excellence, intense rivalry and deep emotional turmoil. It is also a story about Japan itself. The film is set during a period of enormous cultural transition. The country was emerging from the aftermath of the Second World War and moving into a modern future. This tension between old and new plays out both on the stage and in the characters’ lives.
One of the most impressive achievements of the film is the way it integrates kabuki into the narrative. Kabuki is known for its bold makeup, elaborate costumes, stylised movement and heightened delivery. For audiences unfamiliar with it, the artform can at first seem exaggerated. The film teaches viewers how to understand its emotional language. Rehearsal scenes show how performers learn to express pain, longing and joy through intonation and precise physicality. As Kikuo and Shunsuke train, we begin to see how their real lives mirror the classic tales they perform on stage.
The kabuki performances are staged with extraordinary visual beauty. The cinematography captures the richness of the costumes, the elegance of the sets and the commanding presence of the actors. The film allows several kabuki scenes to unfold in full, giving the audience a chance to experience the art form as though sitting in the theatre. These scenes also run in parallel with the offstage story, heightening the emotional impact.
A Film That Welcomes Newcomers to Kabuki
One of the film’s great strengths is its accessibility. Even if you have never seen kabuki before, Kokuhō draws you gently into its world. The characters learn and rehearse in ways that reveal the mechanics of the art. As the audience sees them refine their craft and receive feedback from Hanai, kabuki becomes easier to follow and understand. By the time the major stage scenes arrive, the heightened style feels entirely natural because the film has taught us how to read it.
This makes Kokuhō not only a gripping drama but also a cultural education. It provides a rare cinematic window into an artform that has survived for centuries and continues to hold a revered place in Japanese cultural identity.
A Rich Tapestry of Old and New Japan
The film also explores the social and cultural tensions of the era. Kikuo’s yakuza background places him at odds with the traditions and purity expected of kabuki performers. Meanwhile, Shunsuke must contend with the expectations placed upon him as the heir to a master performer. Japan itself is changing, and so are the worlds these men inhabit. The clash between traditional norms and a rapidly modernising society gives the film an added depth.
Verdict: A Masterwork of Emotion and Artistry
Kokuhō is a triumph of storytelling, performance and direction. It is a sweeping epic that never loses sight of the intimate emotional journeys at its heart. The performances are sublime, the direction confident, and the visual experience unforgettable. It balances scale, beauty and emotional truth.
As the opening feature for the 2025 Japanese Film Festival, it could not be more fitting. It embodies the richness and diversity of Japanese cinema and highlights the festival’s commitment to showcasing films that push artistic boundaries and capture the imagination.
The Japanese Film Festival runs nationwide from October to December 2025. To explore the full program, visit the festival website and enjoy a celebration of Japanese cinema that continues to grow in scope, ambition and cultural impact.
Theatre Works in St Kilda is currently home to an ambitious production, The Breath of Kings. It is a two-part history cycle of the plays Henry VI and Richard III. Directed by Robert Johnson, the production brings Shakespeare’s history plays to life with extraordinary immediacy, energy, and invention.
Over an entire day of theatre, audiences are invited to witness the bloody history of England’s royal houses, from the Wars of the Roses to the rise of Richard III. The experience is immersive from the start. Staged in the round, the audience sits within arm’s reach of the performers, blurring the line between spectator and participant. The interaction is constant and sometimes joyful. At one point, I was dancing on stage and sharing treats passed around by the cast. It was alive, communal, and very much in the spirit of Elizabethan performance.
The first play, Henry VI, is a thrilling, blood-soaked account of ambition and collapse. The charismatic Duke of York, played by Tobias Manderson Galvin, ignites the crowd into chants of “York, York, York!” His performance is full of swagger and charm. Ellen Marning as Queen Margaret is a force of nature, embodying raw power and ferocity, while Sean Yuen Halley brings a touching vulnerability to King Henry VI, revealing the man beneath the crown. The production moves with such intensity and rhythm that its two and a half hours fly by.
After a short dinner break, the audience returns for Richard III, an equally kinetic and captivating experience. Alexander Tomisich’s Richard is impish, calculating, and darkly magnetic, a scheming antihero who could easily walk into an episode of Succession. His sideways charm and growing menace are compelling to watch. The ensemble around him works in seamless harmony, each actor shifting roles and tones with remarkable ease.
The production feels like a cross between Succession and a session of Parliament. It was sharp, fast-moving, and dripping with modern corporate ambition. Characters jostle for dominance and betray each other with a familiar blend of charisma, cruelty and political posturing. It is Shakespeare’s power politics reimagined through the lens of contemporary boardrooms and wealthy family dynasties.
The visual world of The Breath of Kings is simple. There is no elaborate set, only a raw, concrete-like space that places all focus on the performances. The costumes, designed by Zachary Dixon (Richard III) and Tait Adams, are a clever mix of Gothic and 1980s-inspired corporate fashion, blending the medieval with the modern to explore timeless forms of power and corruption. The effect is both stylish and symbolic, a mix of crown meet boardrooms.
This is a production that rewards commitment. Spending a day at Theatre Works for both plays is an epic journey through history, politics, and human ambition. It is fast-moving, immersive, and full of action. You may never again have the chance to see Henry VI and Richard III performed back-to-back in such an inventive way, and it is absolutely worth the time.
If you can, see both. The Breath of Kings is a triumph of energy, imagination, and ensemble storytelling.
Once upon a time, four fabulous French femmes invented the fairy tale. Not the Grimms. Not Disney. The Fairytalers is a high-energy, history-reclaiming joyride now showing at the Meat Market, and it’s everything your glittery, story-loving heart desires. This whirlwind of a show resurrects the nearly-forgotten lives of Charlotte, Catherine, Marie, and Henriette. The original “Conteuses Précieuses”, who spun tales of ogres and enchanted creatures while battling very real societal monsters of their own: convents, towers, scandal, and patriarchy. Writer and director Ellis Austin Finnie takes these women out of the dusty archives and drops them smack bang into the spotlight, where they absolutely belong.
The concept is simple but striking: the women, now deceased, are deeply unimpressed that the Brothers Grimm got all the credit. They’re trying to uncover any mention of themselves in the modern world. What follows is a meta-theatrical, heartfelt, and hilarious retelling of their legacies, peppered with outrageous storytelling, shadow puppetry, paper crowns, and plenty of fourth-wall-breaking sass.
The cast? Divine. • Emily Farrell is a scene-stealing delight as the flamboyant and witty Catherine D’Aulnoy. • Janine Kwok brings warmth and cheek to the quietly passionate Marie L’Heritier. • Olivia Morison’s performance as Henriette de Murat is grounded and graceful, laced with steely elegance. • Daisy Valerio is luminous as Charlotte-Rose de Caumont de La Force, commanding both comedy and heartbreak with ease.
The minimalist set by Fiona MacDonald is cleverly functional and the cast shift the pieces around like magical stagehands, transforming spaces with ease and energy. MacDonald’s costume work also shimmers with imagination, nodding to both period aesthetics and playful theatricality.
The lighting and sound design (by Ashleigh Basham and Justin Heaton) enhance the fantastical atmosphere without overpowering the performances. The shadow puppetry sequences, tales told in flickering silhouette on a screen, are especially enchanting and add a lush visual layer that adds to the whimsy.
But beyond the sparkle, this show lands an emotional punch. It’s a celebration of the women who used stories as a means of survival and resistance when they had no other power. It asks: Is it better to be remembered by name, or by the impact you made, even if your name is lost?
By the end of the 90-minute journey, you’ll not only know their names, but you’ll want to write them in glitter across the sky.
An irreverent, intelligent, and emotionally rich love letter to the women who birthed fairy tales. Funny, fierce, and just the right amount of feminist rage wrapped in a velvet ribbon. Go see it. And bring a friend who still thinks the Grimms were first.
