Well, this is an interesting, fun show. It’s comedy clowning at its best. It’s a rollicking, frolicking comedy about fruit, its position in society, and its relevance to the main character, Cherese.
We learn why fruit is fun, why she loves all fruit, and why she also loves us, the audience. The show consists of a variety of sketches that flow smoothly from one to another.
For Cherese Sonkkila, this is her debut Fringe show. She has plenty of energy, and it keeps flowing. Hopefully, we will see more work from she/her in the future.
The sketches have a variety of styles, from song and dance to monologues. There are costume changes off stage, although in a couple of places, the performances are a fraction too long. But it was opening night.
This is a show worth seeing. It is a fun event with some audience participation, which I normally don’t like, but I enjoyed it. So, get a ticket or several and take yourself to the Mill on Angas Street.
If you’re in the mood for a wildly absurd, delightfully unhinged, and incredibly physical comedy experience, then Mel McGlensey Is Motorboat is your perfect Fringe vessel. Docked at the Bally in Gluttony, this boat-woman hybrid performance is a riotous ride through high-energy clowning, audience interaction, and some very “nautical but nice” humour.
McGlensey, a 2024 Golden Gibbo nominee and winner of Best Comedy at Adelaide Fringe 2024, fully commits to her larger-than-life character. With a sailor’s outfit ingeniously doubling as boat parts—including some particularly buoyant “floatation devices”—she embraces every wave of ridiculousness with infectious enthusiasm.
From the moment Motorboat sets sail, the audience becomes her crew, each assigned a boat type in a flurry of improvised banter that McGlensey expertly weaves back into the show for maximum comedic payoff.
The story? Motorboat dreams of leaving the dock and venturing into the great unknown, but she’s held back by the booming, omnipresent voice of Captain Daddy. But as any good Fringe audience knows, staying anchored is never an option. What follows is a rollicking, often improvised voyage where McGlensey’s quick wit, expressive clowning, and razor-sharp comedic instincts keep the crowd both on edge and in stitches.
The humour is far from subtle—expect a bit of salty language and some audience participation—the energy and commitment of the performance keeps things afloat for the entire show.
With her formidable improv skills and natural comedic presence, McGlensey delivers a show that is as silly as it is skilful. Whether you’re a tugboat, an ocean liner or a lowly kayak, Motorboat is a high-spirited, side-splittingly funny voyage well worth embarking on. Just batten down the hatches—things are bound to get a little choppy!
If you turn the corner in Malvern’s Central Park in the late morning, you’re greeted by winding ropes cordoning off islands to seat picnic blankets or chairs. You’ll also see set pieces straight from a primary school play: a tiny wooden island and cajón drum, green and brown paint-spattered cloths tied to trees, and details like fake rocks and a shelf of plastic food with the sign SHERIFFS PANTRY.
The team behind Melbourne Shakespeare Company’s Robin Hood uses this sequestered woody space to its fullest to craft a whimsical, ramshackle and original take on a classic story.
Robin (Billy Thomas), Dame Tuck (Jackson Cross) and Little Joan (Lucy May Knight) are going about their usual business of robbing the rich to feed the poor. But when they are caught stealing from the Sheriff of Nottingham (Kaia Reyes), he devises a new punishment: shipping them off to Australia.
There, the merry men, with the help of Bushranger Bruce (Daniel Hillman), must acclimatize to a strange new world and find their way back home. The beginning feels slow and the different scenes are somewhat disconnected and potentially difficult for a child audience to follow, but it was a pleasant surprise to see a slightly different narrative in a panto show.
The ensemble is charming and navigates their stage perfectly. Every line is audible, every slapstick gag is visible and tight, and every spectator gets close-up moments with the characters. Lucy May Knight as Little Joan stands out with a bubbly yet sharp physicality that’s perfect for panto.
The world-building was also fantastic at blending a familiar and fun Aussie context into a classic story. The adorable Australian animal puppets were a highlight, while all the pop culture references and self-referential jokes landed well with the adult audience.
Maxwell Simon’s (Muriel’s Wedding) original score is fun and full of laugh-out-loud lines, but there was only one song where the children were directly encouraged to play along. It felt like the whole show missed out on many opportunities for audience participation, and this led to some clear confusion and lost attention among the kids at some points.
While Robin Hood has its moments of missed potential, it’s definitely a worthwhile and unique experience for the theatre-loving family. It’s a scrappy, feel-good show that keeps the much-loved traditions of panto alive in a timeless yet modern story for an audience of all ages.
From the opening notes, The Butcher, The Baker immediately transports you into a world reminiscent of 1930s European cabaret—glamorous, provocative, and deeply steeped in the tradition of Weimar-style performance. Written, composed, and musically directed by Ella Filar, this production is both a showcase of exuberant musicality and a shocking exploration of sexuality, identity, and the fluidity of roles that people inhabit.
Directed by Kevin Hopkins—who first encountered the script while in the Czech Republic—The Butcher, The Baker carries a distinctly European flavour. Hopkins’s stated fascination with the piece’s “grotesquery and absurdism” is evident in his staging. The narrative follows three focal characters: Honey Valik (portrayed by Natasha Broadstock), an artist deeply invested in her craft; Alex Summers (played by Claire Nicholls), a brain surgeon; and Johnny Agostino (Fletcher Dyson), a butcher who captures both character’s imaginations. Threading the story together are two captivating narrators, Myf Powell and Bruce Langdon, who serve as muses and as the voices of subconscious (and sometimes very conscious) desires.
What makes The Butcher, The Baker especially compelling is how it shifts seamlessly between riotous humour and unexpected shocks. In one moment, it revels in playful innuendo and high-spirited wordplay; in the next, it confronts the audience with overt sexuality or sudden shifts in character roles—often leaving you unsure whom you’re meant to be rooting for. This is intentional: the show’s dada-esque edge delights in keeping viewers off-balance, forcing us to question the “meaning” behind both words and actions on stage.
Throughout, Filar’s score is vibrantly eclectic. One moment, you might hear a quick staccato reminiscent of German dance halls; the next, soaring operatic passages or lively jazz. The band—**Martin Khromchenko and Lucke Schreiber on saxophones, Lyuba Khromchenko on violin, Ella Filar on keyboard, and Christos Linou and Bradon Payne on percussion—**heightens the sense of off-kilter fun, playing behind a curtain in costumes that evoke both a bustling kitchen and a risqué soirée. It’s a deliberate collision of worlds, perfectly reflecting the script’s thematic juxtapositions.
The production is a tight 75 minutes, ensuring audiences never have the chance to lose focus. At times, you might catch yourself marvelling at the sheer cheekiness of the dialogue and lyrics, only to be hurled into the next song or scene before you can fully process what just transpired. As you watch these characters grapple with their obsessions, desires, and identities, you may feel that you’re taken on a ride rather than asked to pick sides. This experience becomes more explicit when reading through the printed lyrics and programme after the show.
Chris Molyneux, the technical manager, deserves commendation for crafting a production that feels seamless yet offbeat. Lights and sound create an immersive environment, supporting the transitions between the boisterously funny and the unabashedly sensual.
If you’re seeking a conventional storyline, The Butcher, The Baker may throw you off-guard. But for anyone who revels in cabaret’s capacity to shock, surprise, and delight, this show is a feast. It’s a testament to a distinctly European tradition of theatre—a kaleidoscope of humour, sexuality, and absurdity that leaves you both entertained and intriguingly disoriented.
As Director Kevin Hopkins notes, this play’s “unpredictable plot” and “strange characters” offer a fresh, modern slant on old-world cabaret. With gender identities and roles under the spotlight, it feels very much of this moment, even as it channels the spirit of another era. Ultimately, The Butcher, The Baker is fun, fast-paced, and a tantalising entry in the Midsumma Festival line-up—and a wild ride well worth taking.
