The Importance of Being Earnest

The Importance of Being Earnest

The Importance of Being Earnest Rating

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Brendan Jones’ direction for The Guild Theatre’s production of The Importance of Being Earnest takes a deliberately restrained, actor-focused approach to Oscar Wilde’s celebrated comedy of manners. A single adaptable set serves the entire evening, with shifts in furniture, props, and lighting indicating changes of location while maintaining the rhythm of the play. Period costumes establish the late Victorian setting without drawing undue attention to themselves, subtly marking the passage of time while keeping the focus squarely on the performances.

At the centre of the play is Christiane Brawley’s commanding performance as Lady Bracknell, which provides the production with its gravitational force. Brawley resists exaggeration, instead building the character through carefully controlled presence, voice, and movement. Her Lady Bracknell commands the room not through volume but through absolute certainty, delivering Wilde’s lines with the authority of social judgement. Particularly striking is her use of the character’s walking stick, wielded almost like a rapier, slicing through the surrounding absurdities and, in the final act, restoring order to the increasingly chaotic situation.

The comic partnership between Jack Worthing and Algernon Moncrieff proves equally strong. Simon Pearce’s Jack projects confidence and control, yet allows the cracks in that composure to appear as the plot tightens around him. The result is a performance in which Jack’s comic energy bursts sideways whenever the carefully maintained façade begins to slip, often expressed through sharply physical reactions. In contrast, Harry Rutner’s Algernon moves through the play with gleeful poise, seemingly delighted to dance along the knife-edge of Wilde’s social absurdities. Their contrasting energies play off each other beautifully, creating a lively tension that drives many of the play’s comic exchanges.

 

 

Julia Burns and Isla Harris bring similar clarity to their performances as Gwendolen Fairfax and Cecily Cardew. Both actresses initially lean into the romantic enthusiasm and social niceties expected of their characters, presenting Gwendolen’s polished confidence and Cecily’s imaginative warmth with equal charm. The famous tea scene, however, allows them to demonstrate impressive range as the tone shifts repeatedly within a single encounter. What begins as cordial conversation cools rapidly once the two women realise they are engaged to the same man. The atmosphere turns first cold, then openly combative, with politeness weaponised through smiles, teacups, and carefully chosen words. Burns and Harris navigate these transitions with precision, and the final moment—when the two women instantly unite against the men responsible for the confusion—provides one of the evening’s most satisfying releases of tension.

Leigh Scanlon’s dual performance as Lane and Merriman offers a neatly observed contrast. Lane appears as a figure of calm control, the perfectly composed manservant quietly maintaining order in Algernon’s household, while Merriman carries a dry affability that suggests a man well accustomed to accommodating the oddities of country house life. Scanlon keeps the two characters distinct, highlighting how the servants calmly adapt as the increasingly absurd events of the play unfold around them.

Lyn Lee and Kevin Tanner bring warmth to their roles as Miss Prism and Canon Chasuble, playing their mutual flirtation with straightforward sweetness. That sincerity makes the later revelation of Miss Prism’s role in the play’s central mystery all the more effective, as the gentle respectability of the characters contrasts sharply with the absurdity that ultimately resolves the plot.

Taken as a whole, The Guild Theatre’s production succeeds through the clarity of Brendan Jones’ direction and the strength of its ensemble. By keeping the staging deliberately restrained and allowing the performers to take centre stage, the production lets Wilde’s intricate social comedy unfold with confidence and precision. The result is an evening that captures both the elegance and the absurdity at the heart of the play, and one that reminds audiences why this mischievous comedy continues to reward performance more than a century after its first appearance on the stage.

To book tickets to The Importance of Being Earnest, please visit https://www.guildtheatre.com.au/featured-shows/the-importance-of-being-earnest/.

Photographer: Grant Leslie Photography

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Exit Laughing

Exit Laughing

Exit Laughing Rating

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There are plays that make you laugh, plays that make you cry, and then there are plays that quietly sneak up on you and remind you that life is happening right now. Watching ‘Exit Laughing’ feels a little like attending the obituary of a woman who refused to leave the table before the last hand was played. Not a solemn obituary, of course—but one written in laughter, cake crumbs, and the shuffle of bridge cards.

For thirty years, Mary’s greatest adventure was her weekly bridge night with “the girls.” In the grand ledger of life, perhaps that sounds small. But for Connie, Leona, Millie, and Mary—four Southern ladies from Birmingham—it was ritual, friendship, and the quiet glue that held the years together. So when Mary dies rather inconveniently before the next scheduled game, the surviving trio does what any respectable, bridge-loving friends might do: they “borrow” her ashes from the funeral home and bring her along for one final night of cards.

From that moment on, the play unfolds like a mischievous wake—one where the guest of honor is present in an urn and the night spirals gloriously out of control. What begins in melancholy quickly turns into an evening of surprises. It is ridiculous in the best theatrical sense: a celebration of life disguised as chaos.

Originally staged at the historic Landers Theatre by the Springfield Little Theatre, the production famously broke the theater’s fifty-year record for tickets sold, playing to standing-room-only audiences and becoming the most popular non-musical in the theatre’s century-long history. It is not difficult to see why. The play carries a universal message wrapped in laughter: it is never too late—or too early—to seize the day.

 

 

The recent production at Hunters Hill Theatre, directed by Annette Van Roden, captures this spirit beautifully. Van Roden’s direction keeps the pacing lively while allowing the emotional moments to breathe. She has clearly chosen her cast with care, creating an ensemble that feels authentic, warm, and delightfully human.

Among the cast, Penny Church’s Millie stands out as a particularly charming presence—eccentric, slightly unhinged, but utterly lovable. Her performance captures the play’s essence: that life, even in its later chapters, can still be wild, surprising, and full of joy.

By the end, the audience leaves with what might best be described as a warm aftertaste—a smile lingering long after the curtain falls. In the end, Exit Laughing is less a comedy about death and more an obituary for a life lived too cautiously. Mary’s final hand reminds us all that the game isn’t over yet—and that the best move might simply be to laugh and play on. ♠️♥️♣️♦️

To book tickets to Exit Laughing, please visit https://www.huntershilltheatre.com.au/.

Photographer: Daniel Ferris

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A Mirror

A Mirror

A Mirror Rating

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3

As you enter the theatre for ‘A Mirror’, it feels less like attending a play and more like arriving at a celebration. The foyer hums with anticipation. Ushers hand you a wedding programme, neatly printed with the order of events, inviting you to witness a union. It is a charming touch—until you turn the paper over. There, instead of a sentimental note, is a stark Oath of Allegiance to the Motherland. The shift is immediate and unsettling. You take your seat—slightly more uncomfortable than expected—and as the festivities begin, you sense that you are not merely watching a wedding. You are being watched yourself.

From the outset, Holcroft’s play establishes a world chillingly reminiscent of George Orwell’s ‘1984’. The auditorium becomes part of the dystopia. Eyes seem to linger too long. Applause feels monitored. In this society, a misstep, a wrong look, an insufficiently enthusiastic smile—any of these could betray you. The atmosphere is thick with suspicion.

The wedding that frames the narrative is a masterstroke of theatrical irony. Traditionally a symbol of joy and new beginnings, here it is a hollow performance: a carefully constructed fiction designed to appease the authorities. Beneath rehearsed vows and forced laughter lies desperation. The ceremony becomes a metaphor for the wider social order—an elaborate façade maintained for survival. Love is secondary; compliance is everything.

 

 

As the story unfolds, we are drawn into the lives of writers coerced into producing patriotic fabrications. They are tasked with rewriting history, inventing heroes, and manufacturing narratives that glorify the regime. Their creativity, once a source of meaning, becomes an instrument of oppression. Through intimidation and propaganda, they are compelled to betray not only the truth but also themselves. Holcroft incisively explores how authoritarian systems corrupt the act of storytelling, transforming art into ammunition.

Yet the weight of the subject matter, combined with the absence of an intermission, makes the production feel deliberately relentless. There is no pause for reflection, no moment to breathe. While this structural choice reinforces the suffocating atmosphere of the regime, it also renders the experience slow at times, even long. The unbroken intensity mirrors the characters’ entrapment, asking the audience to endure the same sustained pressure.

When the lights dim, the impact lingers. The play offers no easy catharsis, no triumphant overthrow. Instead, it leaves the audience with a question that echoes long after departure: would you speak the truth if the price were injury, imprisonment, even death?

In its bitterness, the play achieves a powerful moral clarity. It compels compassion, provokes self‑examination, and reminds us that while regimes built on lies may feel immovable, they persist only as long as individuals choose silence over courage. The truth may not always triumph—but as long as there are people willing to tell it, even at great cost, it can.

To book tickets to A Mirror, please visit https://belvoir.com.au/productions/a-mirror/.

Photographer: Brett Boardman

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Have They, Won’t They: Es & Flo at the Old Fitz

Es & Flo

Es & Flo Rating

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2

It took until 2013 for gay marriage laws to pass in England. Although it may feel like we’ve made strides towards change, in a lot of ways, queerness had a bright, shining five to seven years in the sun before it began to slide backwards again in modern politics. Es & Flo is a little bit about this – and why marriage is such an essential part of the fight – but it’s also mostly about the complexity of lifelong relationships, and the intimate sense of loss and betrayal we feel when someone we love begins to slip through our fingers.

Emma Canalese has set this show in the warm and familiar home it deserves, one yellowed by years of adoration and care. One that the characters on stage are also deeply familiar with. Such, the threat of losing the home and those inside it becomes all the more raw and uncomfortable. As the piece progresses, the sense of belonging we feel in this quiet home becomes more and more disturbed – video and audio of protests and conversations merging in a way that creates a cacophony that we’re both threatened by, and desperately want to understand.

 

 

Annie Bryon delivers something that truly hits close to home with Esme. Maybe it’s the unending patience and devotion to the childlike wonder of Kasia, or maybe it’s the disquieting hysteria of an older person’s confusion. Either way, it’s difficult not to think of some of ours in our own lives. Bryon evolved spectacularly in the second half, particularly in the more subtly brutal moments. Fay Du Chateau in return gives us something quieter, smarter, but nevertheless slipping into a panic she can’t understand either, as the stability of her entire world begins to fall apart. Her physicality in gesture, and her willingness to play in the discomfort of the piece makes her performance really something special. Charlotte Salusinszky as Biata is a lovely empathetic,\ but realistic edge, bouncing off of Chateau in a way that humanizes and deepens both of them. Erika Ndibe brings a whimsicality that lifts the piece to its feet in a way it often needs, along with providing the quiet tragedy of not understanding why Es and Flo aren’t allowed to be open in their love for each other. Eloise Snape provides some truly impressive comedic work, and toes the line of insufferable and sympathetic with true finesse.

In a piece centered around relationships, it is only natural that this is where the production shines. All the cast have undeniable chemistry with one another, and their bonding allows the piece to focus the audience into the heartache of the micro of a dementia patient, and the macro of internalised homophobia. There are some brief blips of conviction and blocking, but in a piece as intimate as this one, where it almost feels like we’re voyeuristically spying into someone’s living room, these odd moments smooth over for the most part.

Familiar, and unforgivable, sympathetic, and pathetic; Es & Flo walks the tight-rope of a shame and desperation we as a modern queer collective feel off put attaching ourselves to, whilst demanding that we understand why. As the curtains close, I can say I was reminded all too honestly of the path forwards – especially as those who fought for our freedom begin to age out.

To book tickets to Es & Flo, please visit https://www.oldfitztheatre.com.au/es-flo.

Photographer: Robert Catto

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