Is comedy tragedy reversed? Do we know itâs a comedy because it ends happily?
Sport for Joveâs âThe Comedy of Errorsâ starts with an extra Shakespeare speech – the âstrangerâs caseâ from a play called âSir Thomas Moreâ, making an appeal for displaced persons. A fitting prologue to the opening where the merchant, Aegeon (Nicholas Papademetriou), is sentenced to death for washing ashore in the wrong country.
Aegeonâs story told to Duke Solinus (Lani Tupu) is a beautifully demonstrated piece of theatre magic by the ensemble.
It is after this that the play becomes farcical with double the fun: two sets of twins causing confusion and mayhem throughout Ephesus.
Be prepared for some pretty violent text supported slapstick between the Dromios and the Antipholuses, or was that Antipholii?
A famous line from Hamlet: âlet those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for themâ is unheeded and âErrorsâ is all the better for it. These additions add energy and atmosphere, giving those in the audience unused to the verse a hook back into the action.
One such standout was Lucianaâs (Tamara Lee Bailey) online Shakespeare workout for her followers: âplease like and subscribeâ integrating the modern world of selfies and influencers into the narrative.
Naomi Belet dazzles in two original songs as the directors wisely lean into the multitalented castsâ varied strengths.
The two Dromios (Gabriel Fancourt and Diego Retamales) might be in danger of stealing any other show but are surrounded by brilliant performances from the dashing Antipholus of Syracuse (Kaya Byrne) and the faithless Antipholus of Ephesus (John Panayiotis Tsakiris) to the fiery Adriana (Imogen Sage) and her Muay Thai and kickboxing sister Luciana (Tamara Lee Bailey).
Dr Pinchâs (Lani Tupu) subliminal presence throughout the play pays off in the exorcism scene. The lost lovers Aegeon (Nicholas Papademetriou) and Aemelia (Inga Romantsova) bring emotional depth amid the madcap antics.
Direction (Damien Ryan and George Banders) is well crafted.
The text is justified, a difficult task considering some Elizabethan comic references are truly dated, however imaginative settings grounds these to the present.
A visual treat is the dance at âThe Mermaidâ, with choreography (Shannon Burns), the costumes (Bernadette Ryan) luminous under lighting by Lisa Benham.
âThe Comedy of Errorsâ is an enjoyable lark full of vibrant energy.
Unlike real life we know it is a theatrical comedy as Aegeon is forgiven his trespass by the Duke and no one dies in the end. Would that life were so forgiving.
Grief is no new topic for the world of theatre. One of the most fundamental human experiences, it is endlessly relatable, never faltering in its supply of new material. Of course, because grief has been explored before, it requires some level of reinvention to allow it to be interesting â A Chinese Christmas in this regard, went above and beyond. In a 70-minute, yet deceptively thorough dissection of what it truly means not to mourn someone, but miss them, Director Monica Sayers and Writer/Lead Trent Foo hold our hands through a gentle exploration of how to reconnect with something larger than ourselves in our moments of destruction.
Set on the traverse stage of KXT Broadway, the audience enters into the slightly desolate warmth of an apartment. Cardboard boxes are scattered through the space, along with clutter that could or could not be entirely meaningless. Long lines of fibrous twine cut diagonal lines through the air, and natural fabrics are draped over chairs and lamps, cultivating a grounded and stylistic flair within the room. The hourglass was a particularly interesting touch, subtly elevating the stakes in a very grounded and practical way. The space is both carefully put together, in hanging lamps and the dangle of a microphone, and crucially dilapidated with the peeling wallpaperâ setting the mood for our leadâs mental state. Much praise must go to Amy Lane here for her impeccable and considerate use of space. Further, her costume design for Lady Dai was also incredibly impressive, giving Jolin Jiang an almost inhuman energy with the shimmering gold over her eyes.
Production design continued to impress through lighting and sound; Jiang playing five or six instruments live through the show, which drew our attention back to the events on stage without ever becoming jarring. The use of colour and spotlighting from Cat Mai both elevated the moments of drama, and softened the piece into an almost dreamlike state when necessary. Cameron Smithâs sound design, along with Jiang as the composer seemed to almost communicate with both the moment, the emotion, and sometimes the characters themselves. Jiangâs work as a musician and composer, and also her physical work on stage, was so strong, in fact, I was almost left wishing the character she portrayed â Lady Dai â was an unspeaking role, as she created an untouchable mysticality around herself that was at times undercut by her less confident vocal work. However, I understood why the choice was made through the end reveal (which I wonât spoil). As a whole, the piece was incredibly beautiful, and production deserves many of the flowers in both matching and creating the emotional journey of the show. Between set, costume, lighting, and sound, the show moved aesthetically beyond the theatrical, settling into the cinematic.
Foo, in turn, gives us a spunky, naive, and energized portrayal of Heepa â a young man trying to bring his entire extended family together for Christmas. His physical work was very strong, clean movements and confidence through stunts created great moments of comedy and underlined his intentions well. His study of stage combat is very clear in this regard. In many ways, A Chinese Christmas functioned for the most part as a one-man show, and Foo effectively utilized this style to engage with his audience. Watching impassively, we were the ancestors coming to visit â always judging, never quite as helpful as he wanted us to be. His voice was clear and strong, and carried us through the show through his excitement. However, I wouldâve liked to see him relax on stage, even only about 10-20% â as his energy manifested as a tendency to struggle with connecting with the words or the emotions, performing through them instead. This, although working for moments of comedy, left moments of grief falling slightly short. His performance was the most beautiful at its moments of stillness, slowness, and simplicity, especially in times of reflection. One of my favourite moments of the night in this regard was when the lights on the makeshift Christmas tree werenât quite turning on, and we watched a very human awkwardness and frustration come out through humour.
Tiang Lim supports the show through her portrayal as PawPaw, the matriarch of this tiny family. Lim gave us a beautifully subtle study of the way that many of our older generations simultaneously ignore their emotions, whilst being swept up and ever affected by them. Although her vocal work leaned slightly into patterns, her work was so incredibly vulnerable that those flaws were easily ignored. Her scene with Foo in the car was particularly effective, both in her wisdom and sympathy, and the recorded monologue of her letter left the crowd very much misty-eyed. PawPaw, although not being quite human herself, was easily the most complexly human character of the show.
With such a common topic, it would be easy for A Chinese Christmas to lose the attention of its audience â but this show succeeds in leaps and bounds both in its cultural accessibility, and how it uses that cultural accessibility to draw in its audience. Although some of the emotional work did lean slightly demonstrative, and some of the connective tissue between moments was a little weak, Foo and Sayers have given us a deeply earnest exploration into loss that excites without excluding. It reminds us beautifully of the ways that we are loved, even if we cannot understand how that love is communicated. All the while, it simultaneously allows for those on stage, and us in the audience, to, as a collective, reach that final stage of grief: acceptance.
Today, we had the pleasure of speaking with the talented team behind Dear Son, a deeply moving stage adaptation directed by Isaac Drandic. Prepare to be captivated by a blend of courageous storytelling and emotional depth as these letters flow beautifully on stage.
About Dear Son
What is this Production about?
The show Dear Son, is based on the book called Dear Son by Thomas Mayo. It’s a show that’s been adapted into a stage play written by John Harvey and Isaac Drandic, and directed by Isaac Drandic. Thomas Mayo invited 13 Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander men, including himself, to write a letter to their sons and fathers.
In the show, we have 5 men, actors on stage and we bring these letters to life.
Whatâs challenging about bringing this script to life?
One of the challenges was making sure we honour all the letters in a theatrical structure of storytelling. They are so personal and powerful that we worked really hard to take care of and share the bravery of these courageous men and us creatives in production as fathers and sons. And through the whole process it’s been an honour to be a apart of and healing personally as a father and son.
Why did you want to be involved in this production?
I’ve been apart of the first workshop and read the book and always wanted to work with Isaac as a director. We’ve worked together on Romeo & Juliet many moons ago hahaha, I think it was 2008 STC production as actors, but it was well overdue. And also, as an indigenous storyteller, I feel it’s my responsibility to be apart of this production when it was offered.
What will the audience be thinking about in the car as they drive home after this show?
They will be thinking about all the men in their lives.
Whatâs going to surprise people about this show?
How much they are connected to these stories.
How is this production bringing something new to this story?
You will see 5 men on stage on a beautiful set having a yarn, and when I say yarn, I mean deep yarn. With the letters flowing through us.
Where can patrons purchase tickets to this production?
Thank you so much for sharing your insights and passion with us. Wishing you all the best as you bring the heartfelt stories of Dear Son to the stage, and may your performance move audiences far and wide. Break a leg!
This Much Ado About Nothing is set on the South Coast in the week before Christmas, and the choice is not cosmetic. From the moment Don Pedro, Claudio and Benedick enter wheeling a battered esky, the world is established: this is a family gathering, loud, sunburnt, faintly daggy, and thick with history. The cicadas hum, So Fresh Summer Hits blare, and the audienceâseated in the round, sometimes beside the actors themselvesâis folded directly into the social fabric of the play.
The production leans into deliberate dagginess. Costumes are bright, mundane, occasionally ugly. The set is minimal: a Christmas tree, a party table, a CD player, tinsel slung over exits. Popular music and unpolished dancing create the feeling of a real holiday gathering rather than a theatrical abstraction. In a space this small, there is nowhere to hideâand the production knows it.
Theo Ruleâs Benedick is an Australian bloke we recognise instantly. His loud vows of eternal bachelorhood are funny because theyâre defensive, half-brag and half-shield. What makes the performance quietly impressive is the vulnerability Rule allows in. As Benedick overhears that Beatrice may love him, the change is gradual, almost reluctant. Armour loosens in stages. Pauses lengthen. Hope creeps in. By the time Benedick acts, his earnestness feels earned, not performative.
Madison Chippendale, who also directs the production, gives Beatrice a different kind of armour. Her wit reads as learned self-protection, shaped by disappointment rather than disdain. When she overhears Benedickâs supposed love, curiosity flickersâbut caution holds the line. Her later demand that he prove himself lands not as cruelty but principle. That insistence becomes the moral spine of the play, aligning directly with Benedickâs decision to believe Hero when others will not.
Andrea Magpulongâs Hero emerges slowly, but when she speaks there is no ignoring her. That restraint makes the wedding scene genuinely shocking. In such close quarters, Claudioâs public shaming feels brutally intimate. James Papadakis plays Claudio as someone painfully familiar: good-natured, not too bright, easily led. His cruelty comes not from malice but weakness, which makes it harder to excuse.
James Yeargainâs doubling of Don Pedro and Don John is smartly executed, though the productionâs trimmed structure means Don Johnâs plot is never fully resolved. This Much Ado prioritises emotional truth over narrative closure, and that trade-off is visible.
The true heart of the production lies in the Beatrice and Benedick scenes. Calling it âchemistryâ is inadequate. What plays is collisionâtwo guarded people meeting at force. Love doesnât bloom here; it crashes.
There is something quietly principled in these choices. Shakespeare did not write for high culture; he wrote for crowded rooms, for people eating, drinking, laughing, and sometimes being cruel to one another. Chippendaleâs direction understands this instinctively. By embracing the familiar â the bad taste, the pop music, the awkward dancing, the Christmas rituals everyone recognises â the play is returned to its natural habitat. In this exposed, communal space, the language doesnât arrive as something precious, but as something overheard. And that is where it belongs.
