Meow Meow’s The Red Shoes

Meow Meow's The Red Shoes

Meow Meow’s The Red Shoes Rating

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1

If you haven’t heard of Meow Meow yet, you are missing out. Internationally acclaimed and fiercely celebrated, she has performed everywhere from New York’s Carnegie Hall to the Sydney Opera House, Lincoln Center, the London Philharmonic Orchestra and at Shakespeare’s Globe. It’s immediately clear why she is so respected — there is truly nothing quite like her. She is indescribable in all the best ways and what an honour to see her at Perth’s International Arts Festival.

Meow Meow’s The Red Shoes begins in typical Meow fashion: she is dragged onto the stage like a lifeless prop, a theatrical object rather than a person. The audience collectively seems to wonder, What on earth is going on? Three pianos swirl across the stage and, moments later, she is balancing precariously on top of them. It feels dangerous, absurd and exhilarating all at once.

From there, we descend into the madness of Meow Meow’s mind — loosely tied to Hans Christian Andersen’s The Red Shoes, yet never confined by it. She crosses every theatrical boundary imaginable. Whether she’s climbing a pile of rubbish, launching herself into the audience, or belting out a song with her astonishing voice, you are never allowed to settle. You are jolted awake.

Her talents are abundant. Not only is she a magnetic showgirl, but her writing is razor-sharp, intelligent. The show is a little bit funny, a little bit tragic, a little bit political — and wholly captivating. Her ad-libbing and audience interaction are astonishingly quick. It’s perhaps no surprise when you learn that Melissa Madden Gray — the woman behind Meow Meow — is a law graduate with first-class honours, holds a BA in Fine Art and German, and trained at WAAPA in musical theatre. The intellect behind the chaos is undeniable.

 

 

Directed by Black Swan Theatre Company’s Artistic Director, Kate Champion, the production feels like a perfect union. Champion’s background in dance beautifully complements Meow’s physicality and unpredictability. There is something powerful about seeing two women of this calibre collaborate so seamlessly — especially here in little old Perth. It feels special.

Projected across the stage in Danish are the words “ei blot til lyst” — not just for pleasure. This phrase becomes the beating heart of the show. Theatre, at its core, was never meant to be mere entertainment. It should challenge us, provoke us, educate us and unsettle us. While Meow Meow undeniably entertains, she refuses to stop there. The performance is a chaotic, sometimes overwhelming “brain dump” that moves at a million miles an hour — occasionally losing parts of the audience — but leaving everyone with something to sit with.

It feels like stepping back in time to what theatre used to be about: bold ideas, emotional risk, political undercurrents and catharsis. Meow herself describes it as a cathartic experience, and she’s right — not only for her, but for us.

At one point, I notice a young man sitting alone in front of me. He looks like a twenty-something backpacker — shorts, thongs, unassuming. Yet he knows every word. By the final song he is openly sobbing. And I must admit, I was moved too.
There are rare shows that can do this to an audience. This is one of them.

Meow Meow is a force — a little Tim Minchin, a little Eliza Minelli, crossed with your most chaotic, witty, tragic and deeply endearing friend.
She is simplistic yet impossibly complex. A complete mishmash of her mind — and perhaps of our own.

In an increasingly shallow and AI-saturated world, Red Shoes feels urgent. It reminds us that theatre is not just for pleasure.

It is what the world needs right now!

To book tickets to Meow Meow’s The Red Shoes, please visit https://blackswantheatre.com.au/season-2026/meow-meows-the-red-shoes.

Photographer: Brett Boardman

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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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A Not-To-Be-Missed Storytelling And Music Extravaganza!

Amplified: The Exquisite Rock and Rage of Chrissy Amphlett

Amplified: The Exquisite Rock and Rage of Chrissy Amphlett Rating

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Amplified at Belvoir St is Sheridan Harbridge’s exhilarating homage to legendary Australian rock icon and Divinyls frontwoman, Chrissy Amphlett. Written and performed by Harbridge (Prima Facie), directed by the award-winning Sarah Goodes (The Weekend) with musical direction by Glenn Moorhouse (Hedwig and the Angry Inch), Amplified enters the annals of Australian music historiography.

Part biography, part autobiography, part cabaret, part live concert, part tribute, Amplified is electrifying from the moment the band takes their places and Harbridge enters from the audience wearing knee length boots, a black leather mini skirt and a black trench adorned with silver glitter. She immediately owns the stage.

The show opens with Harbridge asking the audience to tap into their own experiences of seeing school-tunic wearing Chrissy on stage. The band then comes in with ‘I’ll Make you Happy’ and the audience responds. Cheers and applause fill the theatre and the energy is palpable. It’s a terrific and uplifting rendition.

Harbridge doesn’t try to imitate the unique and sublimely defiant Chrissy Amphlett, rather she uses music and stories told by Amphlett herself, and those who knew her, to keep the memories alive and, in doing so, evokes a sense of immortality surrounding the singer.

 

 

Amplified tells of Amphlett’s childhood in Geelong and of the circumstances that moulded her into the fierce, feminist, rebellious frontwoman she became.

To those who saw Divinyls on stage in their ‘80s and ‘90s heyday, the experience was unforgettable. Amphlett was unapologetically brash, raucous, overtly sexual and subversive, upending the then Australian music industry dominance of male lead singers. Harbridge showcases Amphlett’s bold stage persona, explores her vulnerabilities, and delves into her long and complicated relationship with Mark McEntee, the band’s co-founder.

This reviewer went to many Divinyls gigs and remembers one in particular at Caringbah Inn in the early 1980s where Amphlett spat on her, which felt like a badge of honour at the time. One never knew what Chrissy might do next!

Like Chrissy, Harbridge teases the audience, but, unlike Chrissy, does so in an unthreatening manner. She takes an unwitting patron’s handbag and empties it on stage; she interacts with the audience, bringing to life the icon’s bad girl persona in all its hilarious brilliance. This is definitely not a production for children.

The stage is backlit by blue lighting with several spotlights centred on Harbridge. The floor seems to be etched in silver swirls and circles emanating around the mic stand like a galaxy of stars, which evokes, in this viewer, the chaos and frenetic energy of Amphlett standing at the centre of her universe.

The four-piece band comprises accomplished musicians Glenn Moorhouse, Ben Cripps, Dave Hatch, and Clarabell Limonta. Their polished execution of songs and divine back-up vocals elevate Harbridge’s storytelling. Harbridge’s vocal range is impressive: from the guttural to falsetto, she doesn’t miss a beat. She uses a recurring motif to tease the audience, which I won’t reveal, have them wanting more and it works to great effect. The background music to Harbridge’s narration is low-key but performative to the story. The tempo walks with each particular narrative then explodes into song.

Sheridan Harbridge is an actor and writer of extraordinary talent. Her comedic timing and ad-libbed moments are things to behold. With Goodes and Moorhouse as collaborators, she has created a wonderful production that surely tugs the nostalgic heartstrings of theatre-goers across Australia.

To book tickets to Amplified: The Exquisite Rock and Rage of Chrissy Amphlett , please visit https://belvoir.com.au/productions/amplified/.

Photographer: Brett Boardman

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Important and Deeply Moving: First Nations Theatre Not To Be Missed

Dear Son

Dear Son Rating

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2

Walking into Belvoir St Theatre felt like reconnecting with an old friend, one whom I have had multiple warm experiences with over the years, and Dear Son only deepened that relationship. Those who know me are aware of my self‑preservation from “spoilers”, so I walk into these situations with just the bare bones of what delight is about to unfold. I was unaware what other “old friends” would be part of this powerful experience.

When director and co‑adapter Isaac Drandic stepped onstage before the show to tell us that Luke Carroll was ill and could not perform, I was briefly disappointed, having known Luke in my youth and followed his career since. Brief is the key word, because it was announced he was being replaced by Aaron Pedersen, an actor who once showed me immense kindness when I was a wide‑eyed Melbourne wanderer in another life, and whose work I also hold in very high esteem. In other words, I already knew I was in for quite a treat before a single word was spoken.​

Dear Son, based on the book by Thomas Mayo and adapted for the stage by Drandic and co‑adapter John Harvey, gathers five Indigenous men in what feels like a coastal “men’s shed” to ask, again and again, “What is it to be a man?” through letters, yarns, song and embodied storytelling. The set design by Kevin O’Brien creates warmth and place with deceptively simple means: sandy ground, a rustic wooden covering, two park tables and a glowing sunrise upstage, an inviting representation of a communal gathering space that is both specific and symbolic. It immediately feels connective, it feels personal.

 

 

Our five Indigenous actors – Jimi Bani, Waangenga Blanco, Kirk Page, Aaron Pedersen and Tibian Wyles – begin by waving reverently to the audience as words are projected behind them. Video designer Craig Wilkinson’s projections fill the upstage screen with terms like “Father”, “Son”, “Artist”, “Protector”, held by these strong, proud figures as they claim space and create warmth, before those words are undercut and complicated by others that have been used as weapons against Indigenous people for generations, ushering us into Act 1: Letters of Struggle.

The group moves between letters to fathers and sons, shared conversation, humour that is deliciously specific, and moments of song supported by composer and sound designer Wil Hughes’ evocative soundscape. They unpack the impacts of colonisation and the generational trauma wrought by acts of violence, malevolence and cruelty, while also honouring resistance, love and the everyday work of breaking cycles. Lighting designer David Walters gently shifts us through time and tone, from campfire intimacy to something closer to ceremony, with haze and shadow allowing the stories to sit in a liminal, memory‑like space.

The individual performances are powerful, moving and deeply poignant, and the ensemble work is quietly transcendent. It is hard to believe that Pedersen has entered the fold so recently; he integrates with a calm, centred presence that never pulls focus from the collective but deepens it. Wyles often anchors the musical moments with guitar and voice, Bani brings an easy charisma and storyteller’s ease, and Page moves deftly between gravitas and wry humour. Blanco, who also serves as choreographer and movement director, gives the production its physical language.

These stories unite the men in shared trauma, and a far more powerful desire to transcend it by breaking the walls of toxic masculinity down. It’s an important dialogue and unpacking for men, but they are also very clear on the importance of women in their stories and how respect for women should be centred.

There are familiar public figures and stories represented amongst the letters and the production was beautiful, emotional and powerful, but the real tear‑jerker was when each artist shared their own personal lived experience and a meaningful piece of themselves in reverence to the vulnerability they have been celebrating and advocating for throughout.

Dear Son is an important and deeply moving work of First Nations theatre that should not be missed.

To book tickets to Dear Son, please visit https://belvoir.com.au/productions/dear-son/.

Photographer: Stephen Wilson Barker

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