The Birds: Gothic Horror At Belvoir

The Birds

The Birds Rating

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Feathers fly and beaks pierce in this contemporary take on Daphne du Maurier’s horror classic.

Gothic horror is officially having a revival. Nosferatu by Robert Eggers. Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein. Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights. STC’s production of Dracula, starring Cynthia Erivo, on London’s West End. Daphne du Maurier’s novel Rebecca is revered within the gothic horror canon, alongside her short story The Birds.

Du Maurier’s ‘The Birds’ is a tight, terrifying tale written and set in Cornwall, in the 1950s. This is post-war England. Men and women that fought against fascism and survived the blitz. The story focuses on Nat, his unnamed wife and their children, Johnny and Jill.

Without warning, the birds begin to flock, and attack. They gather, out to sea, in the winter fields. Driven by the east wind. Besieging the family. Drawing blood with stabbing beaks.

Nat is more prepared that his distant neighbours. He observes and acts. Others fall victim to the birds, their bodies left lying in and around their homes.

Alfred Hitchock’s classic chiller ‘The Birds’ followed in 1963, shifting the action to Bodega Bay, California. Hitchcock took the title and the concept and had Evan Hunter (better known by his pen name, Ed McBain) rewrite the story.

Hitchcock’s movie centres on socialite Melanie Daniels (Tippi Hedron’s debut) and lawyer Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor) as the birds attack and they struggle to survive and keep Brenner’s mother Lydia and young sister Cathy alive. (Interesting side note: Cathy is played by teen Veronica Cartwright, who went on to play Lambert in Ridley Scott’s classic sci-fi horror, Alien.)

In 2026, Belvoir presents Malthouse Theatre’s production of ‘The Birds,’ directed by Matthew Lutton (The Return, Picnic at Hanging Rock, The Bloody Chamber) and adapted Louise Fox (Glitch, Tartuffe, The Trial)

Lutton and Fox decided to transpose the story to Australia, to a small seaside town somewhere in Victoria, bringing the action up to date with mobile phones, pandemics and conspiracy theories.

Australia is the only country in the world to fight, and lose, a war against birds. In 1932, the military, armed with Lewis machine-guns, were sent to Western Australia to defend the wheatbelt in the Great Emu War. Australia is legendary for its deadly fauna from funnel web spiders and red-bellied black snakes to sharks and stonefish. Birds and quokkas are among the few things that aren’t trying to kill you.

Despite the Australian setting, the attacking birds are predominantly the gulls and gannet of Du Maurier’s short story. I’ve seen sulphur-crested cockatoos eat a trampoline and hack through wire screen doors with hooked beaks and talons. We never hear these natives in the soundscape. No screeching cockatoos or menacing kookaburra laughter. I’m afraid that if Australia’s birds suddenly turned murderous, we wouldn’t survive the 80-minute duration of the play.

 

 

Lutton and Fox’s decision to make this a one-woman show, casting Paula Arundell (The Master and Margarita, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child) was a masterstroke.

Arundell leads as Tessa. She is Nat’s unnamed wife from Du Maurier’s short story given the name of Melanie Daniel’s unseen aunt from Hitchcock’s movie. Arundell shifts roles and voices as Tessa talks to her husband, children and neighbours. This is a choice – and like Vegemite you may love or hate it. For me this jumping between roles was a misstep, dragging us out of the building tension, throwing the focus away from Tessa to other characters that will never be fully realised. In an 80-minute show, every moment away from that central character is a loss and the zig zagging was distracting.

The adaption introduces other issues. Australianisms and moment of humour pierce the rising tension, deflating the horror. We lose the gradual building terror of Du Maurier’s original story, where she deftly escalates from waves of small birds to gulls and gannet, and the grim finality of the birds of prey with their sharp beaks and deadly talons. There was no light comedy to dull that horror. Do 2026 audiences need respite or giggles?

Warnings in the programme include coarse language, and graphic descriptions of violence, harm and death. The coarse language is grating. Does a play really need the F-word and C-word thrown around to be contemporary or authentic? They added nothing but took a lot. Likewise, Fox’s graphic and gory descriptions of the dead and dying add little but shock value. The audience’s imaginations can conjure these horrors without a list of brutal injuries and mutilated body parts.

This is a production with no actual birds. No animatronics, no puppets, no projections. The bird attacks are conjured with stabbing sound and fierce white light. The effect is visceral and nothing short of brilliant. Lighting Designer, Niklas Pajanti, and Composer and Sound Designer, J. David Franzke’s collaboration is breathtaking.

Kat Chan’s set appears minimalist at first glance. Three white windows and pitch-black staging. The outline of Tessa’s house as a raised platform. The inclusion of a treadmill felt like a gimmick. When Arundell is running for her life, it sadly looks more like she’s jogging at a 24-hour gym. (Useless fact: Hitchcock used a treadmill on a soundstage for the scene where the schoolchildren flee the crows. They ran on a treadmill, in a cage, while handlers threw live birds at their heads!) Chan’s set extends above Arundell’s head as the roof threatens to cave in on Tessa. I may have imagined it but there seem to be black bird boxes hiding among the stage lights. Black roofs, holes cut in their sides, like little gothic haunted bird houses.

Paula Arundell is a force to be reckoned with. Horror is often looked down on as a genre. But Australian actors have taken horror roles as an opportunity to shine. Nicole Kidman in The Others. Toni Collette in Hereditary. Samara Weaving in Ready or Not. Naomi Watts in The Ring. Essie Davis in The Babadook. Paula Arundell appeared in Late Night with the Devil. She plays Tessa as the final girl, initially confused and afraid but gradually adapting and finding her power, fighting back to protect the ones she loves.

Arundell’s barnstorming performance, and the lighting, sound and set design lift this production, creating a gothic horror for the post-pandemic, post-truth age.

To book tickets to The Birds, please visit https://belvoir.com.au/productions/the-birds/.

Photographer: Brett Boardman

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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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4

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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4

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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