If the Sydney theatre scene’s obsession last year was clowns, this year it seems to be cowboys. But God’s Cowboy isn’t really about the wild west. Instead, this intimate, explosive play takes us much closer to home.
Peter (Nathaniel Savy) has been a performer for his entire life, particularly fond of movie musicals and old cowboy films. When he books a part in a show with his sister (Sophia Laurantus as Penny) he quickly finds his cowboy dreams are starting to come true in an entirely new way. Daniel, a very broken and very suave outlaw type has rolled into town to do the show, and although tormented by his sadistic ex boyfriend Demetrius, Peter and Daniel begin to attempt to explore what healing could look like with each other.
This play at its core is about unstable relationships. Queerness can often be trivialised, oversexualised or infantilised, never allowed to be as messy or complicated as heterosexual relationships are. In that respect, the play is refreshingly blunt about what trauma does to your relationships. The design of the show reflects this: black and red costuming, and staging never quite in bright, warm light.
The cast puts in honourable performances across the board. Max Fernandez is a charismatic performer, and although became demonstrative at points, shined in the more uncomfortable tragic parts of the show. Nathaniel Savy brought genuine queer humour into the text, and when he leaned into the absurdism of the world around him, he was a joy to watch. Sophia Laurantus is very likeable on stage, and had the strongest emotional range on stage, although her stage time was tragically short. Tate Wilkinson Alexander shone as the screwed up sleazebag, and although has a habit of leaning into a monotone delivery, when required, was often a scene stealer – especially in moments of stunt work or massive emotional delivery.
The weakest link in this show is unfortunately the text. Although Ella Morris (director) and her cast have put in clear effort across the board to create something interesting, the text dips into cliche often, and is unclear – especially through the first act. The strongest points were when the script fully leaned into how ridiculous it wanted to be, aided by the hopped up performances of the cast, and overall the second act was significantly stronger. Morris’s effective direction has clearly worked hard to soften some of the script’s weaker points, but it has required the cast to in many ways keep the show up by themselves.
God’s Cowboy is an interesting look into the darker side of queer relationships – an optimistic take on the idea that someone doesn’t have to be in your life forever for them to matter. In many ways, this is particularly important as scrutiny on the queer community comes to an all time high in decades, showing the world that even though perhaps not all queer relationships are perfect, they are as human and as important as everyone else’s.
The Pavilion Players have a specialty. And that specialty, very proudly, is murder mysteries. Easy to produce, easy to sell, and easy to follow, they are the classic choice for smaller theatres. Steve Rowe, however, in his production of Joseph Kesselring’s Arsenic and Old Lace takes that tired structure and turns it completely on its head, as well as pulling some of the most interesting performances I’ve seen in recent memory out of Sydney’s community theatre scene.
The production value at The Pavilion tends to be completely off the charts. Clearly this theatre has the stock to use and cash to burn as they create a lush and busy World War Two Americana household. Chris Lundie, Belinda Rowe, Steve Rowe and Mia Rowe have worked as a concentrated team to take us firmly into the world of this play, all the while giving the actors plenty to play with. This is not the minimalist world of inner-city Sydney. Steve Rowe understands the stylistic necessity of Kesselring’s writing, and dutifully follows it. Lighting and sound (James Winters and George Cartledge) , though less glamorous than their on stage crew counterparts, give us an immersive experience that doesn’t distract us from the onstage happenings – although both had brief moments of jumping cues.
The play follows the Brewster family, a lineage of genuine nutjobs as they navigate the territorial struggles of every family, although with slightly higher stakes. It’s this fact, and the moral questions the play quite cleverly asks, that takes this production proudly out of the world of its predecessors. Instead of being a whodunnit, we follow a whohasn’tbloodydunnit, which allows the black comedic aspects and psychological performances the cast is clearly ready and rearing to produce to shine.
And shine they did. Brett Watkins takes the stage as Mortimer Brewster, the closest thing to a protagonist in this show; and yet, Watkins both investigates the comedy and charisma of Mortimer, whilst allowing him to be a quiet but ever present sleazeball in the way he often seems to rally against. Watkins is an excellent performer, a strong physical comedian and an excellent reactor, taking his time on stage to fully explore the thoughts and emotions he works through in every moment. A particular favourite moment in this regard was watching him deal with the mere knowledge of a dead body in the room, and the Uta Hagan-esque almost three minutes of silent panic and exploration of the space Mortimer goes through as he figures out what to do. I was looking for slightly more weight behind some of his lines, especially as the stakes began to rise, but with the comedic tone of the piece, I’m more than happy to forgive it.
Kate Mannix was an utter standout. Delivering a performance that reminded me starkly of Sophie Thompson’s Monica Reed in National Theatre’s Present Laughter, she struck a truly capital balance between understated and sophisticated comedic performance and genuine emotional intelligence on stage. She also perhaps was the most believable performer in her grief and anger, exploring subtler ways to perform them whilst still acknowledging the sheer size of the theatre she’s in. Her ending became wonderfully satisfying in the knowledge that someone so delightful was going to get away with something so horrible. Truly, no notes.
Another stand-out of the night was Thomas Southwell as Jonathan Brewster. Meeting the very lanky, very shy actor in the foyer, and having watched him perform before, one wouldn’t expect Southwell to shine so brightly in such a strong and demanding character role. But Steve Rowe’s masterful direction and the magic of prosthetics utterly transformed Southwell into a grinning, violent, leering super-star of a character actor. Southwell’s vocal work was delicious, quite literally snarling and growling at the other actors on stage with him. His physical work was equally impressive, going from almost a Frankenstein’s Monster-esque lumber to an animalistic explosion of movement as he launched himself around the stage. Proudly embracing his jealous ambition and searing bloodlust, Southwell’s Jonathan created the stakes of the play almost singlehandedly. My advice to him in the foyer still stands here as I write, he should play parts like this for the rest of his life.
Jem Rowe was similarly enjoyable. With a history in character roles, Rowe leaned heavily into the stumbling, Germanic, comedic sidekick to Southwell’s brutality. However, one could easily see this role slipping into something slightly one note. To this, I commend Rowe. His work to keep the character sympathetic through his obvious discomfort in the level of violence being committed contrasting with his sycophantic loyalty to Jonathan combined into something addictively watchable. The two had excellent chemistry on stage, and his work improved in every scene he was in.
Margaret Olive as Martha Brewster was also very charming. Her comedic sensibilities and chemistry with her sister made her very entertaining to watch and root for. Both of the Brewster women were strong in their use of tempo, which made scenes between them very believable and interesting, although I was missing the vocal strength of her sister. Myles Burgin as Teddy Brewster showed an admirable commitment to the role, and had great instincts for slapstick – although his role didn’t allow him to explore much beyond this. Emma Lebeuf as Elaine Harper was very likeable, a strong female character in her own regard. Although I wanted a little more adult seduction from her, her chemistry with Watkins was very clear, and she leant into the style of the play successfully.
The ensemble gave entertaining performances across the board, and populated the room nicely. At times, this began to lean into caricature, but with the style and era, this must be blamed on the script rather than the actors themselves. The performances across the board may have been lifted by a stronger commitment to play to the objective rather than the comedy, and some actors struggled with comedic “traps” or the repetition of a bit to create laughter rather than strictly earn it. However, for what is admittedly a little bit of a weird play, the neuroticism of the family, the performances of the cast, the production value of the crew and the overall chemistry between the entire team makes this show infinitely likeable. The production sits at a strong intersection between inventive and nostalgic, and is a powerful start to the Pavilion Players’ 2026 season.
At its world premiere, The Social Ladder found an impeccably apt home at the Ensemble Theatre—the country’s longest continuously running professional theatre company—perched in rarified Kirribilli, with Sydney Harbour shimmering outside like an accessory quietly signaling old money. One could hardly imagine a more socially literate setting for a play so exquisitely preoccupied with rank, aspiration, and the fragile choreography of belonging.
Penned by David Williamson AO—Australia’s grand maître of social satire, whose canon includes such drawing-room dissections as Emerald City and Don’s Party—this latest work turns its incisive gaze toward status itself: how it is curated, performed, and so desperately desired. Williamson’s dialogue is once again sharp as cut crystal, producing laughter that curdles almost immediately into recognition.
In an age of relentless social visibility, where curated online selves often eclipse private truths, The Social Ladder feels not merely timely but almost uncomfortably current. The premise is elegantly contained: three couples, six agendas, one dinner party designed as a social audition. At its centre is Katie (Mandy Bishop), a woman of unmistakable ambition and unmistakably non-elite origins. Hailing from resolutely middle-class Engadine, her accent alone threatens to betray her aspirations, yet she is convinced—fervently—that her talents merit elevation.
Her chosen ladder rung arrives in the form of Sydney power couple Charles (Andrew McFarlane) and Catherine Mallory (Sarah Chadwick), art-collecting, influence-wielding exemplars of cultural capital. A few fleeting schoolyard encounters with Catherine ignite Katie’s belief that proximity might equal access. Thus, the dinner is conceived: not a gathering, but a campaign.
No expense is spared. Catering is outsourced, furniture rented, and even an “artistic masterpiece” hired to telegraph taste. Appearances, after all, are everything. To soften the social calculus, Katie also invites her neighbours—old friends, Ben (Matt Minto), a once-promising film industry figure now professionally becalmed, and Laura (Jo Downing), a dance teacher whose achievements lack the requisite sheen. Their invitation is both olive branch and afterthought.
Naturally, the evening implodes. The food never arrives, the wine order is forgotten, and the borrowed artwork is revealed—mortifyingly—to belong to the very guests meant to be impressed. As façades fracture, civility gives way to desperation, deceit, and the ignominy of cheap wine and takeaway pizza.
The staging is slyly symbolic: three chandeliers ascending in grandeur, empty picture frames lining the walls, furniture beautiful but uncomfortable—an elegant visual shorthand for hollow status and performative taste. Performances across the board are finely tuned, creating the uncanny sensation of eavesdropping on a private catastrophe.
By the final unraveling—replete with secrets, betrayals, humiliations, and small redemptions—the audience is left laughing, wincing, and quietly auditing their own social manoeuvres. One exits the theatre not just entertained, but unsettled, pondering the price paid for a seat at the high-end table—and whether it was ever worth it.
Danny And The Deep Blue Sea in one word is a hurricane. It is a force of nature to be reckoned with. Set in the 1980s in the Bronx, it follows the two characters of Danny and Roberta fiercely played by JK Kazzi and Jacqui Purvis. I mean this is a masterclass on acting. You truly believed every word they were saying. Honestly two of the best performances I have seen in recent memory. Their raw unfiltered emotion, and explosive dialogue masterfully written by John Patrick Shanley. This is no holds barred dialogue at its grittiest.
We follow the Characters of Danny and Roberta from a chance meeting at a bar and the encounters that follow are a whirlwind of violence and tenderness. I do issue a warning that this play has mature themes including violence from both parties, and does mention sexual abuse and there is also use of coarse language.
The direction of this play by Nigel Turner-Carroll is very clever, using every inch of the stage as an interactive landscape absolutely delights. There is a very well thought out scene change that doesn’t break the tension of the play which is very hard to do.
At the heart of this play is two very dysfunctional people that come across very unlikable at the beginning but then throughout the course of the play you will begin to think and ponder that absolutely everyone is deserving of love and kindness, no matter their flaws.
The audience gave this play a standing ovation, and rightly so. Everything worked, from the accents, to the acting, the lighting and great use of the stage.
The Old Fitz is an intimate venue perfect for this type of play.
Theatre at it’s absolute best should leave the audience changed in some way. This play left a mark on me and gave me an insight into a world that is foreign to me. I left the theatre actually having more empathy for people that live a different life to myself, and I think that is a true testament to everyone involved in this production.
This play is a thought provoking hurricane that takes you on a roller coaster of emotion, that will ultimately leave you changed after witnessing it.
A very big congratulations to all involved and I don’t think you can ask much more of a theatre experience.
