Number 24

Number 24 (Opening Night Gala )

Number 24 – Scandinavian Film Festival Rating

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“I have five drawers in my head. The three top drawers I open all the time. Draw number four I open less often. I closed the bottom drawer May 8th 1945, and haven’t opened it since.” So begins Number 24 (NR24), a Norwegian espionage thriller set in World War 2 that opened the Scandinavian Film Festival in Sydney.

Directed by John Andreas Anderson (Uno, North Sea), it tells the true story of Gunnar Sønsteby, a young accountant who joins the resistance movement after Norway is occupied by the Germans and becomes a national hero. Given the code-name Number 24 by British intelligence, Sønsteby risks capture, torture and execution to sabotage the German war effort, owing his success to careful planning and preparation. Soon he finds himself in charge of a resistance cell called the ‘Oslo Gang’ and wanted by the Germans.

The story is told through an episodic series of flashbacks as an older Sønsteby (Erik Hivju) gives a lecture to a group of schoolchildren. The symbolic passing of knowledge and experience from the older generation to the young is used as a reminder not to forget these stories. Torture and interrogation are shown with brutal detail to drive home not only the risks faced by the resistance, but also the sacrifices made by real people that this movie is about.

Children in the lecture confront Sønsteby with questions regarding the ethics of killing, not only Germans but fellow Norwegians, and he explains that he did what had to be done, and it’s hard to understand without having experienced war for yourself. In the current global climate of conflict across the world, it’s a poignant reminder that life and ethics are very different during war.

The wartime Sønsteby is played by Sjur Vatne Brean, giving a strong portrayal of a man who must learn to kill without prejudice in order to perform his duty. Both Brean and Hivju have a striking resemblance to each other, convincingly playing the very young and very old Sønsteby respectively. The cinematography is strong and gives a clear sense of two different periods in history, with the modern day shot like a documentary that convincingly beds in the reality of the story.

The action scenes in World War 2 are grand and explosive, with a huge scale and a great amount of detail for historical accuracy. You can tell the script was written by a historian and journalist (Espen Lauritzen von Ibenfeldt and Erland Joe) based on the biography by Petter Johannessen. Number 24 was a strong start to a great festival packed with fantastic cinema that I Highly recommend you attend.

The Scandinavian Film Festival is currently on across Australia until mid-August. Check ScandinavianFilmFestival.com for more information.

To book tickets to Number 24, please visit https://scandinavianfilmfestival.com/films/sca25-number-24.

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1 in 7 and The Audition Helpers

Two New Australian Plays (1 in 7 | The Audition Helpers)

Two New Australian Plays (1 in 7 | The Audition Helpers) Rating

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1 in 7

Waiting rooms, particularly those of the medical variety, can be emotionally fraught places. People sit waiting for information, test results, that may possibly change their lives forever. Vivien Thomas in her first one-act play for Manly Theatre Group has chosen a hospital waiting room as the setting for an ensemble piece that focuses on a confronting statistic: one in seven Australian women will be diagnosed with breast cancer at some point in their lifetime.

While an ensemble piece, much of the focus is on the character Tina, who we soon learn can be abrupt at times. In the first few minutes of the play, Tina clashes with the clinic counsellor (played by Ella Green), finding the professional’s demeanour too cool for her liking. It is clear that Tina is very stressed; she has been called back to the clinic because of a shadow on her mammogram. She’s a busy mother, evidenced by the phone calls she receives in the waiting room from her children asking ‘where’s my wetsuit?’ and ‘what’s for lunch?’ Tina, like so many other women, doesn’t have time for cancer; too much depends on her being well.

Early on in 1 in 7, tears flow. Alongside Tina in the waiting room, is a woman distraught at the thought that her sister, who has left the room to receive her results, may have cancer. The other waiting women rally around her providing comfort in her moment of need. When her sister emerges, the news is good: she does not have cancer. After the pair leaves, the other women reflect on whether it is better to put on a brave face or to cry, letting out the distress one feels obliged to contain. It’s a question that runs through the play. How do we deal with our emotions when confronted with our mortality?

Thomas has created a group of characters that anyone might expect to meet in any waiting room in Australia. Tina, played by Trish Donoghue, is a gutsy, salt of the earth Australian mum who is prone to rants about the cost of living and climate change. Liz Jewell plays Joan who has just retired. She and her husband have booked a trip of a lifetime to Europe. Will cancer upend her neatly planned future? Particularly poignant is Karen Pattinson as Mrs Collins. Her bombastic behaviour in the waiting room is a cover for a woman who is deeply distressed. She demands her test results, saying she does not have time to wait. We are again reminded of the life pressures so many women juggle each day. As Tina says: Be kind. We don’t ever really know what another person is going through.

Manly Theatre Group’s Artistic Director Kathleen Walker, Vivien Thomas and the cast have done a great job in producing a performance that is highly topical and emotionally moving. Like a memento mori, the play is a reminder of how fragile and precious our lives are. We are reminded to support each other in our darkest moments, reaching out rather than retreating into the straitjacket of stoicism. The play is also a timely reminder of how stretched so many Australian women are by caring for others. Let’s remember to care for them too.

 

 

The Audition Helpers

Carlin Hurdis’ one-act play is a very tongue in cheek comedy that captures the back stage bitchiness of an amateur theatre group. Auditions are being held for a production of The Hound of the Baskervilles. Two unnamed ‘helpers’ stand in a room coordinating the audition process. The helpers soon reveal themselves to be jaded, ‘never-been’ actors; both are on the wrong side of fifty, now relegated to behind the scene roles. Their dialogue is peppered with catty attacks masking the insecurity that so much of the acting world breeds.

The Audition Helpers might be described as meta-theatre. Certainly theatrical allusions are in plentiful supply throughout the piece. The helpers name-drop like there is no tomorrow, passive aggressively competing with each other as to who knows who in the world of (amateur) theatre. Particularly amusing is one auditionee’s choice to perform a monologue from Edward Albee’s satire The Goat—cue off-colour jokes about goats.

The cast clearly relish their roles in a particularly self-reflexive way. Both Gregory J. Thorsby and Frank Byrne capture the desperation of two over the hill actors determined not to be discarded. Their behind the scenes machinations lead to a particularly amusing (and sneaky) denouement. Alisan Smotlak is suitably over the top as the director who is clueless about what her helpers are getting up to. Danny Nercessian plays camp and goth perfectly doubling up as two very different auditionees. John Corrigan and Elaine de Jagger show great comedy chops also.

Hopefully we will see more of Carlin Hurdis’ clever work in the near future!

To book tickets to Two New Australian Plays (1 in 7 | The Audition Helpers), please visit https://events.humanitix.com/manly-theatre-group-presents-1-in-7-and-the-audition-helpers.

Photographer: Neil Thompson Rees

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Sincere Apologies

Sincere Apologies

Sincere Apologies Rating

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Sorry, Apologies, My Bad… There are myriad ways to express regret when one has stuffed up. These are some of the expressions I pondered as an audience member of Bondi Festival’s show Sincere Apologies. Billed as an interactive experience, I will admit I felt a small degree of trepidation in attending; however, curiosity got the better of me and I found myself perched on a fold out chair on a very chilly July evening in the Seagull Room at Bondi Pavilion. The circular arrangement of chairs around strategically placed microphones created an Alcoholics Anonymous-esque atmosphere, as if we were all there to lay bare our deepest regrets.

After a delayed start, the essence of the show started to make sense. Like children at a birthday party, a brown envelope was passed around from chair to chair. When the music stopped, an audience member read aloud instructions to everyone present. Fifty envelopes were to be distributed among the audience. Unfortunately on the night I attended, the audience was quite small. This meant we doubled (or tripled) up on envelopes. This is a show that definitely works more effectively with a full audience.

Based on an original concept by Roslyn Oades and David Williams, the show’s writers Dan Koop, Jamie Lewis and David Williams, have created what proves to be an incredibly reflective and enriching experience. Within each envelope was an apology ranging from the very famous (does anyone remember Kanye West’s social media apology to Taylor Swift after his MTV awards rant?) through to the very personal (an excerpt from an email to Dan Koop’s mother apologising for his decision not to have children). Within the three envelopes I was assigned was an official apology from Eddie McGuire to Adam Goodes in 2013 when he compared the AFL player to ‘King Kong’; another featured part of the apology of a Japanese son apologising to Chinese people for his father’s war crimes. There were even stage directions to bow (deeply) after I recited the apology.

 

 

Themes of racism, environmental degradation and social justice run strongly throughout the apologies curated by Koop, Lewis and Williams for Sincere Apologies. At a time when deadly flash floods and heat waves seem to be fast becoming the norm, re-hearing apologies such as the one offered by the Exxon Valdez captain after the infamous 1989 oil spill was a reminder of how little we seem to have learnt from the past and perhaps, how little apologies mean when they are not made sincerely.

The culmination of the hour-long show proved to be quite moving; indeed, I would say even, disturbing. We are invited, through imaginary apologies, to speculate on the state of the world in fifty or even one hundred years time; a state that is pretty dystopian if we continue to live as negligently as we do now. I truly felt a sense of regret as I returned into the cold night, walking past the now dark Bondi Beach, that those imagined future scenarios may very well come true.

Sincere Apologies is a timely reminder that apologies matter and we must make them sincerely and genuinely, whether to those we love or to whole generations of people whose lives will never be the same. It is only when we are truly sorry that we can change the future.

To book tickets to Sincere Apologies, please visit https://www.bondifestival.com.au/event/sincere-apologies/.

Photographer: Mark Gambino

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Pursuing Pleasure

Pursuing Pleasure

Pursuing Pleasure Rating

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“Pleasure” is a concept humanity has pursued, defined, and debated for millennia—from Early Greek philosophers musings to Freud’s theories, from ancient Chinese philosophy to Egyptian mysticism.

In her deeply personal and compelling one-woman show, Pursuing Pleasure, opera singer Piera Dennerstein steps into this lineage of inquiry, offering her own story as both case study and celebration. Through an eclectic mix of musical selections—from Puccini to Cardi B—Dennerstein examines the rigid structures of her profession, the silencing of her voice, and the hard-won rediscovery of her personal joy.

The moment the audience enters the small, intimate theatre, they’re immersed in a world that feels equal parts boudoir and dreamscape. Soft pink lighting bathes the space; feathered chairs and velvet accents suggest sensuality and softness. A lone piano waits like a co-conspirator in the corner. The atmosphere is one of warmth and openness, setting the tone for the confessional yet theatrical journey ahead.

Dennerstein makes her entrance like a vision: glamorous, confident, and possessed of a voice that commands immediate attention. She opens with an aria from Carmen, a dramatic choice that immediately showcases her operatic prowess and establishes her as a powerful stage presence. Her voice—a heavy soprano—fills the room with depth and resonance, but it’s her storytelling that truly pulls us in.

 

 

As she begins to speak, Dennerstein draws back the velvet curtain on the world of opera, revealing a system that to outsiders can feel like an elegant but arcane secret society. With sharp wit and heartbreaking clarity, she explains how singers are typecast according to vocal “fach”—a system of classification that determines what roles a singer can audition for. It’s a rigid framework that values tradition above individuality, and Dennerstein invites us to see how such a system is also a gatekeeper of artistic expression. In this world, a single note sung incorrectly can mean losing a role; personal taste, emotional connection, or daring interpretation are often secondary to the mechanics of tone and volume.

Dennerstein’s own experience as a dramatic soprano—destined to sing the tragic, the regal, the doomed—becomes a metaphor for confinement. When she delivers a searing excerpt from Wagner, it’s clear she inhabits these roles with mastery. But when she speaks of her desire to sing something joyful, light, or flirtatious—and how the opera world deems these pleasures off-limits for her voice—we see the emotional cost of that confinement.

In the show’s second half, she shifts from analysis to revelation, sharing stories of rejection, emotional abuse, and the slow, courageous return to herself. Through pop music, humor, and fierce vulnerability, Dennerstein stages a rebellion against the rules she was trained to follow.

Pleasure is more than a performance—it’s a quiet revolution. In just an hour, we witness an artist stepping out of the roles the world assigned her and into the one she’s written for herself. By the end, Piera Dennerstein doesn’t just sing—she reclaims her voice. And that, in every sense, is a pleasure.

To book tickets to Pursuing Pleasure, please visit https://www.oldfitztheatre.com.au/pursuing-pleasure.

Photographer: Olivia Charalambous

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