There are plays that make you laugh, plays that make you cry, and then there are plays that quietly sneak up on you and remind you that life is happening right now. Watching ‘Exit Laughing’ feels a little like attending the obituary of a woman who refused to leave the table before the last hand was played. Not a solemn obituary, of course—but one written in laughter, cake crumbs, and the shuffle of bridge cards.
For thirty years, Mary’s greatest adventure was her weekly bridge night with “the girls.” In the grand ledger of life, perhaps that sounds small. But for Connie, Leona, Millie, and Mary—four Southern ladies from Birmingham—it was ritual, friendship, and the quiet glue that held the years together. So when Mary dies rather inconveniently before the next scheduled game, the surviving trio does what any respectable, bridge-loving friends might do: they “borrow” her ashes from the funeral home and bring her along for one final night of cards.
From that moment on, the play unfolds like a mischievous wake—one where the guest of honor is present in an urn and the night spirals gloriously out of control. What begins in melancholy quickly turns into an evening of surprises. It is ridiculous in the best theatrical sense: a celebration of life disguised as chaos.
Originally staged at the historic Landers Theatre by the Springfield Little Theatre, the production famously broke the theater’s fifty-year record for tickets sold, playing to standing-room-only audiences and becoming the most popular non-musical in the theatre’s century-long history. It is not difficult to see why. The play carries a universal message wrapped in laughter: it is never too late—or too early—to seize the day.
The recent production at Hunters Hill Theatre, directed by Annette Van Roden, captures this spirit beautifully. Van Roden’s direction keeps the pacing lively while allowing the emotional moments to breathe. She has clearly chosen her cast with care, creating an ensemble that feels authentic, warm, and delightfully human.
Among the cast, Penny Church’s Millie stands out as a particularly charming presence—eccentric, slightly unhinged, but utterly lovable. Her performance captures the play’s essence: that life, even in its later chapters, can still be wild, surprising, and full of joy.
By the end, the audience leaves with what might best be described as a warm aftertaste—a smile lingering long after the curtain falls. In the end, Exit Laughing is less a comedy about death and more an obituary for a life lived too cautiously. Mary’s final hand reminds us all that the game isn’t over yet—and that the best move might simply be to laugh and play on. ♠️♥️♣️♦️
Camberwell Grammarians’ Theatre presents ‘The First Curtain Festival’. A 2 hour celebration of seven original short plays, written by local playwrights and staged by Melbourne-born talent. Each play is directed by a seasoned or rising director from the community and audiences are in for a wonderful night of variety.
All plays shown at each performance:
THE LAST OF THE GENTLEMEN SLEUTHS by Noah Sargent, directed by William Rotor Trapped by a blizzard, five of the world’s greatest gentlemen sleuths must solve the murder of Mr. Corpse before they all turn on each other instead. Who did it?!
BYSTANDER by Jennifer Pacey, directed by Ben Klein The unthinkable has happened. A man has thrown himself in front of an arriving train. Three women tell the story of what they saw, trying to make sense of it all, and of themselves. Please be advised this play contains suicide.
CHIPS by James Gordon, directed by James Gordon It is Ghafour’s first day of work at Apopotatosis: a company that takes randomly selected people from the Australian population and turns them into chips to then sell off for profit. What could possibly go wrong? Contains coarse language.
DROP DEAD by Benjamin Chesler, directed by Lakshmi Ganapathy In the dead of night, in the middle of winter, a slapdash team chop firewood – but nature has other plans for them… An Australian Gothic play that’ll make you think twice about venturing out into the bush at night. Contains loud noises and strobe lighting.
EMILY TAKES A LOVER by Julie Murphy, directed by Julie Murphy Emily’s husband is having an affair. Will she get her revenge? Contains themes of adultery, abortion and toxic family dynamics.
SALMON by Peter Farrar, directed by Angus Fitzpatrick During rush hour a frustrated chef and an apathetic waiter have a heart-to-heart in the alleyway outside of the fine dining kitchen.
THAT STORY ABOUT THE LOUVRE by DS Magid, directed by Jai Barlow Ever hear the one about the impressionist who broke into the Louvre to finish a painting?
This was perhaps the most varied night out at a theatre I’ve experienced. Seven different short plays in one sitting, so something for everyone to sit back and enjoy, assess and chat about afterwards.
I love to immerse myself in the world of the actors in front of me for a couple of hours. This one local to me in my favorite little Clayton Theatrette, easy to get to and park – bonus!
All the scripts were pretty clever, but I liked best ‘CHIPS’ surprisingly which I guessed correctly in advance would be crazy! It was definitely super dooper crazy! ‘CHIPS’ received the biggest laughs of the night so it made the perfect Final piece. Imagine a factory where humans are turned into potato chips – goodness how does a writer come up with such cooky creativity and make it work! Shout out here to Simona Riftin in the cast, her vibrance for roles in community theatre is infectious and I’ve seen her in a number of plays now. Henry Vo had fantastic interaction with Benjamin Chesler who was equally great and his line of being the ‘f….. boss’ spread uncontrollable loud laughter across the entire crowd.
Coming in a close second for me on the program would be my appreciation for ‘BYSTANDER’. Extremely well acted by all the girls; Alexia Brady and Shirin Albert were amazing with their feelings expressed and Crystal Haig (WAAPA grad.) was astoundingly believable in her explanation of how her character felt in watching someone jump in front of a train, and going through the trauma how she was ‘not fine’. I do believe ‘BYSTANDER’ is an award deserving script and took a deep amount of emotional courage from both the writer and actors.
My hubby’s favourite was ‘THE LAST GENTLEMEN SLEUTHS’ as wondering and wandering through a who-dunnit with a cast that also involves the audience with tips along the way is always a lot of fun. The actors’ language accents were excellent and when those same talented people came out in different items throughout the night they really showed off their extraordinary versatility!
Seeing original work is a privilege and Camberwell Grammarians’ Theatre Company (CGTC) is a community theatre company formed to encourage alumni, friends and families of Camberwell Grammar School to continue, revive or ignite a drive for the performing arts. It was easy to see their love for the performing arts and what a wonderful way to stay connected and connect to others at the same time. Theatre has so many aspects in which one can be involved, it’s a pity not more schools have these types of groups ongoing after school is finished. I know I would’ve loved to have been involved in one.
I went into this production of The Diary of Anne Frank as I suspect many others did, knowing the loose story – the discovery of a young girl’s journal narrating life in hiding during the German occupation of Amsterdam – but not, perhaps, having read the book itself.
From the moment the lights go up on the small, cluttered space, drowned by shadows both literal and figurative, this production captures with painful accuracy the claustrophobia of several families living in forced confinement. They survive on ever more meagre rations and heavily edited news brought by their kindly protectors, who attempt to shield them from the worst of what is happening outside. The constant threat of discovery sits like a weighted blanket over every scene, adding a quiet but relentless tension as each family struggles to remain hopeful, generous and kind while their world shrinks day by day.
The ensemble work is strong. Otto Frank stands as a pillar of spiritual fortitude: humble, strong and deeply kind, bearing the circumstances with a remarkable evenness of temper. In contrast, Mr Van Daan is angry, argumentative and more than a little selfish, his frustrations simmering beneath the surface until he explodes with increasing frequency as the interminable incarceration continues. The dentist, last to arrive at the safe haven, is anxious, pessimistic and at times almost nihilistic, his moments of brutal honesty tipping the families into near hysteria. Together they offer a convincing portrait of people reacting to unimaginable pressure in very human ways.
At the emotional centre of the story is Anne herself, portrayed as robust, energetic and mischievous. She pushes against authority in the way only a teenager can, and her relationship with her father forms the soft heart of the play: he is her safe harbour, the one person who truly sees her. Her relationship with her mother, by contrast, is distant and strained in a way that will feel painfully familiar to many parents of teenagers.
What struck me most was how modern Anne feels. She believes she is far more enlightened than the generations before her but does not always see her own shortcomings. She misunderstands her mother and pushes back against rules and expectations around demeanour and behaviour. In short, she is exactly like the young people we know today, which somehow makes her fate even harder to absorb. Despite the fear surrounding her, Anne’s spirit remains largely undimmed – though the night scenes reveal a more complex reality. She suffers terrible nightmares about being taken by the Green Police, waking screaming in the small hours, exposing the terror beneath her bravado while also highlighting the remarkable way the young still manage to feel invincible even in the face of great danger.
One line stays with you long after the curtain falls. Anne remarks that they are living in a way that no young people ever have before. It calls to mind our own young people, living through a time of unprecedented advancement and enormous divisive change. It is a sobering thought: that humanity can move forward in so many ways and yet still find itself circling back towards division, fear, greed and cruelty.
What I found particularly moving was the moment at the end of the first half when the family sing the Hanukkah song. It brought a genuine tear to my eye, witnessing these families – hunted, discriminated against, living under the ever-present threat of the concentration camps – still finding a moment to express gratitude and companionship. When you consider the enormous suffering happening in the world right now and the bitter irony of it, the moment lands with even greater emotional force.
The second half carries a fragile sense of hope. The allies have landed and liberation seems almost within reach after two long years of hiding. For a moment, the audience allows itself to breathe – to believe that all will be well. Then they are discovered. The families are taken away, dispersed among the concentration camps, and we all know the terrible ending that follows.
The play is also quietly funny at times, particularly in its portrayal of family dynamics. It is remarkable how little has changed in the relationships between mothers and daughters or fathers and sons, even when history itself is collapsing outside the door.
Overall, whilst not the most polished of performances, the production is surprisingly moving. It leaves the audience with a renewed sense of gratitude for freedoms so easily taken for granted and prompts a quieter reflection on our own daily lives. For two years these families felt no wind on their faces, had no privacy, no freedom to step outside and almost no information from the outside world. Today we consume a constant stream of news, commentary and noise until we are utterly overwhelmed by it. Perhaps this ceaseless input is what keeps us over-aware but still underactive when it comes to shaping our own futures. I cannot help but wonder whether any of us would make as good a job of surviving that stillness as they did.
In the end, this is not only a historical story. It is a timely reminder of the fragility of freedom and of the extraordinary resilience of the human spirit. And perhaps, like Anne Frank, given everything that is currently unfolding in our world, we are all still quietly clinging to the same two poignant words.
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.
