Loveable larrikin, Banjo Patterson himself, finds a way of narrating generations of women that traverses a fine line between solemnity and sobriety. The room at New Theatre reverberates as the lyrical commentary of Banjo Paterson and Russell Drysdale lead the audience’s experience. In saddling their fanciful prose over seventy minutes, Sydney playwright Deborah Mulhall shapes a journey through time and family ties. The stories follow the love lives of siblings Vera and Ida Templeton in 1894 and their offspring, five daughters.

During the course of the play we are seized by stories which catapult us around the world from Outback NSW, to France, Vietnam and our very own Sydney. Despite such global travels, the lack of contact with Indigenous characters or later-migrants is a concern especially considering the excess in which Australian historiography fixates on white European settlement.

The obstinacy of the characters we encounter attract and repel our own egos. The contrasting identities of William, the disheartened stockman turned soldier and charming Tom, the American GI who meet in WWI, embody the perils of unabashed machoism at the turn of the century. The juxtaposition of these damaged personalities with dance and movement balanced the bravado, and surprisingly brings out a interesting element of vulnerability.

The female characters moved effortlessly, carrying the untold stories of the women in Banjo Patterson’s life. It was however confusing at some moments as the same actors emerged playing different roles. Banjo’s wife and Banjo’s secret lover portray binary desires of longing and loss in their performances. In that vein, dedicated nurse Milly and fearless photographer Maria are exceptional in bringing to life the evolving challenges and aspirations of women in a rapidly changing Australia.

While there was not a jolly jumbuck in sight in The Matilda Waltz, the joyousness of the performances resonated and captured the audience. This ensemble work showed dedication and a durability suitable for a travelling show. One to watch out for in the future. 

Reviewed by Eliza Berlage.

As the audience enters The Annex at 5 Eliza, they find onstage three ladies in black with metallic pink masks and rose crowns. The music booms a heavy electro beat that loops over and over, and on reflection, the whole set-up seems to be a hyperbole for the ridiculous nature of love. Written by Kirsty Budding, the seven short plays and comedic monologues that make up Budding Theatres, I Heart Love, vary wildly in the scenarios they portray.

The music stops and the lights go out. The masked ladies chant excitedly about the wonder of the Greek language with its four different words for love. Suddenly, a man emerges, looking hip and cynical in a brown coat and chequered shirt. He says “Greek muses, how pretentious. I’ll tell you the truth about love. Love is fucked”. Everyone roars with laughter. 

The offended muses, hurry off stage to reveal a desk and a distraught looking woman in a headscarf. What happens next is a twisted tale of love and hypocrisy. The first play, “Hassan is Dead”, which first featured as part of Short + Sweet in 2013, is a polished performance by its lead actor – a woman grieving the loss of her lover as she is interrogated by Pakistani Police as a suspect in his murder.

Love is manifested in many strange ways as the showcase twists, turns and triumphs through plays that surprise and delight: a narcissistic actor whose fake congratulation of a colleague is nowhere near as real as his love for his actor page on Facebook; a vindictive teacher whose only care is shown to be her unhealthy (bordering on creepy) home life as a cat lady. Many of the characters are entirely unlikeable but their compelling portrayals make them so intriguing to watch. 

More loveable characters redeem the heart of the show. An older gentleman in a green bow tie enacts the fetishation and frustration of his three marriages. His convincing performance coupled with excellent costuming and accurate dialogue artfully colours and categorises the different types of marriages. Another highlight is the unexpected story of the bond between student and teacher. The set up is incredulity as to why an English teacher’s brightest but mot belligerent student always winds up in detention. The student divulges her respect for the teacher as a mentor, and in turn the student is shown to be the teacher’s muse. These relatable stories of loss and learning are reminiscent of the temporality of the human existence and the significance of relationships on identity.

The randomness of I Heart Love is cleverly woven together by two recurring characters: a peculiar boy who uses his binoculars to peer at people to find “truth”behind their lies, and the cynical man in the brown coat who dismisses romance as triviality. The impression this leaves is whimsical, suspicious and open to interpretation. Which may be the best way to summarise the show and love itself.

Reviewed by Eliza Berlage

It’s 9pm on a Saturday night and the venue, New Theatre is a mixture of Frenchmen, Francophiles and miscellaneous theatregoers. The show opens with a glittering compere in black. She appears to introduce each skit and retorts the ridiculous French stereotypes spouted by an ill-informed lover of French culture in the “audience”. The first skit is a tribute to young love as two school kids excitedly explore the playfulness of societally accepted traditions. Ending in a giggly exchange of eternal love, this scene excellently encapsulates the curiosity and imagination of a child’s perceived notions of relationships.

The show traverses a wide range of relationship experiences: from heterosexual, to homosexual relationships; from adultery to issues with the in-laws. The sharp dialogue and immersive characterisation keep the audience entertained. As the play is performed almost entirely in French, technical issues, such as a misalignment of English subtitles on the projector leaves the first skit without translation. Even though the alignment is never quite fixed, the actors do an excellent job in presenting the story through their physical nuances to deliver the tone and plot of each skit. However it is difficult to abstain from considering the acting eccentric when the words are spoken in another language. The writing and performance succeeds at transporting the audience into each lover’s tryst time after time, and though actors appear in multiple skits, the quality of performance is so high they are almost unrecognisable in their new roles.

The staging is simple and a wide spotlight is used to isolate the couple and props. A notable highlight is the skit featuring a couple’s differing post-coital expectations: one wants to talk and the other just to be. The two “lie” together in a vertical bed on stage, and under red satin sheets find common peace in an oh so European way: by sharing the soothing puff of a cigarette. Another honourable mention is to the irony and acerbic wit of the skit in which a philandering wife is once slapped by her lover, but is able to both deflect her husband’s suspicion of her wandering ways and return the slap to her lover.

Coming in at just under two hours, the production is quite long overall. Some tweaking and shortening of the existing stories would allow for a more extended engagement with the clever material, however this humorous representation of relationships is both reassuring and pleasantly voyeristic theatre to watch.

Reviewed by Eliza Berlage.

The exaggerated femininity of the costuming and choreography prove crucial to the challenge that The Period Project presents in highlighting our abhorrence to women’s need to bleed. Dolled up like perfect housewives in floral dresses and victory rolls, the girls alternate between brutal reenactments of period problems and hilarious harmonies about their monthly visitor. Rachel Davies, Erin Sattler, Tina Cornac and Tayla Choice, alumni from the Regional Institute of Performing Arts (RIPA), reworked their original stage play for the Sydney Fringe Festival. By adding in elements of sparkle, dance and drama they recite verbatim dialogue from the survey responses to encapsulate commonalities like chocolate binges, beastly bloating and hormonal hell that comes with periods. 

The flow of the performance is arranged around the questions and responses from their survey – each culminating with a chorus of overlapping lines. Many stories are met with knowing nods and laughter from the audience. Others generate gasps. Tales of ‘applicators’being stuck up your ‘hoo ha’ and women declaring that getting their period means “now they can get raped”are on the more controversial and shocking end of the spectrum of experience. While the choice of tales seem repetitious, the effect of saying similar experiences reinforces the normality of women’s menstrual symptoms across age and stage.

With each act the girls maintain Stepford wife composure in both stance and voice. Their energy is infectious as they bounce off each others lines and deliver their own. The musical numbers are a glimmering highlight, especially a rollicking rewrite of Dean Martin’s ‘That’s Amore’to capture the painful and insane realm of periods. The poignancy of the real testimonies offers great insight into the ridiculousness of gender stereotypes and the oppression of women’s bodies. Even in imagining a parallel universe of menstruation, the audience is forced to contemplate menopause – “goodbye another egg”, and the double standards – “if men had periods there would be a monthly rostered day off”. Why should blood from a vagina be any dirtier than blood from anywhere else? The more stories you hear, the more you question why every 30 days half the population are expected to suffer in silence. 

The Period Project may not be a show to watch over dinner but it is a pretty and playful way of challenging ‘pre-conceived ideas of menstruation’.

Reviewed by Eliza Berlage

Irene Nicola’s choreography sashays an energetic line between sexiness and silliness as she draws a crafty burlesque caricature. Her moves are polished with a delicate strength yet awkwardness that creates an authenticity and playfulness to the show. It is reassuring to see her break the perception of the god-like performer in her need to shuffle off stage between songs to put “something warmer on” between songs. The staging is simple and effective. A wooden blind creates the division between onstage and backstage for costume changes, and during these pauses an audio recording plays from a “wireless”. It tells the story of six-year-old Timmy, his father and the wolf in their post-war hardship. The radio serial shocks and satiates the listeners in a tale that’s reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel and Little Red Riding Hood, except with more poverty, revenge and predators. 

True to the variety format of cabaret shows, the rambunctious musical numbers are interspersed with astute stand up pieces. These anecdotes range from explanations of burlesque history to the importance of pelvic floor exercises and confessions of penis envy. Some of them contain intriguing truisms about the ego, “as a performer, I’m constantly seeking your approval. It’s like my drug if you will”.  Other segments are more provocative sexually and politically. “I want to cause an uprising” she coos, shedding her black fur coat to reveal gold chain lingerie. Most impressive is her musicality on a ruby red keyboard, unsurprising considering her classical training. The night’s highlight comes during her fifth number when Irene brandishes her remarkable beatboxing ability to add a trumpet into the soundscape of her piece.

For such a short show there her songs plunged to an overwhelming depth. The contrasting monologue of her anxieties and hang ups as a performer was revealing, but the affect was overly melancholic and distancing. However, there are moments of more inclusive self-reflexivity  which engage the elephants in the room. She addresses common concerns about the burlesque industry, questioning herself and societal expectations of her – “Are you okay taking your clothes off?”, “What do your family say?”. 

While burlesque is currently experiencing a resurgence, Irene Nicola’s presents A Postmodern Striptease validates the pertinence of cabaret as an art form that is more than just “tits and feathers”. Her passionate and triumphant performance leaves the audience with a lasting impression of her love for a repertoire which titillates the senses and challenges the status quo. 

Reviewed by Eliza Berlage