Charlotte Smee

Every January, Sydney Festival arrives to kick off the city's arts and culture calendar with a massive helping of shows, gigs and immersive experiences. In 2025, we have an eclectic grab bag of more than 130 things to choose from, including critically-acclaimed productions from overseas (such as a subversive spaghetti western performed in “white face”) and wild new work from local artists (including the premiere of an unauthorised opera about Siegfried and Roy) in addition to some phenomenal live music in beautiful spaces. So, what are the performances that you absolutely cannot miss? And which ones will we still be ranting about for years to come? Time Out Sydney's squadron of independent critics are on the case, and they’re out there seeing as many shows as they possibly can this January. You can see our 13 top picks for the best shows to see during Syd Fest '25 over here, and check out our rolling list of festival reviews below. (Note: These “mini reviews” are shorter than the critical commentary that we typically publish, but they still offer honest, rigorous observations and critiques from reliable theatre enthusiasts and live music veterans.)

There's always a lot happening on Sydney's stages – but how do you even know where to start? Thankfully, our critics are out road-testing musicals, plays, operas, dance, cabaret and more all year round. Here are their recommendations. Want more culture? Check out the best art exhibitions in Sydney.

Hey Sydney, wanna get weird? The Sydney Fringe Festival (aka the state’s largest independent arts festival) is painting the town pink for the month of September – with 400 events spilling across several festival hubs, from grand stages to Spiegeltents, to gardens of delight and pop-up stages in unusual spaces.  The dynamic program spans theatre, music, comedy, visual art, film, musical theatre, dance, circus, street festivals, literature and poetry. Quite honestly, it’s a lot to take in. But our reliable bright-pink critic is on the case! This month, Charlotte Smee is out and about, checking out some of the most experimental, wonderful and strange shows on the Fringe circuit. Read on for their rolling list of festival highlights, and check out our other festival picks over here. Want more entertainment? Check out our guide to the other shows on Sydney stages.

Opera Australia’s new world-first outdoor production of Carmen is thoroughly ambitious in more ways than one – it aims to give the artform of opera a modern, feminist, punk-rock makeover. The scene is set on a huge industrial stage on Cockatoo Island (a 15-minute ferry ride from the city), complete with dazzling fireworks, motorcycle stunts and pop-up bars. Director Liesel Badorrek places the action in a timeless “rock’n’roll space” that encapsulates rebellion and anti-establishment sentiment. This new production aims to rebel against its problematic past, bringing a new, strong, independent Carmen to the stage – as sung alternately by Opera Australia’s principal mezzo soprano Sian Sharp and Carmen Topciu. As self-professed theatre and opera nerds, Time Out was excited to speak to Badorrek and Sharp about how they’re looking to change the opera game, one rock’n’roll Carmen at a time. First, we had a chat about our mutual love of opera, and theatre, those wonderful, live participatory art forms... What is it that you love about opera?  Sian: When people experience operatic singing unamplified it is a very powerful experience that can really cut you to the quick. There's a connection there that is sometimes not achieved [with other art forms]... the power of the voice to reach out across an orchestra and hit the back wall of a 2,000-seat theatre is quite a feat. Liesel: That combination of the orchestral music and the vocals is so beautiful, it's incredibly powerful emotionally

I’ve never been shy to admit that Elf is my favourite Christmas movie. I first saw the 2003 film at the cinema with my after school drama teacher who needed a child to take to a “kids‘” movie, and I’ve rewatched it almost every year since. It’s a perfect festive treat for many reasons, and much of them can be attributed to Will Ferrell’s endearing performance as the suspiciously-tall Buddy the Elf, and the surprising amount of nuance and heart poured into a story about convincing a bunch of stony-faced New Yorkers to believe in the magic of Santa. It’s a bit of a shame then, to head along to the Australian premiere of Elf: The Musical at the Sydney Opera House with literal bells on, as a musical fanatic, to find that they’ve over-sweetened the syrupy musical numbers, and all but lost the secret sauce that brings depth to the film. Of course, musical-ifying something always requires a certain degree of glitz, and this production is endearing in its own way – but unfortunately, Elf: The Musical makes some unimaginative choices, which can leave you with an artificially-sweet aftertaste. The book, by Bob Martin and Thomas Meehan, removes Papa Elf from the cast of characters (the lovable old elf who “forgot” to have children, and raised Buddy as his own) and instead has Santa Claus narrate the story. As Santa kicks off the show, there are hints that we may be in for some meta-theatrical, interactive panto fun. However, this isn’t developed any further, and Santa’s distaste for his

Navigating conversations with your parents at Christmastime can be difficult for a whole host of reasons. You might find it so difficult, in fact, that you’ve decided not to talk to your parents at all. In Snowflake from British playwright Mike Bartlett (Albion), this is what Maya (Claudia Elbourne) has decided to do for the past three years in a row. But this Christmas, she's coming home. However, Maya’s side of the story isn’t the first thing we hear. In a clever twist, Bartlett focuses on Maya’s father, Andy (James Lugton, as seen in Aussie television’s The Twelve). Andy tells us about all the reasons he thinks Maya could have left:his wife’s recent passing, his impulsive decision to throw out all the Christmas decorations in a grief-stricken panic, and his inability to talk to her about a whole host of things. He also shows us all the effort he’s put in to welcome Maya back: hiring the town hall, covering it in Christmas decorations, and even making a model of their family home. It’s a great narrative device that gently brings you into the world of the play, humanising Andy at the same time. Lugton plays Andy with a gruff charm that quickly makes you forget you’re supposed to hate this estranged father figure.  Jo Bradley deftly directs this production, and in the first monologue scenes she brings a great variety by placing Lugton at various levels of the town hall, and using subtle lighting changes to assist changes in mood or pacing. Set design by Soham Apte is similarl

Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen’s revered 1891 play, Hedda Gabler, is a monumental work, in many senses. With a runtime of around two hours (and multiple gunshots) it’s the typical 19th-century melodrama. But instead of a tragically ambitious king at its centre, there’s a woman who can’t quite escape the bonds of her society. (Sometimes, it’s described as “the female version of Hamlet”.) Prominent local director, dramaturge, and teacher Anthony Skuse directs and adapts a brand new, condensed version (with the perfect runtime of about 95 minutes, no interval) on the catwalk-like traverse stage of KXT on Broadway.  This version isn’t really about Hedda, though. Instead, Skuse places the action in the laps of the audience – with four golden seats scattered in the front rows reserved for the actors, and set pieces arranged uncomfortably close to our feet. The set design by James Smithers (who also plays Hedda’s husband, JørgenTesman) is simple, leaving wide empty spaces for the actors to inhabit. A piano and its maid (composer and pianist Christie May) haunt the corner of the stage, mirrors line the walls, and flowers and books are strewn everywhere. It’s an imposing image, stripped of all the gilded fancy of Hedda’s huge mansion, a home in which she feels just as trapped as her unwanted marriage. Ella Prince (they/them) plays the titular anti-heroine, their blonde pixie cut and silk pyjamas hinting at an androgynous take on the classic character. Her new husband, Tesman, sport

There’s nothing more sapphic than yearning. The internet age is ripe for it, too. Meeting a stranger you’ve never seen in real life and falling head over heels for them is just about the gayest thing you could do. (Aside from, maybe, threatening to blow up the world over a failed relationship.) The global debut of Flat Earthers: The Musical is as sapphic as it gets. Two young lovers meet through a screen – Ria (Shannen Alyce Quan) is a “Debunker”, a member of an exclusive clique of YouTube stars devoted to debunking conspiracy theories and putting weirdos in their place. But Ria’s values are called into question when she e-meets Flick (Manali Datar). The pair of star-cross’d lesbians quickly go from sliding into the DMs to falling into analogue love. The thing is, Flick lives in a bunker with her two mums – Fiona/Ma and Freya/Mum (Lena Cruz and Amanda McGregor) – who’ve brought her underground because, well, they’re flat-earthers. (Read: they firmly, frantically believe that the government is hiding the fact that the Earth is flat.) With huge energy, an unapologetic commitment to being chronically online, and wheezing laughs, Flat Earthers is best described as batshit crazy Written and composed by Jean Tong, Lou Wall and James Gale, this new Australian musical is absolutely, fabulously, committed to the bit. The writing trio have a number of impressive credits between them, including Netflix hit Heartbreak High (Tong); Romeo is Not the Only Fruit (featuring yet more star-cro

The biggest (fictional) boy band in the world, the Fuccbois, is finally appearing in the tiniest stadium (basement theatre) in Sydney: the Old Fitz. Brandon, Brendan, and also Brendan and Tyler make up the hottest, silliest boy band (featuring absolutely no actual boys) you’ve ever seen. This indie production’s world premiere is directed by Jessica Fallico with book, lyrics and music by Bridie Connell (who also performs as art-school-soft-boi Brandon). Fuccbois is a concert inside a musical. Kind of like that 2016 mockumentary, Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping, but with the added bonus of four women in masculine drag, the show is set at the final concert of the band’s farewell tour – complete with reminiscing, solo career announcements, and a snort-inducing segment on “the Fuccbois give back”. The music is loud, fun, and a perfect pastiche of all your favourite boy bands – and the lyrics are hilariously clever, to boot. Exploring the fuccboi stereotype in musical form is a simple premise, which allows for some hilariously clever moments of choreography, audience interaction, and cheeky little asides that make the show so much more than just a silly concert. Connell’s Brandon is sensitive and awful, Gabbi Bolt as Brendan is, well, Irish (to be sure), Megan Walshe as Tyler is lanky and ridiculous, and Clara Harrison as also Brendan might have more depth than you think he does. They’re all fantastic performers, with great pop vocals running all over the place. As the bois’ sta

The latest piece from Emily Ayoub and Madeline Baghurst’s Clockfire Theatre Co, Ruins أطلال is a timely 45-minute adventure from Australia to Lebanon, both physical and metaphorical.  Amelia (Ayoub) and her father, Joe (Tony Poli), are planning a trip to their ancestral home, the ancient city of Baalbek in Lebanon's Beqaa Valley. But before they can go on their trip, Joe suddenly passes away. Grief-stricken, Amelia decides to take the trip without him. What follows is a dreamy series of images and a meditation on ancestry, legacy, migration, and what it means to return to a place that you don’t remember. The characters in the piece are creatively rendered – Amelia’s daughter appears only through voiceover; an onstage flautist (alternately Jessica Scott and Gianna Cheung) becomes the winds and sands of time; and an ensemble of three (Baghurst with Adam Al Kuheli and Piumu Wijesundara) takes many shapes, from both the mortal realm and beyond. Throughout the piece, Joe appears as a ghostly presence, and his little “asides” to the story bring great emotional depth.  Theatrical imagery is one of Clockfire’s strengths (their Sydney Fringe hit Plenty of Fish in the Sea comes to mind) and the minimalist use of props to create winding hallways, an archeological dig, and a hotel lobby among other things, is impressive. The issues brought to light in Ruins are heightened by the fact that, at the same time as this debut season, Baalbek is under fire by the Israeli military (and this is n

UPDATE, DECEMBER 9: Clearly, we can't get enough of this ridicoulously funny show! Titanique has just announced that this Sydney-exclusive season has been extended all the way through summer, until March 30. Prepare to board! Read on for our critic's five-star review:  Ah, the Titanic. An unsinkable cultural icon, the “Ship of Dreams” has appeared in almost as many movies and stage productions as the songs of Canada’s queen of the power ballad, Céline Dion. It’s even got a two-and-a-half-hour (surprisingly serious) movie musical adaptation based on Maury Yeston’s Titanic: the Musical. Although, none can hold a candle to the cultural impact of James Cameron’s 1997 blockbuster – you know, the one with Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio. So, with nostalgia being such hot property right now, it was only a matter of time before we got the camp-as-hell musical fantasia-made-for-and-by-the-gays that is Titanique. Created by Marla Mindelle (who originated the role of Céline Dion – well, as imagined in this show), Constantine Rousouli (who originated the role of Jack) and director Tye Blue (whose countless industry credits include working on the casting team of RuPaul’s Drag Race), Titanique is revisionist history at its best. Loaded with Céline Dion’s greatest bangers, it casts Queen Dion herself (played so wonderfully by cabaret legend Marney McQueen here in Aus) as the narrator of the tragic tale, who continuously places herself at the center of the action – quite literally – much

Have you ever loved something so much that you thought you might have magical powers because of it? Audrey, the 11-year-old star of All the Fraudulent Horse Girls, has. She loves horses so much she can telepathically communicate with every other horse girl in the world. So of course, she loves the Saddle Club, and of course, she’d do anything to get a horse and make a friend who loves horses just like her. Michael Louis Kennedy lovingly writes Audrey’s (true-ish) story with a wicked sense of humour, dragging you along with her fast-paced monologuing and childish sidebars. Audrey takes three different forms: played in turn by Shirong Wu (White Pearl), Janet Anderson (winner of Best Performance in a Play in our recent Time Out Arts and Culture Awards), and Caitlin A. Kearney. Director Jess Arthur (The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, The Dictionary of Lost Words) places all the Audreys all over the stage, having various characters run and peek out of the stage curtains with the speed and inaccuracy of all your favourite ten- to 12-year-olds. All her forms are equally quirky and hilarious, and Wu’s embodiment of an 11-year-old weirdo is an absolute hoot, all the way down to her frantic hand gestures. Each performer brings a great sense of pace to Kennedy’s words, carrying simple, detailed props to suggest different characters and moods.  Set and costumes by Paris Bell (The Other End of the Afternoon and Chimerica at the New Theatre) are similarly simple and effective: the stage is black

There’s nothing more haunting than a pair of Victorian children singing a nursery rhyme and chanting “chase me, chase me”. Except, perhaps, a pair of opera-singing Victorian children with a cadaverously pale tenor dressed in black, creepily lurking behind them. Craig Baldwin (Consent, John and The Flick for Outhouse Theatre Co) directs a cast of up-and-coming opera stars in this haunting in the form of Benjamin Britten’s classic chamber opera, The Turn of the Screw – the first of its kind to be presented at Sydney’s home of weird and wonderful musical stories, the Hayes Theatre. Based on the gothic novella of the same name by Henry James, Britten’s opera has six performers singing in English, accompanied by eerie strings and a celesta. Britten’s long-time librettist Myfanway Piper, writes the characters with humour and horror, an uncanny  match for the dissonance of his compositions. This production has a substantial sense of the dramatic potential in opera, with great moments of theatrical imagery and musical prowess. Music director and pianist Francis Greep shrinks the full chamber orchestra down to a piano and a keyboard, placing them on the stage alongside the singers and other moving pieces. Emma Vine’s set design constantly shifts, with roaming platforms that click into place when maneuvered by children and ghosts, and various props that suggest someone or something lurking in the background. A model of Bly Manor (the grand yet isolated home where the story takes place)

Our favourite places from our childhoods, just like the movies or books that we loved when we were little, often aren’t the same when we return to them. Sometimes it’s the place that has changed – but most of the time, we are what’s different. We might be more grown up, more sensitive, perhaps we are more at home in the qualities that set us apart from others – but all the while, we’re still searching for that inner little kid who just loved something wholeheartedly. For E, that thing is swimming.  Mununjali Yugambeh poet Ellen van Neerven’s debut work for the stage, swim, follows our protagonist (played by Baad Yawuru actor Dani Sib) as they return to the public pool after a long time away. The change room, the act of undressing, and the journey to the water are all obstacles that E must navigate – and as a genderfluid Blak person, the simple practice of going for a swim is a fraught, anxiety-inducing experience.  With its meditative visuals and some shining moments, it is well worth diving in... E’s story is delivered through repetitive, rhythmic phrases. It’s a slow, meditative form of speaking that is most effective when accompanied by bursts of theatrical imagery. Samuel James’ vivid video design brings an otherworldly tone to Romanie Harper’s set design – a large cross-section of a pale tiled pool, much like the council pool you’d find down the road in most small Aussie towns. The action takes place above and below the water, linked by a metal ladder. Alongside Brendon

Being young, intelligent and career-driven can get pretty weird. You work incredibly hard all of your life to ace the exams, win the competitions, gain a spot at the big university, land the internships, and get the job at the prestigious firm (law, consulting, finance – take your pick). Then all of a sudden, you might find yourself at the “top” – and then, you’ll probably find that the top is actually just as awful as the climb to get there. Australian playwright Anchuli Felicia King (The Poison of Polygamy, White Pearl) peers into the murky ethics and empty promises of the corporate world in her latest piece of writing for Sydney Theatre Company. A solo-performer show, American Signs follows an unnamed “Consultant” (Catherine Văn-Davies – Constellations) – she is a young, intelligent and precocious Vietnamese-American woman who has grinded her way to the “top”. Her version of the top is a prestigious management consulting firm – but when she gets there, she finds herself perpetually on the bench. That is, until a handsome, married consultant brings her onto a project at an industrial lighting factory in Ohio. A series of realisations ensues, as it dawns on our protagonist that consulting isn’t all as glamorous as it’s cracked up to be. While King’s writing is a scathing account of the American consulting industry, it is also somewhat forgiving of the Consultant’s choices, endlessly testing the audience’s sympathies.  Anchuli Felicia King wrote this play specifically with Ca

I first saw playwright Grace Chapple’s Never Closer in 2022, as part of the indie program in Belvoir St Theatre's’s tiny 80-seat Downstairs Theatre. That production made a huge impression on me – filled with heavy silence, ragged sobs, soaring laughter, dancing, drinking, and all the wonderful and terrible things that come with knowing and loving a group of friends for most of your life. All of this “acutely emotive” drama is made more profound by the play’s setting, with the violence and political turmoil of Northern Ireland between 1977 and 1987 unfolding in the background. The same ensemble of actors from 2022, directed by Hannah Goodwin, have graduated to the mainstage this year, making their debut in Belvoir’s 372-seat Upstairs Theatre. The result is somewhat less intense than the original production, but it is still a well-written portrait of the importance of connection and care in the face of terror. Chapple writes about a group of friends who’ve grown up together in a tiny town. Deirdre (Emma Diaz) is stubbornly rooted there, and her friends Jimmy (Raj Labade), Niamh (Mabel Li), Mary (Ariadne Sgouros) and Conor (Adam Sollis) are all struggling with living in a place filled with bombings, death and turmoil. We begin at Christmas, 1977, and Niamh is leaving for London. The opening scenes are slightly shorter than the first iteration, but they still do the important work of setting up the sometimes difficult closeness between all of the characters. Then we jump forward