Nina Culley

There’s never been a quiet year for theatre in Australia. From the bright lights of Broadway and West End to our very own stages in Australia, we’re lucky to play host to some of the world’s biggest and best musicals. We’re also a hotbed for homegrown gems, with fresh and experimental shows lighting up stages across the country every month.  From an Australian debut musical inspired by a much-loved fantasy show to the grand return of a British “mega-musical” starring cats, this year’s theatre line-up is shaping up to be one of the most exciting yet. Here are all the biggest musicals currently playing in Australia or headed Down Under in the next year or so. 🖼 The best Australian art galleries🔍 Australia's greatest museums 👀 The best art exhibitions to see in Australia right now

The curtain lifts on Peter and the Starcatcher at Arts Centre Melbourne, a sparkling concoction of puppetry, music, charm and stagecraft. If there’s ever been a time to pull out the word enchanting, this is it. Adapted by Rick Elice – known for bringing narrative depth to classic tales – and directed by David Morton, this smash-hit, five-time Tony Award-winning production partners with the Dead Puppet Society. And yes, they had us at "puppets". The show is sprinkled with shimmering, inventive puppetry that brings a delightful layer of magic to the stage.  Elice’s adaptation cuts the "S" in Starcatchers to make room for two leads: Peter Pan (Otis Dhanji) and Molly (Olivia Deeble), the Starcatcher herself. And while Peter is discovering his name and Molly is saving the world and her father, Lord Aster (Alison Whyte), Elice sneaks in light-hearted pokes at adventure tropes and British colonialism. There’s a magical substance called starstuff that gives people what they most desire, transforming a scotch salmon into a mermaid and a bird into Tinkerbell, and everyone’s after it. Including Colin Lane, who is memorable as Black Stache, a pirate with a peculiar politeness and a biting disdain for children. Lane’s timing is impeccable – especially when a fire alarm goes off mid-show, which he turned into an impromptu comedy break, riffing with the audience. Later, he added some extra banter that momentarily broke the production’s spell but earned big laughs from the school kids in the

Ryan Stewart's Kinder, at Melbourne Fringe, turns the familiar chaos of getting ready into a charming hour-long performance about growing up and getting out.  Playing Goody Prostate, a drag queen with a ticking deadline – due at the local library’s reading room by 1pm to perform to (shudder) kids – Stewart’s show is layered with wit, queerness, and a dash of childlike nostalgia. Of course, the journey to kid-friendly drag isn't without hurdles: an overhead clap keeps Goody on track, protesters gather outside the library, and Goody wrestles with toning down their typically uncensored routine. But what do kids like? More pressingly, what did they like as a kid? The set – part bedroom, part dressing room, part rented basement – is a liminal space for Goody’s musings and self-reflection. Stewart strips down, dressing in playful patterns and statement knee-high boots while recounting formative memories: their parents' divorce, coming out to their father, private school, all peppered with a raspy, German-accented queer rage.  The show leans heavily on monologues, which too often meander. While they’re broken up by well-choreographed drag performances, a cereal break and a power outage, there’s a lack of tension or cohesion with Goody reaching for too many contemplative threads. Still, beneath it, a subtle commentary on what it means to be heard, to be a child, and to grow up begins to emerge. If the script lacks a certain tautness, Stewart’s charm and talent more than compensate. W

Tina Turner was the bread and butter of our household TV screen. She belted alongside Mick Jagger at Live Aid, leather-clad and big hair, raced her supercharged engine across Coober Pedy in Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome and assured the world that everything would be alright as David Bowie slipped out of the shadows during her Private Dancer Tour. She was one of music’s indomitable icons, a powerhouse; she was the Queen of Rock‘n’Roll. When Tina – The Tina Turner Musical finally rolled into Melbourne’s Princess Theatre after its West End debut and national run, it arrived with sky-high expectations. Having stacked up Tony and Olivier nominations as well as praise from Rolling Stone for its ability to simultaneously “entertain and enlighten”, I’m relieved to say that this Melbourne production did not disappoint. Leather, shoulder pads and sequins that would make Tina herself proud, danced across the red carpet on opening night with hundreds, including local Australian stars, paying homage. For someone like me, who never experienced Tina live beyond the glow of a television screen, the energy certainly made it feel like the real deal.  The musical, written by Katori Hall alongside Frank Ketelaar and Kees Prins, and directed by Phyllida Lloyd, stays true to Tina’s journey – thanks, in part, to Tina herself. From her early days in Nutbush, Tennessee, with gospel choirs and dusty churches, to the St. Louis blues scene where she met Ike Turner, across the globe to the soggy streets of

As Drake’s ‘Hotline Bling’ echoes through Fortyfivedownstairs, audiences are drawn into the world of Nicci Wilks, poised for her performance in Bad Boy as part of Melbourne Fringe. Had I been oblivious to Patricia Cornelius’s hallmark style – characterised by incisive examinations of contemporary masculinity, misogyny, and domestic violence – the song’s implications might have eluded me. Or perhaps not, given that domestic violence saturates our headlines. Yet, within the 60-minute runtime, this weighty topic feels both rushed and stretched.  This one-person show is a collaboration between Cornelius, Susie Dee, and Wilks, following the footsteps of their earlier work, Runt. In a gender inversion, Wilks plays a male character who first presents as a grotesque clown, before (perhaps too promptly) shedding the makeup to reveal an ‘everyman’ named Will. He pisses, grunts and thrusts, before falling for student-nurse Kathy. What ensues is your classic boy-meets-girl-they-have-kids-gone-wrong narrative, exploring the complexities of their relationship as it becomes ensnared in a cyclical system of abuse. In the first act, the creative trio balances levity and gravity. Even the stalking scene, marked by humour and impressive physicality by Wilks, underscores the absurdity and predictability of these archetypes.  Dee’s direction makes use of a circular stage, enhanced by red neon signs that circulate above like a digital noticeboard. Terms like “stalking” and the lyrics to The Police

Topdog/Underdog, at Melbourne’s Southbank Theatre is a blistering portrayal of sibling rivalry that digs into the heart of American mythmaking. Suzan-Lori Parks’ two-hander, which won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama, and more recently, a Tony Award for Best Revival, now takes up residence in the more intimate Lawler Theatre. In this new production, directed by Bert LaBonté, the play’s taut dialogue and searing emotional tensions are both its strength and – sometimes – its limitation. At its core, Topdog/Underdog is a darkly comedic and tragic exploration of two brothers – Lincoln (Damon Manns) and Booth (Ras-Samuel) —named, in a perverse twist, after the infamous presidential assassin and his victim. Lincoln, the elder, works as an Abraham Lincoln impersonator in an arcade, re-enacting the former president’s assassination for good honest cash. Booth, unemployed and restless, fixates on learning the art of three-card monte, the street hustle that once brought Lincoln fame and ruin. He’s a livewire of ambition and resentment, and in the hands of Ras-Samuel – whose frenetic energy never falters – he is dazzling.  “I’m gonna be somebody,” he declares, though his bravado rings hollow against the crummy backdrop of their one-bedroom apartment – a set design (by Sophie Woodward) that perfectly captures their suffocating reality – it’s spare, grimy, and strewn with sticky adult magazines. Comparatively, Manns, as Lincoln, offers a more subdued performance, stoically haunted by past mist

When you picture a quintessential ghost story, complete with all the familiar tropes – an isolated mansion, a vengeful ghost, and some well-timed midnight screams – The Woman in Black inevitably comes to mind. Adapted by Stephen Mallatratt from Susan Hill’s 1983 novel, this notorious tale has long haunted the West End, and has finally crept its way to the Sydney stage.   Starring Aussie television mainstays John Waters (Offspring, Doctor Doctor) and Daniel MacPherson (Neighbours, Land of Bad), this a play-within-a-play is directed by Robin Herford, who has been involved since the show's inception in 1987. This adaptation whittles the book’s original character list down to just two. It opens with an ageing solicitor, Arthur Kipps (Waters), who attempts to recount his story about the eerie Eel Marsh House. His sombre, poetic prose is on the dreary side, but thankfully, the performance is saved when a young actor (MacPherson) steps in – playfully urging Kipps to “have sympathy for your audience”. What follows is a layering of past and present, as our narrator's memories tangle with The Actor’s dramatisations in an interplay between reality and re-enactment. The Woman in Black is a classic for a reason, and the chilling story is told with masterful craft by MacPherson and Waters In their dual-role performances, MacPherson and Waters command the stage whilst giving space to the sinister supernatural role of the tititular "Woman In Black" – whose motion and face (though seen spari

When Red Stitch Actors' Theatre put on Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? in late 2023, the gripping play enjoyed a critically acclaimed run. Now, in a historic partnership between Red Stitch, GWB Entertainment and Andrew Henry Presents, the production is returning for a mainstage commercial season at the Comedy Theatre in June and July.   For the first time in Red Stitch's 23 year history, the Melbourne-born theatre company has secured a commercial partnership which will see the production transferred from its 80-seat converted church hall home, to a mainstage theatre. This landmark partnership is reminiscent of arrangements common in major theatre capitals like London and New York, where independent theatre productions often transfer to the mainstage. Time Out reviewed Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? during its initial run last year. Read on for our 2023 review of the production. The Red Stitch Actors' Theatre in St Kilda East – piled with books and boasting a fully stocked bar – sets the stage for a night of emotional warfare in Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? The space is cosy, which will later prove constricting for bottle throwing and violent throttling, but works to confine Martha (Kat Stewart) and George (David Whiteley) in their suburban marital hell.  Albee’s script endures for its unflinching dissection of a marriage marred by rage anddisillusionment, sharpened with barbed insults and clever repartee. Debuting in 1962, theplay echoes the era’s anxieties

Mandarins in summer, the scent of petrichor, and old books – these scents, much like Marcel Proust’s madeleine, have the power to conjure memories: blissful, painful, and everything in between. In her new work Recollection, staged at fortyfivedownstairs, Georgia Ketels employs scent, an often under-utilised device in theatre, to transcend the visual and auditory. Audience members are greeted with earthy notes upon entry; the stage dressed as a modern apothecary, with spilling plants, jars and cleverly designed compartments. From its depths, a bed, wardrobe and dining table are artfully slid out to layer the past and present. Director Cathy Hunt's expert blocking stages the characters languidly against beams, drifting across the stage, and emerging from the audience, creating an immersive time-blend that only occasionally veers into clunky territory.  The past depicts an endearing mother-daughter relationship and a burgeoning queer romance between Molly (Molly Holohan) and Jenna (Mish Keating). The mother-daughter relationship feels authentic, capturing the heart of a duo who spend as much time laughing and riffing as they do bickering.  In the present, Molly has died, and her mother, Olivia (Eve Morey), attempts to recapture her volatile essence, scoring points for originality in a gothic fusion of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein meets Patrick Süskind’s Perfume. Morey delivers a painfully emotional performance while Ravenna Bouckaert as Ariana, the scent artist, adds a dry layer

When you picture a quintessential ghost story complete with familiar tropes – an isolated mansion, a vengeful ghost, and some well-timed midnight screams – The Woman in Black inevitably comes to mind. Adapted by Stephen Mallatratt from Susan Hill’s 1983 novel, this notorious tale has long haunted the West End and has finally crept its way to Melbourne.   Starring John Waters (Offspring, Doctor Doctor) and Daniel MacPherson (Neighbours, Land of Bad), The Woman in Black is a play-within-a-play, directed by Robin Herford, who has been involved since its inception in 1987. This adaptation whittles the book’s original character list down to just two. The play opens with an ageing solicitor, Arthur Kipps (Waters), who attempts to recount his story about the eerie Eel Marsh house. Despite his poetic prose, the performance is thankfully saved when a young actor (MacPherson) steps in, urging Kipps to “have sympathy for your audience”. What follows is a layering of past and present, as Kipps’ memories tangle with the actor’s dramatisations in an interplay between reality and re-enactment. In their dual-role performances, MacPherson and Waters command the stage. MacPherson delivers a cheery performance as The Actor, while Waters brings a charm to Arthur Kipps, deftly balancing humour and playfulness against the play's otherwise sombre tone. MacPherson’s psychological unravelling, while present, is somewhat subdued.   The duo occasionally loses their grip on the audience, partly due to t

In 2014, Melbourne snagged the title of the world's sleepiest city, a title ostensibly celebrated by the sleep community and fiercely coveted ever since the city’s ranking plummeted. Enter Harriet Gillies and Marcus McKenzie for 8/8/8: Rest. Kicking off at 9pm sharp and wrapping up just before sunrise at 5am, this show is a mammoth eight hours long. As a theatre critic this one is a milestone for me, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling slightly apprehensive about the long haul. 8/8/8: Rest is the second instalment in the company’s triptych (which began in 2022) exploring the utopian ideal of eight hours each for work, rest, and play. Now, the band’s back together. Work is done. It's time to say goodbye to the grind and hello to 'rest’. Upon entering, attendees queue to gather lanyards for what feels like an incredibly real conference – but it isn’t. As ‘Amy’ from Monash University, I’m welcomed to the Nocturnal Fatigue Emergency and Rest Exigency: National Crisis Epidemic. Black Eyed Peas ‘I Gotta Feeling’ blares through the speakers. Those in attendance are the purportedly the crème de la crème of sleep doctors and affiliates from around the world. Naturally, the event is sponsored by the fictional company DeRucci.  Held in the winding carpeted halls of Arts Centre Melbourne as part of Rising, the room screams classic conference: fold-out bar, tablecloths, and an agenda with titles like “Why Did We Ever Wake Up”, phrases like “a clean sleep is a sexy sleep”, and co

While the exploration of work's monotony and oppression isn’t groundbreaking in theatre, encountering a production that has something fresh to add is pretty exciting. Enter Back to Back Theatre, a company composed of performers who identify as having a disability or being neurodivergent. Their latest work, Multiple Bad Things, directed by Tamara Searle and Ingrid Voorendt, presents a narrative that feels distinctly original, universally resonant and plenty surreal.  Back to Back Theatre is known for its attention to design, light and sound, and this production is no exception. Presented at Malthouse Theatre, the set features an industrial scaffold in the centre, an office desk surrounded by a spotlight and a stormy audio-visual oval in the background. Zoë Barry’s sound design, assembled from field recordings of ‘bad’ noises, and Anna Cordingley’s set, which requires physical participation from the actors, are invasive and discomforting in their sharpened minimalism. These elements create a paradoxical feeling of expansiveness and isolation, capturing the sense of being in a workplace at the end of the world, as promised in the program guide. The production opens with Simon Laherty, presumably playing the role of an indistinguishable and detached middle management figure, making it clear that this is theatre and not reality. Retreating to his desk, he spends most of the performance playing solitaire, watching animal videos and gaming – an emblematic portrayal of the mundanity

In her first stand-up hour since 2018, Celia Pacquola serves up a hilarious whirlwind tour of the past five years: lockdowns, a new relationship, a haunted house, butt-masks (yes, things got weird during covid), and the arrival of her daughter. With the regal Comedy Theatre in Melbourne as her backdrop, Pacquola kicks off with a “you’re welcome” for the early 6.30pm start time; she’s in her 40s now and in genial Celia fashion, appreciates that people prefer to be in pyjamas by 9pm.   The show picks up from where her 2018 set (All Talk) left off, with a palpable sense of urgency as Pacquola swiftly revisits the #MeToo movement and her personal mental health issues – both thankfully now “solved.” She rewinds to 2020, a year that Pacquola anticipated as “her year,” only to be marked by the global pandemic and, in her opinion, an equally newsworthy story: the year she won Dancing with the Stars. Thus begins the prelude of her adventures as a self-proclaimed “fun mum.”  Here, Pacquola flaunts her trademark candour and quirkiness, regaling the crowd with flawed logic like a kicking system that dictates her meat consumption and the finding and returning of a lost cat. The decisively delirious tone of the set underscores her ill-preparedness for navigating parent groups, arguments with her smart home, and the moral quandaries of parenting. There’s a begrudging yet good-humoured intertwining of Pacquola’s dismissal from Bluey, having been initially offered the role of Chilli, now famo