What happened when Rachel Tunaley lost her eldest daughter crown | Melbourne International Comedy Festival | The Motley Spielhaus

Eldest Daughter Syndrome describes the pressure that often falls on the oldest daughter, who can end up taking on a lot of emotional and practical responsibility within the family. Recovering Eldest Daughter is Rachel Tunaley's new cabaret, sparked by the moment a surprise gender transition from her older sibling suddenly shifted her from eldest to… not so eldest.

Eldest Daughter Syndrome was something Tunaley had been acutely aware of for some time, and as with all great shows, “write about what you know” became the starting point, right up until her sibling’s transition changed the family dynamic. "I was seeing a lot of conversation online, especially on TikTok, about Eldest Daughter Syndrome and I resonated with the 'symptoms' for lack of a better word, and decided to unpack it more. While it’s not a formal syndrome, there are plenty of similarities in experiences for eldest daughters such as the burden to be perfect or successful whether that’s in career or romantically, struggling to articulate your own boundaries and needs with others and feeling like the caretaker of the family," she tells me.

West Gate review | Melbourne Theatre Company

The construction of the West Gate Bridge in the late 1960s was one of those 'Melbourne is growing up' moments. It wasn’t just a bridge, it was a statement, a declaration that the city was expanding into something faster, louder, and unapologetically modern. Spanning the Yarra River, it promised to connect a booming, industrial west with the CBD, easing congestion and fuelling economic growth. It carried a forceful optimism, the belief that infrastructure could reshape not only how people moved, but how the city itself functioned.

That optimism, however, was undercut by warning signs that were raised but not fully heeded. When the West Gate Bridge collapse occurred on 15 October 1970, killing 35 workers, the bridge’s meaning suddenly flipped. What had symbolised progress and ambition came to represent the human cost behind it, a reminder that rapid growth and grand vision can come at a devastating price.

Someday We’ll Find It review | Meat Market

Where can you swim with pigs on the beach? It’s one of the many questions Zachary Sheridan hurls into the void of the internet in Someday We’ll Find It. Over a tight 50 minutes, the work makes clever use of its time, playing with form and structure to probe our compulsive need to search for answers online. Some questions are absurd, some surprisingly profound, and others sit in the realm of the unanswerable, yet all speak to that endless, almost instinctive urge to keep typing, scrolling, and seeking.

Sheridan’s performance is notably restrained and grounded, a deliberate and necessary choice for a solo work built on such an unrelenting stream of text. Carrying long passages without pause, he allows rhythm and accumulation do the heavy lifting without over-performing. The stillness and control required to sustain that tone indicates a performer who understands exactly when to hold back. In doing so, he creates opportunities for the audience to project meaning onto the questions themselves, turning what could easily be repetitive into something absorbing, and at times, unexpectedly affecting.

Eva Seymour on the comedy of waiting in the wings | Melbourne International Comedy Festival | The Motley Wherehaus

Eva Seymour’s The Understudy shines a hilarious and unflinching light on the backstage world, as we follow an understudy juggling nerves, endless preparation, and the strange suspense of being ready to step in at a moment’s notice. We spoke to Seymour about crafting this performance, laughing through the mayhem, and how the show resonates far beyond the stage.

The Understudy centres on the long wait that comes with being on call, unfolding into a deeper dive of what it means to be an actor, largely defined by job insecurity and the shifting demands of the industry. "Writing a show about understudying made me realise it’s a microcosm of the actor’s life," Seymour explains. "Waiting for the call as an offstage cover puts you at the whim of many things beyond your control, and you have to do mental gymnastics just to manage the anxiety. Actors are constantly doing that, whether they admit it or not. You can follow every rule, make every 'right' choice, and still not be where you want to be. That uncertainty, the missed opportunities, and the sacrifices it requires - sometimes it strains relationships, makes you question yourself, and reminds you how much of your life gets put on hold for work you may never even do."

Laughing through sharehouse horrors with Amelia Pawsey | Melbourne International Comedy Festival | Trainscendence

Amelia Pawsey has spent years immersed in Melbourne’s performing arts community, thriving in ensemble work and collaborating with a range of directors and artists. Now, she’s stepping out on her own with her first solo production, Love Letter to Heephah, a playful and poignant blend of comedy and songwriting drawn from her experiences in a share house where everyday moments of chaos, absurdity, and everything in between are revealed with humour, honesty, and a bit of mischief.

"I absolutely cherish ensemble work, in particular, within the Melbourne independent theatre scene. I have worked with many talented artists since graduating drama school and have always felt inspired by the work of Aussie creatives! I've had a lingering thought for years to give stand-up a go but I've been too scared to back myself, making excuses why I wouldn't be good at it," she explains. "Then this year I thought, that's not a valid reason to not try something! It was in conversation with my housemates about Heephah the random fox statue in our living room, where I realised I could combine my passion of songwriting with stand-up, that Love Letter To Heephah was born, and I could not be more excited to share this with MICF audiences."

The Pandas of The Adelaide Zoo review | Cub Voltaire

Two giant pandas, Fu Ni and Wang Wang, are trapped in captivity at Adelaide Zoo, staring down the ultimate ticking clock: Fu Ni’s three-day mating window. Zookeeper Trev and ranger Hayley are on high alert, praying these bamboo-loving divas finally produce the cubs everyone’s been waiting for. But will Fu Ni embrace motherhood or reject Wang Wang for the elusive, commitment-phobic male nature has said he is? In The Pandas of the Adelaide Zoo, Ryan Smith turns a true story into a whimsical, slightly tragic comedy of errors, where these pandas’ romantic misadventures are as endearing as they are exasperating.

Smith’s script tells two stories in parallel. One follows Wang Wang (Smith) and Fu Ni (Elizabeth Harvey) as they pass their hours, days, and years within the zoo, relying on nothing but each other for company. The second traces Trev and Hayley (Jake McNamara and Charli Lewis) as they record an episode of Totally Wilderness, observing the pandas, with each person bringing their own intentions, curiosities, and emotions to the encounter.

Mature Skin review | Northcote Town Hall

Written by Gabrielle Fallen, Mature Skin traces the charged connection between Paul, a successful cis gay fragrance designer in his 40s, and Jasmine, a young trans woman and retail worker who sells his products. A chance encounter in the bathroom of a work event quickly deepens, leading them into a relationship that probes passion, kink, fetishisation, queerness, trans identity, and shifting power dynamics. The play navigates intimacy and attraction, highlighting the vulnerability and complexity of their interactions.



Peter Paltos and Bailey Ackling Beecham bring an affecting chemistry, built on a tension that sits somewhere along seduction and resistance. Their characters circle one another with a mixture of fascination and discomfort, and the actors maintain that equilibrium with poise. The result is a volatile entanglement, where magnetism and hesitation are never quite separate.