The Glass Menagerie | Melbourne Theatre Company

Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie follows the Wingfield family living in a cramped St Louis apartment as Amanda struggles to secure a future for her two adult children, Tom and Laura, while each of them quietly wrestles with duty, escape and personal limitation. A memory play told through Tom’s narration, it moves between present action and recollection as past and emotion blur. In this Melbourne Theatre Company production, director Mark Wilson delivers a reimagined staging with choices that significantly reshape its familiar tone and structure.



Wilson attempts to introduce new perspectives into the production, however his two boldest decisions are less successful than envisioned. The first act, which Wilson refers to as The Wingfields of America in reference to an earlier version of the story, is played as a comedy-drama, with the second act shifting into overt tragedy.



Bernie Dieter’s Club Kabarett review | Meat Market

It's been just over a year since Bernie Deiter captivated Melbourne audiences with Club Kabarett, and while several acts are the same, it is still bursting with energy, dazzling with skill and reaffirming exactly why it struck a chord the first time around. Through circus, cabaret and live music, it becomes a rousing invitation to let go of restraint and jump into joy, resistance and collective release.



The contortionism from Soliana Erse is once again, jaw dropping to watch. It's one thing to (literally) bend over backwards and turn your head around but the speed and the smoothness at which she does this is mesmerising. Similarly, Jacqueline Furey’s fire act is, quite simply, hot, hot, hot. Flames lick her body and then some, and you can feel the heat and know this isn’t smoke and mirrors, it’s edge-of-your-seat realness.



Spoons review | Damian Callinan | Melbourne International Comedy Festival | Arts Centre Melbourne

One-man show Spoons wraps humour, grief and stubborn independence into the story of an ageing widower who refuses to be neatly packed away. Following 84-year-old Stan as he navigates life after loss, the piece balances wit with a sobering look at what it means to grow older, be managed, and ultimately be remembered. It’s playful in places, unexpectedly moving in others, and anchored by a character who is endearing and confronting in his refusal to let go of the life he’s built.



Damian Callinan does a lovely job as Stan, with Emilie Collyer’s direction giving the portrayal restraint and clarity that lets Stan breathe. There’s a gentle physicality to the performance, and his casual delivery of lines suggests a man content to spend his remaining days appreciating the present, even with the emptiness that lingers since the death of his wife. Also written by Callinan, the dialogue is distinctly Australian, peppered with local references and a dry, familiar sense of humour.



Cabin Pressure review | Sunny Youngsmith | Melbourne International Comedy Festival | The Motley Wherehaus

If only all on-boarding processes were as enjoyably hectic as Sunny Youngsmith’s Cabin Pressure. In a suitably small black box theatre space, Youngsmith transforms the room into an aeroplane, the seating arranged with a central aisle for every audience member to walk down, flanked by rows pressed against the walls. It’s an effective bit of staging that immediately sets the tone of the show that is supported by a score of low hums of engine noises and in-flight movements. From the premium economy seat covers to the single lush business class throne, the details create an environment that is playful and a little unhinged.

For the most part, Youngsmith takes on the role of our lone flight attendant, abandoned by the rest of the crew who have all called in sick. Slightly frazzled and under the pump, they ask a 'passenger' to help with the pre-departure safety demonstration. Audience participation is handled with real care, with eye masks handed out as props for the long flight but also as a gentle opt-out signal for anyone not keen to be involved. It’s a smart, low-pressure system, though the atmosphere Youngsmith establishes so quickly is so relaxed and disarming that I don't see any masks on heads.

Anything But The Dyson and Other Excellent Monologues review | Katrina Mathers | Melbourne International Comedy Festival | Trainscendence

The first thing you notice about Katrina Mathers’ set is how 'Fifty Shades of Pink' the dressing room inspired design is, every surface drenched in it, right down to her outfit, with only her purple shoes daring to break rank. They do not stay on for long, though, as Mathers launches into a series of monologues on menopause and the other particular delights middle age throws your way.



Anything But The Dyson and Other Excellent Monologues is Mathers’ first show in 23 years, but you would not know it. She is completely at ease on stage, slipping seamlessly into character and impressions of doctors and newsreaders, with a confidence that suggests she has never been away.



Love Letter to Heephah review | Amelia Pawsey | Melbourne International Comedy Festival | Trainscendence

Amelia Pawsey has been living in a sharehouse with three others: her two housemates, and Heephah, a 60cm-tall taxidermy fox purchased from the Art Gallery of Ballarat. The fox has been watching - and not-so-quietly judging - Pawsey and her housemates for several years, so it was only natural that her debut solo cabaret would be dedicated to it in Love Letter to Heephah.

The structure is straightforward enough, with Pawsey discussing an event or situation in a sharehouse before performing a song. We get numbers about how cutlery should be organised in a drawer, and the realities of privacy in shared living, including “Hymn 69”. She uses a mix of live guitar and pre-recorded tracks, which allows the storytelling, physicality, and songs to move into spaces that would not be possible with guitar alone.

Huge Ass Mindset review | Frankie McNair | Melbourne International Comedy Festival | Victoria Hotel

With a beaming smile and wide eyes, Frankie McNair tells us she is a survivor of childhood sexual assault and sexual assault. She laughs as she calls herself a high achiever. In Huge Ass Mindset, McNair reframes resilience through an unflinchingly self-aware, fast-moving set that refuses to linger in victimhood. She leans into ambition, survival instincts, and the absurdity of how the world expects people to package trauma into something neat and palatable. There is bite in her delivery, but there is also a disarming openness that keeps the room with her, even as she pushes into darker territory.

Rather than using it as background context, McNair places this experience directly into the foundation of the work, challenging how sexual assault and trauma are spoken about, particularly in comedy. The hour builds as a series of escalating reflections, with ideas that recur and steadily gain weight as the set progresses.