Hazlehurst is captivating on stage. Few performers can command your attention with sheer presence alone, yet it never feels like it's Hazlehurst we’re watching: it’s Rose. The gruffness, the hardness, the no-nonsense attitude shaped by decades behind a rowdy bar are compelling to watch. Beneath that tough exterior, flashes of vulnerability slip through as Rose lets her guard down. She strikes a delicate balance between these two states, her performance layered and deeply human. Even the way she carries her body shows the toll and texture of the years spent in the pub, and the way she looks out to the audience as she recounts her stories is steeped in memory.
Director Matt Scholten ensures that Rose doesn’t simply walk in the space, she inhabits it. He allows her room to own The Lark in the way only someone who has been there as long as she has can. Every pause, every lean against the bar is intentional, as though grooves have been carved into the wood by years of repetition. Scholten’s direction weaves intimacy with restraint, shaping the atmosphere so Rose’s essence fills every corner. In his hands, the production has a lived-in quality, enabling Hazlehurst’s portrayal to breathe while reminding us this is not just a story but a world worn into being.
Daniel Keene’s script gives Rose a wholly convincing voice, her vernacular and storytelling carefully crafted so that each word is authentically hers. Keene has a remarkable ability to uncover poetry within the bluntness, revealing the lyricism that surfaces in a turn of phrase or instance of sensitivity. Particularly when Rose reflects on what has been lost, the writing presents a raw, unvarnished poignancy that sits beneath the grit of her character. However, there are few real stakes for the audience beyond listening to a woman recount her memories. Each tale is engaging and well-observed, but the pattern - one recollection after another about the different people who frequented the pub - can start to feel familiar. As a result, the structure doesn’t build toward a defined climax. The piece could have been half an hour longer or half an hour shorter without significantly altering the experience, a sign that what’s missing is a stronger sense of progression.
Emily Barrie’s set design does more than establish a pub, it shows the history embedded in the space. The red, worn, distressed carpet speaks of countless footsteps that have crossed its floors. The mismatched, weathered bar stools hint at the unruly nature of the venue, where anything goes and everyone is welcome. And the bare, dusty shelves don’t just suggest the aftermath of The Lark closing six months ago, they are symbolic of all the people who have passed through before, leaving only traces behind.
Like Barrie's set, Darius Kedros’ sound design creates beats of understated beauty during the interludes of Rose’s story. It conjures the voices of those long gone, as well as the energy and liveliness of what this place once was. This adds an aching sadness and raises the question of where someone goes after giving their whole life to one thing. Richard Vabre’s lighting also brings warmth to an otherwise derelict and weary venue. Subtle shifts bathe Rose in a gentle glow at times and shadow her at others, never intruding on the storytelling but seamlessly intertwining itself into it.
The Lark is a quietly powerful meditation on time, memory, and the spaces we inhabit, with its emotional resonance lingering long after final drinks are called. Through Rose, we are invited to witness a life fully lived, and in doing so, we’re reminded of the ordinary encounters that shape who we are. It’s a performance that stays with you, not for what happens, but for the weight of a lifetime observed with care and tenderness.
SHOW DETAILS
Venue: Arts Centre Melbourne, 100 St Kilda Rd, Melbourne
Season: until 28 Sep | Wed - Sun, various times
Duration: 70 mins
Tickets: Full from $89 | Concession from $83
Bookings: Arts Centre Melbourne
Image credit: Cameron Grant
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