After years of entertaining children at birthday parties, Ava O’Brien and Peggie Barnes decided they deserved a different kind of audience. The New Zealand act have swapped balloon animals and face painting for a two-hander packed with clowning, puppetry, magic and whatever else they can throw at the stage. After premiering at the 2026 New Zealand Fringe Festival, Hotsy-Totsy now heads to Melbourne. We caught up with O’Brien and Barnes to talk about escaping the birthday-party circuit, turning their skills into a show for adults and why, sometimes, you just need to book yourself a better gig.
For O’Brien and Barnes, the appeal of creating a children's party for adults lay in the feelings of excitement and wonder of being completely swept up in the experience. "We felt the magic of a captivated audience and figured that adults love entertainment just as much as kids. When Elsa shows up at your 5th birthday and you're high on sugar, you are invincible," they tell me. "We wanted to capture that feeling in our own performances and bring adults into that silly magical world. It's got the thrill, energy and unbridled joy of a children’s party, but filled with much more adult humour. It's us playing ourselves, with our inner children onstage with us, and no one is putting the brakes on!"
Being told you’d be great in Miss Saigon might come across as a compliment, but for Kelly Lim Harris, it has happened enough times to inspire a song. In Yellow Fever, the WAAPA-trained performer turns her own experiences of fetishisation, tokenisation and being reduced to her ethnicity into an original cabaret about the realities of being an East Asian performer. Ahead of Yellow Fever's Melbourne Fringe Festival premiere, Lim Harris spoke to us about the stories behind the show, the contradictions of representation and finding her own voice through cabaret.
A group of boys crash-land on an island with no adults around, leaving them to establish their own rules, leadership and hierarchy. It doesn't take long for those structures to start falling apart. Steven Mitchell Wright's production of William Golding's Lord of the Flies follows the familiar story, from the struggle between Ralph and Jack to the growing fear of the beast and the group's descent into violence.
There are different expressions of masculinity at play here with Ralph and Jack become increasingly locked in a contest for authority, driven by competition, intimidation and the desire to command. Simon offers a more gentle alternative, while aggressive behaviour demonstrates how quickly strength and dominance become measures of status. Survival of the fittest is not simply practical, but something the boys perform for the group.
What do you do when you kill your director on opening night? If you’re the two actors at the centre of FU@K! I KILLED THE DIRECTOR, apparently, you carry on with the production. Blending clowning, mime, dance and a does of chaos, the new work from Alright? Production Company throws two desperate performers into the aftermath of a very unfortunate accident, as they attempt to keep their adaptation of Romeo & Juliet alive while facing the small matter of their dead director. Created by Nina Hopley, Alana Louise and Jason Schwab and performed by Louise and Schwab, the 50-minute farce promises an anarchic, physical and distinctly unpredictable Fringe experience.
The piece takes a pretty spectacular theatrical disaster and turns it into a celebration of play, silliness and letting go. "Two actors, Cherry and John, are about to debut their rendition of Romeo & Juliet. But moments before the curtain goes up, they accidentally kill their director. Covered in blood and reeling from the shock of the freak death, they then do their best to keep the performance alive in front of the audience. It gets absurd, messy and nonsensical, and there are even some real emotional gut punches," Schwab tells me.
How much is that weird little object you’ve been holding onto for years actually worth? The Valuer invites audiences to find out, bringing their knick-knacks to a Suprahuman Valuer for assessment. Created by Penelope Bartlau and Jason Lehane (of Barking Spider Creative), the immersive work plays with our ideas of value, ownership and attachment, asking whether we really want to keep the things we treasure once someone else puts a price on them.
In some ways, this is a sequel to Barking Spider Creative’s The Collector, which I attended last year. Both works explore the stories and worth we attach to everyday objects, but this time the experience is personalised. Rather than engaging with a room of curiosities with another participant, we have our own consultation with the assessor, creating something smaller in scope but no less playful or absorbing.
The visit begins with a brief chat with The Valuer’s familial, who fortunately manages to condense reams of paperwork and terms and conditions into a short interaction. We’re given an explanation of what to expect, without giving anything away. Once the formalities are done, we open the door and take a step inside.
Zombies have never been especially interested in following the rules, and neither has improvisation. Put the two together and you have a theatrical experiment where anything can happen, including who survives the night. A Completely Improvised Zombie Apocalypse takes the familiar conventions of the zombie genre and hands them over to a rotating cast of improvisers, with the audience helping determine where the story goes.
With humans being indispensable to any zombie production, it is only natural that this one has a large cast of victims. We managed to get hold of one of them, Bren Carruthers, while they are still human, and picked their brain on our obsession with zombies and what happens when you throw a group of improvisers into the apocalypse.
Given the challenge of surviving, let alone depicting, a zombie apocalypse, I was curious how Bren rates their own survival skills. "I’m only one member of a cast of nearly a dozen, but I don’t think any of us would be likely to survive!" they laugh. "But I think good zombie narratives aren’t about surviving, they’re about the attempt to survive, and what arises in the meantime. They’re a unique vessel for exploring parts of the human experience, society, and what happens when the normal rules no longer matter."
Jens Radda’s connection to church is more than a starting point for cabaret show Mass Hysteria. Having grown up attending a Seventh-day Adventist church, he knows the practices of worship first-hand, giving the show a personal perspective on what happens when those familiar forms are taken out of their traditional setting and placed inside a cabaret. We spoke with Radda about his religious upbringing, the appeal of ceremony and why a night at the theatre might not be so different from a Sunday service.
Radda’s time in the church brings both irony and affection to the religious rituals at the heart of Mass Hysteria and the way they are reimagined. "There’s definitely irony in it, but there’s also a lot of intrigue and affection," he tells me. "I grew up around this incredible theatre of ritual: hundreds of people singing together, ceremony, pageantry, symbolism…it’s pretty camp! Now I’m basically taking those ingredients and asking 'what happens if we put this in a NutriBullet and blend it with drag, cabaret and performance art?' It feels strangely full-circle."
In Beneath the Surface, four short Australian plays uncover the tensions, relationships and stories that sit beneath ordinary life. Presented by Edge of the Heart Productions, the plays vary in style, direction and genre, offering distinct perspectives on contemporary life.
Adèle Shelley’s Coffee in the Time of Coronavirus brings two neighbours together during Melbourne’s lockdown, with their relationship developing through conversations from their adjoining balconies. Shelley grounds the piece in recognisable reality, but gives it an unpredictable quality that leaves you wondering where an otherwise mundane conversation might lead. Carissa McPherson and Paul Canlan deliver lovely performances as the unlikely neighbours forced to become friends, discovering that their assumptions about each other conceal far more complicated personalities.
