Charlotte Smee

There's always a lot happening on Sydney's stages – but how do you even know where to start? Thankfully, our critics are out road-testing musicals, plays, operas, dance, cabaret and more all year round. Here are their recommendations. Want more culture? Check out the best art exhibitions in Sydney.

Hey Sydney, wanna get weird? The Sydney Fringe Festival (aka the state’s largest independent arts festival) is painting the town pink for the month of September – with 400 events spilling across several festival hubs, from grand stages to Spiegeltents, to gardens of delight and pop-up stages in unusual spaces.  The dynamic program spans theatre, music, comedy, visual art, film, musical theatre, dance, circus, street festivals, literature and poetry. Quite honestly, it’s a lot to take in. But our reliable bright-pink critic is on the case! This month, Charlotte Smee is out and about, checking out some of the most experimental, wonderful and strange shows on the Fringe circuit. Read on for their rolling list of festival highlights, and check out our other festival picks over here. Want more entertainment? Check out our guide to the other shows on Sydney stages.

Opera Australia’s new world-first outdoor production of Carmen is thoroughly ambitious in more ways than one – it aims to give the artform of opera a modern, feminist, punk-rock makeover. The scene is set on a huge industrial stage on Cockatoo Island (a 15-minute ferry ride from the city), complete with dazzling fireworks, motorcycle stunts and pop-up bars. Director Liesel Badorrek places the action in a timeless “rock’n’roll space” that encapsulates rebellion and anti-establishment sentiment. This new production aims to rebel against its problematic past, bringing a new, strong, independent Carmen to the stage – as sung alternately by Opera Australia’s principal mezzo soprano Sian Sharp and Carmen Topciu. As self-professed theatre and opera nerds, Time Out was excited to speak to Badorrek and Sharp about how they’re looking to change the opera game, one rock’n’roll Carmen at a time. First, we had a chat about our mutual love of opera, and theatre, those wonderful, live participatory art forms... What is it that you love about opera?  Sian: When people experience operatic singing unamplified it is a very powerful experience that can really cut you to the quick. There's a connection there that is sometimes not achieved [with other art forms]... the power of the voice to reach out across an orchestra and hit the back wall of a 2,000-seat theatre is quite a feat. Liesel: That combination of the orchestral music and the vocals is so beautiful, it's incredibly powerful emotionally

There’s nothing more sapphic than yearning. The internet age is ripe for it, too. Meeting a stranger you’ve never seen in real life and falling head over heels for them is just about the gayest thing you could do. (Aside from, maybe, threatening to blow up the world over a failed relationship.) The global debut of Flat Earthers: The Musical is as sapphic as it gets. Two young lovers meet through a screen – Ria (Shannen Alyce Quan) is a “Debunker”, a member of an exclusive clique of YouTube stars devoted to debunking conspiracy theories and putting weirdos in their place. But Ria’s values are called into question when she e-meets Flick (Manali Datar). The pair of star-cross’d lesbians quickly go from sliding into the DMs to falling into analogue love. The thing is, Flick lives in a bunker with her two mums – Fiona/Ma and Freya/Mum (Lena Cruz and Amanda McGregor) – who’ve brought her underground because, well, they’re flat-earthers. (Read: they firmly, frantically believe that the government is hiding the fact that the Earth is flat.) With huge energy, an unapologetic commitment to being chronically online, and wheezing laughs, Flat Earthers is best described as batshit crazy Written and composed by Jean Tong, Lou Wall and James Gale, this new Australian musical is absolutely, fabulously, committed to the bit. The writing trio have a number of impressive credits between them, including Netflix hit Heartbreak High (Tong); Romeo is Not the Only Fruit (featuring yet more star-cro

The biggest (fictional) boy band in the world, the Fuccbois, is finally appearing in the tiniest stadium (basement theatre) in Sydney: the Old Fitz. Brandon, Brendan, and also Brendan and Tyler make up the hottest, silliest boy band (featuring absolutely no actual boys) you’ve ever seen. This indie production’s world premiere is directed by Jessica Fallico with book, lyrics and music by Bridie Connell (who also performs as art-school-soft-boi Brandon). Fuccbois is a concert inside a musical. Kind of like that 2016 mockumentary, Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping, but with the added bonus of four women in masculine drag, the show is set at the final concert of the band’s farewell tour – complete with reminiscing, solo career announcements, and a snort-inducing segment on “the Fuccbois give back”. The music is loud, fun, and a perfect pastiche of all your favourite boy bands – and the lyrics are hilariously clever, to boot. Exploring the fuccboi stereotype in musical form is a simple premise, which allows for some hilariously clever moments of choreography, audience interaction, and cheeky little asides that make the show so much more than just a silly concert. Connell’s Brandon is sensitive and awful, Gabbi Bolt as Brendan is, well, Irish (to be sure), Megan Walshe as Tyler is lanky and ridiculous, and Clara Harrison as also Brendan might have more depth than you think he does. They’re all fantastic performers, with great pop vocals running all over the place. As the bois’ sta

The latest piece from Emily Ayoub and Madeline Baghurst’s Clockfire Theatre Co, Ruins أطلال is a timely 45-minute adventure from Australia to Lebanon, both physical and metaphorical.  Amelia (Ayoub) and her father, Joe (Tony Poli), are planning a trip to their ancestral home, the ancient city of Baalbek in Lebanon's Beqaa Valley. But before they can go on their trip, Joe suddenly passes away. Grief-stricken, Amelia decides to take the trip without him. What follows is a dreamy series of images and a meditation on ancestry, legacy, migration, and what it means to return to a place that you don’t remember. The characters in the piece are creatively rendered – Amelia’s daughter appears only through voiceover; an onstage flautist (alternately Jessica Scott and Gianna Cheung) becomes the winds and sands of time; and an ensemble of three (Baghurst with Adam Al Kuheli and Piumu Wijesundara) takes many shapes, from both the mortal realm and beyond. Throughout the piece, Joe appears as a ghostly presence, and his little “asides” to the story bring great emotional depth.  Theatrical imagery is one of Clockfire’s strengths (their Sydney Fringe hit Plenty of Fish in the Sea comes to mind) and the minimalist use of props to create winding hallways, an archeological dig, and a hotel lobby among other things, is impressive. The issues brought to light in Ruins are heightened by the fact that, at the same time as this debut season, Baalbek is under fire by the Israeli military (and this is n

Ah, the Titanic. An unsinkable cultural icon, the “Ship of Dreams” has appeared in almost as many movies and stage productions as the songs of Canada’s queen of the power ballad, Céline Dion. It’s even got a two-and-a-half-hour (surprisingly serious) movie musical adaptation based on Maury Yeston’s Titanic: the Musical. Although, none can hold a candle to the cultural impact of James Cameron’s 1997 blockbuster – you know, the one with Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio. So, with nostalgia being such hot property right now, it was only a matter of time before we got the camp-as-hell musical fantasia-made-for-and-by-the-gays that is Titanique. Created by Marla Mindelle (who originated the role of Céline Dion – well, as imagined in this show), Constantine Rousouli (who originated the role of Jack) and director Tye Blue (whose countless industry credits include working on the casting team of RuPaul’s Drag Race), Titanique is revisionist history at its best. Loaded with Céline Dion’s greatest bangers, it casts Queen Dion herself (played so wonderfully by cabaret legend Marney McQueen here in Aus) as the narrator of the tragic tale, who continuously places herself at the center of the action – quite literally – much to Jack and Rose’s repeated dismay. It brings the campness of the film to the front, with Stephen Anderson (Mary Poppins) playing Rose’s awful mother Ruth (complete with a bird’s nest headpiece), and Abu Kebe (Choirboy) playing a brilliant, tear-jerking drag parody of T

Have you ever loved something so much that you thought you might have magical powers because of it? Audrey, the 11-year-old star of All the Fraudulent Horse Girls, has. She loves horses so much she can telepathically communicate with every other horse girl in the world. So of course, she loves the Saddle Club, and of course, she’d do anything to get a horse and make a friend who loves horses just like her. Michael Louis Kennedy lovingly writes Audrey’s (true-ish) story with a wicked sense of humour, dragging you along with her fast-paced monologuing and childish sidebars. Audrey takes three different forms: played in turn by Shirong Wu (White Pearl), Janet Anderson (winner of Best Performance in a Play in our recent Time Out Arts and Culture Awards), and Caitlin A. Kearney. Director Jess Arthur (The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, The Dictionary of Lost Words) places all the Audreys all over the stage, having various characters run and peek out of the stage curtains with the speed and inaccuracy of all your favourite ten- to 12-year-olds. All her forms are equally quirky and hilarious, and Wu’s embodiment of an 11-year-old weirdo is an absolute hoot, all the way down to her frantic hand gestures. Each performer brings a great sense of pace to Kennedy’s words, carrying simple, detailed props to suggest different characters and moods.  Set and costumes by Paris Bell (The Other End of the Afternoon and Chimerica at the New Theatre) are similarly simple and effective: the stage is black

There’s nothing more haunting than a pair of Victorian children singing a nursery rhyme and chanting “chase me, chase me”. Except, perhaps, a pair of opera-singing Victorian children with a cadaverously pale tenor dressed in black, creepily lurking behind them. Craig Baldwin (Consent, John and The Flick for Outhouse Theatre Co) directs a cast of up-and-coming opera stars in this haunting in the form of Benjamin Britten’s classic chamber opera, The Turn of the Screw – the first of its kind to be presented at Sydney’s home of weird and wonderful musical stories, the Hayes Theatre. Based on the gothic novella of the same name by Henry James, Britten’s opera has six performers singing in English, accompanied by eerie strings and a celesta. Britten’s long-time librettist Myfanway Piper, writes the characters with humour and horror, an uncanny  match for the dissonance of his compositions. This production has a substantial sense of the dramatic potential in opera, with great moments of theatrical imagery and musical prowess. Music director and pianist Francis Greep shrinks the full chamber orchestra down to a piano and a keyboard, placing them on the stage alongside the singers and other moving pieces. Emma Vine’s set design constantly shifts, with roaming platforms that click into place when maneuvered by children and ghosts, and various props that suggest someone or something lurking in the background. A model of Bly Manor (the grand yet isolated home where the story takes place)

Our favourite places from our childhoods, just like the movies or books that we loved when we were little, often aren’t the same when we return to them. Sometimes it’s the place that has changed – but most of the time, we are what’s different. We might be more grown up, more sensitive, perhaps we are more at home in the qualities that set us apart from others – but all the while, we’re still searching for that inner little kid who just loved something wholeheartedly. For E, that thing is swimming.  Mununjali Yugambeh poet Ellen van Neerven’s debut work for the stage, swim, follows our protagonist (played by Baad Yawuru actor Dani Sib) as they return to the public pool after a long time away. The change room, the act of undressing, and the journey to the water are all obstacles that E must navigate – and as a genderfluid Blak person, the simple practice of going for a swim is a fraught, anxiety-inducing experience.  With its meditative visuals and some shining moments, it is well worth diving in... E’s story is delivered through repetitive, rhythmic phrases. It’s a slow, meditative form of speaking that is most effective when accompanied by bursts of theatrical imagery. Samuel James’ vivid video design brings an otherworldly tone to Romanie Harper’s set design – a large cross-section of a pale tiled pool, much like the council pool you’d find down the road in most small Aussie towns. The action takes place above and below the water, linked by a metal ladder. Alongside Brendon

Being young, intelligent and career-driven can get pretty weird. You work incredibly hard all of your life to ace the exams, win the competitions, gain a spot at the big university, land the internships, and get the job at the prestigious firm (law, consulting, finance – take your pick). Then all of a sudden, you might find yourself at the “top” – and then, you’ll probably find that the top is actually just as awful as the climb to get there. Australian playwright Anchuli Felicia King (The Poison of Polygamy, White Pearl) peers into the murky ethics and empty promises of the corporate world in her latest piece of writing for Sydney Theatre Company. A solo-performer show, American Signs follows an unnamed “Consultant” (Catherine Văn-Davies – Constellations) – she is a young, intelligent and precocious Vietnamese-American woman who has grinded her way to the “top”. Her version of the top is a prestigious management consulting firm – but when she gets there, she finds herself perpetually on the bench. That is, until a handsome, married consultant brings her onto a project at an industrial lighting factory in Ohio. A series of realisations ensues, as it dawns on our protagonist that consulting isn’t all as glamorous as it’s cracked up to be. While King’s writing is a scathing account of the American consulting industry, it is also somewhat forgiving of the Consultant’s choices, endlessly testing the audience’s sympathies.  Anchuli Felicia King wrote this play specifically with Ca

I first saw playwright Grace Chapple’s Never Closer in 2022, as part of the indie program in Belvoir St Theatre's’s tiny 80-seat Downstairs Theatre. That production made a huge impression on me – filled with heavy silence, ragged sobs, soaring laughter, dancing, drinking, and all the wonderful and terrible things that come with knowing and loving a group of friends for most of your life. All of this “acutely emotive” drama is made more profound by the play’s setting, with the violence and political turmoil of Northern Ireland between 1977 and 1987 unfolding in the background. The same ensemble of actors from 2022, directed by Hannah Goodwin, have graduated to the mainstage this year, making their debut in Belvoir’s 372-seat Upstairs Theatre. The result is somewhat less intense than the original production, but it is still a well-written portrait of the importance of connection and care in the face of terror. Chapple writes about a group of friends who’ve grown up together in a tiny town. Deirdre (Emma Diaz) is stubbornly rooted there, and her friends Jimmy (Raj Labade), Niamh (Mabel Li), Mary (Ariadne Sgouros) and Conor (Adam Sollis) are all struggling with living in a place filled with bombings, death and turmoil. We begin at Christmas, 1977, and Niamh is leaving for London. The opening scenes are slightly shorter than the first iteration, but they still do the important work of setting up the sometimes difficult closeness between all of the characters. Then we jump forward

The latest treat of the Old Fitz Theatre’s new Late Night program of subterranean pub theatre comes in the darkly comedic form of The Eisteddfod – a weird little world penned by Lally Katz, and brought back to life two decades after its debut by co-directors Miranda Middleton and Jessica Bell, and up-and-coming performers Ziggy Resnick (Feminazi) and Fraser Crane (Dumb Kids). Two orphaned siblings, Abalone and Gerture, live alone. To pass the time, they make up and act out stories. Some of their stories are more realistic than others, but for Abalone, the realest one is about the Eisteddfod – a competition, a goal, and a way to remember their mother through constant rehearsal, rehearsal, rehearsal.  Like many of Katz’s works, The Eisteddfod is threaded with a twisted sense of humour which slowly unravels throughout the piece, sometimes pushing into uncomfortable places. Resnick’s Abalone and Crane’s Gerture revel in the light and shade of the writing – playing off each other’s silliness and sadness with dexterity and obvious delight. As part of the creative team’s unconventional process, the two performers experimented with both roles before they were cast. By scrapping expected gender norms, the actors are allowed the freedom to inhabit the characters they each feel more authentically aligned with, which brings a juicy extra layer to their performances.  The performance takes place on the set of Sport for Jove’s Isolde & Tristan (currently playing the Fitz's early show slot)

What’s in a name? Quite a lot, if you’re the first named character in the title of a play. Particularly when almost every other legend written about you has you named second, or not at all. This is the plight of Isolde, an Irish princess, star of many stories, but most notably Wagner’s influential opera Tristan und Isolde. Her legend is centuries old, one of the most famous involving a love potion – and now, Sport for Jove brings it to the beloved basement stage at the Old Fitz Theatre in the form of a play written (and crucially, named Isolde and Tristan) by German playwright Esther Vilar, and translated by Udo Borgert and Laura Ginters. The original legend features Tristan, a prince of Cornwall, and Isolde, the princess of Ireland, whose countries are at war. After Tristan defeats the Irish giant Morholt (the Irish King’s brother-in-law) he is tasked with traveling to Ireland to bring Isolde back to marry his uncle, the King of Cornwall. However on the journey, Tristan and Isolde fall madly into forbidden love, thanks to a love potion. Deception, punishment, and death ensue.  Vilar’s play not only switches the names, but also some of the details, and turns the legend from a sweeping and dramatic warning against being “consumed” by love into something pointier, and more complex. It’s certainly not your regular medieval romance, or even your regular opera… clever, biting, and appropriately eerie. Damien Ryan (Artistic Director of Sport for Jove) directs this production, setti

Josh Cake could be a couple of things: a man, a brown person, an Australian. Too bad all those labels are scams. But Big Josh (who’ll take any pronoun you give them) loves to win – and they’re definitely onto a winner with her tight 50-minute musical comedy about just how scammy the world really is. First, Cake gaslights you into believing there are magical mountains and wind, with the help of their tinkling electric piano. Then, he delightfully sets out the rules for the show: you’ve paid for her to make jokes for an hour, so it’s not your turn to talk. This clarity is a nice touch for those of us who forget the rules sometimes (whether we mean to or not). Cake makes accessibility a priority, and incorporates it into the show without drawing too much attention to it: a visual tour of the space becomes a delightful interlude between songs, and warnings are calmly, clearly given before a potentially traumatic story is told. Cake is a warm, inclusive storyteller, with a great sense of pacing that makes the 50 minutes fly by. They have a gentle, encouraging, demeanour that made a small audience interact and giggle like they were in a room full of people. It’s no mean feat to bring this much warmth into a tiny room – and Josh’s sometimes dark but always appropriate sense of humour, and ability to read people, makes it seem like a breeze. I won’t spoil the conclusion for you, but the well-drawn arc from gender, nationality, race and violence is also particularly satisfying in Gen