Guy Webster

Update Monday, February 23: Adelaide Fringe has officially begun! Our Travel & News Editor, Melissa Woodley, hit opening weekend to scout the very best new shows lighting up stages this year. In this round-up, she's also included her standout favourites from the past two seasons that are well worth seeing. Among South Australia's many eclectic and exciting events, Adelaide Fringe stands proudly as the biggest festival of the calendar year, not to mention the largest arts festival in the Southern Hemisphere. Running from February 20 to March 22, the 2026 program features more than 8,000 global artists performing in an impressive 1,500-plus shows. Spanning across 500 venues from Whyalla across the state to Naracoorte and beyond, you can expect an incredible mix of cabaret, theatre, comedy, circus, music, visual arts, workshops and interactive experiences.  As always, The Garden of Unearthly Delights and Gluttony will transform Adelaide’s eastern parklands into buzzing hubs full of food, music and eclectic energy. Crowd favourites from 2025, including La Ronde and The LadyBoys of Bangkok, will also return for an extended season, while 2026 brings hundreds of new shows to discover. Lucky for you, we’ve found all the best shows to book at Adelaide Fringe. Editor’s favourite Adelaide Fringe shows: 🎪 Best all-round: La Ronde 😱 Best circus: Ten Thousand Hours 🕺 Best music: History of House: Greatest Hits 🔮 Best food and drink: Maho Magic Bar 🪐 Best family-friendly: Immersive Wo

The beloved Melbourne International Comedy Festival is well and truly in full swing, with more than 680 shows lighting up venues across the city. Phew, our abs are hurting already! With so many comedians to see and not enough time, we have sent out a batch of reviewers to dig deep and suss out the best of the fest this year. Whether it's a weird and wonderful show, a national treasure or a rising star, check out our reviews and see what tickles your fancy.  Want to review the show over a drink? Check out the best late-night bars in Melbourne.  

After winning the Critics’ Choice Best Play at the 2025 Time Out Melbourne Arts & Culture Awards, 'Heartbreak Hotel' is returning to Melbourne for a strictly limited time from July 14-19 at Arts Centre Melbourne’s Fairfax Studio. Created by New Zealand theatre company EBKM and directed by Eleanor Bishop, the acclaimed production follows one woman’s journey through heartbreak with humour, honesty and an awesome soundtrack of break-up hits. Performed by Karin McCracken and Simon Leary, the 75-minute show blends memoir, science and music to explore what really happens to our bodies and minds when relationships fall apart. From synth-backed anthems to sharp observations on love, loss and modern dating, 'Heartbreak Hotel' moves between comedy, realism and surreal moments – including a whirlwind through Berlin’s club scene. Following sold-out performances at Rising and international tours through Edinburgh, London, Toronto and New York, this heartfelt and hilarious production returns to Melbourne for one final week. Find out more and book tickets for here. Read our five-star review of 'Heartbreak Hotel' from June 2025. *** There’s the sound of gentle sobbing in the audience when Karin McCracken gets her tax return during Heartbreak Hotel. Sitting there, also gently sobbing, I tried to remember who it was that said "There are two certainties in this world: death and taxes". I also wondered if heartbreak should be included as a third certainty, or if 'death' was close enough. It tak

It’s a play considered to be one of the greatest of all time, and after undergoing a show-stopping run in 2023 and 2024, it (and its award-winning star Anthony LaPaglia) are returning to Melbourne once more. Running from August 11 until August 22, 2026, Arthur Miller’s inimitable Death of a Salesman will be staged at Her Majesty’s Theatre for a limited Melbourne run that you don't want to miss.  First performed in 1949, the Pulitzer Prize-winning production explores the promises and pitfalls of the American Dream. The two-act tragedy is told through a montage of memories, confrontations, arguments and dreams of protagonist Willy Loman who tries to navigate what it means to be successful in post-war America. The show runs for about three hours, and generally starts at 7pm on weekdays, with one 2pm performance on Saturdays.  For more info and to secure your tickets, head to the website.   Read on for our five-star review of Death of a Salesman from 2023. *** The curtains of Her Majesty’s Theatre open on Neil Armfield’s magnificent production of Arthur Miller’s Death of A Salesman to reveal a towering grandstand; rusted and weather-stained, ‘Ebbets Field’ printed across the top of its commentary box. All but one of the 14-strong cast are sitting on the bleachers, waiting. "Willy?", Linda Loman asks as her husband limps on stage holding two suitcases. It’s one of the most recognizable images of 20th-century theatre, and it’s keenly watched by the entire ensemble. Miller’s Pulitze

Bernie Dieter and her band of legendary misfits have returned to Melbourne once again, to deliver a serving of debaucherous fun and frivolity. Bernie Dieter’s Club Kabarett, starring the legendary queen of Weimar punk described as an "electrifying cross between Lady Gaga, Marlene Dietrich and Frank-N-Futer in sequins", has taken over North Melbourne's historic Meat Market until May 24. Audiences can expect riotous original songs, immense vocal talent and a jaw-dropping line-up of contortionists, sword swallowers, fire breathers and aerialists. For more info and to secure your tickets, head to the website. Read on for our five-star review of Bernie Dieter’s Club Kabarett from the 2022 Melbourne Fringe Festival. *** It’s easy to see why Dieter’s award-winning show has garnered such esteem since touching down in Australia earlier this year. Less than two minutes in and our M.C., Bernie has thrown off her tartan dress to reveal glittery tights and feather-tipped shoulder pads. Soon after, she’s straddling an audience member and enlisting the help of two others – lovingly named ‘Shaven Haven’ and ‘Silver Fox’ – to carry her back to the stage in the splits. The fourth wall is not so much brought down, as elegantly side-stepped by her sky-high stiletto heel. All the while, Bernie’s quick-wit and dirty mouth find comedic beats in the unlikeliest – or, as it were, the most unwilling – of audience members. "Tonight is about letting loose, letting go, and getting a little bit more int

Ed's Note: Hailed by Rolling Stone as “the best rock musical ever”, Hedwig and the Angry Inch is on now at Sydney’s Carriageworks (you can buy tickets over here). Time Out critic Guy Webster reviewed the production last month when it was on at Melbourne's Athenaeum Theatre. Read on for his five-star review... ***** Imagine The Rocky Horror Picture Show’s Frank-N-Furter raised in the American Midwest by Vivienne Westwood. Or Debbie Harry, if she grew up in a queer bathhouse in East Berlin. That’s Hedwig Schmidt: the glam-rock heart of Stephen Trask and John Cameron Mitchell’s Hedwig and the Angry Inch, brought to spectacular life in the first Aussie revival since 2006. You have to picture this show as it began – in a sweaty basement club called the SqueezeBox during New York’s punk scene in 1994. This was a place where a house band performed rock tunes called “the music of gay bashers”, and punters put on messy drag to kick, scream and vamp on stage beside them. Hedwig was born out of this energy; a combination of cigarette ash, anarchism and smut inspired by Cameron Mitchell’s life in Berlin and Kansas and soundtracked by Trask’s work with the SqueezeBox band. It’s the closest I’ve come to calling a musical ‘punk’ without rolling my eyes. With its taboo-flouting lead and the unbridled chaos of its style, it is still as genuinely transgressive as it was thirty years ago. This production succeeds by replicating the intimacy and anger that created the show in the first place. We

Imagine The Rocky Horror Picture Show’s Frank-N-Furter raised in the American Midwest by Vivienne Westwood. Or Debbie Harry, if she grew up in a queer bathhouse in East Berlin. That’s Hedwig Schmidt: the glam-rock heart of Stephen Trask and John Cameron Mitchell’s Hedwig and the Angry Inch, brought to spectacular life in the first Aussie revival since 2006. You have to picture this show as it began – in a sweaty basement club called the SqueezeBox during New York’s punk scene in 1994. This was a place where a house band performed rock tunes called “the music of gay bashers”, and punters put on messy drag to kick, scream and vamp on stage beside them. Hedwig was born out of this energy; a combination of cigarette ash, anarchism and smut inspired by Cameron Mitchell’s life in Berlin and Kansas and soundtracked by Trask’s work with the SqueezeBox band. It’s the closest I’ve come to calling a musical ‘punk’ without rolling my eyes. With its taboo-flouting lead and the unbridled chaos of its style, it is still as genuinely transgressive as it was thirty years ago.  This production succeeds by replicating the intimacy and anger that created the show in the first place. We’re somewhere in the Midwest waiting for Hedwig to start a 90-minute cabaret performance accompanied by her band, the Inch. The set (by Jeremy Allen) evokes an industrial warehouse and a dive-bar in one: think a simple circular rise centre stage with a staircase at the back furnished with cooly metallic scaffolds a

Hold on to your alibis, dear readers. Hot on the heels of the recent national tour of The Mousetrap, another classic from Agatha Christie’s playbook of murder mystery mayhem lands on the stage at Sydney’s Theatre Royal.  *** Time Out Melbourne reviewed And Then There Were None when it played at the Comedy Theatre in February. Read on for that three-star review:   Somewhere off the coast of Devon is a dreary little island with high cliffs, higher tides and no way to escape. It’s Soldier Island: a lovely place to put your feet up, take a dip, meet nine strangers and watch as you all get slowly picked off one-by-one. This is the wickedly thrilling premise of Agatha Christie’s 1939 classic And Then There Were None. A favourite among Christie fans (and Christie herself), it arrives in a production that once again proves that the master of the whodunnit can still thrill us nearly 100 years on. Yet, this revival from director Robyn Nevin – her second of Christie’s following 2023’s The Mousetrap – rests on the laurels of its author too often, offering a passable but ultimately thin restaging that I think might signal the end of the recent resurgence of British classics in our theatres. It’s 1939. Ten people have been invited to Soldier Island under suspicious pretences. They have little in common apart from the skeletons in their closets. For much of the show’s bloated first act, we’re watching this motley crew of potential victims introduce themselves to each other. Christie is fam

In 1984, director Trevor Nunn was doing press for Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Starlight Express when he offered the perfect maxim for a Webber fan: “Here is my money. Hit me with the experience.” Arguably none of Webber’s shows have hit harder than his 1971 rock-opera, Jesus Christ Superstar, which arrives at Melbourne’s Princess Theatre after a much-lauded run in Sydney. First revived at London’s Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre in 2016 for the show’s fiftieth anniversary, it’s been restaged in Australia by director Timothy Sheader. Sheader favours a ‘more is more’ approach, leaning into every ‘Webber-ism’ that made the show a success in the first place: rock'n'roll maximalism, near-inhuman vocal lines, emotional spectacle. No crucifix is too glittery or top note too loud. Megawatt vocals and an electric ensemble cast make it a cut above the other Webber revivals we’ve seen in the last couple years. Yet its heavy-handed approach also exposes the limits of spectacle for spectacle’s sake, even when it comes to Webber. It’s a dazzling experience, but ultimately soulless.  The curtain rises on a disassembled rock concert: amps, concert speaker boxes and microphone stands peppered around a set of towering balustrades, exposed steel beams and grating that hide the band. Set and costume Designer Tom Scutt puts us somewhere between Rent’s gritty urbanism and the steampunk simplicity of Hadestown. Meanwhile, lighting designer Lee Curran adds a splash of Mad Max to things by throwing dirty ye

It’s hard to make good political satire on the Left, though it is easy to make fun of us. There’s no lack of good material, or good satirists. But we’re a constantly moving target with an ever-evolving set of terms, concerns and ideas. And we’re also a bit of a sensitive bunch with a tendency toward self-importance. This is the knife Deborah Frances-White gleefully twists in her satirical dramedy Never Have I Ever. In the program notes for this Australian premiere at the Fairfax Studio you’ll read the show described as “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf for the modern age”. But it’s more Edward Albee via the Netflix Original: an entertaining mix of bawdy wit and fine-tuned political takes with splashes of soap opera-style melodrama. Elevated by a high-energy cast and an evocative set, it promises plenty of light-hearted laughs in between clear-eyed insights into the paradoxes of being a modern progressive. The Fairfax Studio has been transformed into Masada, a Turkish restaurant somewhere in London run by Jacq (Katie Robertson), a white bisexual woman who grew up poor and might be one-sixteenth Turkish. These facts are important to the play and the world of identity politics it wades so confidently into. It’s a familiar realm for Frances-White, the Brisbane-born expat whose The Guilty Feminist podcast built a huge following with its brand of wry self-awareness and nuanced encounters with Leftist hypocrisy since it started in 2015. That was ten years ago, when the language of ide

Somewhere off the coast of Devon is a dreary little island with high cliffs, higher tides and no way to escape. It’s Soldier Island: a lovely place to put your feet up, take a dip, meet nine strangers and watch as you all get slowly picked off one by one. This is the wickedly thrilling premise of Agatha Christie’s 1939 classic And Then There Were None. A favourite among Christie fans (and Christie herself), it arrives at the Comedy Theatre in a production that once again proves that the master of the whodunnit can still thrill us nearly 100 years on. Yet this revival from director Robyn Nevin – her second of Christie’s following 2023’s The Mousetrap – rests on the laurels of its author too often, offering a passable but ultimately thin restaging that I think signals the end of the recent resurgence of British classics in our theatres. It’s 1939. Ten people have been invited to Soldier Island under suspicious pretences. They have little in common apart from the skeletons in their closets. For much of the show’s bloated first act we’re watching this motley crew of potential victims introduce themselves to each other. Christie is famous for her ability to construct a complete impression of a person in one short phrase. But here, these characters have a tendency to over explain themselves, and it can get a bit tedious. You can feel Nevin trying to amplify comedic beats or attempt more creative blocking to avoid this exposition-heavy first half from getting too stale. For this, sh

Depending on who you ask, Evan Hansen, the neurotic heart of Benj Pasek and Justin Paul’s 2015 smash-hit musical Dear Evan Hansen, is either a manipulative megalomaniac or a stumbling spokesperson for mental health with the edgy appeal of an anti-hero. Following nine years as the go-to for theatre kids looking for an easy Halloween costume – chuck on a blue-striped polo and an arm cast – the divisive teen arrives at Melbourne’s Arts Centre in a beautiful production of an imperfect show. A stellar cast backed by creative technical design lands every tear-jerking ballad and pop-rock anthem with a skill sure to both thrill long-time fans and convert newcomers. But the elephant in the room is Evan (Beau Woodbridge), or rather it’s the show’s tonal problem that he represents. It’s a macabre story. Evan is that brand of socially anxious and self-deprecating anyone who grew up on Tumblr will immediately recognise. On the first day of his senior year he has an affirming letter he wrote to himself at the direction of his therapist stolen by resident high school loner with an incel vibe, Connor Murphy (Harry Targett). When Connor takes his own life soon after, the letter is found in his pocket, leading his family to believe that Evan was his friend. Cornered by the grief-stricken Murphys and craving connection, Evan leans into the lie. It's all very morally dubious, and the show works best when it leans into the darker, more cynical themes raised by Evan’s deceit. ‘Sincerely, Me’, a sh

This dazzling production of Yentl opens with a command: “Once you say ‘A’, you must say ‘B’”. It’s not said by our eponymous lead (the effervescent Amy Hack as Yentl), but maybe it should be. They are the bookish one, after all. Forbidden to study the Talmud as a woman, they’ve spent years prying the occasional theology lesson out of their father and reading the Torah on the sly. They know the near-divine power of language more than most; the way it obliges us to participate in it to understand and express ourselves, to worship, or to love.  The Yentl we encounter in this mystical adaptation at Sydney Opera House from Kadmiah Yiddish Theatre (presented with Monstrous Theatre and Neil Gooding Productions) seeks out a new language, or rather finds something new in an old language; a way of understanding Jewishness and Jewish womanhood that embraces the liminal, the inexpressible, and the ancient. And they begin by giving themselves a new name, a male name that will allow them to become a scholar of the Talmud: Anshl.  What they’ve accomplished is nothing short of magic – an explicitly queer retelling of a story made famous by a Barbara Streisand-led 1983 film Rather than overstate the novelty of these ideas, co-writers Gary Abrahams, Elise Esther Hearst and Galit Klas show just how deeply rooted they already are in Jewish lore, theology and myth. What they’ve accomplished is nothing short of magic – an explicitly queer retelling of a story made famous by a Barbara Streisand-le

Early on in Martyna Majok’s quietly devastating and Pulitzer Prize-winning Cost Of Living, a character stands on the threshold of a small apartment in New Jersey to offer his ex-wife some unsolicited advice. After his wife Ani (Rachel Edmonds) was paralysed in an accident, Eddie (Aaron Pedersen) quickly left her. But here he is in an open-buttoned flannel to tell her one way she might recover some feeling in her body – by listening to music. Ani, never one to shy away from calling Eddie a prick, tears him a new one, thank god. But eventually she concedes that there is some truth to his advice. “You listen,” she says, tapping her finger on the toggle of her motorised wheelchair like she’s playing piano, “and… your body tries to imitate the… sense for the things it’s missing. The broken things. The shit that’s disconnected. And it tries to bring everything back together.” It’s as good a metaphor as any for Majok’s show, which arrives in Melbourne after much-lauded seasons in Brisbane and Sydney. This is a work about connection: what we do to seek it out and why we might deny it. Brought to the Sumner Theatre by director Anthea Williams, it’s a challenging and life-affirming watch, both expertly acted and beautifully rendered. The play’s two-hour run time is split between two storylines. There’s Eddie and Ani: two exes trying to reconnect while navigating ongoing caregiving and the long-held resentments reserved for the recently separated. And Jess (Mabel Li) and John (Oli Pizze