State Opera South Australia. Her Majesty’s Theatre. 17 Oct 2026
Few operas have the popular appeal of Georges Bizet’s Carmen. Its instantly recognisable melodies, larger-than-life characters and story of desire, jealousy and fatal obsession have captivated audiences since its premiere in 1875. For State Opera South Australia, presenting this perennial favourite in its fiftieth anniversary year is an opportunity to celebrate both the enduring appeal of opera and the company’s place in the state’s cultural life.
Director Laura Hansford makes a point of presenting the opera as written, in 1820s Seville, without attempting to impose a contemporary setting on a story firmly rooted in its own time and place. Modernisations can be illuminating, but they can also fall foul of the libretto, producing anachronisms and cringe-worthy moments when words and actions no longer make sense in their new surroundings. Happily, there is none of that here. Nevertheless, Charlotte Kelso’s Carmen has a distinctly modern sensibility: a woman determined to control her own destiny rather than submit to the authority of men.
The production’s physical environment is a more mixed success. In his customary words of welcome from the stage, Artistic Director Dan Lam drew attention to the use of materials and items recycled from previous productions. The commitment to sustainability is admirable, but the resulting set is less evocative of Seville than the story requires. High walls and narrow alleyways dominate the stage, creating a somewhat static environment that restricts movement and occasionally limits the development of character through physical interaction.
A large red-petalled bloom dominates the set. Seville is famous for its white-blossomed bitter orange trees, while violet jacarandas are also familiar features of the city. Fiery crimson blossoms are less characteristic. Perhaps the image suggests a pomegranate tree, whose sensuous fruit would be an apt symbol for an opera preoccupied with desire and temptation. Whatever its identity, the red effectively evokes the passion that should simmer beneath the surface of Carmen.
Movement is another area in which the staging could have achieved more. The fight coach deserves considerable credit: the fight scenes are superbly executed, convincing and sharply timed. Dance, however, is integral to Carmen, helping establish atmosphere and reveal character. The dance sequences here are comparatively lacklustre. They remain acceptable, but lack the infectious energy and sensual excitement that might have made them memorable.
Fortunately, the vocal performances provide a consistently strong foundation. The principal singers are excellent without exception, bringing the vocal resources and acting skills needed to sustain Bizet’s demanding music. Kelso’s fine soprano voice ‘bottomed-out’ in one of Carmen’s more fiery passages, but her dramatic conviction remains intact. Her interpretation emphasises independence and defiance, although the sexual tension and romantic chemistry in Carmen’s relationships are sometimes cooler and more reserved than the drama suggests.
Kelso makes a strong impression in the famous Habanera, “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle”, where the playful rhythms and seductive melody demand both vocal control and an effortless sense of character. Gerard Schneider’s Don José provides a compelling contrast. His performance captures the soldier’s transformation into a man consumed by obsession, particularly in the lyrical Flower Song, “La fleur que tu m’avais jetée”, which requires sustained phrasing and genuine emotional vulnerability.
As Escamillo, Samuel Dale Johnson brings authority and theatrical confidence to the celebrated Toreador Song. He was superb, as was Désirée Frahn who offers welcome sincerity as Micaëla, while Cathy-Di Zhang never fails to please as Frasquita, particularly in the ensemble passages. Across these roles, the singers demonstrate the vocal technique, expressive range and dramatic understanding required to make their characters convincing.
One of the production’s outstanding strengths is the clarity of the French diction. The principal singers and chorus articulate the libretto superbly. For audience members with some knowledge of French, the words are readily intelligible without slavishly following the surtitles. This is particularly valuable in an opera where teasing exchanges, declarations of love and confrontations are central to the drama.
The State Opera Chorus is once again superb. The harmonies are cleanly balanced, the diction precise, and the acting consistently engaging. The chorus functions as far more than a musical backdrop: throughout the crowd scenes, individual performers react convincingly to the action around them. Wherever one looks, there is a gesture, glance or moment of curiosity that brings the stage to life. The familiar choruses and ensembles benefit greatly from this collective energy.
The Adelaide Symphony Orchestra performs well under Lam’s baton. Bizet’s score is rich in colour, rhythm and memorable melody, and the orchestra provides a responsive partner for the singers. Lam draws an interesting distinction between the men’s music, often grounded in measured rhythms, and the women’s arias, with their driving momentum and more exotic harmonic colours. This contrast reflects the opera’s sharply drawn gender roles: the men seek order and possession, while Carmen’s musical world suggests movement, unpredictability and freedom.
The audience clearly revels in Bizet’s familiar tunes. Indeed, several patrons in the front row become so caught up in the proceedings that their enthusiasm suggests a rock-concert mosh pit rather than a night at the opera. There is something heartening about this. Opera need not be a solemn ritual enjoyed only by the initiated. If familiar music can draw audiences into the theatre and inspire such uninhibited responses, the art form is doing something right. Keeping audiences engaged and returning to live performance matters enormously.
There is a further reason to welcome this production. It is largely a South Australian undertaking, with most of the creative team and cast having strong local connections. This demonstrates that opera here exists within a vital artistic ecosystem, supported by performers, musicians and production personnel capable of working together at a high level. As the fifth production of State Opera’s fiftieth anniversary year, Carmen is a remarkable achievement and a testament to the strength of the company’s current leadership and artistic team.
Ultimately, this Carmen has much to commend it, even if it doesn’t quite ‘pop’. The singing is consistently strong, the chorus is a delight, the orchestra brings colour and vitality to the score, and the decision to respect the original setting avoids the pitfalls of unnecessary modernisation. Kelso offers an interesting interpretation of Carmen as a woman determined to remain master of her own fate, while the clarity of the French and the quality of the ensemble work deserve particular praise.
Kym Clayton
When: 17 to 24 Oct
Where: Her Majesty's Theatre
Bookings: premier.ticketek.com.au
Famous Last Words. Slingsby’s Hall of Possibility. 18 Sep 2026
Henrik Ibsen was a 19th Century theatre rebel who introduced realism into European theatre and mightily shattered norms and expectations in a fashion thoroughly pissing off the establishment.
Social, relationship moral and political norms where challenged.
Enemy of The People is remarkably relevant to 21st Century era of truth bending, self interest wealth building, populism threatening the environment, community safety, among many things. In Adelaide right now, it’s hugely relevant as people wonder is it safe to swim in the sea.
Director/Playwright James Watson has taken the central plot structure of the play, working to bend it into something where the audience has an involvement. A town has an expensive Spa operating. An economic boon. But local Doctor Thomas Stockman’s (James Starbuck) been doing qualitative testing and discovered not all looks very healthy.
To expose it or not?
When your sister Martha (Kate Owen) is Mayor and politically invested in it, with property developer Alice Aslaksen (Bonet Fimeri) hovering nervously about looking for an in angle favouring her?
What ensues is a battle royal between family members, media friends. Moral certainty is pressured by amoral financial interest and shifting priorities as Thomas produces a damaging report, engages Journalist Hannah Hovstad (Virginia Blackwell) to get it to the public.
It’s a snappy, fast moving, vicious little production. Watson stages it in the round, with cast taking seats at stage corners when not on, ensuring the drama really flares both on entrance and exit.
At times, it seems the level each scene plays at is static. That improves later in the work.
Yet each character’s psychological journey towards amoral compliance, self interest alongside impending martyrdom for Thomas, is deftly and despairingly developed. Most sad of all, is Thomas’ wife Kate (Emelia Williams.) Most shocking, Kate’s brother Morten Keel (Eliza Barnes.)
Steven Durey’s Lighting is raw and powerful, utilising light banks at all corners of the stage. Even house lights have their dramatic place.
Audience involvement in this space and as it’s done is somewhat problematic. The democracy in action, community hall intent is clear. In a small audience space, it doesn’t have the impact it could have, needing some more consideration of how it’s built into its ultimate purpose, crucifying Thomas personally and professionally as an enemy of the people.
Nonetheless, Enemy of The People does its job of successfully engaging and stimulating thinking about how the modern world is functioning for the worst, one in which the community is not really invited to offer solutions.
David O’Brien
Where: Slingsby’s Hall of Possibility
When: 17 - 26 September
Bookings: events.humanitix.com
Adelaide Repertory Theatre. 10 Sep 2026
Director Peter Goers’ production of Neil Simon’s The Sunshine Boys pays homage to Simon’s genius capacity for finely developed character relationships and deft hand with comic dialogue.
Director Goers has gone not for replicating an era but rediscovering a depth in humour and founding the entire production on that premises, timing as it demands.
So, no way is this work a museum piece. It is delivered by its leads Rob Cusenza as Willie Clark and Robin ‘Smacka’ Schmelzkopf as Al Lewis with great freshness, with a nod to the vaudeville and early TV variety show era these characters originate.
These old, famous reprobates lost to time, relevance and total obscurity—not to mention a volatile break in their 43-year career—are offered a miraculous comeback opportunity.
Will they take it?
That’s the core to this deeply engrossing two act journey of ancient friends become rivals sorting things out. Willie’s bitterness is pit against Al’s betrayal. Al’s distaste for Willie’s bossiness and intense focus on professionalism discourages further engagement.
Cusenza’s Willie is a lost, pyjama clad clown living near skin of his teeth and memories, desperate for each week’s edition of showbiz bible, Variety.
Director Peter Goers’ set perfectly gives us a threadbare two room suite Willie lives in.
Upstage back wall features a stunning projection, a performer view perspective on a lush vaudeville theatre, seats filled with an audience. Willie’s everlasting dream.
Aged, but vital in motion and wit, Willie is an eternal fighter.
Al is a total contrast. Fine hat, suit and cane. Very slow in motion. He wears age with the barest acceptance, and comic dignity.
This magnificent mix of physical comedy, exquisite timing and respect for the era of the dialogue evinces a captivating performance in which a battle of wills plays out with plenty of twists and turns. Cusenza and Schmelzkopf are renowned Adelaide comic actors. This work fits them like a glove. Their comic business is perfection. They revel in it. Their characterisations solid and deeply true. They own hearts with ease.
Supporting cast are first class. Tom Tassone as Willie’s nephew/agent evinces a weary but strong warmth in his battles managing his Uncle’s life. Lauren Thiel, performing as the classic sexy nurse in the Doctors sketch nails the era expectation of that comic type perfectly. Penni Hamilton Smith as Registered Nurse plays a warm comic line to the character. Stage Manager Johnathon Holds, playing the patient in the sketch, is funny just sitting there.
David O’Brien
When 10 to 19 Sep
Where/ The Arts Theatre
Bookings: artstheatresa.com
Come Back Festival Week 3. Deus Ex Femina // Dead Darling Theatre. 28 Aug 2026
All The Things I Couldn’t Say is an extraordinary mediation on the disconnect in human communication in the age of social media and reality TV.
Writer/Director Katherine Sortini offers a nonlinear series of scenes in one social media platform or another in which human beings misread each other. Avoid each other. Avoid themselves. Mangle big issues. Yet say things they would never normally ever feel free to say.
Performers Rob Wells, Juanita Navas-Nguyen, and Monica Patteson are human faces behind awkward questions. Fierce arguments and enigmatic on-screen text conversations revealing more than we realise about a new behavioural style/grammar of human interaction this century has subtly moulded us to.
Why do you back trace words you type? Why do you rely on acceptable communication tropes? Are you hiding something? Are you lying?
Watching this in action is unsettling. What we think is private, is in fact a universal behaviour.
Then there’s Rob Wells’ superbly placed awkward YouTube character, on ukulele letting the world in his on off pursuit of a paramour amidst a dark moment as a family rides home from church, as well as salacious conversation as two friends embark on viewing Love Island.
The impersonal becomes antiseptically personal. Those loose words, disembodied, hold half their power without a human face.
When there is a face, those couldn’t be said, yet said words, unleash a surprising power to enforce an awkward, unwarranted, unexpected conformity.
All The Things I Couldn’t Say is a work dealing directly with the 21st Century via its own tools; mobile phones, apps and algorithms brought to life on stage. Brilliantly, shockingly, yet engagingly so.
All Grown Up (but not really) well and truly exceeded all expectations.
Never has an audience had so much fun exploring whimsical joys of primary school life as lived in reminiscence by Billie-Rose Russell with lots fab help from Josh Rocca with a focus on the early 2000s.
Is the time period an impediment? Hell no! Sheer auto suggestion instantly brings to mind your own eras primary school days, easily blended into Billie-Rose’s own delightfully drop dead hilarious, big kid, larger than life shenanigans.
Dead Darling Theatre’s production under the eye of Hannah Smith is a brightly coloured, wild, fast paced cabaret style jaunt played in Billie-Rose’s childhood bedroom.
Sure, she’s 24. But not tonight thanks.
It’s this slither of divide between primary school kid and and adult the whole work swings on.
Essentially, it’s Billie-Rose the kidult encouraging the audience to be kidults in a pop culture sweet mix of memory, games, and toys of the era.
Not to mention socialisation side of things.
It’s in tales of Billie-Rose’s own weird and wonky primary school experiences sussing the ‘people thing’ we get a glimpse of the confusion we’ve forgotten in our times. Over being a bit odd or out there. Disasters (that were not, but seemed like it.)
Obsessions over the big must have thing of the day.
It’s quite the achievement, this psychologically savvy work. Taking an audience to places they remember in a passing manner needing a jolt to access something a little deeper. Done in such a delightfully, warm hearted, ferociously joyous way.
David O’Brien
When: 27 to 30 Aug
Where: Goodwood Theatre and Studios
Bookings: Closed
ll The Things I Couldn’t Say // Deus Ex Femina
Come Back Festival Week 3. All Grown Up (but not really) // Dead Darling Theatre. 28 Aug 2026
All The Things I Couldn’t Say is an extraordinary mediation on the disconnect in human communication in the age of social media and reality TV.
Writer/Director Katherine Sortini offers a nonlinear series of scenes in one social media platform or another in which human beings misread each other. Avoid each other. Avoid themselves. Mangle big issues. Yet say things they would never normally ever feel free to say.
Performers Rob Wells, Juanita Navas-Nguyen, and Monica Patteson are human faces behind awkward questions. Fierce arguments and enigmatic on-screen text conversations revealing more than we realise about a new behavioural style/grammar of human interaction this century has subtly moulded us to.
Why do you back trace words you type? Why do you rely on acceptable communication tropes? Are you hiding something? Are you lying?
Watching this in action is unsettling. What we think is private, is in fact a universal behaviour.
Then there’s Rob Wells’ superbly placed awkward YouTube character, on ukulele letting the world in his on off pursuit of a paramour amidst a dark moment as a family rides home from church, as well as salacious conversation as two friends embark on viewing Love Island.
The impersonal becomes antiseptically personal. Those loose words, disembodied, hold half their power without a human face.
When there is a face, those couldn’t be said, yet said words, unleash a surprising power to enforce an awkward, unwarranted, unexpected conformity.
All The Things I Couldn’t Say is a work dealing directly with the 21st Century via its own tools; mobile phones, apps and algorithms brought to life on stage. Brilliantly, shockingly, yet engagingly so.
All Grown Up (but not really) well and truly exceeded all expectations.
Never has an audience had so much fun exploring whimsical joys of primary school life as lived in reminiscence by Billie-Rose Russell with lots fab help from Josh Rocca with a focus on the early 2000s.
Is the time period an impediment? Hell no! Sheer auto suggestion instantly brings to mind your own eras primary school days, easily blended into Billie-Rose’s own delightfully drop dead hilarious, big kid, larger than life shenanigans.
Dead Darling Theatre’s production under the eye of Hannah Smith is a brightly coloured, wild, fast paced cabaret style jaunt played in Billie-Rose’s childhood bedroom.
Sure, she’s 24. But not tonight thanks.
It’s this slither of divide between primary school kid and and adult the whole work swings on.
Essentially, it’s Billie-Rose the kidult encouraging the audience to be kidults in a pop culture sweet mix of memory, games, and toys of the era.
Not to mention socialisation side of things.
It’s in tales of Billie-Rose’s own weird and wonky primary school experiences sussing the ‘people thing’ we get a glimpse of the confusion we’ve forgotten in our times. Over being a bit odd or out there. Disasters (that were not, but seemed like it.)
Obsessions over the big must have thing of the day.
It’s quite the achievement, this psychologically savvy work. Taking an audience to places they remember in a passing manner needing a jolt to access something a little deeper. Done in such a delightfully, warm hearted, ferociously joyous way.
David O’Brien
When: 27 to 30 Aug
Where: Goodwood Theatre and Studios
Bookings: Closed
State Theatre Company South Australia. Dunstan Playhouse. 25 Aug 2026
Melbourne-based playwright Ash Flanders cofounded Sisters Grimm theatre company in 2006. They “created a unique style of queer experimental theatre” with productions at Malthouse, Melbourne Theatre Company, Sydney Theatre Company and Belvoir. Flanders’ career continued as a solo writer/performer, filmmaker, and now in television - check out Dog Park on the ABC. His “black comedy,” Commentary, is one of two works birthed in-residence with the Athenaeum Group.
Commentary is the ninety-minute unravelling of character Nick Atkinson. Nick is an arts lecturer and student teacher at Flinders (lots of local name calling in gratitude for State producing the world premiere, I posit). He made a film twenty years ago, it was forgotten, and the Adelaide Film Festival is resurrecting it. The film was brilliant in Berlin, but toxic in Australia. Why? A whole bunch of characters in Nick’s life each contribute a colourful strand of light—their version of why—that passes through the prism of the play and converges into the glaring white light of, well, what probably happened. And that white light shines on Nick’s head like the glare of a single bulb in the torturer’s chamber.
Flanders has axe to grind about how artists are received in today’s plethora of media. And that of course is commentary. A bot named tasteray.com wrote a whole essay on modern commentary in which it said “even casual viewers now expect more than just a plot summary - they want context, critique and cultural resonance” in a world where a blogger can break you. And here I am, quoting a robot. Some would say it’s the democratisation of opinion. Flanders’ Nick says leave the film making to the filmmaker and just watch the film.
You don’t need to get involved with all this debate about opinion-making to enjoy the play. Under Petra Kalive’s staccato direction with the design team comprising Matilda Woodroofe (Lighting Design), Nic Mollison (Composer), Dan Thorpe (Sound and Video Designer) and Matt Byrne (Video Content), this is a splendid specimen of how modern theatre techniques are creating a wonderfully complex multimedia experience. But let’s start with terrific acting. Kate Cheel is priceless as an Aussie made-good in LA. Her TV prima donna in the makeup room is prime time watching. Gyton Grantley’s Nick was equally appealing, loveable and flawed. Grantley invited us to see his Nick lying to himself and everybody else yet make us feel sorry for him being lied to. Anna Steen and Shardae Santos, like Cheel have multiple roles in which they excel.
The creative team suavely utilise on-stage video techniques that Adelaide audiences first saw in Sydney Theatre’s production of The Picture of Dorian Gray in the 2022 festival.
You see, Nick has a nemesis. He made his film 20 years ago with Hamish who was a drug addict and acknowledged creative genius and who disappeared after the film was made. Nick is the steady hand, the director, the guy who actually got the film made. Hamish is the bad guy, right? Why is everyone bringing him up? We will see. We’ll see what this white light over Nick’s head reveals. Nick is a victim of his own bad karma.
There was one sentence near the very end of the play, spoken under Nick’s breath while in a drunken stupor, that can easily go unnoticed. Suddenly, everything becomes very clear indeed.
I’m never the first one to rise to my feet, but I was amazed that this brilliant world premiere didn’t get a standing ovation on opened night. Playwright Ash Flanders says in his program notes, “Audiences can be vicious.”
Double bravo!
PS if you want to read the whole bot essay here it is: tasteray.com
David Grybowski
When: 21 Aug to 5 Sep
Where: Dunstan Playhouse
Bookings: statetheatrecompany.com.au