Adelaide Festival. re:group performance collective. Space Theatre 4 Mar 2026
An 11-year-old girl for whom Werner Herzog is a pinup. It’s an amazing stretch, even when the girl is a passionate amateur documentary maker with high-tech equipment supplied as a guilt gift by her father.
Played by Yuna Ahn, Bub is the daughter of a ceramic artist and a nerdy microbiologist whose marriage, we discover as the play progresses, is fraught by the cruelty of mental illness: mother Penny’s bipolar disorder.
The difficult issue of control and lack of it in childhood is upended nicely by Bub having total control of the production itself. She is provided with two adult actors to embody whatever she wishes, these actors being made very vulnerable by being unrehearsed and changed on every performance.
Opening night in Adelaide featured Hew Parham and James Smith whose bravery in undertaking an unrehearsed commission was matched by their skill at improv and sight reading. Bravo both.
Ahn has been playing the role of Bub for a while which made her clipped delivery surprising in opening scenes. However, as the action developed, this tweenager in overalls gave a performance of profound commitment and it was all very moving.
Since she is but a child, the work safety rules about children working in theatre are iterated and demonstrated and the show has a 6-minute rest break for the young actress through which a delighted audience is treated to sweet biscuits.
There is some very interesting business in the production, various devices to elicit the plot and engage the audience. The actors are on and off camera, sometimes out of sync on the screen. There is a delicious streak of fun and games on the subject of Werner Herzog. There also on opening night were lots of students who got right into it and improv was all over the place. Of course, they may have been primed. Then again, there were roars of hilarity at the description of Herzog’s famous Fitzcarraldo movie, hinting that few could have seen it.
Bub, throughout, is trying to develop her documentary about her mother’s art exhibition and to pin down her elusive mother for an interview. She writes to Herzog about her trials and receives a reply.
The two actors respectfully take direction from Bub and read lines from screens and ipads and paper scripts as they go. Bub’s camera can travel on a dolly track which dominates centre stage and is to feature in a momentary theatrical thrill.
Time hangs heavy in several scenes, perchance reminding us that nothing is easy. Inflating a huge mattress, for instance, is not lively but, in the end of the day it is highly memorable and it makes its point. Similarly, Bub’s directions to cut and repeat scenes are both annoying and effective. Perhaps one could call it “visual didacticism”.
It is a very interesting theatre concept and a very important subject for, indeed, the commonality of mental illness is a vastly underrated phenomenon and a troubling puzzle for children.
The production comes from the re:group performance collective out of NSW, written by Mark Rogers and directed by Solomon Thomas. A series of other well-known Adelaide actors is lined up to step into the unrehearsed roles of Bub’s parents. Good luck to all.
Samela Harris
When: 4 to 8 Mar
Where: Space Theatre
Bookings: ticketek.com.au
★★★★
Adelaide Fringe. By Morgan Rose. Holden Street Theatres The Arch. 3 Mar 2026
As the promo states, “Welcome to the digital rodeo- where desire’s a glitch, purity’s a currency, and everyone’s one bad DM away from an existential crisis.” American born Melbourne playwright, Morgan Rose gifts us a text at once surreal, sexy‑sad, cyber‑savvy and darkly humorous that throws five lost souls into the hellish world of online connection. It’s entirely reflective of a generation who grew up promised the world by the internet only to discover it comes with a heavy cost, lends itself to dopamine addiction and is often a massive let down.
Rose’s writing is darkly funny, observant, and unexpectedly drops emotional gut punches into the mix. The graduating actors of Flinders University Drama Centre, South Australia's well revived actor‑training institution under the deft hand of Renato Mussolino, bring Rose’s caustic commentary to vivid, anxiety‑inducing life. If the standard of performance here is any indication, Australia should brace for an influx of talented young performers.
Ostensibly a recently canned sitcom, Virgins and Cowboys which premiered in 2015 at Melbourne’s Theater Works, rapidly descends into a cocktail of present, past online and material realities and constructs. Sam, a twenty-three-year-old dude stuck in a dead‑end job, meets two women online, both virgins. He embarks on a bizarre self‑assigned mission to “be the one who will be remembered.” Rose uses this uncomfortably hilarious setup to interrogate a demographic spat out the other end of the information age, people in a futile, relentless, painfully human pursuit of happiness. The fact that a ten-year-old play remains so relevant is testimony to the work.
Director Anthony Nicola wrangles chaos into a dynamic, engaging exploration of such empty pursuit. Employing six looming screens, pumping music, and a simple set Nicola layers meaning upon meaning, tension upon tension. Virgins & Cowboys is a poignant, frightening mosaic of digital voyeurism, share‑house vibe, and the surreal limbo between online seduction and actual human interaction.
Tom Spiby’s sound design is magnificently edgy and evocative, sometimes disturbing, always precisely pitched. Monica Patteson’s lighting moves deftly between the looseness of a share house living room to the virtual chat rooms lit like liminal dreamscapes, and an eerie half‑world where digital longing meets real‑world loneliness.
But a show like this is about ensemble, and this ensemble works well.
Emma Gregory’s, Sam, a young man so committed to his misguided crusade to “deflower a virgin” that he teeters disturbingly close to incel territory, is worryingly accurate. I sincerely hope Gregory has never encountered such a man outside the rehearsal room.
Jaxon O’Neill’s, Dale, the pragmatist of the house, is a beautifully constructed performance. His arc rising above Sam only to fall prey to his own romantic entanglement is handled with deep attention to character and dry, affable wit.
Star Thomas, as Steph, is a force. Physical, precise, and playing her scenes with a power that suggests her character could delete a man from her phone and her life without second thought.
Tom Horridge gives Keiran the kind of goofy warmth that evokes Joey from Friends, but with added existential fitness‑bro energy. He’s ridiculous and endearing in equal measure.
And then there’s Anna Symonds as Lane. In full disclosure, as a teacher I observed Symond’s development as an actor over time. Symonds’ work is measured, layered, unpredictable and she easily snaps from comedic lightness to raw emotional truth in an instant. As Lane, a febrile nineteen‑year‑old virgin navigating a world she’s utterly unprepared for, Symonds gives a performance that is as funny as it is desperately sad.
Nicola’s directorial notes remind us that Rose’s text rejects the idea that desire can be neatly packaged, or that gender exists as a stable binary with predictable behaviour. The production embodies an unapologetic, current, dangerous “screw you” to the patriarchy wrapped in neon, humor, and heartbreak.
Adelaide Fringe seasons are often dominated by solo or two‑hander pieces, often brilliant, but there is something refreshing about watching an ensemble tackle the zeitgeist with such boldness, humour, and theatrical grit.
It’s a short season.
So, Go. See it.
John Doherty
When: 3 to 8 Mar
Where: Holden Street Theatres
Bookings: adelaidefringe.com.au
★★★★★
Adelaide Fringe. Ruby's at Holden Street Theatres. 1 Mar 2026
Five-star ratings are too easily doled out at Fringe festivals; so liberally, at times, that their currency feels devalued. Yet every so often a production emerges that truly deserves it, and The Pink List is such a work.
This one-man musical drama examines the organised, state-sponsored persecution of homosexual men in Nazi Germany and, sadly, the unnerving persistence of that persecution in the post-war years. Playwright and performer Michael Trauffer centres the narrative on Karl, a fictionalised composite drawn from the lived experience of real men who endured the horrors of the Third Reich and its aftermath.
The title refers to the infamous registers compiled by the Nazis to identify and target gay men—lists that, shockingly, continued to be used by authorities post-war.
The play opens with Karl on trial, not for any alleged act, but for his identity itself: simply for being gay. It was sufficient for imprisonment; during the war it meant deportation to a concentration camp and the enforced wearing of the pink triangle.
As the trial takes its predictable course, the drama unfolds in a series of recollections. Karl remembers the excitement of first love (and the confusion and despair at its loss), the fun of Christmas festivities, the heady freedoms of Weimar cabaret, and the relentless tightening of the Nazi grip.
The Pink List is also a musical, and its eleven songs are not merely embellishments but the spine of the storytelling. Trauffer has created it all: he has written music, lyrics and text of remarkable cohesion and theatrical instinct. The songs drive the narrative with elegance and emotional precision, and their stylish musical language traverses excitement to abject fear.
As a performer, Trauffer is nothing short of superb. His singing is secure, nuanced and beautifully phrased; his acting is extraordinary. His diction is crystalline, every word landing with intent. His physicality is masterful, and his expressive face delivers finely calibrated gestures that punctuate every emotion and tear at our hearts.
On the very small stage at Ruby’s, he expands the space through sheer presence, inhabiting it with confidence and intelligence. He quickly makes minor changes to his costume, and accesses a few props, just enough to push home a point. Trauffer is in complete control of his craft, but it is not clinical: he gives himself over to the full emotional truth of the text, and it takes your breath away.
This is not comfortable theatre. The material is harrowing. Yet Trauffer imbues Karl with an irrepressible spirit. Amid the brutality, there are flashes of wit, resilience and even joy. It is a testament to the depth of his characterisation that this reviewer found himself unexpectedly smiling at times—moved not by sentimentality, but by the indomitable humanity Trauffer conjures. Yes, Karl is defeated, but at the same time he is victorious.
The production’s technical elements are equally distinguished. Voice-overs delineate unseen characters, particularly in the courtroom scenes, while the musical underscoring is expertly created and engineered. Every cue is exact, every transition seamless. In a festival where technical standards can vary wildly, this production stands as a model of precision and professionalism.
The Pink List is essential viewing. It is a work of courage and artistry, delivered by a performer at the height of his powers. Quite simply, it is one of the true highlights of this year’s Fringe.
Kym Clayton
When: 20 Feb to 8 Mar
Where: Holden Street Theatres
Bookings: adelaidefringe.com.au
Adelaide Festival. Her Majesty’s Theatre. 1 Mar 2026
Do not bring conventional expectations for the Parisian showgirl powerhouse Josephine Baker to the theatre with you if attending the Festival’s Perle Noir. Indeed, it is not Josephine Baker. It is "meditations for” her.
We will never truly know how put-upon she felt, nor how ugly she found her own racial appearance. Her Folies Bergere audiences found her beautiful, and she was a black superstar of her day, Tina Turneresque. Here, the “meditation” is internalised, and it is dark.
Baker’s immense success in Paris was in wild contrast to the penury and racism of her background in the American south. She fell into marriage aged twelve and again aged fifteen whence she gained the name Baker and a taste for vaudeville which eventually took her to Paris in “negro revue”. Therein, with a comic streak, quirky dance improvisation and fearlessly appearing bare-breasted in a banana tutu, she became a jewel of exoticism in a white world. She went on to use her showbiz fame to mask underground work for the French Resistance, and she was lauded for her work on and off the French stage.
In the US she also was to be feted as an icon, but for civil-rights justice and harmony, a passion she embodied by adopting a “rainbow” family of children from around the world.
She was a super special individual and a gorgeous torch singer into the bargain. Many are the books celebrating and analysing her extraordinary life.
In this production, an opera directed by the one-time Adelaide Festival director Peter Sellars with music from celebrated composer Tyshawn Sorey and poetry by Caribbean Claudia Rankine, Baker is portrayed in slow musical thought-scapes of her anguish, deconstructing the songs of her times to impose inner meanings. Blackbird opens the performance as a desperate and attenuated lament in which, eventually, a sliver of the original Bye Bye Blackbird tune is identifiable.
This is not an opera from which one comes out humming catchy tunes. One comes out with a sense of sorrow and guilt. As Baker wishes to be white and to enjoy the entitlements of Princess Grace, so we white audience members quietly wither in our comfortable seats within the privileges of our rich white festival. And, rightly, one contemplates all the injustices of a still-troubled and cruel world.
Meanwhile, one has relished the multiple layers of the opera’s star, American mezzo soprano Julia Bullock: the immense range of her glorious voice; her own pleasing resemblance to Josephine Baker; her audacious exaggerations of the Baker dance movements.
And then there is the staging, a daunting staircase up to a screen where she shadow plays against herself in what is quite an overall impressive lighting plot. Downstage, she crawls to the precipice to scream her grief and fury into the faces of the audience.
And, the band plays on. What musicians, led by the composer himself on piano and drums! Each instrumentalist a breathtaking virtuoso, each with moments in the sun as they power through phases of scored passages and raucous jazz improv.
This is anything but a fun night out and the audience response is mixed, some leaping to acclaim and some clapping limply. It is not theatre for everyone. It is highly esoteric and perhaps overthought. This critic was glad of the one and only happy musical moment but yearned for less relentless introspection and craved a little more of the infectious stage spirit which immortalised Josephine Baker.
Samela Harris
When: 1 to 4 Mar
Where: Her Majesty’s Theatre
Bookings: ticketek.com.au
Adelaide Festival. Windmill Theatre Company. Adelaide Entertainment Centre. 28 Feb 2026
As the audience files into the arena and climbs into the bleachers, skaters whizz around the track; women in shorts, t-shirts, helmets and knee pads. It’s already exciting, as they form patterns and weave in and around each other. It’s roller derby!
Based on the experiences of Director Clare Watson and penned by Virginia Gay, Mama Does Derby is the story of the very close relationship between single mother, Maxine (Amber McMahon) and teenage daughter Billie (Elvy-Lee Quici). The pair do everything together, whether it be road trips across the country or travelling through Tibet. It’s been a nomadic life, so it’s all a bit of a shock to end up in a small town after inheriting a house.
It’s time to do normal things, like go to school, take driving lessons, get a job in admin. But these two approach normality from way left of centre, and thanks to Gay’s sparkling script, the repartee between the two sets them up to deal with it all as they always have, together. And defending/supporting each other to the hilt. Until… But that’s later.
Driving lessons come via Weird Neil, the neighbour (Antoine Jelk), who has a minor preoccupation with death. And the car is an old hearse. At school, Billie is befriended by Hux (Aud Mason-Hyde) who has some issues of his own but recognises the outsider in Billie. Billie, an artist, is fascinated with Frida Kahlo and soon enough is in trouble at school for filling her books with ‘doodles’, adaptations of Kahlo’s work. Enter the counsellor/therapist (Annabel Matheson) and the darker side of this story begins to emerge.
Billie is afraid; of the dark in her bedroom, of the demon who lives under the bed and of the crushing weight that settles on her chest when she tries to sleep. “Name your demon!” suggests the therapist.
A word on this demon. Black and sparkling, we first see it as a large, clawed hand, sliding out from under the bed. It emerges a little more each night, unless we see it in all its fearsome wonder. And a wonder it is. A lissom, elastic, sinuous creature, a voice scraped from an ancient tomb, a body that winds and twists itself around the room, taunting, horrifying yet chillingly attractive. Benjamin Hancock threatens to steal the show with this character;’ fortunately, Gay pulls it all back when Billie, as her therapist advises, names the creature ‘Nathan’. And blow me down if that’s not the creature’s name. “How did you know?” develops into a relationship, that by the end…
…but that would be telling.
It seems to take quite a while before we get to the roller derby component of the show, but in the meantime, the skaters (who hail from the Adelaide Roller Derby League) have not been idle. The set itself is on wheels; couches, bedrooms and kitchens are rolled in and out by the derby crew, as is the three-piece live band. Dressed in the black and white stripes of umpires, under the direction of Joe Paradise Lui (music director/guitar and vocals) they pump out excerpts of artists of the ilk of Charlie XCX and Bikini Kill, add a bit of narration and even take on the odd role (the afore mentioned Antoine Jelk also plays drums and is the voice of Nathan).
Maxine finally takes to the wheels. After a bit of night skating, she comes across the derby gals. She keeps this from Billie; she just wants a little bit of something for herself. Billie’s night terrors become worse and eventually, after being left at home by herself again, she discovers that ‘Mad Max’ has been keeping secrets from her. Can the relationship survive this?
Amber McMahon is a consummate comic actor. She uses her face, her body and her voice to accentuate lines and scenes, bringing to her character the strength of the independent woman, the pathos of loneliness and the blinding protection of the single mother for her offspring. And all with a comedic and dramatic timing that demonstrates the skilled actor she is.
Elvy-Lee Quici brings confusion and vulnerability to the juggle between her teenager hood and a world-weary knowledge beyond her years, as she discovers why Nathan is in her life, and just what the weight is that lies heavy upon her young body. She is at once childlike and a blossoming young woman, learning to let go.
Virginia Gay and Clare Watson have done a sterling job; the script is funny, sad, insightful, intelligent and incisive. The direction is clear and clever, the set delightful, and the characters are beautifully realised. This production promises much, and with just a touch of biffo, it delivers.
Arna Eyers-White
When: 28 Feb to 8 Mar
Where: Adelaide Entertainment Centre
Bookings: ticketek.com.au