Adelaide Festival. Elevator Repair Service, USA. Her Majesty’s Theatre. 13 Mar 2026
“Treat the novel as a novel and don’t try to make it into a play.”
That, America’s Elevator Repair Service decided while experimenting with ways to stage The Great Gatsby. And therein lies the secret of what we now see as Gatz: not an “adaptation” so much as a staged reading of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic, performed in full.
It is epic: eight hours, six of them solid words. In production for two decades and seen around the world, it arrives at the Adelaide Festival as a feast of pure Americana—an absurdly brave and brilliantly original act of theatre-making laid over Fitzgerald’s unadulterated prose.
It is not just clever. It is brilliant. The eight hours sag only slightly as the end draws nigh and the narrative tightens to its conclusion. Yet even those moments invite us to bask in the eloquence of the writing—especially when the actor lowers the book and the language hangs, unassisted, in the air.
This is leap-to-your-feet ovation material: exactly what festivals are for. An exquisite example of experiential theatre, the expiring hours bonding audience, actors, and narrative in a shared act of endurance and attention. Perhaps the audience tires more than the cast, because the cast does not flag. Book in hand, Scott Shepherd carries it all.
The conceit is a beauty. A drab worker in a dull, anonymous office-land somewhere in New York finds a copy of The Great Gatsby on his messy desk while waiting for his IBM green-screen computer to be fixed—mid-80s, perhaps, when those early desktops were indeed engines of weary frustration. The computer is never repaired. Time, in a sense, stops. The man reads aloud to no one in particular. Gradually his colleagues take notice; the reading becomes another reality; the office workers morph into Fitzgerald’s characters—and the reader morphs too. He becomes Nick Carraway, narrator of the novel, and—crucially—ensuring not a single word is lost, he connects the dialogue with all the interim “he said” and “she gazed” conjunctions. Shepherd becomes the dramatic pivot in a performance of naturalistic impeccability. And how perfect is that name for this role: “Scott” of the author, and “Shepherd” as the one who rounds up and guides the evolving cast of characters.
Fitzgerald wrote his book through the 1920s, drawing loosely on his own life and times. Post–World War I America was the flapper era: the hedonistic jazz age of bootleg liquor and libertines. A Midwestern boy and Princeton graduate, Fitzgerald shifted his social imagination eastward into the orbit of Ivy League privilege and Long Island luxury. These make up the Gatsby crowd, gathered at the lavish parties of the mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby, whose passion is to reignite the flame he once had with the gorgeous Daisy—now married to a former Yale football star. The tale, of course, is doomed. The Great Gatsby is probably among the most universally read of novels, and it remains an irony that Fitzgerald died unaware it was fated for such success.
That success continues through today’s mediums—but never more vividly, perhaps, than in this trip to theatre heaven.
Delivering the pages word-for-word somehow heightens intensity. The affluenza of Gatsby’s world is cleverly offset by the marvellous set of office banality. There is a hint of TV’s The Office, with its battler workplace atmosphere—only here it is a design by Louisa Thompson with entrances and exits to other worlds. It is artfully embellished by actor/soundman Ben Williams, stationed in a cramped office of his own, overlaying the action with birdsong, traffic, party ambience, nocturnal insects, and occasional shattering eruptions of shock. This soundscape is a masterwork in its own right.
The production has clearly been forged through thwarting times and deep thinking, all of which pays off under John Collins’ deft direction. With narrator-led intermissions and a dinner break, its eight hours slither by surprisingly fast—though one must tip one’s cap to Shepherd’s seemingly tireless delivery. He is a sterling endurance player.
The cast is large, but physically and emotionally dominated by Jim Fletcher, who transforms from po-faced office colleague to the tragic anti-hero of the piece: the enigmatic Jay Gatsby. He has magnetic stage presence and, thanks to Colleen Werthmann’s well-considered costumes, cuts an imposing figure in a very handsome wardrobe.
The supporting cast members slip deftly into their dual roles and become wholly plausible as Gatsby’s circle, particularly Susie Sokol, highly simpatico as Jordan Baker. Former Melbourne actress Lucy Taylor dares to give surprising depth to vain Daisy, the object of Gatsby’s obsession. It was wonderful, too, to see our own Terence Crawford among the Elevator Repairers, delivering a moving cameo at the denouement as the patriarch Henry C. Gatz.
Gary Wilmes, Maggie Hoffman, Laurena Allan, Gavin Price, Frank Boyd, Vin Price, Kristen Sieh and Mike Iveson complete the company who brought this remarkable work to life at Adelaide Festival 2026.
Thanks to them all, and to the production staff and crew: it takes a moveable feast of skill and diligence to make art like this. The applause goes on.
We might have lost Writers’ Week but we seem to have gained Reader’s Theatre.
Samela Harris
When: 13 to 15 Mar
Where: Her Majesty’s Theatre
Bookings: ticketek.com.au
★★★★★
Adelaide Fringe. Book Music & Lyrics by Amity Dry. Arts Theatre. 12 Mar 2026
There are moments in the theatre when you know what you are watching matters. Not because it is flashy or provocative, but because it is resolutely true. Within the first five minutes of this show I felt that unmistakable certainty. This is one of those rare shows where laughter, recognition, discomfort and compassion sit side by side, and none of them feel forced.
Amity Dry, singer songwriter, musical theatre writer, has created something deeply humane here. She has also assembled a cast that is musical theatre dynamite. Their collective pedigree includes Miss Saigon, Les Misérables, Hamilton, Six and Urinetown. There is not a weak vocal moment. Harmonies are rich and assured, solos are delivered with interpretive intelligence, and the emotional shading throughout is the kind that only comes from performers who understand that singing is not about volume or virtuosity, but about meaning.
What struck me most powerfully is that this is a musical about ordinary women, and that is precisely where its brilliance lies. It’s not woke. It’s not driven by a gender identity agenda.
It is not an academic middle class didactic feminist treatise telling working class women how they should be. There’s little swearing. There are no tits and ass. There is fearless, if occasionally a little cliché, honesty. There is celebration of ordinary women that is deeply feminist in its spirit. Life, this show reminds us, is often messy, sometimes unfair, occasionally shit, but still worth turning up for.
There is a great deal of lived experience in Dry’s writing, and it shows. At times the book edges close to sentimentality but pulls back before slipping too far. Dry’s wit and understanding that clichés exist because they hold truth is evident. And it’s a musical, after all.
At the heart of the piece are four women whose lives intersect through a long-standing ritual of fortnightly Friday drinks. Time poor, emotionally stretched, and subject to life’s many curveballs, some thrown by circumstance, others by decades old choices or momentary lapses of judgement, they keep showing up for one another. That, too, is a quietly radical act.
Dry plays Lily with moving sincerity. A devoted wife to Patrick, who is, I think, an accountant, Lily is a proud café owner and unacknowledged community catalyst, and a mother of nineteen-year-old twin boys recently embarked on the adventure of a gap year, and she is left, suddenly an empty nester. Lily is lonely, disoriented, and quietly grieving the woman she once was. Dry’s performance is moving and personal. Lily is brave enough to acknowledge that sometimes endurance looks like resignation.
Jess, played by Chloe Zuel with panache, warmth and emotional nuance, is the free spirit returned home after six years abroad, with stories of her Latin lover, Lorenzo. But she returns for a far more sobering reason, to care for her mother, who has cancer. Zuel balances sass with vulnerability superbly, charting Jess’s journey from free spirited traveler to unexpected bridezilla with humor and heart.
Kerrie Anne Greenland’s extraordinary portrayal of Kate shows great attention to character arc, delivering what are arguably the most dramatically poignant moments of the evening. Fiercely independent, ambitious and self-sufficient, Kate is a solicitor whose carefully constructed life is derailed by a one-night stand with a man who was, quite simply, a dick, pun very much intended. Greenland portrays the progression from the initial crack in Kate’s armor to its complete breakdown so completely that it is deeply moving.
Then there’s Bec, played by Dee Farnell with a masterful balance of comic timing and gravitas. Bec is a mother besieged by three children, a loyal friend, Jess’s cousin, a weary yet committed partner to Matt, and a woman who uses sarcasm as both shield and sword. Farnell’s delivery is razor sharp, but she never lets humor blunt the truth.
The fractures that emerge between these women feel honest. Their different lifestyles, values and stages of life create tension, but ultimately sisterhood prevails. The triumph here is not neat resolution, but resilience.
Bec Francis’s set and prop design functions almost as a fifth character. Static, it is transformed through inventive and evocative use of projections within window spaces, creating a strong sense of time passing and lives unfolding. It is elegant, economical, and beautiful. Jo Casson’s direction holds the entire piece together with clarity and grace, shaping character arcs, visual cohesion and narrative flow. Nothing feels rushed or lingers too long.
Musically, Matthew Brind’s arrangements, augmented by Marco Callisto, give the tight, responsive band led by Martin Cheney a score that is rich, textured and emotionally moving. Dry’s musical sensibility shines throughout. The songs serve the story, and the result is clever, artful and moving. Of the twenty-two song set list, I was particularly taken by the ensemble renditions of Another Day” to open the show and Bridezilla but Lily’s How Did We Get here?, Kate’s pleading Go To Sleep, and Bec and Jess’s Come to Bed, blew me away!
This show made me laugh. It made me weep, with sadness and joy. It made me think of my late grandmother and mother, my partner, my female friends and colleagues, my niece, and the young woman at the checkout at my local Foodland. Exceptional women. Ordinary women. As if those terms are somehow opposed.
This is a triumph for Australian musical theatre. It deserves a life beyond Fringe. It should tour. I will be nominating this work for Adelaide Critics Circle and Fringe Awards. The Perfect Life should be seen widely, nationally and internationally.
There are only nine performances left, and they will sell out.
Go. See it.
John Doherty
When: 12 to 21 Mar
Where: Arts Theatre
Bookings: adelaidefringe.com.au
★★★★★
Adelaide Fringe. Gravity & Other Myths. Gluttony The Octagon. 11 Mar 2026
I once loved evenings at the Adelaide Fringe when you stepped into a tent already humming with possibility, an energy that makes an audience sit with anticipation before anything has begun. The larger venue around it, devoid of sideshows, with maybe a few food trucks and a bar or two, was not a carnival but lent atmos. There was a vibe beyond food and booze and people gawking or looking for a show ride.
It’s been a long time.
The miasma of mainstream comedy, once classy and innovative, now tacky burlesque, and tribute shows, made me doubt I’d ever experience this again: The Mirror has restored my faith!
The lights dim. A black curtain slides across the cyclorama. Neon frames. Blood reds. Real atmosphere.
A tower of bodies becomes a single bemused soul. A neat formation dissolves into a tangle of limbs and laughter. Simple theatrical devices, executed with finesse, deployed with cheek and precision, tell us everything we need to know about the evening ahead; it’s going to be a fun adventure!
Welcome to Gravity & Other Myths’ The Mirror!
I’ve been a member of the Adelaide audience watching this company grow for over a decade now. From the electrifying immediacy of A Simple Space to the theatrical ambition of works like Out of Chaos and The Pulse. With The Mirror, GOM takes another great leap forward, blending contemporary circus, live music, and theatrical storytelling into something that feels both spectacular and strangely personal; it’s like the pre-commercially tainted days of Cirque du Soliel when it had artistic integrity! That’s a long time ago!
Directed by Darcy Grant with associate direction by Jascha Boyce, the production explores a world of image and identity. Mirrors, cameras and screens hover around the stage like silent witnesses, quietly suggesting the strange performance culture of modern life. And here it’s explored and translated through the lens of contemporary circus; and what a circus!
The remarkable acrobats, Ash Youren, Em Gare, Hamish McCourty, Georgia Webb, Issy Estrella , Lewis Rankin, David Trappes, and Leann Gingras move with a level of trust only a well drilled ensemble can. Bodies stacked, launched, caught, twisted and balanced, defy both anatomy and gravity.
GOM reminds us what we are watching is not magic. It’s people!
Threaded through the acrobatic chaos is the musical magic of the show composed by composer/performer Ekrem Eli Phoenix, and performed exquisitely by MC and vocalist Megan Drury.
Amid the acrobatic chaos, Drury effortlessly, vocally toys around the recorded score.
Serving as a muse of sorts, Drury guides us through the evening with warmth and wit, her voice cutting through the spectacle to ground the acrobatics with something unmistakably personable and engaging. In this, Drury’s style, when working with internationally acclaimed Wright & Grainger, is similar. Drury is the consummate storyteller, brilliantly engaging!
The music itself plays deliciously with familiarity. Britney Spears’ Toxic appears not as a club anthem but as a slow, seductive pulse beneath a precarious balancing sequence. Bill Withers’ Ain’t No Sunshine was rendered as I have never heard it, somehow piercingly plaintive while conveying warmth and optimism.
The production is sleek and deceptively restrained. Matt Adey’s lighting design transforms the stage into ever-changing reflections and shadows. LED panels and live camera feeds occasionally project performers’ faces mid‑acrobatics, their sweat, concentration and the occasional mischievous grin filling the screens.
In a culture obsessed with curated identity, the question quietly emerges: What do we actually see when we look at ourselves?
GOM never sits on this question too long; it’s simply dangled in front of us like the sometimes skimpily clad performers!
Human constructions dissolve into kinetic frenzy before we can linger on a thought too long and bodies climb over one another like waves forming and reforming a living architecture, only to vanish.
Drury looks mildly confused, as if wondering where everyone went. The cast returns triumphantly to demonstrate their prowess as individual acrobats and bow to a standing ovation.
This is what Fringe is about! Challenging, edgy, cheeky, sexy, thought provoking, and unique! Walking out into the mild Adelaide evening afterwards, I noticed something interesting; nobody was talking about tricks. They were talking about people.
I suspect this is exactly what Gravity & Other Myths hoped we might see when we looked in The Mirror. And this, dear reader, is what a Fringe show is!
Go! See it!
John Doherty
When: 20 Feb to 22 Mar
Where: Gluttony The Octagon
Bookings: adelaidefringe.com.au
★★★★★
Adelaide Fringe. The Yurt at the Migration Museum. 10 Mar 2026
The now established tradition of Wright and Grainger producing challenging, yet beautifully crafted iterations of gig theatre inspired by Ancient Greek mythology sees Selene, a work beautifully crafted by the duo in collaboration with Megan Drury. This wonderfully rich storytelling continues to blend myth with a deeply human experience. With the phenomenal success of Eurydice, Orpheus, The Gods! The Gods! The Gods! and Helios—previous explorations intertwining Ancient Greek mythology with contemporary life setting a high bar—Selene does not fail to deliver.
The original mythology sees Pandia, abbreviated (irritating for she who is named so) to Panda, as the personification of the full moon. Born of Zeus and the moon goddess Selene. Pandia translates to "all brightness" or "all-divine," representing light, beauty, and youth. She is associated with the Athenian festival of the same name. And herein lies the genius of the text. While the mythology presents Selene drawing the moon across the sky using a silver chariot, Wright & Grainger present Selene as a truck driver, frequently away from her daughter at night. When the show opens, Panda is 16 and the embodiment of potential marred by deep anger and resentment about the loss of her father many years earlier in an accident.
The original myth sees Selene deeply in love with the mortal, Endymion. Our Selene remains in love with her deceased beau. Where Zeus grants Selene’s wish that Endymion be granted immortality, Zeus places him into an eternal, ageless sleep. An ageless sleep in Wright & Grainger’s iteration indicated by a proliferation of photographs of Panda’s father around the little North Yorkshire cottage close to the Kilburn White Horse hillside carving.
Megan Drury’s storytelling sees her embody the journey from teen to young woman within the orbit of her mother, Selene, in a performance at once electric, warm and tender. Drury draws us into a world where the mythical becomes intimately personal.
We journey through Megan’s transitions between her angry confused teen years, her night club-based explorative late teens and early twenties and, finally, to a point in her mid -twenties where she comes to recognise her inherent value. It’s gorgeously evocative, crisp writing, every image placed with care, every moment delivered with sincerity. The final moments of this extraordinary narrative brought many audience members’ eyes to shine with tears of joy, a joy, I think, of recognition in themselves.
Grainger’s music provides an unobtrusive yet ever present foundation beneath the narrative, enhancing mood and emotion without ever overwhelming the story. Together Drury’s superbly delivered narrative and Grainger’s soundtrack, create an atmosphere that feels gently timeless, illuminated by simple and effective lighting, further enriching this extraordinarily vivid delivery.
Selene explores longing, resilience, identity, self-acceptance and the illumination one experiences with that. It feels both ancient and immediate, familiar and freshly imagined.
Drury moves effortlessly between mythic scale and human fragility, guiding the audience with precision and compassion. The intimacy of the space amplifies every shift in energy and emotion, making the experience profoundly engaging.
Selene is storytelling at its most affecting. Wright & Grainger once again demonstrate their remarkable ability to transform myth into something achingly real. A radiant and memorable work.
Go see it.
John Doherty
When: 19 Feb to 21 Mar
Where: The Yurt
Bookings: adelaidefringe.com.au
★★★★
Adelaide Fringe. Sturm Theatre Company. 7 Mar 2026
Strip down August Strindberg’s Miss Julie into a one hour production as Little Miss Julie? Why not?
Strindberg is one of the out-there playwrights of his era who wrote about themes considered shocking. Little Miss Julie successfully manages the fraught themes of class, power, and sexuality very well.
Director/Writer James Harvy’s script is tight and to the point in adaptation. Language has been adjusted. It allows in that hour careful development of the contentious, even dangerous relationship between Coachman John (James Harvy), Cook Christine (Sarah Jeavons) and their Mistress, Miss Julie (Ruby Patrich).
Strindberg created Miss Julie as a contrary, imperious creature emboldened by her ruling class status. Her servants, however, have known her since she was a kid. Yet they are forever beneath her.
This complex dilemma is handled differently by John and Christine. John is constantly angered by her unseemly behaviour. Christine is content to let things be and comfortably adapts with acceptance to her station in life.
Yet John and Christine have known each other all their lives too. Christine rescuing John from homeless poverty to the position he now holds.
Little Miss Julie is a battle between three people who want different things from the world and each other. Some kind of freedom. They’re also not above breaking rules of moral, let alone rules of social status to get it. Yet they’ll deny the reality of their choices.
Miss Julie is a dangerous catalyst. Ruby Patrich plays her with exceptional poise and timing. Her Miss Julie is powerfully, supremely imposing.
Miss Julie is on a power trip, playing every moment carefully for full impact on her subjects. Happy to insult Christine. Happy to embarrass John when she commands him to dance with her in public. She gives, then takes away permission to step outside established boundaries.
So happy to stir up hidden feelings and enjoy the discomfiting outcome in her human playthings. Especially John. John clearly harbours something deep within regarding Miss Julie. Yet he harkens to his bond with Christine. But what is that bond? They seem attached like a couple, yet not. Brother, Sister like?
This cast brilliantly manage to play out games between characters without making intention obvious until it’s too late for each as they realise the dilemmas they are caught in.
The gap between John’s dream of freedom, Christine’s self comfort, and Miss Julie’s limitless power and who each of these desperate people really are is great.
It’s a roller coaster ride in which adrenalin fuelled highs come crashing down, stripping away masks and delusions in a breath-taking way.
David O’Brien
When: 6 to 15 Mar
Where: Star Theatres
Bookings: adelaidefringe.com.au