Theatre relies on memory. For the audience, it is the only thing that remains after the warm buzz of the event itself – an impression about the show, or characters, or theatre experience – that sits in and with us for the rest of our lives – should memory permit. For the industry – actors need their memory for the obvious line-delivery/stagecraft reasons. Directors need it for the selection of team/play/design. We need memory to ensure we do not re-invent the wheel, but also so we can change/improve upon the wheel. And memory is a fickle thing – carried by the practitioners, audiences that every now and then a brave soul attempts to trap a memory on paper. Try to shape or make sense of the past in words. Read more

Last year, the NSW Premier made a terrible mistake. Terrible. The decision was made not to award a literary award for playwriting. Terrible. And yet… wonderful. Read more

There’s that feeling just before a meeting or a launch – where I feel different. My skin feels thin, sounds seem louder, my eyes are keener and dart around examining everything. I am ultra aware, ultra wired, ultra ready. Read more

Friday was a stunning Sydney day. Three things- The Writer’s Festival, a series of absurdly ill-timed computer crashes and one of my best ever/long-time friends lured me down to the Wharf on Hickson Bay to sit among the readers and writers and listen to some talks. Read more

Like the assassination of JFK, the collapse of the Twin Towers, it can be argued that one’s first kiss is equally a transforming experience. Read more

It’s time to tell me what you want…what you really, really want. Read more

It’s a bright mid-May Saturday, when I coerce a playwright to head to NIDA to see a matinee performance of a new(ish) Swedish play. Read more

Since the dissolving of Belvoir’s B-Sharp Season, there has been a flurry of activity in Independent venues in Sydney as theatre’s try to catch quality artists before they disappear. Read more

A forest of well dressed, well spoken women gather around a hunched hooded figure as sound throbs and squeals from an electric guitar. Read more

In the post-traumatic haze of Trapture – an hour or so later – I ventured into the land of new works in development at the Old Fitz. I am without a program – I don’t know how I missed out but I did – and so this is not really a review or a response more of an FYI for the new work hunters who couldn’t make it along… Read more