This Dolly Parton musical has a wafer-thin plot – but who cares when the music’s this good?

MUSICAL
Here You Come Again ★★★
Comedy Theatre, until July 20

Jukebox musicals live or die on their playlists; the story comes second.

Luckily for Here You Come Again, the songs of country music legend (and gay icon) Dolly Parton hold an indestructible appeal to fans. That’s a useful quality, given the show’s framing narrative is a wafer-thin pretext to whip out the glitter, denim and rhinestones and bang out Dolly classics.

Dash Kruck (Kevin) with Tricia Paoluccio, who channels Dolly Parton’s vocal mannerisms and expressions impressively.Credit: Cameron Grant

If you ignore the stage business and relax into the tribute concert vibe, you’ll have a much better time than if you go in expecting a fully integrated musical.

We follow Kevin (Dash Kruck), a 40-something gay guy whose life is falling apart. He’s moved back in with his parents. He’s about to lose his job. To top it off, his boyfriend has just dumped him via text.

Poor lonesome Kevin needs a fairy godmother. And lo, a gowned and bespangled Dolly Parton suddenly materialises from a poster in his attic, appearing in a poof of smoke to guide him through the shallows of contemporary relationship breakdown.

The show’s framing narrative is a wafer-thin pretext to whip out the glitter and bang out Dolly classics.Credit: Cameron Grant

Having wallowed on the pity pot too long, Kevin must now draw upon the power of the parasocial relationship he developed with Dolly in childhood. Only then can he stop wallowing, declare his ex a narcissist, and learn to love himself the way everyone else does. It is the greatest love of all! (And yes, I Will Always Love You – the Dolly song that Whitney famously covered – does make it into the mix, though the connection between music and dramatic action is so loose in this show, it’s hard to mind.)

Despite uneven camp and a drastically infantilising storyline, Here You Come Again does give audiences a blast of Dolly at full wattage.

The featherlight book might be spread thin – the story’s more apt to sustain a 90-minute show than a full-length musical with interval – but Tricia Paoluccio invests her incarnation of Dolly Parton with maximum charisma. Time never drags when she bursts into song.

Paoluccio seems to be a natural mimic, channelling Dolly’s vocal mannerisms and expressions and her bright, no-nonsense persona to carry the comedy and sweeten most of the musical highlights.

I was less impressed by a bedroom drag number and the shapelessness and superficiality of the storytelling, generally – Kevin does an awful lot of wallowing and mooching around, while remaining curiously underdeveloped.

Still, no one really cares about Kevin. It is Dolly audiences will come to see, and in that respect, the show is on stronger ground, with a larger-than-life impersonation of the icon performing classics and lesser-known tracks in full splendour.
Reviewed by Cameron Woodhead

THEATRE
ECHO: Every Cold-Hearted Oxygen ★★★
Malthouse Theatre, until July 19

Iranian playwright Nassim Soleimanpour came to attention with the unusual White Rabbit Red Rabbit (2010). Written while he was unable to travel outside Iran, the play took the form of an unrehearsed “cold reading”, with a new actor taking the stage to perform the script, drawn from a sealed envelope at the start of each show, every night.

Ben Lawson in Echo: Every Cold Hearted Oxygen at the Malthouse Theatre, July 15. Credit: Eugene Hyland

It quickly became a global phenomenon as A-list actors and celebrities took up the challenge, helping the artist’s voice travel around the world, even when he could not.

Since then, Soleimanpour has migrated to Berlin, and in ECHO: Every Cold-Hearted Oxygen, he returns to his unorthodox mode of “cold read” instructional theatre to explore another side of the equation – the possibility of life in exile, of never being able to return to Iran.

A well-known line-up of intrepid public figures, from comedian Michelle Brasier to journalist Stan Grant, will perform in the Malthouse season. On opening night, Neighbours alumnus Ben Lawson was thrown in the deep end, and despite the provision of comfy footwear, he never really relaxed into the event.

Nerves seemed to afflict the performance. There was quiet excruciation in watching Lawson recite aloud both dialogue and stage directions, like a schoolboy, and he appeared to think it was some sort of trap when he was queried (by the playwright via videocall) why he wouldn’t want to travel to Iran.

Playwright Nassim Soleimanpour appears on screen with actor Ben Lawson. Credit: Eugene Hyland

Even leaving aside the current crisis, you’d think “repressive theocratic regime with appalling human rights record” might be the holiday vibe-killer there, but Lawson was too tongue-tied to get it out.

It’s still a thoughtfully constructed encounter. Lawson improved in less improvised sequences, such as autobiographical monologue, elegiac in timbre and drawn from Soleimanpour’s lived experience, or the moment when digital effects create a Kafkaesque metamorphosis, transforming innocuous conversation into a sinister interrogation.

Joining us remotely on screen, the playful presence of the playwright (and his wife, Shirin, and their dog, Echo) makes it feel less like a solo show than a digital duet, bridging time and distance.

And whatever tensions the “cold read” format throws up live, a spirit of generosity underlies proceedings. A Persian carpet increases in value the more it is trodden upon by guests, as Soleimanpour reminds us.

Ancient and glorious Persian literature hovers in the background – tantalising glimpses of the playwright’s father reading the ghazals of the poet Hafez, say – but this is a work more invested in new possibilities of live connection through performance than tradition.

ECHO’s elaborate interplay between the mediated and the immediate, while different every night, should make audiences reflect on truth under authoritarianism in an age of deepfakes and generative AI, on shadows of exile and regret, and on the indomitable spirit of the Iranian diaspora.
Reviewed by Cameron Woodhead

THEATRE
Still: Late Works by Samuel Beckett ★★
Theatre Works Explosives Factory, until July 26

Samuel Beckett’s late works draw force from a continual winnowing of possibility. Death and decrepitude haunted the artist’s writing for decades, and as he grew older, Beckett seemed to approach his own ageing as a creative opportunity – the loss of ability and the relieving of potential were a chance to distil mordant negations, the compressed contradictions of language, life itself.

Robert Meldrum in Still: Late Works by Samuel Beckett.Credit: Darren Gill

As he wrote to the poet and translator Franz Wurm in 1980, almost in self-parody: “I try to think, with what mind remains, that now is the time at last, the chance at last, in these remains, with those remains, though think is not the word, at last is not the word.”

Gallows humour seeps into Beckett’s appreciation of the inevitable slipperiness of language in the face of death: “Ineffable departure,” he once wrote of his impending demise, “nothing left but try and eff it.”

More comedy would certainly be welcome in Still – a staged suite of six short prose works from the twilight of Beckett’s career.

Director Richard Murphet and actor Robert Meldrum do have past form with late Beckett. They collaborated on an impressive stage adaptation of Worstward Ho in 2023, though this follow-up doesn’t have the same quiet meticulousness or verbal command, nor does Meldrum’s performance this time around cleave to restraint or allow Beckett’s words to do most of the heavy lifting.

This suite of works by Samuel Beckett is rarely performed.Credit: Darren Gill

Brief vignettes such as Fizzle Still and Stirrings Still, Heard in the Dark and One Evening are presented end to end, as a kind of theatrical meditation on dying. Beckett’s characteristic linguistic playfulness is evident. It’s very like him to land repeatedly on the auto-antonym “still” – denoting persistence in a continuous present, and to isolate or remove from the flow of time, as in a still-life.

Fragmented memories are the “still-lifes” in these works, and before they can fully lay nostalgia traps for the speaker, they run into the implacability of what they apprehend, and the impossibility of trying to express it without failure

All of that could have been stronger with less angst, and a greater emphasis on Beckett’s dry humour. There’s trouble too in having these shorts concertinaed into one another, which seems to generate a desire to go bigger to distinguish each piece, cutting against the minimalist aesthetic and leaving Meldrum – a fine actor at his best – overexposed.

Still, late Beckett is a difficult pleasure. It’s good these rare works are being staged, even if they’re not performed with the clarity or restrained intensity that might have transfigured them or made them easier to bear.
Reviewed by Cameron Woodhead

MUSICAL
Annie ★★★★
Princess Theatre, Until October 26

As usual, I went to Annie the musical expecting to be annoyed.

Amanda Lea LaVergne, Isabella Hayden and Anthony Warlow in Annie.Credit: Eddie Jim

Let’s face it: the high-wattage optimism of the plucky preteen heroine would be delusional in almost anyone else. It’s so insanely irrepressible it bewitches rough-sleepers into frolicking about carefree, melts the heart of a billionaire industrialist, and even inspires Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal in the Oval Office, shepherding America towards global economic supremacy.

Not bad going for an 11-year-old orphan.

Debra Krizak, Keanu Gonzalez and Makenzie Dunn as Miss Hannigan, Rooster and Lily, scheming to swindle Daddy Warbucks.Credit: Eddie Jim

The truth is, though, that despite the silliness of it all, I’m typically less irritated than I think I’ll be, and the juvenile cast always plays an outsized role in winning me over. There’s nothing little about the talents of the little girls in this show. Isabella Hayden was terrific as Annie on opening night, in a starring role shared over the season with Dakota Chanel and Lilleth McIntosh.

Hayden brought the sunshine with her wherever she went, whether she was belting out the signature earworm Tomorrow with a dog in tow, knocking about among fellow orphans – all singing their hearts out and dancing in athletic synchrony – during It’s A Hard Knock Life, or holding her own in duet opposite Anthony Warlow’s “Daddy” Warbucks.

Warlow has of course played Warbucks on Broadway. Gruff, briskly sketched comedy and Warlow’s still-marvellous voice make for a magnetic performance, though the creepiness of a plutocrat temporarily housing an orphan in his mansion to improve his public image? Well, it leaves a weird aftertaste, especially given the current trajectory of US politics. Just look at who they’re calling “daddy” over there now.

Anyone allergic to toxic positivity will find its true antidote, however, in the show’s cynical villains.

Debra Krizak as Miss Hannigan, the alcoholic head of the orphanage, gives a performance that everyone will love to hate, adding vaudevillian charm and a dash of slapstick to the mix when she teams up with her con artist brother Rooster (Keanu Gonzalez), and his partner in crime Lily (Mackenzie Dunn), to swindle Warbucks.

The vibrant, cartoonish quality brought to the fore in these performances is sustained, too, by the supporting ensemble, who play everything from the high-class regiment of a billionaire’s domestic staff to dishevelled have-nots in the shantytowns of Depression-era New York.

With high production values and an excellent cast spearheaded by the show’s child performers, Annie is an enduring musical worth taking kids along to see.

As for adult audiences, we know too well that optimism is hardly the vibe in America right now, and that complicates, without detracting from the talent on display, how this rags-to-riches fantasy might be received.
Reviewed by Cameron Woodhead

MUSIC
Faye Webster | Underdressed at the Symphony Tour ★★★
Forum, July 12

The sound of foaming water fills the room. Bubbles are projected onto a backdrop of washing machines at a laundromat. Faye Webster arrives on stage with her band and the crowd cheers when the spotlight hits her.

Faye Webster performs at Forum Melbourne on July 12, 2025. Credit: Richard Clifford

She starts singing “I want to sleep in your arms but not kiss” in her signature sweet, delicate tone. These are the opening lyrics to But Not Kiss, a song that tries to unknot complicated feelings about a breakup. There’s a yearning in her voice, yet she seems resolute.

The 28-year-old American singer-songwriter, who hails from Atlanta, returns to Australia after her Laneway Festival debut in 2024. Initially announcing two headline shows in Melbourne and Sydney, two additional dates were added due to popular demand, with all shows selling out.

Faye Webster is headlining a series of sold-out Melbourne shows.Credit: Richard Clifford

Despite previously having a profile — Webster was listed in Barack Obama’s wrap-up of favourite songs in 2020 — her popularity rose significantly when her tracks Kingston and I Know You went viral on TikTok.

There’s an aloofness to Webster as she barely interacts with the audience other than the occasional platitude. She’s five songs deep (about 25 minutes into the show) before she utters: “What’s up Melbourne?” Her fans respond with adulation.

Webster lulls you into a dreamy state with her mellow tone; the crowd sways along. She switches between playing guitar and keys with ease, sometimes even within the same song. A few fans remark that her live vocals sound just like her record.

Her music has a melancholic country/folk sensibility, amplified by musician Matt “Pistol” Stoessel’s live accompaniment on pedal steel guitar. She professes vulnerable truths about love with a touch of humour, particularly in A Dream with a Baseball Player, from 2021 album I Know I’m Funny Haha that details the crush she developed towards Atlanta Braves outfielder, Ronald Acuna Jr. She repeats the chorus “how did I fall in love with someone I don’t know” like it’s a foolish confession.

Her keyboardist Annie Leeth is a multi-talented instrumentalist who plays the violin and saxophone as well. This talent is exercised during Jonny, where Leeth’s crooning sax brings a jazzy vibe.

Webster recites a spoken-word piece to the crowd as part of it, which features in her orchestral re-recording Suite: Jonny for her EP, Car Therapy Sessions. It feels experimental, though a little out of step with the rest of the show, but is still an enjoyable gear shift.

Webster returns to the stage for an encore to perform bedroom-pop track Feeling Good Today without her band. She introduces her best friend Lulu, who accompanies her on vocal harmonies like previous live shows for this track. A vocoder is introduced, adding a warbling effect on Webster’s melodic vocals.

Ending the set on Kingston, Webster utters a quick “thank you so much” before swiftly exiting the stage with her band. It feels abrupt and unexpected, yet the crowd still pours out of the theatre singing her praises.
Reviewed by Vyshnavee Wijekumar

MUSIC
Yinya Dana: Lighting the Path ★★★★
Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, Hamer Hall, July 11

In 1975, it would have been inconceivable that the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra should, half a century later, devote an entire concert to the music of a single Indigenous composer, and that composer a woman.

Deborah Cheetham Fraillon with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra.Credit: Nico Keenan

Happily, in celebrating 50 years of NAIDOC Week, that is exactly what the MSO has done: featuring the music of its First Nations creative chair, Deborah Cheetham Fraillon, in truly festive style. Large instrumental and vocal forces, including Dhungala Children’s Choir, the MSO Chorus and the Consort of Melbourne were helmed by Aaron Wyatt.

In full orchestral dress, Long Time Living Here, the MSO’s customary acknowledgement of Country, featured the clear, attractive soprano of Lillie Walker making her MSO debut.

William Barton performs at Yinya Dana: Lighting the Path.Credit: Nico Keenan

Several works responded to the COVID years. Nanyubak (To Dream), the dark first movement of a viola concerto, was illuminated by the committed advocacy of soloist Christopher Moore, while Ghost Light (referring to the single stage light left burning in a darkened theatre) effectively projected angst and nostalgia.

The sweet lyricism of the Long Night Chorale from Parrwang Lifts the Sky, enhanced by Walker and mezzo-soprano Jess Hitchcock, contrasted with the stark historical reckoning found in two movements from Eumeralla: A War Requiem for Peace. Exuberant playing occasionally left some orchestral and vocal elements out of balance.

Baparripna (Dawn) was a well-orchestrated vehicle for showcasing the exceptional talents of didgeridoo virtuoso William Barton. Dutala (Star Filled Sky), a companion to Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, had its own grandeur, as did Earth, an accompaniment to Holst’s The Planets – this finale conducted by Nicolette Fraillon, Cheetham Fraillon’s wife.

A large, enthusiastic audience affirmed this celebration of achievement and hope under the title Yinya dana or lighting paths. With the driving force of artists like Cheetham Fraillon, paths for Indigenous classical musicians towards the next 50 years shine with optimism.
Reviewed by Tony Way

THEATRE
My Cousin Frank ★★★
Arts Centre Melbourne, until July 12

Step into the ring with Rhoda Roberts this NAIDOC week, and you’ll see the proud Widjabul Wia-bal woman onstage, ducking and weaving through family history. My Cousin Frank is a free-flowing solo show, and a remarkable feat of live storytelling, tied to the history of Aboriginal boxing and the much bigger fight for Aboriginal justice.

Rhoda Roberts Credit: Tiff Garvie

It celebrates the life of Frank Roberts, dubbed “Honest Frank”. Almost four decades before Cathy Freeman lit the flame in Sydney and blazed her way to Olympic gold, Frank was the first Indigenous Olympian signed to represent Australia, at the 1964 Olympic Games in Tokyo.

Aboriginal people weren’t regarded as Australian citizens at the time and the young boxer was thrown onto bureaucratic ropes, including the insult of having to obtain a British passport to compete.

My Cousin Frank is a remarkable feat of live storytelling.Credit: Tiff Garvie

Sobering reminders of racism and discrimination shadow Frank’s story, but the spotlight is squarely on remembrance and respect, and the resilience and resistance of Aboriginal leaders who punched above their weight in a fight rigged against them.

Indigenous contribution to the sport of boxing was significant. Aboriginal athletes constituted an estimated 15 per cent of national champions in the early 20th century, and the Roberts clan itself counted many professional boxers among its ranks.

Preachers provided the other main career path in the family. Rhoda freely admits having inherited that line. Her father and grandfather were both pastors, and the performer’s charisma and rhetorical skills can’t be denied.

There’s something moving and deeply impressive about a spirituality that connected and reconciled Aboriginal lore with Christian belief. Religion met political and practical action in the founding of Cubawee, the self-governing Aboriginal reserve on the outskirts of Lismore where “Honest Frank” grew up.

The history of Cubawee is a highlight. It became a vital locus in the struggle for self-determination for the people of the Bundjalung Nation. Complete with archival photography, Rhoda Roberts charts generations of activism in the face of a paternalistic culture which exploited and abused the very people it was supposed to protect.

Righteous anger at injustice is tempered by love and mourning and generosity of spirit. My Cousin Frank can be quite funny and charming while channelling a deep moral and human authority. Inspiring theatre drawn from the annals of First Nations sport – joining the likes of Black Cockatoo, 37, and Sunshine Super Girl – it’s also connected to a living tradition of oral history spanning many tens of thousands of years.
Reviewed by Cameron Woodhead

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