One of the things I enjoy most about my gig as a wannabe theatre critic is the sheer variety of shows I get exposed to. I’ve attended lavish, three-hour operas at the State Theatre; a post-theatrical installation at the Malthouse;

With its spectral bodies and sea of words, all floating about in the chiaroscuro of memory, Anna Tregloan’s Black is a difficult work to categorise. Part interpretative dance, part ambient soundscape, with more than a dash of installation art thrown

The new theatrical space at fortyfivedownstairs – which is even further downstairs than the old space used to be – is pregnant with ambiguity. It has been renovated, and its floorboards still have that mildly intoxicating smell of varnish to prove it,

A nettled thicket of social critique, violently funny and hysterically violent, the theatre of Eugène Ionesco is a theatre of modern entropy. His plays observe, with thinly veiled cynicism, the gradual but inevitable breakdown of man-made systems of rational order:

There’s a certain air of ambiguity inherent in the idea of the car. On the one hand, the car transports, opens up, makes possible: the car is a four-wheeled ticket to freedom. On the other hand, that of Neil LaBute’s

As the world rushes headlong towards dystopia, one can’t help but note the recent spate of crypto-, quasi- and pseudo-prophetic productions that have emerged as if on cue to add their sound and fury to the death rattle. From timely

What can an image – a body – tell us? What can a sound – a voice – ? And what, what’s more, can they mask or gloss over? What possibilities can be opened up by denying them? Quebecois performance

It would seem to me that hybrid shows – those decidedly mongrel productions which boldly (madly?) attempt to cross-fertilise disciplines – are notoriously difficult to pull off. While it’s certainly true that each of the arts is co-implicative and aware