Melbourne doesn't give up its secrets easily. This festival is delving below its surface
Swingers gave us a free lesson in the feminist history of minigolf, founded in 19th-century Scotland by ladies unamused at being excluded from golf courses (through constricting fashions as much as the misogyny of the age).
The more traditional performing arts program held its own, too. International theatre threw up some creative engagement with Shakespeare. Peru's Teatro de la Plaza offered a fierce and joyful deconstruction of Hamlet from an ensemble of actors with Down syndrome, on par with our own Back to Back Theatre, while the experimental UK company Forced Entertainment pared Shakespeare down to the bone, condensing the plots of the Bard's complete works into hour-long episodes, narrated by a single performer using only household items.
I found the disarming break-up show Heartbreak Hotel from Aotearoa New Zealand oddly comforting in its curated messiness and was pleased to see some hotly anticipated Australian theatre.
The follow-up to Counting and Cracking, S. Shakthidharan's The Wrong Gods, didn't have the same epic sweep as the previous play, but it certainly held the stage with poised intensity. Set in a remote valley in India, this tale of environmental and economic disaster, and resistance to it, laid bare the incommensurable values of global capitalism and indigenous ways of life with dramatic economy and four charismatic performances.
It had a gravitas that the hell-bound comedy of cultural collision from Merlynn Tong and Joe Paradise Lui, LEGENDS (of the Golden Arches), did everything in its power to avoid … with flamboyant lo-fi success. Performance from Latin America had been radically underrepresented in Melbourne until Brazilian artist Carolina Bianchi's searing Cadela Força Trilogy (Bitch Power Trilogy) at last year's Rising.
That work found a radical companion in Kill Me, from Argentine choreographer Marina Otero – a piece of autobiographical avant-garde dance theatre which transformed naked outrage and mental ill-health into a frenetic carnival of deranged theatricality.
Contemporary dance shone as a vehicle for otherwise silenced or inexpressible lived experience. Botis Seva's BLKDOG combined street dance with haunting and vigorous modern choreography, embodying the struggle against abjection in the face of the surreal recursions of childhood trauma.
Indigenous resistance was powerfully alive in Joel Bray's MONOLITH, a brilliant work for five women that played with the pareidolia of seeing human figures in ancient rock formations. Starting with hallucinatory living tableaux of bodies slowly writhing and intertwined with each other, suggesting connection between ancestors and Country, the piece shifted to embrace steely defiance in the face of colonialism and discrimination, with an ambiguously symbolic, yet sensual, finale that returned us to a vision of shared humanity over atomised individualism. Our dance critic, Andrew Fuhrmann, gave it five stars. He wasn't wrong.
It is impossible to see everything at Rising – I was out almost every night and barely touched the sides of the huge music program – but I did catch Beth Gibbons at Hamer Hall. Best known for her work with trip-hop pioneers Portishead, the ethereal Gibbons held us spellbound with a set from her 2024 solo album and indulged fans with the Portishead classic, Glory Box, at encore. My bucket list is shorter now.
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No one could deny that Rising has experienced growing pains. It was interrupted by the pandemic, which wreaked havoc on Melbourne , and looked like the awkward child of Dark Mofo and some half-realised international arts festival as it tried to find its feet.
It is true, too, that Rising doesn't have the same clear raison d'etre as arts festivals in cities such as Perth or Adelaide. Remote places tend to have bigger and more distinguished festivals out of cultural necessity. Still, in 2025, Melbourne can be proud to embrace a festival that gives every sign of having matured into an assured, aesthetically distinctive and culturally diverse event, with both popular and underground appeal.
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Sydney Morning Herald
33 minutes ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘Brad Pitt's a proper movie star. They don't make them like him any more': Kerry Condon
This story is part of the June 22 edition of Sunday Life. See all 15 stories. Acting was not a seemingly plausible career path for Tipperary girls when Kerry Condon was growing up. 'There were a lot of horses, lovely farming and beautiful countryside, but there weren't a lot of movies being made,' says the 42-year-old actor, laughing. Her 'carefree, innocent' childhood was spent mostly on horseback, surrounded by animals. Nevertheless, Condon cannot remember a time when she didn't know she would be an actor. 'It was always forever something I wanted to do,' she explains. 'I felt sorry for other people who were good at lots of things but didn't know what they were going to do with their lives. For me, it was advantageous to know very early on, because then I could go about getting there. And I just went after it.' She was laser-focused. When The Man in the Iron Mask came to Dublin for a charity movie premiere, a 15-year-old Condon had business cards printed up with 'dancer, singer, actress' and her mother's phone number, hoping to introduce herself to a Hollywood fixer. She cheekily pushed her card into the director's hand as he walked to his limousine after the screening. He didn't call. But Condon wasn't disheartened. Her parents were supportive while also being a bit flummoxed. She was the only one of their four children with a dramatic calling. 'They liked that I liked something, but I think they didn't understand how it was going to work: how I would get from A to B.' In the end, it was raw talent that got her there – a natural gift that was evident in her 1999 big screen debut, when Alan Parker chose her from public auditions for a part in his powerful film Angela's Ashe s. Condon was just 16. 'I didn't have the money to go to drama school and there was an open casting,' she recalls. 'So this was a big chance for me, and I got the part.' 'There have been a lot of moments in my career where I've felt, 'Oh my god, wow, this is incredible!' ' KERRY CONDON That wide-eyed self-belief has been the secret sauce in a stellar career which has taken her from Ireland, to treading the boards as the Royal Shakespeare Company's youngest ever Ophelia in more than 200 performances of Hamlet, to landing a Hollywood agent – all while still in her teens. As her career burgeoned, making dreams reality was the result of hard graft and bucketloads of courage. It certainly hasn't been easy, but Condon's fire comes from an overriding sense of optimism. You can hear it in her voice. 'There have been a lot of moments in my career where I've felt, 'Oh my god, wow, this is incredible!' ' she enthuses. 'After doing Hamlet, I actually went to Australia and filmed [ Ned Kelly ] with Heath Ledger [who tragically died at age 28 in 2008]. Even back then, Heath was quite a big star and there I was flying all the way to Australia as an actress, barely 20.' Condon made good use of her trip, snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef, trying her first oyster – 'I'm a fan' – all while Ledger became a mate. 'I can't go on about how much of a lovely person he was – so generous. At the time, I knew it, but now, having worked more, I am even more aware. We stayed in touch after the movie, and I would see him all the time at his house [in Los Angeles], which was like an open house. He let anybody stay. 'It's sad to say, because he's gone, but he was very special. There are not a lot of people who are that kind at that level in show business.' Condon's early theatre projects with Irish writer and director Martin McDonagh led to him writing a film role especially for her. In 2023, her towering performance as Siobhán in McDonagh's film The Banshees of Inisherin won her the BAFTA for Best Actress in a Supporting Role, and Oscar and Golden Globe nominations. Condon is talking to me on a Zoom call from Los Angeles, her base (alongside London) for more than a decade. She's dressed in a casual soft grey V-neck jumper, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. We're here to discuss her latest project F1: The Movie, a big-budget action movie set in the adrenaline-fuelled world of Formula 1 directed by Top Gun: Maverick 's Joseph Kosinski. Condon admits she's still pinching herself. 'I grew up watching those massive American movies with the music and the special effects. So the idea of being a female lead in one of those movies would have been like a massive dream back when I was a kid in Tipperary – and still is.' Condon plays Kate, the super-smart director of a struggling racing team on the verge of collapse. The only hope is to coax former star driver Sonny Hayes, played by Brad Pitt – 'the greatest that never was' – out of retirement. Condon had never worked with Pitt but she'd met him socially. When I ask if that means they met at a bar or a Hollywood party, Condon starts to chuckle. 'It happened when, after 25 years in the business, I finally got some recognition and was at the Golden Globes – and there I met Brad,' she says with a grin. 'I don't think one meets Brad Pitt at a bar in Hollywood, no. I don't think he goes to bars any more!' The opportunity to act opposite Pitt was a major drawcard for Condon, and even though she knew 'not a thing' about Formula 1, she was all in. 'Brad's like a movie star, and movie stars aren't made any more. It's a different time now. So just to get to work with him was one of those things that I would like to tick off in my career – an achievement.' In the flesh Pitt was everything she hoped he would be – 'relaxed, fun, in the moment'. Without giving too much away, she reveals there's on-screen romance – and to prove it, the trailer teases with a steamy kiss between the pair. 'It's a real feel-good movie,' says Condon. 'I think people will love it.' On set, Condon met up-and-coming British actor Callie Cook and became a mentor to the 31-year-old. 'She really reminded me of me and I felt this major need to be available and generous and kind; to tell her how good she is and that she could call me if she ever wanted to. Because nobody did that for me, and I would have appreciated that.' Not that Condon's complaining. 'It's cool that they didn't … learning the hard way has made me who I am. But I didn't want Callie feeling uncomfortable. She's such a lovely girl.' At 42, Condon is fully ensconced in Hollywood, but it's not home. 'I've never felt anywhere is home to me. I've always felt like a woman of the world. I don't want to keep fluttering, but I don't know if I'll stay in LA or anywhere forever.' Condon's happy place is a little farm she has bought in Washington state. Here she indulges her other passion, horses. 'I like being around animals and it was important to me when I moved to LA to have that. My life doesn't really follow a regular structure, but I try to go to the farm once a month for five days at a stretch.' Loading She has four horses and is horrified when I ask her to pick a favourite. 'You're crazy – that's like asking a mother who's her favourite kid. I couldn't possibly,' she gasps. On her farm she can kick back and connect with her roots. 'I do feel far away from Tipperary, but Washington is quite similar and reminds me of Ireland. I don't really hang out with anyone except my horses. I like to be alone if I'm not working. I like being quiet and in nature.'
Sydney Morning Herald
33 minutes ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘We have no choice': Bar owners drive a levy to make sure the music won't die
In a move that its owners claim is an Australian first, Sooki Lounge in Belgrave will begin charging customers a $1 levy to help cover the costs of public liability insurance the bar has identified as a threat to its ongoing operation as a live music venue. 'We have no choice,' says Stephen Crombie, who runs the venue in the foothills of Melbourne's Dandenong Ranges with his partner, Suzana Pozvek. 'But I don't want to just whack up the booking fee because it needs to be educational. 'I need the customer to understand that's where it's going, and that Oztix [the venue's online ticketing partner] is not gouging and Sooki Lounge is not gouging here.' To that end, he plans to share a video explaining the move on social media in the next two weeks, including his latest premium, a copy of which is already on public display at the bar. 'Insurance' is probably not the first word that springs to mind when you think live music (the words 'sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll', on the other hand …) But for many venue operators who have been struggling to stay afloat since the disruptions wrought by COVID and ongoing cost-of-living pressures, the issue is an absolute chart topper. Loading Multiple inquiries into the state of live music and the festival scene have heard that the soaring cost of public liability insurance is a key factor in a crisis that has plagued the sector for more than four years. The increase for cover on Sooki's 330-capacity venue – which is open four nights a week and is only occasionally sold out – has been massive. Pre-COVID, it cost about $15,000 annually. The latest bill, issued less than a fortnight ago, came in at $61,035. To pay it, Crombie and Pozvek need finance, and that increases the total to about $65,000. It's little wonder then that so many venues have simply given up. According to an industry survey released in late 2023, more than 1300 had closed doors or stopped hosting live music since the pandemic, which is about one-quarter of all the sector's venues in Australia. More recent figures are not available, but anecdotal evidence suggests the situation has not improved, as higher living costs and the trend to lower alcohol consumption on premises continue to blow holes in the business model.
The Age
37 minutes ago
- The Age
‘We have no choice': Bar owners drive a levy to make sure the music won't die
In a move that its owners claim is an Australian first, Sooki Lounge in Belgrave will begin charging customers a $1 levy to help cover the costs of public liability insurance the bar has identified as a threat to its ongoing operation as a live music venue. 'We have no choice,' says Stephen Crombie, who runs the venue in the foothills of Melbourne's Dandenong Ranges with his partner, Suzana Pozvek. 'But I don't want to just whack up the booking fee because it needs to be educational. 'I need the customer to understand that's where it's going, and that Oztix [the venue's online ticketing partner] is not gouging and Sooki Lounge is not gouging here.' To that end, he plans to share a video explaining the move on social media in the next two weeks, including his latest premium, a copy of which is already on public display at the bar. 'Insurance' is probably not the first word that springs to mind when you think live music (the words 'sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll', on the other hand …) But for many venue operators who have been struggling to stay afloat since the disruptions wrought by COVID and ongoing cost-of-living pressures, the issue is an absolute chart topper. Loading Multiple inquiries into the state of live music and the festival scene have heard that the soaring cost of public liability insurance is a key factor in a crisis that has plagued the sector for more than four years. The increase for cover on Sooki's 330-capacity venue – which is open four nights a week and is only occasionally sold out – has been massive. Pre-COVID, it cost about $15,000 annually. The latest bill, issued less than a fortnight ago, came in at $61,035. To pay it, Crombie and Pozvek need finance, and that increases the total to about $65,000. It's little wonder then that so many venues have simply given up. According to an industry survey released in late 2023, more than 1300 had closed doors or stopped hosting live music since the pandemic, which is about one-quarter of all the sector's venues in Australia. More recent figures are not available, but anecdotal evidence suggests the situation has not improved, as higher living costs and the trend to lower alcohol consumption on premises continue to blow holes in the business model.
