If you're only going to see one musical this season, let it be Beetlejuice
Everything about Beetlejuice is super-slick and timed to perfection. The musical is so jam-packed with visual gags and satirical lyrics and outre musical hijinks you'd probably need to see the show twice to catch them all.
Perfect is in his element as an equally appealing and offensive agent of chaos, poking fun at every musical theatre rule with scruffy charisma, riding a hometown vibe with some of the ad-libbed jokes.
Opposite him, Karis Oka is ideally cast as Lydia, playing the show's beating black heart with a winsome but slightly vicious undertone that might just bring about a goth revival and certainly won't disappoint fans of Winona Ryder in the original movie.
McCann and Johnson leap into parody as a couple diminished by suburban life – channelling shades of Brad and Janet from Rocky Horror, only, well, dead. And camp comedy is embraced with wild abandon by the supporting cast.
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Dinner party guests are possessed into performing Harry Belafonte songs; Claire's ditzy Delia butts heads with the goth heroine in a duet that pits mindless positivity against nihilistic angst; and an entire chorus of Beetlejuices conquers the stage with gruesome … glamour is not the word.
Pigs' genitals might have been removed from the show, but Beetlejuice still revels in rebelling against the appropriate and its highly orchestrated chaos does, in the end, achieve comic catharsis.
We are all strange and unusual, after all, and never more so than when we refuse to admit how fleeting life is, or to embrace life knowing we're all going to die.
Reviewed by Cameron Woodhead
MUSIC
Theremin and Beyond ★★★★
Australian Chamber Orchestra, Melbourne Recital Centre, May 17
German theremin virtuoso Carolina Eyck is a musical conjurer. Making mysterious hand gestures between the two antennas of her electronic instrument, she seemingly creates music out of thin air. Named after its Russian inventor, the theremin led the way in electronica.
Because of its eerie sounds, the theremin has been a godsend for movie and television composers. Surely, Midsomer's reputation as the most murderous place in England could not have been cemented without its spooky theremin theme, nor would Hitchcock's Spellbound be so compelling without composer Miklos Rozsa's appropriation of the instrument.
In this eclectic program, the Australian Chamber Orchestra celebrated the theremin's place in popular culture, creating a party atmosphere with The Beach Boys' Good Vibrations, Morricone's music for The Good, The Bad and The Ugly and an arrangement of the Star Trek theme.
Classical repertory was not neglected with empathetic accounts of Bach's so-called Air on a G String, extracts from Saint-Saens' The Carnival of the Animals including its celebrated swan, and at the other end of the spectrum, a clever take on Rimsky-Korsakov's Flight of the Bumblebee. Glinka's The Lark also appeared – the song with which Theremin introduced his invention to Lenin.
Holly Harrison's Hovercraft, commissioned by the ACO for Eyck, brilliantly opened up the expressive capabilities of the theremin as did Eyck's own composition Strange Birds.
Reduced to some 10 players, the ACO strings led by Richard Tognetti provided diverse connective tissue with works by Brett Dean, Erwin Schulhoff and Shostakovich's Japanese friend Yasushi Akutagawa.
Enlivened by the colourful addition of pianist Tamara-Anna Cislowska and percussionist Brian Nixon for much of the program, rhythmic interest also came with Offenbach's famous Can-can and Jorg Widmann's 180 Beats per Minute.
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Sydney Morning Herald
a day ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘We brought dagwood dogs to Queensland': What it's like to grow up in a family of Ekka workers
If you're going to the Ekka and thinking of getting a dagwood dog – and why wouldn't you, they're delicious when freshly made – you'll be biting down on a deep-fried, sauce-slathered piece of Queensland history. The story goes like this. Corn dogs were invented by German immigrants to Texas in the 1920s. About 1949 they were brought to Sydney's Easter Show by Americans, and were known as pluto pups, pronto pups and ultimately dagwood dogs, after a character from the popular comic strip Blondie. Thelma Howard, a second-generation Queensland show woman, along with her brother Charlie Pink and another showman called Dickie Riley, decided they would figure out how to make their own. The ones at the Sydney show were made in a waffle iron, a slow process resulting in long queues. Howard, Pink and Riley were sure there was a better way. Howard's granddaughter, Bronwyn Bridgewater, takes up the tale. 'They put the stick in it, and they dipped it in batter, and put it in boiling water, and all the batter came off! 'They finally worked out how to make a dagwood dog in oil. My grandfather and grandmother, who were very entrepreneurial, were the first people to start using canteens [food trucks] to sell dagwood dogs, and the first major catering family for dagwood dogs.' She vividly remembers her grandfather, Bill Howard, strapping on a box filled with dagwood dogs to go in and sell to punters watching the Jimmy Sharman Boxing Show at the Ekka in the 1950s. 'And while he was doing that we were like crazy cooking more, because he'd come back and fill it up again.' Gold Coast-based Bridgewater is the State Library of Queensland's 2025 Royal Queensland Show Fellow, researching the 149-year history of the Ekka. At the age of 72, she's surprised at the turn her life has taken. She had resigned herself to never using her Masters in Creative Writing to tell her story. 'The thing is that once you retire, you feel it's all over,' she sighs. She had been working on a film script about her early life as a show kid, but had been 'feeling pretty lost' since the death of her husband, an Australian Christian Churches pastor. Last year she found out about the State Library fellowship four days before it closed, and got her application in. Then a medical issue struck: a doctor told her she had cancer of the thyroid. 'I thought, that's it. I hope I don't win it now, because I'm gonna die.' Not only did she win the fellowship, when her thyroid was removed it proved to be cancer free. 'It all worked out very well for me.' In Bridgewater, the State Library lucked upon a researcher who is also a living, breathing source of Ekka lore. Her great-grandparents, Snowy and Ethel Pink, would travel Queensland and Northern NSW in a horse and wagon as far back as 1894, running sideshows and living in tents with their seven children. Their eldest daughter, Thelma, was variously a contortionist, a snake handler, a ukulele player and a sharpshooter. 'My grandmother was a dead-eye shot. She used to shoot at a woman who would supposedly catch the bullet in her mouth, but it was really [hitting] a plate on the chest. My grandmother would be required to shoot exactly at that spot so that she didn't kill her. She would have the local farmers inspect the gun to prove it was authentic.' One day – this was the early 1930s – Thelma had an odd intuition about her assistant. 'She said, 'What's going on?' And she checked, and the plate was not there. She said, 'What are you doing?' The girl goes, 'I broke up with my boyfriend and I wanted to die!'' Bronwyn was born in 1953. As her parents had split up she was legally adopted by her grandparents and lived with her young mother, Betty Marshall, on the show circuit. The Pinks would travel from North Queensland to Brisbane, through NSW out to Dubbo, through Victoria and all the way to Mount Gambier in South Australia. 'In the show community, everyone's an auntie or an uncle,' she says. The Slim Dusty Show was an Ekka staple back then; Bronwyn would play with Dusty's daughter, Anne Kirkpatrick. Boxing legend Jimmy Sharman was her godfather. At the age of five she would wander the grounds, and take herself to the sample bag (showbag) pavilion. 'My grandmother would say, 'well, Bronwyn, if you're gonna go get a sample bag, the cops are gonna pick you up. And when they do, you've got to take them to Jimmy Sharman's boxing tent.' 'Jimmy Sharman would come out, and then the copper would get to shake his hand, and, and then Jimmy would say, 'she's not lost, she knows this showground better than me.' All the coppers wanted to shake Jimmy Sharman's hand, so they were on the lookout for me just so they could.' In those days, showgoers would clamour to prove their mettle in the ring against prize fighters. It was the age of fairground spruikers and tent shows: the Gladiator Show, the Samson the Strongman Show, the Globe of Death motorbike show, the Monkey Show. In those days the dignity of animals or humans was less of a concern. A troupe of pygmies brought out from the Congo by showman David Meekin reportedly made a very comfortable living performing on the circuit. 'The Pygmy Show was the highlight of my life when I was little,' Bridgewater admits. She attended the local school in whichever town the show was on. 'None of the kids would talk to you. I had a girl say to me in Coonamble, 'Oh, you show people are really dirty. When you drive past the showgrounds, you can see all your washing hanging outside for everyone to see.' 'And I said, 'Well, if you didn't see our washing, you'd say we're dirty because we didn't wash!' 'I respect the showmen, because they're very philosophical about it, and they teach their children not to be defensive and angry about people treating them that way.' 'I had a girl say, 'You show people are really dirty. When you drive past the showgrounds, you can see all your washing hanging outside.'' Bronwyn Bridgewater It all came to an end when her grandmother enrolled her in a Catholic boarding school, Marist Sisters Convent, in Sydney. The nuns quickly realised she couldn't read or write. 'But I was good at maths, which all showkids are, because they're good at taking change.' She married Mark Bridgewater young, at 19, had six kids, and co-founded the Eastcoast Church in Coogee, Sydney. She never returned to the show life, although she remains close to her extended show family. Her grandfather, stepfather and uncle all served as president of the Showmen's Guild of Australasia; her cousin, Aaron Pink, is the current president. Today's sideshow alley is a very different place to what it once was, she notes. 'The tent shows stopped in the '70s. It's now become the age of the multi-million dollar rides, and the thrills and spills have to be better and bigger every year. Loading 'They have to have engineers check those rides very frequently to make sure they're safe. It's very tough for the showmen because every time there's an incident on a ride, insurance goes up.' Sideshow alley may be her special subject, but Bridgewater's fellowship has her meeting legends of other show staples like showjumpers, woodchoppers and cakemakers. As for dagwood dogs? She hasn't eaten one in decades. 'As a kid, I loved dagwood dogs. And sample bags – it's a credit to dentistry that I still have all my own teeth, because of the number of sample bags I ate growing up. 'I guess I've always been, and always will be, a showman.'
The Age
a day ago
- The Age
‘We brought dagwood dogs to Queensland': What it's like to grow up in a family of Ekka workers
If you're going to the Ekka and thinking of getting a dagwood dog – and why wouldn't you, they're delicious when freshly made – you'll be biting down on a deep-fried, sauce-slathered piece of Queensland history. The story goes like this. Corn dogs were invented by German immigrants to Texas in the 1920s. About 1949 they were brought to Sydney's Easter Show by Americans, and were known as pluto pups, pronto pups and ultimately dagwood dogs, after a character from the popular comic strip Blondie. Thelma Howard, a second-generation Queensland show woman, along with her brother Charlie Pink and another showman called Dickie Riley, decided they would figure out how to make their own. The ones at the Sydney show were made in a waffle iron, a slow process resulting in long queues. Howard, Pink and Riley were sure there was a better way. Howard's granddaughter, Bronwyn Bridgewater, takes up the tale. 'They put the stick in it, and they dipped it in batter, and put it in boiling water, and all the batter came off! 'They finally worked out how to make a dagwood dog in oil. My grandfather and grandmother, who were very entrepreneurial, were the first people to start using canteens [food trucks] to sell dagwood dogs, and the first major catering family for dagwood dogs.' She vividly remembers her grandfather, Bill Howard, strapping on a box filled with dagwood dogs to go in and sell to punters watching the Jimmy Sharman Boxing Show at the Ekka in the 1950s. 'And while he was doing that we were like crazy cooking more, because he'd come back and fill it up again.' Gold Coast-based Bridgewater is the State Library of Queensland's 2025 Royal Queensland Show Fellow, researching the 149-year history of the Ekka. At the age of 72, she's surprised at the turn her life has taken. She had resigned herself to never using her Masters in Creative Writing to tell her story. 'The thing is that once you retire, you feel it's all over,' she sighs. She had been working on a film script about her early life as a show kid, but had been 'feeling pretty lost' since the death of her husband, an Australian Christian Churches pastor. Last year she found out about the State Library fellowship four days before it closed, and got her application in. Then a medical issue struck: a doctor told her she had cancer of the thyroid. 'I thought, that's it. I hope I don't win it now, because I'm gonna die.' Not only did she win the fellowship, when her thyroid was removed it proved to be cancer free. 'It all worked out very well for me.' In Bridgewater, the State Library lucked upon a researcher who is also a living, breathing source of Ekka lore. Her great-grandparents, Snowy and Ethel Pink, would travel Queensland and Northern NSW in a horse and wagon as far back as 1894, running sideshows and living in tents with their seven children. Their eldest daughter, Thelma, was variously a contortionist, a snake handler, a ukulele player and a sharpshooter. 'My grandmother was a dead-eye shot. She used to shoot at a woman who would supposedly catch the bullet in her mouth, but it was really [hitting] a plate on the chest. My grandmother would be required to shoot exactly at that spot so that she didn't kill her. She would have the local farmers inspect the gun to prove it was authentic.' One day – this was the early 1930s – Thelma had an odd intuition about her assistant. 'She said, 'What's going on?' And she checked, and the plate was not there. She said, 'What are you doing?' The girl goes, 'I broke up with my boyfriend and I wanted to die!'' Bronwyn was born in 1953. As her parents had split up she was legally adopted by her grandparents and lived with her young mother, Betty Marshall, on the show circuit. The Pinks would travel from North Queensland to Brisbane, through NSW out to Dubbo, through Victoria and all the way to Mount Gambier in South Australia. 'In the show community, everyone's an auntie or an uncle,' she says. The Slim Dusty Show was an Ekka staple back then; Bronwyn would play with Dusty's daughter, Anne Kirkpatrick. Boxing legend Jimmy Sharman was her godfather. At the age of five she would wander the grounds, and take herself to the sample bag (showbag) pavilion. 'My grandmother would say, 'well, Bronwyn, if you're gonna go get a sample bag, the cops are gonna pick you up. And when they do, you've got to take them to Jimmy Sharman's boxing tent.' 'Jimmy Sharman would come out, and then the copper would get to shake his hand, and, and then Jimmy would say, 'she's not lost, she knows this showground better than me.' All the coppers wanted to shake Jimmy Sharman's hand, so they were on the lookout for me just so they could.' In those days, showgoers would clamour to prove their mettle in the ring against prize fighters. It was the age of fairground spruikers and tent shows: the Gladiator Show, the Samson the Strongman Show, the Globe of Death motorbike show, the Monkey Show. In those days the dignity of animals or humans was less of a concern. A troupe of pygmies brought out from the Congo by showman David Meekin reportedly made a very comfortable living performing on the circuit. 'The Pygmy Show was the highlight of my life when I was little,' Bridgewater admits. She attended the local school in whichever town the show was on. 'None of the kids would talk to you. I had a girl say to me in Coonamble, 'Oh, you show people are really dirty. When you drive past the showgrounds, you can see all your washing hanging outside for everyone to see.' 'And I said, 'Well, if you didn't see our washing, you'd say we're dirty because we didn't wash!' 'I respect the showmen, because they're very philosophical about it, and they teach their children not to be defensive and angry about people treating them that way.' 'I had a girl say, 'You show people are really dirty. When you drive past the showgrounds, you can see all your washing hanging outside.'' Bronwyn Bridgewater It all came to an end when her grandmother enrolled her in a Catholic boarding school, Marist Sisters Convent, in Sydney. The nuns quickly realised she couldn't read or write. 'But I was good at maths, which all showkids are, because they're good at taking change.' She married Mark Bridgewater young, at 19, had six kids, and co-founded the Eastcoast Church in Coogee, Sydney. She never returned to the show life, although she remains close to her extended show family. Her grandfather, stepfather and uncle all served as president of the Showmen's Guild of Australasia; her cousin, Aaron Pink, is the current president. Today's sideshow alley is a very different place to what it once was, she notes. 'The tent shows stopped in the '70s. It's now become the age of the multi-million dollar rides, and the thrills and spills have to be better and bigger every year. Loading 'They have to have engineers check those rides very frequently to make sure they're safe. It's very tough for the showmen because every time there's an incident on a ride, insurance goes up.' Sideshow alley may be her special subject, but Bridgewater's fellowship has her meeting legends of other show staples like showjumpers, woodchoppers and cakemakers. As for dagwood dogs? She hasn't eaten one in decades. 'As a kid, I loved dagwood dogs. And sample bags – it's a credit to dentistry that I still have all my own teeth, because of the number of sample bags I ate growing up. 'I guess I've always been, and always will be, a showman.'
ABC News
5 days ago
- ABC News
Drive Live with Alexander Gavrylyuk
Australian-Ukrainian pianist Alexander Gavrylyuk joins Vanessa Hughes in the Eugene Goossens Hall on Drive Live. He shares fond memories of growing up in countryside Ukraine, visiting his grandmother in the summer, and reflects on the sounds of the local folk music scene that were formative to his musicianship, alongside the strict practice routine that shaped him into the piano virtuoso that he is today. Alexander is making his debut with the Australian Chamber Orchestra in a program of Gershwin & Shostakovich, touring around Australia now. MUSIC: Piano Sonata No. 10 in C major, K. 330: I. Allegro moderato by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Étude in C-sharp minor, Op. 2, No. 1 by Alexander Scriabin Performed by Alexander Gavrylyuk (piano)
