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PRIMA FACIE

/ antakalipa

PRIMA FACIE — WHEN THE LAW BECOMES THE WITNESS

Suzie Miller’s Prima Facie at The Market Theatre
17 September – 4 October 2026
How Now Brown Cow in association with The Market Theatre
Directed by Neil Coppen
Featuring Danica De La Rey Jones

There are performances you applaud.

There are performances you admire.

There are performances you discuss on the way home.

And then there are performances that seem to cast a spell over the room.

Danica De La Rey Jones’ performance in Suzie Miller’s Prima Facie belongs to the last category.

Magic.

Juju.

Pure, unexplainable theatrical magic.

I walked into The Market Theatre knowing I was about to watch a one-woman play. I walked out wondering how one human being could possibly have inhabited so many people, emotions, rooms, memories and realities for more than two hours without ever allowing the spell to break.

I have never experienced anything quite like it.

Prima Facie, presented by How Now Brown Cow in association with The Market Theatre and directed by Neil Coppen, is an extraordinarily demanding piece of theatre. It is intellectually sharp, emotionally brutal and structurally ingenious. It deals with rape, sexual violence, consent, evidence, trauma, the law, gender, class, power and the enormous distance between what happened to a person and what a legal system can actually prove happened.

But for all its difficult subject matter, this production never feels like a lecture.

It feels alive.

And at the centre of that life is Danica De La Rey Jones.

She is phenomenal.

THE MAGIC OF DANICA

I have a new favourite performer.

There is simply no other way to say it.

Danica De La Rey Jones is magic.

Watching her perform Tessa is like watching someone manipulate reality in front of you. She moves between characters without missing a beat. A change in posture, a shift in her eyes, a slight alteration in her voice, the smallest movement of her mouth—and suddenly we are somewhere else.

A different person is in the room.

A different memory.

A different emotional temperature.

A different world.

Her facial expressions are extraordinary. More than that, her microexpressions are extraordinary. The smallest movements communicate enormous amounts of information. Her eyes are constantly alive. They observe, calculate, remember, fear, seduce, challenge, laugh and break.

And that is perhaps what makes her performance so human.

Tessa is brilliant, but Danica never allows brilliance to become coldness.

She has personality.

She is funny.

She is animated.

She is vulnerable.

She is occasionally ridiculous.

She is ambitious.

She is angry.

She is frightened.

She is compassionate.

She is human.

That humanity is essential because Prima Facie is not simply the story of a lawyer discovering that the legal system has flaws. It is the story of a human being discovering that the intellectual architecture she has trusted her entire adult life cannot necessarily accommodate the reality of what has happened to her.

Danica understands that distinction.

She does not merely tell us Tessa’s story.

She makes us live inside Tessa’s mind.

For approximately two hours and ten minutes, she holds the entire room in the palm of her hand.

Alone.

No conventional ensemble.

No co-star waiting backstage to take over.

No safety net of another performer carrying the emotional weight.

Just Danica, the text, the space, the lighting, the sound and an audience.

And somehow, it is enough to fill the entire theatre.

More than enough.

TESSA: THE WOMAN WHO BELIEVED IN THE GAME

Suzie Miller introduces us to Tessa as a woman who has learned how to win.

Tessa comes from working-class origins and has climbed her way into a profession populated by people who did not necessarily begin where she did. She has fought her way upward and mastered the rules of the world she entered.

She is a criminal defence barrister.

And she is brilliant.

Tessa knows the law.

She understands the courtroom.

She understands witnesses.

She understands doubt.

She knows how to cross-examine.

She knows how to find weakness in an argument.

She knows how to manipulate a room.

She knows that emotion can become dangerous inside a courtroom and that the rules demand something more precise: evidence.

Facts.

Consistency.

Proof.

She believes in the system because the system has rewarded her.

The law is a game, and Tessa is exceptionally good at playing it.

There is something intoxicating about watching her at work.

She is fast.

Confident.

Witty.

Fearless.

She understands performance because the courtroom itself is a theatre.

There are roles.

There are costumes.

There are rituals.

There is an audience.

There is a person speaking and a person listening.

There are rules governing who gets to speak, what can be said, what can be challenged and what can be believed.

Tessa understands all of this instinctively.

And then the game becomes personal.

A brutal sexual assault tears through the architecture of her life.

Suddenly Tessa is no longer standing beside the accused.

She is on the other side.

She is the complainant.

The lawyer who understood the machinery of the justice system now has to place herself inside it.

That is where Miller’s central contradiction becomes devastating.

Tessa has spent her career understanding why a case must be proved.

Now she has to understand what it means when the thing that happened to you is real—but proving it is another matter entirely.

THE TITLE

Prima facie is a legal expression meaning, broadly, “at first sight” or “on the face of it.”

The title is devastatingly appropriate.

Because what does a legal system see?

What does a courtroom see?

What does a witness appear to be?

What does a victim look like?

What does a credible woman sound like?

What does trauma look like when translated into testimony?

The title becomes a question about appearances and assumptions.

At first sight, Tessa is successful.

At first sight, she is strong.

At first sight, she understands the law.

At first sight, she knows how the system works.

At first sight, perhaps she should be the perfect person to navigate it.

But human experience does not always present itself in a form that a courtroom can comfortably process.

That is the wound at the centre of Prima Facie.

WHEN THE DEFENCE LAWYER BECOMES THE ACCUSED

One of the most powerful aspects of Miller’s writing is the reversal.

Tessa has spent her career defending people accused of sexual violence.

She has cross-examined women.

She has challenged inconsistencies.

She has exposed uncertainty.

She has used the machinery of reasonable doubt.

She has participated in a system that demands evidence capable of surviving the adversarial process.

Then she becomes the woman sitting on the other side of the room.

And suddenly she understands the violence of the questions differently.

This is not simply hypocrisy.

That would be too easy.

Miller gives us something more uncomfortable.

Tessa believed in the rules.

She believed that applying them fairly was justice.

Her crisis comes when her own experience collides with the limitations of those rules.

The woman who once understood the courtroom as a place where truth could be tested discovers that truth and proof are not necessarily the same thing.

And this distinction becomes devastating when the person who has experienced trauma is expected to recount that trauma with perfect clarity.

Trauma is messy.

Memory is complicated.

Fear is irrational.

Human beings do not necessarily behave according to the neat logic expected of legal testimony.

And yet the courtroom demands coherence.

That tension is one of the central engines of Prima Facie.

THE COURTROOM AS THEATRE

There is something almost beautifully cruel about making this a one-person play.

Because Tessa’s world is already about performance.

She performs in court.

She performs professionally.

She performs confidence.

She performs competence.

She performs control.

Then Danica De La Rey Jones performs Tessa performing all of those things.

And beneath it all is the private person.

That creates layers upon layers of theatricality.

Danica can become Tessa.

Tessa can become the barrister.

The barrister can become the performer.

The performer can become the storyteller.

And the storyteller can suddenly break the illusion and speak directly into the emotional centre of the room.

This is why Danica’s performance feels almost supernatural.

She is not simply changing characters.

She is changing the audience’s perception of space.

One moment the theatre is a courtroom.

The next it is a law office.

Then a memory.

Then a private room.

Then a place of safety.

Then a place of terror.

Then a courtroom again.

And all of it is being created by one performer.

THE BODY REMEMBERS

One of the most difficult ideas in Prima Facie is that sexual violence does not end when the physical event ends.

The body remembers.

The mind remembers.

The environment remembers.

Language remembers.

And the legal process can become another site of trauma.

Tessa’s re-traumatisation through cross-examination is especially powerful because she knows exactly what is happening.

She knows the techniques.

She knows the strategy.

She understands why the questions are being asked.

She knows how a barrister thinks.

And that makes it worse.

There is no ignorance to protect her.

Her professional knowledge becomes part of her suffering.

The system she mastered becomes the system she must survive.

That is an extraordinary dramatic reversal.

CLASS, GENDER AND POWER

Tessa’s working-class origins matter.

Her journey into the upper reaches of the legal profession is not merely a motivational backstory. It tells us something about how she sees power.

She has entered a world that was not originally built around people like her.

She has succeeded by learning its language.

Its rules.

Its rituals.

Its codes.

She has become excellent at the game.

But Prima Facie asks whether entering a system and succeeding within it necessarily means the system has changed.

Tessa’s individual success cannot automatically dismantle the structures around her.

She can become powerful without becoming free from the structures that produced that power.

That is one of the play’s most uncomfortable ideas.

And when gender enters the equation, the discomfort deepens.

The legal system presents itself as neutral.

But the experiences of women entering that system do not always feel neutral.

Miller’s play interrogates the relationship between law and patriarchal power, particularly the ways evidentiary rules and the burden of proof can collide with the realities of sexual violence. The South African production itself describes the play as an examination of the “patriarchal power of the law.”

This is not an argument that every individual working within the law is malicious.

It is an examination of the machinery itself.

What happens when a system designed around particular assumptions about evidence encounters an experience that does not conform neatly to those assumptions?

DANICA’S EYES

I keep coming back to Danica’s eyes.

Because they are doing so much of the work.

There is life in them.

At one moment they sparkle with the confidence of a woman who knows she is the smartest person in the room.

Then they become playful.

Then suspicious.

Then frightened.

Then devastated.

Then furious.

Then empty.

Then alive again.

Those transitions are microscopic and enormous at the same time.

A lesser performer might announce every emotional transition.

Danica allows us to discover them.

That is the difference between acting and storytelling.

She trusts the audience.

She does not need to shout every emotion.

Sometimes she simply looks.

And the room understands.

NEIL COPPEN’S DIRECTION

Neil Coppen’s direction deserves enormous credit because a one-person production can easily become visually static.

This does not.

The stage has movement even when Danica is standing still.

The direction understands that the performer is the centre of the production, but not the only instrument.

Everything works around her.

The staging creates transitions without destroying the momentum of the storytelling.

The production understands that Prima Facie must feel like a journey rather than a speech.

Coppen allows Danica to move through the emotional architecture of the play with remarkable precision.

There is humour.

There is confidence.

There is acceleration.

Then the temperature changes.

The laughter disappears.

The room becomes heavier.

The silence becomes part of the storytelling.

And the production refuses to give us an easy escape.

There is no interval.

Julie-Anne McDowell even gave us some excellent advice before the performance: go to the bathroom beforehand, because once you leave the auditorium, you will not be allowed back in.

It sounds funny.

But artistically, it makes sense.

Prima Facie is not a show that wants to release you halfway through.

Once it begins, you are inside it.

And you stay there.

THE SET: A WORLD THAT CAN BECOME ANYTHING

The set design by Neil Coppen and Patrick Curtis, with set construction by Patrick Curtis and The Baxter Theatre, works in harmony with the production’s fundamental challenge: how do you create an entire world around one performer?

The answer is restraint.

Rather than overwhelming Danica, the environment gives her room.

The space can become courtroom, office, memory and psychological landscape.

That flexibility is crucial.

The set is not simply decoration.

It becomes part of the transformation.

The physical environment changes meaning depending on where Tessa is emotionally.

The same space can feel professional at one moment and threatening at another.

That is precisely what theatre can do better than almost any other medium.

A stage does not have to become a literal location.

It only has to make us believe.

And Prima Facie understands that.

LIGHTING THAT TELLS THE STORY

Tina Le Roux’s lighting design is irresistible.

It does not merely illuminate Danica.

It participates in the storytelling.

The lighting moves.

It breathes.

It changes the emotional geography of the stage.

It tells us where we are.

More importantly, it tells us how we should feel about where we are.

That is an important distinction.

Good lighting makes actors visible.

Great lighting becomes dramaturgy.

Here, light can create intimacy, tension, exposure, isolation and transformation.

The courtroom can feel clinical.

Memory can feel different.

Trauma can alter the atmosphere without requiring a literal change of scenery.

The lighting becomes another character.

And in a one-person production, that is invaluable.

COSTUME AS CHARACTER

Noluthando “Texture” Lobese’s costume design contributes another layer to Tessa’s transformation.

Costume is particularly important in a play where one performer must inhabit an entire world.

Tessa’s professional identity is inseparable from how she presents herself.

She is a barrister.

She understands presentation.

Appearance matters.

Authority matters.

Control matters.

Clothing becomes part of the armour.

But Prima Facie gradually exposes the human being underneath that armour.

The costume therefore becomes part of the larger visual language of the play: the public Tessa versus the private Tessa.

The professional identity versus the woman underneath it.

The person who knows what to do versus the person who has no idea what to do next.

SOUND, MUSIC AND THE INVISIBLE WORLD

Carl-Johan Lingenfelder’s sound design and original music are equally important.

Sound can be particularly powerful in a production about memory and trauma because sound does not always behave rationally.

A sound can transport us.

It can trigger memory.

It can create anticipation.

It can make an empty stage feel enormous.

In Prima Facie, sound helps prevent the one-person structure from feeling like a vacuum.

The world exists beyond the visible stage.

People exist beyond Danica.

Rooms exist beyond the physical set.

And memories exist beyond the present moment.

The soundscape therefore expands the production without overcrowding it.

THE WRITING: SUZIE MILLER’S TRAPDOOR

Suzie Miller’s writing is clever because she gives us Tessa before she gives us the catastrophe.

We get to know the woman who believes.

The woman who wins.

The woman who understands the rules.

The woman who thinks she understands justice.

That matters because when Tessa’s worldview collapses, ours does too.

Miller, herself a former lawyer, built the play around questions concerning the legal treatment of sexual assault and the collision between legal procedure and lived experience. The play emerged from her engagement with criminal law and her concern that something about how sexual assault is handled within the system did not adequately account for survivors’ realities.

The brilliance is in the structure.

The woman who knows how to dismantle someone else’s testimony is forced to experience the machinery from the opposite side.

The woman who believes in evidence discovers how difficult it can be to translate lived experience into evidence.

The woman who believes in justice discovers that justice is not necessarily synonymous with procedure.

And the woman who has spent her career mastering the rules is finally forced to ask whether the rules themselves are enough.

WHAT DOES JUSTICE ACTUALLY MEAN?

That may be the largest question Prima Facie leaves hanging over the audience.

Is justice simply the correct application of rules?

Is justice the discovery of truth?

Is justice punishment?

Is justice belief?

Is justice being heard?

Is justice surviving?

And what happens when those definitions contradict each other?

The play does not offer the comfort of an easy answer.

Instead, it leaves Tessa—and us—with the uncomfortable realisation that a system can be constructed around principles of fairness and still produce experiences that feel profoundly unfair.

That is the paradox.

And that paradox is what makes the play so powerful.

THE HEAVINESS

This is not an easy production.

It explores rape.

Sexual violence.

Trauma.

The interrogation of victims.

The burden of proof.

The adversarial legal process.

Gendered power.

Institutional structures.

The psychological consequences of being forced to repeatedly revisit an experience that has already damaged you.

There are moments when the production becomes difficult to watch.

It should.

The subject matter demands seriousness.

But what makes this production remarkable is that it does not confuse heaviness with monotony.

There is humour.

There is personality.

There is wit.

There is life.

And that makes the darkness darker.

Because we have seen Tessa laugh.

We have seen her enjoy herself.

We have seen her confidence.

We have seen her humanity.

So when that person begins to fracture, we understand what is being lost.

A ONE-WOMAN SHOW THAT FEELS LIKE AN ENTIRE COMPANY

This is ultimately where Danica De La Rey Jones becomes extraordinary.

She makes the impossible look effortless.

She carries characters.

She carries memories.

She carries the legal system.

She carries the emotional history.

She carries the jokes.

She carries the terror.

She carries the silences.

She carries us.

And she never makes the audience feel as though we are watching someone desperately trying to remember the next line.

Everything feels immediate.

Everything feels alive.

Everything feels dangerous.

That is why her performance feels like magic.

Juju.

Spellbinding.

The kind of performance that makes you forget your phone exists.

Forget the outside world.

Forget the time.

Forget that you are watching an actor.

For a while, there is only Tessa.

And Tessa is in trouble.

THE MARKET THEATRE AS THE ROOM FOR THIS STORY

There is also something fitting about experiencing Prima Facie at The Market Theatre.

The Market has always been a place where theatre can confront difficult questions.

Where art can disturb.

Where artists can take complicated human realities and put them directly in front of an audience.

This production belongs in that tradition.

It is not entertainment designed to make us comfortable.

It is theatre designed to make us feel.

To make us think.

To make us question.

To make us sit with something long after the lights have gone down.

And that is precisely what happened.

SOMETHING HAS TO CHANGE

The great achievement of Prima Facie is that it does not reduce its subject to a simple story of good people and bad people.

It asks bigger questions.

What happens when institutions are built around assumptions that do not adequately accommodate lived experience?

What happens when evidence becomes more important than experience?

What happens when trauma is expected to speak the language of reason?

What happens when a woman who understands the system better than most still finds herself vulnerable to it?

What happens when the person who once defended the rules becomes the person harmed by their limitations?

And what happens after that?

These questions do not end when Tessa leaves the courtroom.

They follow the audience home.

That is the power of theatre.

It does not have to solve the problem.

Sometimes it only needs to make the problem impossible to ignore.

FINAL VERDICT

I have watched theatre for years.

I have watched performers disappear into characters.

I have watched actors transform themselves.

I have watched productions that made me laugh, cry, think, rage and dream.

But I have never experienced anything quite like Danica De La Rey Jones in Prima Facie.

She is extraordinary.

She is unbelievable.

She is alive in every centimetre of the performance.

Her eyes speak.

Her face speaks.

Her body speaks.

Her silence speaks.

Her voice carries an entire universe.

And somehow she makes Tessa feel not like a character written on a page, but like a person who walked into The Market Theatre and told us the story herself.

That is a phenomenal talent.

Neil Coppen’s direction gives the performance its architecture.

Suzie Miller’s writing gives it its intellectual and emotional ammunition.

Neil Coppen and Patrick Curtis give it a world.

Patrick Curtis and The Baxter Theatre give that world physical form.

Tina Le Roux gives it light.

Noluthando “Texture” Lobese gives it visual identity.

Carl-Johan Lingenfelder gives it sound and atmosphere.

And Danica De La Rey Jones gives it a soul.

Together, they have created something powerful.

Something uncomfortable.

Something beautiful.

Something difficult.

Something necessary.

Prima Facie is a story about the law.

But ultimately, it is a story about people.

People who believe.

People who hurt.

People who remember.

People who survive.

People who question.

And people who discover that justice is much more complicated than simply knowing the rules.

The final thought is not an easy one.

It is a challenge.

Something has to change.

And after watching Danica De La Rey Jones hold an entire theatre in the palm of her hand for more than two hours, I left The Market Theatre with another thought entirely:

Magic is real.

Sometimes it walks onto a stage.

Sometimes it looks you directly in the eyes.

And sometimes, for two hours and ten minutes, it is called Danica De La Rey Jones.

The Big Bad Musical

/ antakalipa

The Big Bad Musical – Putting the Wolf on Trial and Fairy Tales on the Witness Stand

There is something magical about walking into a theatre for the very first time.

The architecture is unfamiliar. The corridors have no memories attached to them. Every light, every seat, every curtain feels like the beginning of a relationship waiting to happen.

That was my experience at the Roodepoort Theatre.

A beautiful venue with an undeniable sense of occasion. We were fortunate enough to sit right at the front, close enough to hear every laugh, witness every expression and become completely immersed in the world unfolding before us. It was my first visit, but if The Big Bad Musical is any indication of what this theatre offers, it certainly won’t be my last.

Produced by Stageworx, The Big Bad Musical (16–30 July 2026) takes one of humanity’s oldest storytelling traditions—the fairy tale—and gleefully turns it inside out. Written by Alec Strum, with original music and lyrics by Bill Francoeur, additional music and new songs by Matthew Marinus, musical direction by Gemma Marinus, and directed by Timothy Le Roux, the production asks an unexpectedly profound question beneath all its comedy:

What if history has misunderstood the Big Bad Wolf?

It is a question that transforms the familiar into something wonderfully unpredictable.

Instead of lurking in dark forests waiting for innocent victims, the Wolf finds himself standing before a courtroom.

Justice, rather than revenge, takes centre stage.

The audience becomes the jury.

Suddenly childhood memories become evidence.

Every fairy tale needs heroes and villains.

This musical suggests that perhaps neither exists quite as neatly as we remember.

The courtroom setting is inspired. It allows beloved characters from different fairy tales to collide naturally while exposing how unreliable stories can become after centuries of retelling.

The Big Bad Wolf insists he has been the victim of terrible public relations.

The Fairy Godmother prosecutes with unwavering confidence.

The Evil Stepmother—ironically one of fairy tales’ most notorious villains—becomes the Wolf’s defence attorney.

Immediately the production announces its intentions.

Nothing is sacred.

Everything is funny.

The audience’s role elevates the experience beyond passive theatre.

We are no longer simply watching.

We are participants.

Jurors.

Every testimony, every joke and every musical number quietly asks us to make a decision.

Can someone escape their reputation?

Can a villain rewrite history?

Or are some actions impossible to forgive?

Personally, my verdict was simple.

Bad.

The Wolf may passionately insist he has become a vegan.

An admirable lifestyle choice.

Unfortunately, there remains the rather awkward matter of eating Red Riding Hood.

And her grandmother.

Eating people remains difficult to defend in any legal system.

Then there are the Three Little Pigs.

The Wolf openly admits he huffed.

He puffed.

He demolished a house.

When the evidence includes property destruction and attempted meals involving humans, centuries of “bad publicity” begin to resemble… accurate reporting.

The theatre itself reflected this delightful uncertainty.

Some audience members believed the Wolf had genuinely been misunderstood.

Others remained unconvinced.

Conversations erupted throughout the auditorium as strangers debated innocence and guilt like seasoned lawyers. After hearing the audience’s views, the Judge ultimately ruled the Wolf…

Bad.

Justice, it seems, prevailed.

One of the production’s greatest strengths is its refusal to treat its fairy-tale characters as cardboard cut-outs.

Every familiar face possesses personality.

They have opinions.

Flaws.

Vanity.

Humour.

Unexpected intelligence.

The production understands that audiences already know these characters.

Rather than introducing them, it reinvents them.

Musically, the production keeps its playful momentum through an energetic collection of songs that continuously push the story forward.

“Good or Bad” introduces the central question with infectious energy.

“Good Guy” cleverly explores reputation.

“Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf” transforms childhood familiarity into theatrical spectacle.

“The Wolf Likes Grandma’s Clothes” embraces absurdity with complete confidence.

“He Huffed and Puffed” turns one of literature’s most famous acts of destruction into comic musical theatre.

“I Cried Wolf” gives new life to another timeless tale.

Then comes perhaps the evening’s funniest question:

“How Does Nobody Know What a Tuffet Is?”

To be perfectly honest…

Neither do I.

The mystery remains unsolved.

“This Wolf’s a Vegan” may well be one of the production’s most delightfully ridiculous ideas, while “Good or Bad (Reprise)” provides a satisfying conclusion that reminds us the trial has never really been about wolves.

It has always been about judgement.

The performances breathe vibrant life into every page of the script.

Jessica Driver delivers a commanding Fairy Godmother whose authority never overshadows her wit. She balances courtroom confidence with fairy-tale sparkle, making for a delightful prosecutor determined to expose the truth.

Bulelo Landman embraces the challenge of portraying a Wolf who is equal parts charismatic, suspicious, amusing and perpetually defensive. His performance keeps the audience guessing, and even when his explanations become increasingly unbelievable, he remains thoroughly entertaining.

Among the evening’s greatest highlights is John Tsenoli as the Judge.

His timing is exceptional.

His reactions are priceless.

He anchors the courtroom while allowing the comedy to flourish around him, creating many of the production’s loudest laughs. Every entrance, interruption and verdict lands with confidence, proving that authority figures can be every bit as funny as the accused.

Siba Dyaphu delivers an inspired Evil Stepmother whose role as defence attorney is one of the production’s cleverest ideas. Watching one of fairy tales’ most infamous villains passionately defend another supposed villain creates delicious dramatic irony.

Kristy Suttner, portraying both Grandmother Hood and The Shepherd, demonstrates impressive versatility, giving two distinct personalities equal charm.

Evanca Moolman‘s Miss Muffet adds playful energy and perfectly complements the production’s whimsical spirit.

Neo Diabeng Kele captures Red Riding Hood with warmth, innocence and confidence, becoming an important emotional thread throughout the trial.

Jade Kabatznik, as Pig Three, contributes wonderfully to the production’s ensemble chemistry, while Aidan Mc Arthur Antonio, as Pig Two, ensures the pigs’ side of the story is heard with humour and conviction.

Malakai Marinus, portraying The Boy Who Cried Wolf, gives fresh life to another classic character, reminding us that truth has always been a complicated thing in fairy tales.

No performance feels forgotten.

Every actor contributes to a colourful theatrical tapestry where ensemble work matters just as much as individual brilliance.

Visually, the production delights in the familiar.

The costumes immediately identify each character while allowing their personalities to shine beyond the stories that first made them famous. The courtroom setting cleverly unifies characters from different fairy tales into a single believable world, creating an imaginative playground where wolves, pigs, fairy godmothers and nursery-rhyme legends coexist effortlessly.

Perhaps what impressed me most was the production’s understanding of comedy.

Comedy is rhythm.

Timing.

Listening.

Reaction.

The biggest laughs often arrive not through dialogue alone but through pauses, glances and perfectly timed expressions. The cast demonstrates an excellent understanding of this delicate craft, allowing the humour to arise naturally rather than forcing it.

The result is a production filled with warmth, laughter and genuine audience participation.

Performance art has always possessed a remarkable ability to reimagine familiar stories.

It asks us to return to worlds we thought we already understood, only to discover something entirely new waiting beneath the surface.

The Big Bad Musical achieves exactly that.

It transforms childhood nostalgia into an evening of laughter, music and surprisingly thoughtful reflection. It reminds us that stories evolve, perspectives shift and reputations can always be challenged—even if, after hearing all the evidence, the verdict remains exactly the same.

The Wolf had his day in court.

He pleaded his case.

He blamed bad publicity.

He even claimed to be vegan.

But some evidence simply cannot be ignored.

He ate people.

He destroyed homes.

And after hearing every witness, every song and every argument, the jury—and ultimately the Judge—reached the only conclusion that felt right.

Bad.

As the curtain fell and the applause echoed through the beautiful Roodepoort Theatre, one thing became abundantly clear.

Justice had been served.

And theatre, once again, reminded us why live performance remains one of humanity’s greatest art forms.

It invites us not merely to watch stories.

It invites us to become part of them.

Congratulations Timothy Le Roux and the whole team for a great show and a deserved standing ovation.

CONSTELLATIONS

/ antakalipa

Constellations: Infinite Possibilities, One Extraordinary Love Story

There are some productions that entertain. There are others that challenge. Then there are rare productions that linger long after the final curtain call has fallen, continuing to occupy the mind like a beautiful unanswered question.

Constellations, currently playing at Theatre on the Square in Sandton, is one of those rare productions.

Written by acclaimed playwright Nick Payne and presented by How Now Brown Cow, this remarkable play arrives in Johannesburg carrying the weight of glowing Cape Town reviews and considerable anticipation. Having spoken before the performance with producer Julie-Anne McDowell Hegarty, whose enthusiasm for the production was impossible to miss, it quickly became clear that this was a work everyone involved believed in deeply. Animated, passionate and visibly excited, she spoke of the show’s reception in Cape Town and the audiences who returned to experience it again.

After witnessing the production myself, I understood why.

I would happily see it again.

That may be the highest compliment one can pay a piece of theatre.

Directed by acclaimed theatre-maker and choreographer Jay Pather, Constellations is a smart, funny, intellectually stimulating and deeply moving exploration of love, fate, choice and the infinite possibilities that shape our lives. It is theatre at its most intimate and its most ambitious simultaneously.

A Love Story Written Across Universes

At its heart, Constellations tells the story of Marianne and Roland.

Marianne is a physicist. Roland is a beekeeper.

Their relationship begins with what appears to be a simple encounter. They meet. They talk. They connect.

But this is where Nick Payne’s extraordinary imagination transforms what could have been a conventional romance into something far more profound.

Drawing inspiration from theories of quantum physics and the concept of the multiverse, the play repeatedly revisits moments in Marianne and Roland’s relationship. Conversations restart. Outcomes change. Choices shift. Tiny alterations create entirely different emotional realities.

In one universe a relationship begins.

In another it ends before it starts.

In one version there is betrayal.

In another forgiveness.

In one reality there is hope.

In another heartbreak.

The audience witnesses countless variations of the same lives unfolding simultaneously, as though someone is turning a cosmic kaleidoscope and revealing new patterns with every movement.

What makes the concept so effective is that it never becomes cold or academic. The science provides the framework, but the beating heart of the story remains unmistakably human.

Anyone who has ever wondered “What if?” will find themselves reflected somewhere within these countless possibilities.

What if I had said yes?

What if I had walked away?

What if I had stayed?

What if I had loved differently?

The play reminds us that entire lives can pivot on moments so small we barely notice them at the time.

Two Performers, Countless Lives

A production built upon such an intricate concept succeeds or fails on the strength of its performers.

Fortunately, Mark Elderkin and Mwenya Kabwe are magnificent.

The challenge placed before them is enormous.

They are required not merely to play two characters but to portray dozens of emotional realities. They must shift between joy, uncertainty, flirtation, anger, grief, tenderness and devastation, often within seconds.

One moment they are strangers.

The next, soulmates.

Then adversaries.

Then lovers again.

The transitions are seamless.

Their chemistry anchors the entire production and allows the audience to navigate the play’s constantly shifting realities without ever losing emotional connection.

Mwenya Kabwe brings remarkable intelligence and emotional precision to Marianne. She captures both the scientific curiosity of the character and the vulnerability that lies beneath her intellectual confidence.

Mark Elderkin delivers Roland with warmth, humanity and quiet emotional depth. His grounded performance provides the perfect counterbalance to Marianne’s restless analytical mind.

Together they create something genuinely special.

The result feels less like watching actors perform and more like observing parallel lives unfolding before us.

Jay Pather’s Elegant Direction

Jay Pather’s direction deserves enormous praise.

A lesser production might have become tangled within its own complexity. The play’s structure is unconventional and demands extraordinary clarity from its director.

Pather understands that the audience does not need every scientific theory explained. Instead, he trusts them to feel their way through the emotional architecture of the piece.

The production moves with rhythm and precision.

Scenes appear and disappear like fleeting memories.

Moments overlap.

Time bends.

Reality shifts.

Yet the storytelling never loses coherence.

There is confidence in the staging, allowing silence, stillness and space to become as important as dialogue.

The result is theatre that feels simultaneously intimate and expansive.

Minimalism at Its Finest

One of the production’s greatest strengths lies in its restraint.

The set design embraces simplicity rather than spectacle.

There are no extravagant distractions.

No overwhelming visual gimmicks.

Instead, the production creates an environment where imagination can flourish.

The stage becomes a blank canvas upon which entire universes are projected.

This minimalist approach proves particularly effective because Constellations is fundamentally a play about possibilities. The sparse design allows audiences to focus on the shifting emotional landscapes rather than physical scenery.

The props are used with purpose and precision.

Nothing feels excessive.

Everything serves the story.

Every object, every movement and every visual element contributes to the larger narrative without drawing attention away from the performances.

Light, Space and Possibility

The technical elements deserve recognition for their subtle brilliance.

Lighting becomes one of the production’s most important storytelling tools.

Changes in illumination help signal shifts between realities and emotional states. At times the lighting creates a sense of cosmic wonder, reinforcing the play’s fascination with quantum mechanics and parallel universes.

Elsewhere it narrows and focuses, drawing attention to the fragile intimacy between Marianne and Roland.

The effect is often breathtaking.

The audience feels suspended between worlds.

The technical design never overwhelms the human story but consistently enhances it.

That balance is difficult to achieve.

This production achieves it beautifully.

Humour Amidst the Heartbreak

Despite its philosophical depth, Constellations is frequently very funny.

Nick Payne’s writing sparkles with wit.

The humour emerges naturally from character interactions rather than forced punchlines.

The audience laughs often.

Those laughs matter.

They create emotional contrast and make the more painful moments hit with even greater force.

Because eventually the play confronts subjects far deeper than first impressions suggest.

Mortality.

Loss.

Regret.

Acceptance.

The finite nature of existence.

As the story progresses, the emotional stakes grow significantly. The laughter gradually gives way to reflection, and reflection eventually leads to something approaching profound emotional truth.

Many audience members may find themselves unexpectedly moved.

I certainly was.

Why Constellations Matters

The brilliance of Constellations lies in its ability to operate on multiple levels simultaneously.

It is a romantic drama.

It is a philosophical exploration.

It is a meditation on science.

It is a study of human connection.

It is a story about how fragile and miraculous our lives truly are.

Most importantly, it asks one of humanity’s oldest questions:

If infinite possibilities exist, what makes this particular life meaningful?

The answer, the play suggests, may simply be love.

Not perfect love.

Not eternal love.

Just love itself.

Messy, complicated, beautiful and fleeting.

The kind that gives meaning to whatever universe we happen to inhabit.

Final Verdict

Constellations is intelligent theatre without being pretentious.

It is emotional theatre without being sentimental.

It is ambitious theatre without losing sight of its humanity.

Jay Pather’s assured direction, the exceptional performances of Mark Elderkin and Mwenya Kabwe, the elegant technical design and Nick Payne’s extraordinary script combine to create one of the most thought-provoking productions currently on Johannesburg stages.

This is a play that trusts its audience.

It invites us to think.

To feel.

To imagine.

To wonder about the roads not taken and the lives not lived.

And when the lights finally fade, it leaves us staring into the night sky of our own memories, contemplating the countless constellations of choices that brought us to where we are.

In a universe of endless possibilities, seeing Constellations at Theatre on the Square feels like exactly the right choice.

Congratulations Jay Pather and the whole team for a great show and a deserved standing ovation. 

Peter Pan Jr.

/ antakalipa

Peter Pan Jr. at Peoples Theatre: A Joyous Flight into Neverland

There is a unique sound that exists only in children’s theatre.

It is not the applause at the end of a performance. It is not the overture from the orchestra or the final bow from the cast.

It is the laughter of children.

Pure. Unfiltered. Honest.

If adults politely applaud what they appreciate, children enthusiastically celebrate what they love. They gasp. They laugh. They point. They sing along. They become part of the adventure.

That wonderful sound echoed throughout Peoples Theatre at Joburg Theatre during the opening performance of Peter Pan Jr., a colourful, energetic and thoroughly delightful production that understands exactly who it is for and never loses sight of that mission.

From the moment the curtain rises, audiences are invited into a world where imagination reigns supreme, pirates roam the seas, fairies sparkle in the darkness and children can fly.

It is family entertainment in its purest form.

Produced by Peoples Theatre Productions, this adaptation of the beloved classic embraces the wonder and innocence that has allowed the story of Peter Pan to endure for generations. The result is a production overflowing with enthusiasm, warmth and youthful energy.

Children’s theatre is often misunderstood.

Some assume that performing for young audiences is easier than performing for adults. The reality is precisely the opposite.

Young audiences are perhaps the toughest critics in the world. Their attention cannot be taken for granted. Their engagement must be earned every second. Every joke, every song, every dance routine and every dramatic moment must work.

Peter Pan Jr. succeeds because everyone involved understands this fundamental truth.

Under the direction of Jill Girard, the production moves with confidence and momentum. There is never a sense of stagnation. Every scene carries purpose and excitement, keeping young audiences invested throughout the journey from London to Neverland.

The production’s visual appeal deserves special recognition.

Colour bursts from every corner of the stage. Costumes, lighting and staging combine to create a world that feels magical without becoming overwhelming. The visual storytelling constantly stimulates the imagination, giving children plenty to marvel at while allowing the performers to remain the focus.

Grant Knottenbelt’s set design effectively transforms the stage into a playground of adventure, while Lebogang Phahlamohlaka’s sound design ensures that every song, joke and dramatic moment reaches audiences clearly.

Musically, the production is in excellent hands.

Musical staging by Sandy Richardson-Dyer and musical direction by Coenraad Rall inject the show with vibrancy and movement. The ensemble work is particularly impressive, maintaining energy levels that rarely dip throughout the performance.

The choreography embraces the playful spirit of childhood. Nothing feels forced. Nothing feels mechanical. Instead, the production captures the spontaneous joy that defines the best children’s theatre.

At the heart of the production stands Raymond Skinner as Peter Pan.

It is a role that requires a very specific balance. Peter must be adventurous but vulnerable, mischievous but lovable, brave but still unmistakably childlike.

Skinner captures these qualities beautifully.

His Peter Pan genuinely feels like a boy determined to remain forever young, forever free and forever resistant to the responsibilities of adulthood. He embodies the spirit of a character who refuses to grow up, who would rather chase adventures than wear ties and attend meetings.

It is an engaging and believable performance that anchors the entire production.

As Captain Hook and Mr. Darling, Lesedi Rich delivers one of the show’s standout performances.

Rich possesses that rare ability to command attention the moment he steps onto the stage. His portrayal of Hook is animated, energetic and wonderfully humorous, finding the perfect balance between menace and comedy for younger audiences.

His physicality is exceptional. Every gesture, expression and movement contributes to the character’s larger-than-life personality.

There is an infectious enthusiasm to his performance that resonates throughout the theatre. Children respond instantly to him, laughing at his antics while eagerly anticipating his inevitable confrontations with Peter Pan.

Rich is simply captivating from start to finish.

Luciano Zuppa once again demonstrates why he remains such a dependable and entertaining performer.

As Smee, he provides many of the production’s comedic highlights. His timing is sharp, his character work is precise and his interactions with Captain Hook consistently generate laughter from audiences young and old.

It is a performance filled with charm and warmth.

Bethany-Joy Jiyane shines in her dual roles as Tiger Lily and Mrs. Darling.

These are very different characters, yet she navigates both with confidence and grace. As Tiger Lily she brings strength and presence, while as Mrs. Darling she offers warmth and maternal compassion.

Her versatility is one of the production’s strengths.

Junior Geel also deserves recognition for his work as Big Chief Sitting Bull and Pirate. He embraces both roles enthusiastically and contributes significantly to the production’s sense of adventure and fun.

One of the most exciting performances of the evening comes from young performer Peo-entle Pitso as Tinker Bell.

Even at this early stage of her career, Pitso displays remarkable confidence and stage presence.

Audiences may remember her impressive work in Matilda Jr., and once again she demonstrates why she is a young performer worth watching closely.

Tinker Bell is one of theatre’s most beloved characters. Despite often communicating without words, she must still convey emotion, personality and charm.

Pitso succeeds admirably.

She captures the fairy’s playful spirit while maintaining the magical quality that has made Tinker Bell an icon for generations of young theatre-goers.

She is undoubtedly one for the future.

What makes Peter Pan Jr. particularly successful is its understanding of its audience.

This is not a production attempting to modernise the story beyond recognition. Nor is it trying to appeal primarily to adults.

Instead, it embraces imagination, adventure and innocence.

It celebrates childhood.

It reminds audiences that there is value in wonder. That imagination matters. That growing up is inevitable, but perhaps we should not be in too much of a hurry to leave childhood behind.

Peter Pan Jr. is entirely family friendly. Parents can bring young children knowing they will experience a wholesome theatrical adventure filled with laughter, music and joy.

In an era where entertainment often competes for attention through spectacle alone, Peter Pan Jr. succeeds through something much simpler.

Heart.

The production understands that children’s theatre is not merely about keeping young audiences occupied for an afternoon. It is about creating memories. It is about introducing future generations to the magic of live performance.

For some children in the audience, this may well be their very first theatrical experience.

Judging by the smiles, laughter and enthusiastic reactions throughout the performance, it will not be their last.

As the cast took their bows on opening night, the loudest endorsement did not come from critics, industry professionals or invited guests.

It came from the children.

Their laughter filled the theatre.

Their excitement was unmistakable.

And in children’s theatre, there is no greater review than that.

Peter Pan Jr. is a vibrant, energetic and joyful celebration of imagination, performed by a committed cast and creative team who understand exactly what makes children’s theatre special. It is a production that flies confidently into Neverland and returns carrying exactly what audiences hope to find there: adventure, laughter, magic and the enduring belief that happy thoughts can still make us soar.

Matilda Jr.

/ antakalipa / Leave a comment

Matilda Jr.

At the Peoples Theatre, Joburg Theatre for the opening of Matilda Jr. I was so excited for this one! As a kid, I used to love the movie. To be honest, I still love it today. I would never dare change the channel if it’s on. Nostalgia, it takes me back to simpler times. A time when I yearned for telekinetic powers to defeat and outwit my bullies. I truly loved the show, it had me laughing and reminiscing all the way. There’s nothing better than hearing a child’s laughter, the show had that effect. Everyone was entertained, it is mellow, humorous, light and family-friendly.

The set is colorful and the transition between scenes is seamless and efficient. Everyone knew their cues and the show just flowed. I absolutely loved Peo-entle Pitso as Matilda. She is sharp witted and fast. She performs with a lot of love, she’s mischievous, she sings and she’s convincing, she is simply brilliant! One for the future. Luciano Zuppa is straight-up Miss Trunchbull. Musculine, crooked teeth, towering and intimidating. Raymond Skinner as Mr. Wormwood is definitely my favorite. He has zero regard for reading and derisively calls Matilda a “bookworm”. It’s crazy that Matilda has read “Crime and Punishment”, I agree with his father’s assessment. He ultimately gets in trouble with the Russian mafia for his shady deals. Jordan Rogers is gorgeous and enjoyable as Mrs. Wormwood. She is materialistic and wants the good life. She also doesn’t understand Matilda and she doesn’t waste her time trying to, she’d rather spend time with her boy toy, dancing with her wedding ring out of sight. Amelia Stephens is simple as Miss Honey. Long dresses, clean presentation, tame and a calm demeanor. I laughed out loud when Matilda asked if she was poor. Yes, she is poor. However she is kind, caring and empathetic – qualities that make her a great teacher and she gets the big house at the end.

Amazing show, the kids are in sync and well practiced. They sang, they danced and they delivered lines with precision. The writing is fabulous, everything and everyone is fabulous! Highly recommended, wonderful, wonderful show!

Directed by Jill Girard and Sandy Richardson-Dyer
Musical Director – Coenraad Rall
Set Design – Grant Knottenbelt

Congratulations to the Peoples Theatre and the whole team for a great show and a deserved standing ovation.