Canberra Reviews

I didn't want to see this.

I know Steel Magnolias started life as a stage play, but for me it'll always be the film first. It's one of those rare movies that feels untouchable. I couldn't really see the point of seeing it on stage and I definitely wasn't planning to write a review.

Then someone offered me a ticket.

About ten minutes in I realised I hadn't thought about the film once. I'd assumed I'd spend the whole night comparing the two, but I just ... didn't. By the end I'd almost forgotten the film existed.

That's about the highest compliment I can give this production.

If anyone out there is reading my reviews, you will know that I've seen a few revivals lately that have left me wondering why we're doing them again. Steel Magnolias answered that question. This production is a serenade to women's spaces, nostalgia and good fucking writing.

Because the writing is extraordinary.

Not flashy writing. Just six beautifully observed women who all feel completely real. Nobody is there just to move the plot along. Every relationship feels lived in. Every character has history. You could almost follow any one of them home and happily watch another play about their life.

Then you've got this cast.

Normally I'd tell you who stole the show. Nobody did. Because they were all that good.

Lisa McCune, Belinda Giblin, Jane Phegan (understudy!), Mandy Bishop, Jessica Redmayne and Lotte Beckett are all completely at ease. Nobody pushes. Nobody reaches. They're simply these women.

The direction by Lee Lewis and (AD) Janine Watson is equally assured. It never feels showy. It trusts the script. It trusts the actors. The costumes, makeup and wigs are spot on.

And honestly ... those wigs.

The thing that stayed with me most wasn't the performances. It was the salon. Watching it, I realised the salon isn't just where the play happens. It is the play. It's a sacred women's space.

The hairdresser. The kitchen table. The dressing room. A friend's lounge room. Places where women tell the truth. Where someone makes you a cup of tea before you've even worked out why you're crying. Where everyone knows your business, but somehow that's exactly what keeps you afloat.

Looking around the theatre, it felt like the play had spilled out into the audience. The place was packed. Groups of women everywhere. Friends. Sisters. Mothers and daughters. I don't think I've ever seen so many glasses of wine in a theatre. It felt less like people had come to see a play and more like they'd organised a girls' night out that happened to include one.

There were a few men there too.

Afterwards I bumped into a bloke I know from the theatre world. He loved it. Thought the script was brilliant. So did I. But I don't reckon he really got the salon. Not because he couldn't appreciate it. I just think those spaces mean something different if you've spent a lot of time inside them. I think most women know exactly what those rooms can hold. They're places where you're seen. Where you're looked after. Where you're allowed to fall apart for a while. Where somebody else carries you until you're ready to carry yourself again.

That's what I've been thinking about ever since.

Not the tragedy. Not the nostalgia. The salon. A place where women keep showing up for one another.

Maybe that's why Steel Magnolias still fills theatres nearly forty years later. The heartbreak is real. The laughs still land. But underneath it all is a simple truth that still feels worth celebrating.

Sometimes the thing that gets you through life is another woman saying, "Sit down. Tell me what's happened."