Culture

A rare joint exhibition of Czech–Australian surrealists Dušan and Voitre Marek traces the connections within the brothers’ divergent lives.

Shahram Mokri’s new film Careless Crime plays with surreal narratives and timeshifts to create a powerful meditation on Iranian history.

Virginia Gay’s new gender-flipped adaptation of the French classic Cyrano de Bergerac  takes the tragedy out of the comedy.

It’s so exciting you’re here to stay. I remember when I was the new one. A lifetime ago. You’re going to love it here. Our friend is so amazing. All friends are… Well, almost all. But ours is the best. When I was new there was an old one already here. They were lovely, so kind. They taught me everything I needed to know: where to go, how to ask for in and out, what kind of games to play until I came up with some of my own. Then they and our friend played those games with me. I was so proud. They’ve gone now, the old one, long ago. I miss them. One came from the place with strange, sharp smells. Not all places are happy. That one brought some of those bad scents along and the old one left. Their smell was so different the moment they went and our friend cried, so hard, for so long. I did everything I could to help, but sometimes pain is simply there until it’s not.

Working under lockdown on her new album, while contending with a diagnosis of ADHD, meant a wholly different process for musician June Jones.

Foreign correspondent Sally Sara’s semi-autobiographical play at Belvoir, Stop Girl, captures the quotidian anguish of suffering a breakdown.

Allen v. Farrow is more than a rehash of a celebrity scandal. An indictment of the entertainment industry, it looks thoughtfully at how stories are told, and who gets believed.

In its third showing, The National – which exhibits new Australian art across three major Sydney galleries – highlights uncertainties about our national identity.

With a Netflix show and a headline at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, the surreal troupe Aunty Donna has come a long way from their Ballarat days.

When I was a kid, we walked from Summer Hill to the Lebanese sweet shop in Dulwich Hill, a good 40 minutes, to be rewarded with sticky namoora, baklava and thick coffee served in silver pots. One time we took some five-year-old friends of mine, high on the promise of syrupy sweets, who then dragged their feet, close to tears, on the return journey. Once he had apologised to their parents and they had all left, he looked at me proudly and said, You are a true walker.