If you think you know the limits of small-town gossip, you clearly haven’t spent an afternoon trapped in a beauty salon chair with women who are armed with both a curling iron and a lethal sense of humour. Robert Harling’s iconic play, Steel Magnolias, has officially parked its sharp-witted, big-haired self at Melbourne’s Athenaeum Theatre, proving once and for all that true resilience comes packaged in pastel coats and impeccably lacquered coiffures.
For those whose cultural education bypassed both the celebrated 1989 film and decades of global stage runs, the story has deeply poignant origins. Harling originally wrote the script as a way to process the tragic passing of his sister, Susan, turning a deeply personal family grief into a universal tribute to female endurance. Set entirely within Truvy Jones’s bustling Louisiana hair salon over the course of a few years, the play tracks a tight-knit circle of six Southern women through weddings, babies, divorces, and devastating loss. They are as delicate as magnolias on the surface, but underneath, they possess the structural integrity of steel, ready to catch each other when life inevitably pulls the rug out.
This new Australian production, directed with immense heart by Lee Lewis, has assembled an absolute powerhouse ensemble that reads like a dream lineup of Australian television royalty. Gold Logie winner and Blue Heelers star Lisa McCune anchors the emotional core of the show as the fiercely protective M’Lynn, starring alongside Home and Away legends Belinda Giblin as the delightfully sharp-tongued Ouiser and Debra Lawrance as the wealth-cushioned Clairee. They are joined by the excellent Mandy Bishop as the high-energy salon owner Truvy, Jessica Redmayne as the radiant, life-affirming Shelby, and newcomer Lotte Beckett as the wide-eyed, nervous wreck of an assistant, Annelle.
It’s the kind of production that effortlessly toggles between laugh-out-loud hilarity, mostly driven by rapid-fire zingers about local men and bad marriages, and moments of profound, soul-crushing raw grief that will have you digging frantically through your handbag for a tissue. It doesn’t rely on flashy set changes or high-concept gimmicks; instead, it leans entirely on a masterclass of ensemble acting and razor-sharp dialogue. By the time the final lights fade on Collins Street, you’ll be ready to call your mother, hug your best friend, and violently defend anyone who dares mess with your hair.
– The Plus Ones
