The Gilbert and Sullivan Society of South Australia has opened its 2026 season with a polished and energetically staged production of Funny Girl, the classic musical with music by Jule Styne, lyrics by Bob Merrill, and book by Isobel Lennart. Set against the glittering yet unforgiving worlds of vaudeville and Broadway in the 1920s and 1930s, the work traces the ascent of Fanny Brice: a comic performer whose unconventional appearance sits in deliberate contrast to her immense charisma and talent. As Fanny rises from chorus girl to celebrated Ziegfeld Follies star, her relationship with gambler Nick Arnstein deteriorates under the pressures of fame, ambition, and financial instability. The musical balances humour and romance with a more sobering examination of identity, resilience, and self-worth.
Structurally, Funny Girl is framed as a memory play. The production begins and ends in Fanny’s dressing room, where she waits both to go on stage and for Nick’s return after a prolonged absence. This circular structure lends the musical a reflective quality, positioning the intervening action as a recollection shaped as much by emotion as by fact. By the time the narrative returns to the dressing room for its closing moments, the audience has witnessed the exhilaration of Fanny’s professional triumphs alongside the emotional compromises demanded by her personal life.
Director Amanda Rowe’s most distinctive interpretive decision is the division of the role of Fanny between three performers: Sophie Stokes, Olivia Sutton, and Sarah Hamilton. In her program notes Rowe references the 2018 Sydney Opera House concert presentation directed by Mitchell Butel, which famously distributed the role among twelve actors in an attempt to emphasise the complexities of Fanny’s personality. Here, however, the conceptual justification is less persuasive. While the device occasionally produces striking stage pictures—particularly when one performer occupies the dramatic foreground while the others observe or shadow the action—it ultimately contributes relatively little to the emotional or thematic clarity of the piece. Indeed, the production inadvertently demonstrates the opposite point: each of the three performers possesses sufficient ability to sustain the role independently.
Nevertheless, the shared portrayal yields several strong performances. Sarah Hamilton carries much of Act 1, a lengthy opening act approaching ninety minutes. Her scenes opposite Daniel Hamilton’s Nick Arnstein benefit from a natural ease and credibility, although the romantic tension occasionally feels softened by their real-life familiarity (they are husband and wife!). Daniel Hamilton wisely avoids overplaying Nick’s charm, instead introducing an understated reserve that hints at the character’s eventual emotional withdrawal. Their duets, particularly “I Want to Be Seen With You Tonight” and “You Are Woman, I Am Man”, are among the musical highlights of the first act.
Sarah Hamilton’s rendition of “People” is vocally assured and emotionally committed. The performance privileges vocal power and dramatic conviction, though in the opening passages some of the song’s fragility and intimacy are slightly overshadowed. By its conclusion, however, the number achieves the expansive emotional sweep audiences expect from this iconic ballad.
Olivia Sutton brings a lighter and more youthful physicality to Fanny, contributing buoyancy and energy whenever she appears. Her stage presence adds contrast to the other interpretations of the role, although the production affords her less opportunity to leave a substantial dramatic imprint.
Sophie Stokes emerges most prominently in Act 2 and delivers a particularly accomplished performance. Her voice possesses warmth, clarity, and tonal control, while her stagecraft demonstrates strong comic instincts. “Rat-Tat-Tat-Tat” becomes one of the evening’s most successful sequences: a tightly choreographed and visually vibrant production number in which Stokes’ comic precision is matched by the discipline and flair of the ensemble. Kerry-Lynn Hauber’s choreography here is stylishly executed, and Rosie Ferguson’s costume design contributes significantly to the sequence’s visual impact.
Thomas Sheldon is excellent as Eddie, combining confident movement, expressive acting, and an appealing vocal quality. His scenes with Carolyn Adams’ Mrs Brice (Fanny’s mother) are consistently engaging, particularly “Who Taught Her Everything” and the Act 2 number “Find Yourself a Man”. Adams grounds the maternal humour in warmth and practicality, while Sheldon’s open physicality and easy charm create an effective comic partnership.
Among the supporting cast, Danii Zappia makes a notable impression in several minor roles. Her soprano voice cuts cleanly through ensemble passages, particularly in “His Love Makes Me Beautiful”, and her stage presence repeatedly draws the eye. The ensemble as a whole performs with commendable focus and vitality. Particularly impressive is the quality of the performers’ reactive work during scene transitions and crowd sequences: interactions feel organic rather than mechanically choreographed, helping sustain the illusion of a living theatrical world even during complex scenic changes. Rowe’s direction demonstrates careful attention to maintaining visual and dramatic momentum throughout.
Musically, the production is very well served by Dylan Rufus’ orchestra. Positioned upstage as a visible component of David Lampard’s Art Deco-inspired set, the band evokes the atmosphere of a period nightclub while also reinforcing the show’s vaudeville aesthetic. The reed section is especially strong, and the occasional interaction between performers and musicians effectively blurs the boundary between orchestra and dramatic environment.
Lampard’s scenic design is both practical and visually coherent, with its moving components integrating smoothly into the production’s fluid staging. Michael Bentley’s lighting design complements the set well, using colour and focus to establish mood and location with clarity. The production values overall are consistently high, although opening night revealed some technical shortcomings in the sound design. Microphone activation lag occasionally disrupted musical phrasing and dialogue clarity, while inadvertent activation of offstage microphones introduced distracting backstage noise (including sneezing!) into the auditorium.
Despite these minor technical distractions, this Funny Girl remains a thoughtfully crafted and highly entertaining production. Rowe’s staging approaches the material with affection and intelligence, supported by committed performances, strong musical direction, and a disciplined ensemble. While some directorial choices are more curiosity than convincing, the production succeeds where it matters most: it captures the wit, emotional resilience, and theatrical exuberance that continue to make Funny Girl such an enduring crowd-pleaser. This is a keenly observed and sharply executed production that doesn’t fail to sustain interest and appeal.
