If ever there was a production destined to steal my heart, it was this one. Queensland Theatre’s Pride & Prejudice offered a dazzling, modernised take on Austen's classic, balancing period charm with playful theatrics. It embraced the romance (and absurdity) of Regency society with wit, vitality, and a dash of scandal.
In Pride and Prejudice, the fiercely independent Elizabeth Bennet navigates love, family expectations, and 19th-century social politics in a world where marriage can determine one’s entire future. When she meets the enigmatic (and maddeningly aloof) Mr. Darcy, sparks fly—but not necessarily in a good way. Misunderstandings, meddling relatives, and more than a few scandalous twists stand between them, forcing both to confront their own pride and prejudices. Will they see past their first impressions, or are they doomed to be each other’s greatest regret?
The moment the overture began, I recognised it instantly—Duomo’s Wildest Dreams (yes, the Taylor Swift hit you know from Bridgerton). From that first note, it was clear this wasn’t just another retelling but a fresh, modern take that still honoured the original text. At first glance, the stage seemed deceptively simple—a bare wooden floor that gave the actors complete freedom to move. But beneath that simplicity lay a cleverly designed world by Christina Smith. A multi-level structure stood at the back, its three concealed doors subtly adorned with a large map of England. More than just entry and exit points, these doors felt symbolic, hinting at the different paths and choices the characters might take. Framing it all was lush greenery, evoking the beauty of the English countryside. Every design choice felt intentional, striking a perfect balance between historical authenticity and contemporary flair—a visual link between past and present.
Scene transitions were a delight, with intricate scale models of Longbourn, Netherfield, Rosings, and Pemberley cleverly shifting the locations. Even the changing seasons were marked in unexpected and creative ways, making each transition seamless and engaging while keeping the story’s momentum alive. The staging was further elevated by Jason Glenwright's lighting design, as seen in these photographs by Morgan Roberts. Period-appropriate costuming also captured the era’s aesthetic and subtly reinforced the characters’ social standings and personalities. The Bennet family’s attire was simple and understated, a quiet nod to their modest means—Elizabeth stood out in flattering baby blue, while Jane exuded grace in coral red. In contrast, the Bingleys were draped in more elaborate, richly detailed fabrics, their opulent wardrobe a clear reflection of their higher social status.
The show fully embraced an anachronistic blend of period and modern aesthetics, especially in its dance sequences. Think Bridgerton-style classical spins on pop hits—Florence + The Machine’s 'Dog Days Are Over' and Billie Eilish’s 'Bad Guy' underscoring ballroom moments. And then came the boldest choice of all: a ballroom scene set to Rihanna’s 'S&M', complete with a glitter curtain and disco lights. It was unexpected, audacious, and ridiculously fun. This playful collision of past and present didn’t just serve as a stylistic flourish—it actively reshaped the way the audience experienced the story. Hearing The Pussycat Dolls’ 'When I Grow Up' underscore Lydia and Wickham’s storyline? Genius.
The choreography by Nerida Matthaei fully embraced the Regency-rave aesthetic with full commitment. Every dance number crackled with the vibrant, flirtatious spirit of a social season in full swing—elegant Regency steps colliding with uninhibited club-style movements. This contrast was played for laughs, but beyond the humour, this fusion of styles reinforced the show’s irreverent approach to Austen’s themes—challenging traditional notions of social interaction, courtship, and societal expectations. The production never settled into predictability; instead, it thrived on its dazzling spectacle that kept audiences guessing at every turn.
The performances were just as vibrant as the production itself. Madison Burridge was an absolute joy to behold as Elizabeth Bennet, capturing her spirited nature, intelligence, quick wit, and unshakable confidence. A true leading lady, Burridge made Elizabeth feel refreshingly modern without losing her Regency charm. Her humorous facial expressions and impeccable comedic timing were excellent, landing every quip and retort with precision—especially in those delicious moments when Elizabeth cuts through the societal nonsense with a single, perfectly placed remark. And her exaggerated mimicry of Mr. Darcy was particularly adorable. And then there was Jeremiah Wray as Wickham—oozing charm with just the right amount of duplicity. His interplay with Burridge was electric; they didn’t just flirt, they danced around each other, every interaction laced with an undercurrent of danger.
When it came to Mr. Darcy, Andrew Hearle embodied the role with a brooding intensity—truly the tall, dark, and handsome archetype. His chemistry with Burridge crackled with tension and intrigue. Their exchanges were layered with disdain, attraction, and misunderstanding—every sidelong glance, every barbed remark brimming with subtext. The slow burn of their dynamic kept the audience hanging onto every word and every charged silence. Hearle’s physicality was particularly striking—his posture, his carefully measured movements, the way he seemed to radiate aristocratic detachment—it was quintessentially Darcy. But beyond the exterior, his delivery was meticulously crafted, channeling just enough Colin Firth to make me briefly question whether he might actually be British. He leaned into Darcy’s aloofness with an almost comically rigid stiffness, making his eventual thaw from emotionally stifled gentleman to someone capable of warmth and sincerity all the more satisfying.
Cameron Hurry’s Mr. Collins was the kind of character you love to loathe—utterly insufferable yet impossible to ignore. Every carefully crafted acting choice made your skin crawl, from his awkward social interactions to his delusions of grandeur and exaggerated self-importance. He fully embraced the character’s eccentricities, creating moments that were equal parts cringeworthy and uproariously funny. And then there was that voice—a bizarrely nasal affectation so distinct, so jarring, that I’m convinced if I tried to mimic it, I’d be forever trapped in its strange cadence. It was a voice that seemed to echo with an insistent need for validation; perpetually seeking approval from those around him, yet simultaneously repelling them with his incessant prattle. It was Hurry's sheer commitment to the role that elevated him to a comedic highlight of the performance.
Amy Ingram was a revelation as both Charlotte Lucas and Caroline Bingley, brilliantly switching between the two very different characters. She brought a wonderfully pompous air to Ms Bingley, playing her with sharp snobbery, and then switched gears to portray Charlotte’s more grounded, down-on-her-luck nature with subtlety and heart. William Carseldine’s portrayal of Mr. Bingley was full of charm. He played the bashful, adorably awkward gentleman with such sincerity, especially in his swooning over Jane, and honestly, it made me wish real-life men would be so unabashedly smitten.
The Bennet family dynamic was a riot, with each member bringing their own brand of chaos. Gael Ballantyne’s portrayal of Mrs. Bennet was gloriously dramatic, capturing the frantic urgency of a mother obsessed with marrying off her daughters. Her scheming and shrill outbursts never failed to get laughs, especially when paired with her cartoonish strut—an exaggerated walk that perfectly encapsulated her desperate personality. As Mr. Bennet, Bryan Probets was the perfect foil to his wife's frantic energy, his dry wit and nonchalant attitude subtly stealing scenes as his sarcastic delivery punctuated the chaos around him. The father-daughter dynamic with Elizabeth felt natural and endearing, and his appearances in the ballroom scenes—where he danced like nobody was watching—were an unexpected but side-splitting highlight.
Perry Mooney’s portrayal of Jane Bennet was mesmerising; the epitome of calm elegance, her gentle and nurturing nature served as a perfect counterbalance to her sister Lizzy’s fiery spirit. Mooney’s performance was particularly notable for its subtlety; she conveyed Jane’s lovesickness over Mr. Bingley with such depth, you could feel every ounce of hope and heartbreak as if they were your own.
In stark contrast, Courtney Cavallaro and Daphne Chen brought Lydia and Kitty Bennet to life with a vibrant, chaotic energy that was utterly entertaining. The duo’s performances were a whirlwind of youthful, carefree frivolity. Their scenes buzzed with raucous energy, aligning perfectly with the script’s intention to depict the two youngest Bennet sisters as exuberant and somewhat reckless. Cavallaro’s portrayal of Lydia, in particular, stood out—her grating voice and childlike antics painted Lydia as a girl lost in the throes of make-believe, desperately pursuing attention and validation.
Similarly, Chenoa Deemal’s Mary Bennet was a surprising standout. Usually relegated to the background, Mary here was given a sharp, witty edge that made her impossible to ignore. Think of her as an Austen-era Eloise Bridgerton—cynical, observant, and far more perceptive than anyone gave her credit for. Deemal took the least flashy Bennet sister and turned her into an absolute scene-stealer, solidifying Mary as a true presence rather than an afterthought. The dynamic between these five sisters perfectly illustrated a diverse spectrum of womanhood.
Directed by Daniel Evans and Bridget Boyle, the production’s pacing was expertly balanced, with Act Two’s transition from comedy to drama hitting all the right emotional beats. The moment Lydia’s disappearance shifted the tone was beautifully executed. But it was Lizzy’s monologue on womanhood that truly stood out to me—raw, resonant, and a powerful reminder of why Austen’s work remains so relevant today. Her words echoed with the struggles and triumphs of women, highlighting issues of agency and societal expectations that remain pertinent across generations. The depth of Burridge's performance brought the audience into a hushed silence, allowing the weight of these insights to settle deeply into every heart in the room.
And then, of course, there was the breathtaking Pemberley reveal. The scene unfolded with enchanting theatrical magic—cascading petals floated gracefully down, twinkling lights created an ethereal atmosphere as the strings swelled. It was a moment that took your breath away, symbolising the hope and possibilities that awaited our leading lady. By the final scenes, I found myself kicking my feet and giggling girlishly at the sweet, awkward interactions between Burridge and Hearle. The shy glances and exchanges were a perfect reminder of the lightness that love can bring.
For a few hours, I was completely transported into this world, absorbed in the intricacies of the characters’ lives, and I never wanted to leave. This wasn’t just a performance—it was an invitation to lose yourself in the laughter, the tears, and the beautiful complexities of human connection. With its final weekend at QPAC cut short by Cyclone Alfred (the fiend!), I was lucky to catch the relaxed performance, though ‘relaxing’ isn’t quite the word I’d use. The house lights remained dimly lit, and the sound levels were supposedly lowered, yet sitting at the back of the stalls, I still felt claustrophobic and overstimulated. A persistent cougher next to me prompted several audience members to relocate, and at intermission, I seized the chance to move to the front row of the balcony—an excellent decision, as it offered a stunning view of the second act. The theatre buzzed with energy, the mid-week matinee a full house packed with excitable school groups and retirees, making for a noisy but enthusiastic crowd.
This Queensland Theatre production was a triumph of clever adaptation, stunning visuals, and stellar performances. It honoured the wit and charm of Austen’s original while injecting an audacious theatricality that made it feel thrillingly alive. And it served as a pointed reminder that Pride & Prejudice has been setting unrealistic expectations for romance since 1813.
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