By Chenoah Eljan
Walking into Marie’s Crisis at the Melbourne Fringe Festival feels a little like crashing the warmest, most nostalgic piano party you didn’t know you needed. Modelled on the beloved New York basement piano bar of the same name, this show promises a slice of musical theatre heaven—and in many ways, it delivers. In New York, Marie’s Crisis is a queer cultural institution: a nightly singalong where theatre kids, veterans, and die-hards belt out show tunes in a room that always feels like home. In Melbourne, in the ETU Ballroom of Trades Hall, this doesn’t quite translate. Instead, the room is filled almost exclusively with skinny jeans and side parts: mid-forties millennial mums out letting loose.
Kenney Green-Tilford opens the show for his husband, Adam Tilford. Adam is an accomplished pianist and musical director, and he leads the show from the keys with authoritative calm and humour. Adam, and Kenny before him, played with heart and impressive recall, covering a set that leaned heavily into Golden Age and pre-1990s Broadway. Think Gypsy, The Sound of Music, Guys and Dolls, and Greece. A lone number from Hamilton and a nod to The Lion King were the only real forays into music penned in the audience’s lifetimes. There was a curious and unexplained avoidance of all things Andrew Lloyd Webber.
It wasn’t a big audience (again, almost exclusively women in their mid-forties), the ballroom was only half full, likely a reflection of its 9:30pm time slot rather than the show’s appeal. What it lacked in numbers it made up for in enthusiasm—though unfortunately, enthusiasm was often stifled by the venue setup. The space was packed with rows of rigid wooden fold-out chairs, leaving no room to dance. Several audience members attempted to stand as they belted out their beloved showtunes, only to be hampered by the sea of seating.
This leads to the show’s core tension: Marie’s Crisis doesn’t quite know whether it wants to be a performance or an experience. With a foot in each camp, it struggles to fully embrace either. If it had leaned into being an immersive experience, a dress-up trunk, a projected lyrics screen, and a cleared-out dancefloor would have transformed the event. If it had leaned into being a polished performance, it would’ve benefitted from performer introductions, more structured transitions, and lighting focused on the artists rather than the whole room under full house lights.
Still, for the right crowd—and they’ll know who they are—this show is a delight. It’s heartfelt, nostalgic, and delivered by two consummate hosts who clearly love what they do. Marie’s Crisis is a love letter to musical theatre, even if the envelope is a little wrinkled, and mostly definitely not addressed to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
