I have a confession to make: I have never been a fan of HAIR, having watched various iterations of this counterculture classic over the years while waiting for a production that could finally sway me over and make me see the light. I am thrilled to report that this phenomenal Australian cast has done exactly that, offering an unparalleled experience of the show’s boundary-pushing energy from the absolute front row. Sitting mere inches from the action, the Australian Shakespeare Company’s striking new revival at the Theatre Royal Sydney completely sheds the skin of a safe 1960s period piece; instead, director Glenn Elston OAM delivers a fiercely modern, non-traditional production that plays less like a vintage musical and more like a contemporary, high-octane rock ritual designed to shake a brand-new generation of theatergoers awake.
At its heart, the narrative of HAIR follows the “Tribe”—a group of politically charged, free-spirited young hippies navigating the turbulent waters of identity, sexuality, and societal rebellion. The emotional anchor of the story rests on Claude, a young man torn between the pressure to appease his conservative parents by serving in the Vietnam War and his desire to stay with his tight-knit family of bohemians, led by the fiercely charismatic, wild-card Berger. As the threat of the military draft looms large, the production captures a generation on the precipice of massive social change, exploring the deep tragedy of lives cut short by global conflict. By stripping away the safe nostalgia of the 1960s, this modern staging ensures that the Tribe’s desperate fight for peace, bodily autonomy, and freedom feels incredibly immediate and deeply reflective of our own modern political fractures.
From the moment you enter the auditorium, the modern concept is clear. Rather than relying on a static curtain, the show utilizes considerable video elements and high-tech lighting that instantly establish a bridge between the historical counterculture and the political turbulence of today.

Yet, for all its modern technological upgrades, the production’s emotional core remains bracingly raw. Witnessing the original nude scene at the climax of Act One from this close proximity is immensely powerful. Rather than feeling sensationalised, the staging underscores a profound sense of unity and vulnerable innocence. Looking up at the young cast from the front row makes the stakes of their rebellion feel intensely personal, moving, and brilliantly confronting.
The production successfully balances its heavy anti-war themes with a wild, bohemian sense of humor. Pacing-wise, the momentum hits a minor speed bump when the performers aggressively break the fourth wall. When audience members hesitate to interact back, the rhythm noticeably dips. However, the cast’s immense professionalism carries these brief lulls perfectly, quickly steering the energy back to a high-voltage level before the storyline can lose its grip.

A massive part of the show’s visceral, modern punch comes from its phenomenal musical spine. Positioned directly on stage as part of the visual landscape, the tight five-piece live band drives the evening. They don’t just accompany the performers; they treat Galt MacDermot’s score with a gritty, live-wire rock capability that turns the venue into a concert arena.

The cast matches this musical fire step for step. Alex Cooper is an absolute standout as Claude, singing with a deep, crushing emotional intent that anchors the tragic weight of the entire narrative. Opposite him, Maxwell Simon brings an electric, untamed magnetism to Berger, showcasing spectacular vocal range and control. Their genuine chemistry makes the internal conflict of the tribe completely believable. Providing a brilliant comedic foil to the heavier moments are Jackson McGovern, who plays a wonderfully eccentric Woof, and Rosie Meader, who delivers fantastic comedic timing and spirit as the quirky Jeanie.
the moment the curtain fell, I immediately purchased a ticket to the final performance. I simply have to experience this magnificent, high-octane energy one more time before it leaves Sydney for good.
Sue-Ellen Shook’s exceptional choreography is another major triumph, steering clear of cliché sixties dance moves in favor of dynamic, organic movement that feels both spontaneous and fiercely sharp. The tribe executes these massive numbers with relentless vigor. While the entire ensemble is uniformly excellent, specific praise belongs to Kelly Lim Harris shines brightly as Alma, while also delivering a stellar performance as the Sheila understudy, and Bronte Horswood, who brings an unforgettable, vibrant presence to the stage as Linda. Alongside Elizabeth Brennan’s beautifully voiced Sheila and Tane Williams-Accra’s commanding Hud, the group vocals on classics like “Aquarius” and “Let the Sunshine In” are delivered as a glorious, wall-of-sound experience.

Sitting in the front row drops you directly into the line of fire, leaving you completely exposed to every bead of sweat, pulsing video projection, and unfiltered wave of raw emotion. It’s an intense, uncompromising vantage point, but the payoff is absolute perfection. This fiercely modern reimagining of HAIR is an transcendent, electric masterpiece—a roaring, vocal powerhouse of a show that doesn’t just entertain you, it consumes you. It is a vital, breathtaking reminder that live, unapologetic protest theatre still has the power to shake us to the very core. This phenomenal production has completely converted me into a die-hard fan of HAIR, so much so that the moment the curtain fell, I immediately purchased a ticket to the final performance. I simply have to experience this magnificent, high-octane energy one more time before it leaves Sydney for good.
- Where: Theatre Royal Sydney (108 King St)
- Season: Strictly limited season until July 12, 2026. Don’t miss it!
- Link: https://ticket.theatreroyalsydney.com/en/buyingflow/tickets/110/?tix-tr=HAIRWEB
Stage Door Sydney Reviews Season One returns with a front-row review of The Lion King Musical.
** All tickets were purchased by Stage Door Sydney.