I went into Prahran’s iconic Chapel off Chapel for Almost Pisces Productions’ MOJO not quite knowing what to expect. The 1995 debut play from writer Jez Butterworth, MOJO is a black comedy that won the Lawrence Olivier Award for Best Entertainment or Comedy Play and received a film adaptation shortly after in 1997. It’s fitting, then, that this debut play was reimagined as Almost Pisces’ debut production, featuring a talented all-female cast and promising “paranoia, betrayal and darkly comic chaos.” This led me to assume that the production would be a rather serious affair, a bleak look into the dealings of its cast of 1950s gangsters. 

At first glance, the set seemed to confirm my assumptions: a dark stage, faintly illuminated by a murky yellow light and a wooden office desk positioned at the centre. But I was in for a surprise—beneath the play’s grimy London setting is a real sense of comedy that leans into the ‘50s aesthetic and has some fun with it. Upon further inspection, the props lighten the mood significantly and cut through the imposing office scene, with a jukebox in the corner flush with neon lights and a cake covered in comically bright blue icing. As the play opens, Silver Johnny (Lilla Barrington) walks onstage, an up-and-coming rockstar dressed like a bedazzled Elvis impersonator: greased, slicked back hair, a cheekily unbuttoned red shirt and a shiny, shiny silver suit with matching trousers.

Director Lucy King immediately throws audiences into the deep end as the plot gathers speed. The play follows the workers of a Soho nightclub as they deal with the aftermath of a particularly eventful Saturday night. We slowly piece together that in the midst of the drug-fuelled confusion, yellow-haired gangster Sam Ross has kidnapped Silver Johnny and killed Ezra, the club owner, leaving the rest of the men to pick up the pieces and deal with the ensuing power vacuum. 

This sounds much more intimidating than it is, however, because every big reveal is preceded by a generous helping of comedic back-and-forth. The primary source of this comedy comes from the endlessly entertaining duo of Potts (Lily Malone) and Sweets (Lily Bartlett, also co-producer of the show)—two of the club’s workers with dreams of becoming Ezra’s “big fuckers in fur boots on the payroll.” Whilst the kidnapping is underway, the two of them are completely oblivious. They instead fuss over the tea that Ezra and Johnny are (supposedly) drinking, speculate about what they’re talking about in their meeting and worry about the effects of the pills they’ve been taking—there’s a running bit where characters are introduced with the complaint, “My piss is black!”

As Potts and Sweets slowly begin to suspect that something is amiss, we’re introduced to the rest of the cast: the restless energy of Skinny (Aimee Smith), the intimidating solemness of Mickey (Ava Cameron), and Baby (Emily O’Brien), who is the son of the late Ezra. Pairing these three characters with the already fantastic comedic banter between Sweets and Potts, the show maintains an incredibly fun dynamic throughout. The all-female cast play these men with a delightfully exaggerated confidence, hiding their characters’ fear and uncertainty behind acts of masculine aggression and spot-on comedic timing.

Whilst the entire cast is nothing short of incredible, the stand-out performance for me was Emily O’Brien as Baby. Dressed in a tank top and trousers, Baby is almost underdressed and eerily casual compared to the rest of the cast—especially Mickey, whose cold level-headedness and status as Ezra’s second-in-command is reflected through his outfit, a full black suit and tie, and hands permanently placed in his pockets. This contrast between them makes the tension even more palpable. Even though Baby is the nightclub owner’s son, he’s clearly not the one in power, which results in a building resentment and frustration that lurks beneath his otherwise confident persona. O’Brien plays him with a powerful sense of instability, rapidly alternating between playful joking to violent outbursts. This aggression is especially directed at Skinny, who throws several anti-Semitic remarks towards Baby throughout the show’s run time. It’s this fine line between anger and comedy that makes O’Brien’s performance so compelling, and the show gives her ample time to express both. A scene that particularly stayed with me was the closing of the first act, where Baby learns of his father’s death and picks up (the still missing) Silver Johnny’s shiny jacket, puts it on and stifles all of his emotion as he dances around the stage.

After the intermission, the stage is completely transformed for act two, moving from the tense upstairs office space into the nightclub itself. The dance floor is decorated with blue ribbons, there’s a bar and a chaise longue, and the room is lit by a spinning disco ball. The space would be much more inviting, if not for two things. The first is Baby, sprawled across the aforementioned chaise longue, still wearing the silver jacket and tie over his tank top, in an attempt to look more powerful. The second is a pair of bins, positioned right up close to the audience, demanding our attention, containing the chopped-up body of Ezra. Despite the decor, the mood is anything but celebratory, as tensions between the five men come to a boiling point. 

I won’t share spoilers, but this roller-coaster of a second act is much faster than the first. While I would have liked to see more of Sweets and Potts, the rest of the cast (including the return of a certain someone and his shiny pants!) get a ton to work with. It was especially good to see some more of Skinny, a character who spends most of act one getting pushed around by the others and teased for his bad breath. In these final scenes, actress Aimee Smith delivers some of the most emotional moments of the entire show, making the most of the tension between Skinny and Baby. O’Brien, too, is given more avenues to show off her incredible performance as Baby, delivering one particularly memorable monologue with equal measures of panic and self-assured smugness.

The play ends in ways both shocking and satisfying, taking full advantage of all of its Chekhov’s gun (and sword!) moments, and the cast pulls it off flawlessly. As the play wraps up with Baby walking calmly out of the club and into the sunlight, I found myself speechless for a second, before getting possessed by the evil review writer ghost inside me and scribbling out pages upon pages of notes. 

There’s just so much here to praise, especially given the fact that MOJO is the debut play from Almost Pisces Productions. It’s an incredibly impressive performance, one that leaves me very excited to see where this group goes next.