During the intermission at the premiere of Waitress’ run in Melbourne, I indulged in a $10 mini apple pie from the theatre bar. The experience of eating this apple pie—while novel—was remarkably similar to watching the show itself: bland, unremarkable and meeting already low expectations. Staged by multinational theatre conglomerate Crossroads Live, this production of Waitress is yet another instance of the Melbourne theatre doing what it does best—taking great material and dulling it to a dim sparkle. 

Much of the reasons that Melbourne’s version of Waitress is so unsuccessful firstly demands appreciation for the show itself and its previous iterations. Waitress, while undeniably a corny and populist piece of musical theatre, has continued to prove itself as one of our contemporary classics. Something about the show—which follows lead character Jenna who discovers an accidental pregnancy, begins an affair with her gynaecologist and seeks refuge from her abusive marriage—is infectiously likeable. While the synopsis may suggest otherwise, the show is constantly anchoring itself in feel-good, optimistic energy, which, for most productions, results in a universally satisfied audience. Melbourne’s version, in true Australian theatre fashion, manages to unravel the show’s positive traits entirely. 

In order for its emotional arc to function, Waitress is completely reliant on the connection of its audience with its main character. Everything revolves around Jenna, and while there are supporting characters in the cast, their storylines and functions are all subservient to the needs of the show’s tragic protagonist. The Melbourne production of the show immediately faced controversy when Neighbours star turned X-Factor judge Natasha Bassingthwaighte was announced in the lead role. The issue with the actress’ casting is simple: Jenna is written as a character in her mid-20s, and Bassingthwaighte is 50. While this criticism would certainly be dubious one if this version of Waitress deliberately aged up Jenna to add another layer of complexity to her character, the Melbourne production made no such effort. On both the part of Bassingthwaighte and the production team, there was nothing whatsoever that distinguished this version of Jenna from other versions of the character, apart from the painfully obvious effort on Bassingthwaighte’s part to act 20 years younger than she is. 

Jenna’s character is thus not primarily intended to connect with the audience watching her story, instead this obvious priority takes a backseat to this production’s attempt to make onlookers believe that Bassingthwaighte is the age of the character she’s playing. 

The actress cannot sing any of Jenna’s material convincingly—not only did she encounter a slew of flat notes throughout the performance, but the evident maturity in her voice undermines much of the emotive concerns of Jenna’s solos. Bassingthwaighte’s vocal quality never quite reaches an effective tonality, the climax of “She Used to be Mine” especially falls victim to this, where the actress employs a raspy vibrato to mimic emotional intensity rather than communicating it with her acting choices. Comparing Bassingthwaighte’s rendition of the song to Bareilles’, or Jessie Mueller’s on the original cast recording, is like night and day—the latter performers truly embody Jenna in their performances, while the former relies upon vocal strength and a suspicious amount of added reverb in order to manufacture a response from audience members. Bassingthwaighte cannot convincingly portray the feelings demanded by the libretto of the show she finds herself in the centre of—a comprehensive failure on the part of director Diane Paulus and creative team surrounding her. 

Having disrupted the fabric of this production with the inescapable shortcomings of its protagonist, Waitress is left with few redeemable factors. Most of what succeeds during the show is a consequence of just how strong the original script work is, it’s impossible not to want these characters to succeed—despite this production’s best efforts. For the most part, the quality and impact of Sara Bareilles’ music is also mostly preserved. Although the aforementioned issues with Bassingthwaighte’s performance disrupt the show as a whole, the quality of the music she’s singing is still evident. 

When this production pairs Bareilles’ stellar compositional skills with its most competent performers is where this show really comes alive. Mackenzie Dunn embodies Dawn—a fellow waitress at Jenna’s pie shop—and bursts off the stage with unapologetic energy and theatricality. Her performance of “When He Sees Me” was the highlight of the evening, the actress managed to take a song so constantly attempted as a consequence of its popularity on TikTok and make it massively engaging and notably personal. Australian stage and screen legend John Waters also takes a new spin on Joe—the curmudgeonly owner of the aforementioned pie shop—and injects a renewed sense of likability and warmth to a character archetype that can very easily fall by the wayside. 

At the end of the performance on opening night, the curtain call was accompanied by a seemingly never-ending barrage of patriotic blue and white confetti that were siphoned out from various points in the theatre. It didn’t feel especially sensible to me that the culmination of this story—which is, in essence, quite a grave tale of a woman escaping domestic violence—should be underscored by such a revelatory display. This oxymoron speaks to much of the issues plaguing contemporary Australian theatre: the urge to constantly stage blockbuster productions with the obvious primary interest of economic returns constantly results in weaker versions of shows on our shores. 

It isn’t fair to Australian audiences that they are constantly inundated with what are ultimately poor imitations of Broadway and West End theatres, and it’s equally unfair to these audience members that think these watered-down productions are the pinnacle of what theatre has to offer. Waitress is bound to be yet another international import that runs in a CBD theatre for a few months and quickly fades from public consciousness. This production, and others like it, make no impact on the culture and arts scene of Australia—and they aren’t trying to do so, either. Blockbuster productions in Melbourne are a ploy: a scheme to profit off audiences trying to honestly and critically engage with the theatrical medium before ultimately receiving yet another passable version of a once-great piece of art.