Review: Phoebs, You’re a Lesbian at The Mill, Adelaide Fringe

Some shows come to the Adelaide Fringe with polish and spectacle. Others bring something more meaningful: a sincere story, sharp humour, and the courage to share a personal journey. Phoebs, You’re a Lesbian falls into the latter category, blending a coming-out narrative, a musical theatre homage, and a celebration of chaotic queer joy.

Phoebe Rodger steps onto the stage with infectious nervous energy in her intro titular song, immediately setting the tone for the evening. It feels confessional, witty, and refreshingly honest. The unpredictability adds to the intimate, late-night cabaret vibe that Fringe audiences love.

Music is the backbone of Phoebs’ storytelling, and the selections cleverly chart the emotional rollercoaster of identity discovery. My First Kiss arrives with delightful awkwardness as Phoebs recounts her first kiss, not in a sweeping teenage romance, but at nineteen, at university, during a carefully choreographed acting scene. The retelling is wonderfully self-aware, leaning into the humour of the moment while capturing the vulnerability of navigating intimacy a little later than expected.

Drug Lord delivers one of the evening’s most absurdly funny stories, as Phoebs recounts having a crush on a seemingly charming man, only to later discover he was a wanted drug lord. The number leans into the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, with Phoebs’ storytelling shining as she unpacks the moment with a mix of disbelief, embarrassment, and comedic timing that has the audience roaring with laughter.

Musical theatre fans are treated to a particularly memorable segment inspired by Wicked. Through One Short Day, Thank Goodness, and I Couldn’t Be Happier, Phoebs transforms the stage into a playful re-enactment of the time she attended the show and experienced a temporary loss of consciousness, a moment so dramatic it landed her in hospital. With the help of an enthusiastic audience volunteer stepping in, Phoebs recounts the fateful moment when Courtney Monsma, performing as Glinda, blew her a kiss from the stage (cue convulsive syncope). What follows is a brilliantly chaotic piece of storytelling theatre, blending fandom, physical comedy, and self-aware musical theatre satire.

A quick burst of I’m Coming Out serves as the backdrop to Phoebs literally emerging from the closet, before she dives into the title track, Phoebs, You’re a Lesbian, a playful anthem that embraces identity with humour and pride. The tone shifts again in Shine a Light on the Lesbians, which celebrates queer visibility with joyful theatrical flair.

Cabaret thrives on audience connection, and Phoebs knows this well.

With Questions, Worries, and Opinions, the tone deepens. Phoebs shares her genuine concerns for the queer community, the uncertainties, pressures, and social commentary that often accompany queer identity today. It’s a moment that balances wit with sincerity, acknowledging both the progress made and the work that still lies ahead. The result is a thoughtful pause that invites the audience to consider the realities faced by LGBTQIA+ communities while still holding space for hope.

As the show nears its end, Technicolour bursts forth with a vibrant sense of arrival. It feels like a release; the musical equivalent of letting out a breath after holding tension for too long.

Finally, Phoebs, You’re a Lesbian (Reprise) brings the journey full circle. Where the earlier version is cheeky and exploratory, the reprise exudes newfound confidence. It reminds us that identity isn’t discovered in one moment; it develops gradually, piece by piece.

What makes Phoebs, You’re a Lesbian captivating is its genuineness. Phoebs doesn’t aim to show a perfectly polished version of herself; she invites the audience into the messy, funny, and vulnerable aspects of figuring life out. This openness creates the kind of atmosphere where performer and audience feel united in the experience, something Fringe does best.

At its heart, this show is about visibility, acceptance, and the freedom that comes from owning your story. It’s heartfelt, hilarious, and unapologetically queer, a Fringe cabaret that reminds us of the power in simply standing on stage and declaring, ‘This is who I am.’

And truly, what better place for that than the joyful bedlam of the Adelaide Fringe?

4.5 stars

Lia Loves.