The Lark, at Fairfax Studio, Arts Centre Melbourne - 70 minutes

In a bravura showing, Noni Hazlehurst delivers a world class performance as the ageing proprietor of a small, old-style, inner city Melbourne pub that she inherited from her father.

No public bar. No Ladies’ Lounge. Just one room, something she describes as “never much of a place”.

Photos by Cameron Grant

Metaphorically, it is last drinks for Rose Grey, aged 75, as she walks back through her life and that of her dad, George, and the characters they met along the way.

She had stood behind the bar for more than 50 years.

The play starts when George is less sure of himself and knows it is time to hand over the reins to Rose. Most of the time the pair was like two peas in a pod.

Rose’s mother, Irene (the love of George’s life), left them soon after she was born. No reason given. She just up and skedaddled, never to be seen again.

There was a letter her father received, telling Rose that she loved her.

Rose didn’t know what kind of person her mum was. She didn’t blame her for leaving, even thought of looking for her, but abandoned the idea.

Rose and George lived in adjacent rooms, above the watering hole that he renamed The Lark, after the magpie-lark (which he liked).

He’d taken over running it in rather shady circumstances as soon as he’d left the Army.

All sorts used to drop into the pub – different nationalities, the police, but not the toffs.

It was never Rose’s intention to spend her life working at The Lark.

After leaving school early, she tried her hand at various jobs, but didn’t travel far and by the age of 19 she was back.

She never married. Men didn’t seem to take to her. She was wedded to The Lark.

During her 70-minute outstanding monologue, Noni Hazlehurst delivers rich and colourful anecdotes about several of those that frequented the bar. Just snippets of the lives of those that drifted in and out.

Over time, the old guard dwindled.

It is also a sombre picture of George’s declining years … as Rose watched him waste away.

She felt it was her responsibility to carry on his legacy, until it became too much for her.

By then, she was only opening a few days a week and had moved to separate lodgings.

Six months ago, she shut up shop. She sold up and the place was set to be demolished.Nevertheless, she continued to attend the shell that remained – devoid of people – daily.

Today she vowed would be the last time.

She is looking for release – to be freed from her past, hence the emotional journey she traverses.

The keenly observed prose is by writer exemplar Daniel Keene, who has won a swag of literary awards for his work. It is not hard to see why.

Noni Hazlehurst is a living treasure. She inhabits the characters she assumes like a second skin and so it is with The Lark.

Not only is she word perfect. It is the way she delivers that leaves her in exulted company.

Her timing (she is never rushed) – her pace, pause and emphasis – shows remarkable mastery of her craft. 

In realising Rose, she is reflective, melancholy, upbeat. Yes, there are laughs and the occasional sound effect.

Most of the time, when she wanders around the empty bar, she does so with the aid of a walking stick.

My admiration for what Hazlehurst has achieved is complete and resolute, worthy of the highest accolades, as we – the audience – lean into the life Rose has lived.

Director Matt Scholten, who worked with Hazlehurst and Keene on another triumphant single hander, Mother, only a year ago, has delivered again.

He has given space and time to ensure that Rose Grey’s beating heart comes alive.

And that brings me to the realisation of place.

The evocative set is a threadbare red carpet, whereupon is positioned a single, small round table and chair.

Behind the carpet is wood panelled flooring, a curved wooden bar and mirrored shelving with a lark motif.

Forlorn, but rich with memory, which Noni Hazlehurst trawls with the eyes and gait of a seasoned performer who has lived. Bravo!

The world premiere of The Lark is on at Fairfax Studio, Arts Centre Melbourne, until 28^th September, 2025.