Review: Atlantis at KXT

Review by Kate Gaul

First performed at KXT in 2016, Paul Gilchrist’s Atlantis resurfaces with its philosophical pulse intact, reminding us that theatre can be both a thinking space and a playground. Billed as a micro-nuance production, Atlantis is performed modestly in KXT’s white-walled Vault – and for the around 50 seats it is the perfect venue for smaller, experimental works. A windchime, a bench, three actors and a captivating script make for an impressive hour.

Atlantis begins as a comedy about the tales we spin to survive. Beneath the surface, it’s a quietly searching work about meaning, myth, and the stories that sculpt our inner terrain. Atlantis gently turns our attention to the softer, stranger ways humans make sense of the world.

The premise is disarmingly simple. Three characters wrestle with the slipperiness of truth, the elasticity of perception, and the desire to believe in something that will hold steady when everything else won’t. What Gilchrist captures beautifully is the human impulse to narrate ourselves into coherence. Whether we call it myth, science, faith, or just a good yarn, each of us is building an Atlantis — a personal island of meaning perched on shifting sand.

What keeps the play buoyant is the blend of humour and sincerity. Gilchrist is not interested in cynicism. Instead, he approaches these big ideas like a curious friend leaning across a café table, saying, “But what if the way we tell the story changes the whole map?” The script’s early sections brim with wit, before heading into more existential terrain. A touch more space for the comedy to land would sharpen the contrast between the light and the weighty, giving the play an even richer texture.

The performances from Veronica Clavijo, Jimmy Hazelwood, and Sylvia Marie ground the show with a sense of shared humanity. Each actor holds a slightly different compass, yet all three point toward the same horizon: the idea that our interpretations shape our lives more than any fixed truth ever could. Their dynamic makes the abstract feel tactile, almost domestic. 

Gilchrist’s larger point — that privilege can allow for reinvention, imagination, and risk — is woven in without heavy moralising. In a place like Australia, the play suggests, we have room to tell braver stories and live more expansive lives if we dare to. Not every society affords such freedom, and Atlantis nudges us to use ours well. It reminds us that progress, whether personal or societal, often comes from the rule-breakers, the imaginative outliers, the storytellers who redraw the borders.

By the end, Atlantis doesn’t give us answers so much as a gentle provocation: maybe the truth isn’t a fixed point at all, but a lens we’re free to adjust. The play lingers with a soft afterglow, urging us to choose our stories with care and courage. In its modest, thoughtful way, Atlantis becomes a reminder that how we read the world might just determine how we live in it.

Image Credit: Syl Marie Photography