Review: Big Mouth Strikes Again (The Smiths Show) at Wharf One

Review by Kate Gaul

“Big Mouth” is not so much a Sydney theatre show as it is a temporary relocation. For ninety breathless minutes, Salty Brine whisks the audience somewhere electric and a little dangerous - somewhere that feels unmistakably like New York, even as it pulses through a Sydney Theatre Company’s Wharf 1. It’s the kind of performance that reminds you theatre can still feel like a secret you’ve stumbled into - thrilling, intimate, and slightly unhinged in the best possible way.

At the heart of the show is Salty Brine, a true original whose presence alone could power the night. From the moment they step onstage dripping in Arctic fur, there is an astonishing sense of momentum. This is not a performer who warms up; they ignite. The energy never dips, never falters, and never feels forced. It is propulsion as performance - joy, fury, camp and vulnerability all moving at once.

What makes “Big Mouth” genuinely gripping is its audacious structure. Brine interweaves personal narrative with Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” and the music of The Smiths 1981 album “The Queen is Dead”, creating a hybrid that could easily collapse under its own cleverness. Instead, it coheres into something strangely inevitable. Mary Shelley’s tale of creation, monstrosity and longing becomes a prism through which Brine refracts their own story, while the songs - so often soaked in melancholic irony - are repurposed as narrative tools rather than nostalgic hits.

Crucially, this is not cover-song cabaret. Brine is not interested in reverence. The lyrics are used, reshaped, occasionally tweaked, and recontextualised, with new arrangements that feel emotionally precise rather than showy. Each song advances the story, deepens the stakes, or cracks the audience open a little further. Even familiar lines land with fresh force, as if you’re hearing them not for the first time, but for the first time truthfully.

Vocally, Brine is astonishing. They move from spoken word to singing with zero hesitation, as though thought itself simply tips into melody. The voice is elastic and commanding – everything from intimate and confessional to gloriously theatrical. If you had to pin it down (and part of the pleasure is that you can’t), it sits somewhere between Sam Smith’s emotional clarity and Ethel Merman’s unapologetic belt. It’s a voice that refuses to choose between pop vulnerability and old-school bravura and is all the stronger for it.

The costume is delightfully mad - bold, excessive, and entirely in dialogue with the show’s themes of self-invention and visibility. Once the fur trimmed cloak is shed, we see a pink and silver lamé pussy bow frock. And later a little black sequined number.  The costumes announce Brine as a creature of their own making, stitched together from influences, obsessions and sheer audacity. 

Supporting them is a brilliant 4-piece band, tightly responsive and clearly having a ball. 

What ultimately makes “Big Mouth” so commanding is Brine’s total ownership of the space. This is a performer who understands how to tell a story with every tool available - body, voice, text, music, silence. Humour, camp excess, and genuine risk. Brine is not hiding behind irony; they are offering something raw, intelligent and deeply felt.

For Sydney audiences, “Big Mouth” is a gift: a reminder that theatre can surprise, seduce and transport us completely. For ninety minutes, you’re not just watching a show - you’re somewhere else entirely, held in the mouth of a singular, fearless artist.

Image Credit: Harry Elletson