A Transgender Woman On The Internet, Crying: A Sincere & Gloriously Queer Hyperpop Riot
Image: Cassie Hamilton and Blake Appelqvist in 'A Transgender Woman On The Internet, Crying', playing at The Old Fitz Theatre. Source: Supplied / Credit: Brett Boardman.
A darkly funny hyperpop whirlwind exploring identity, performance and the 鈥榬ight kind of trans鈥� in an unapologetically online world, A Transgender Woman On The Internet, Crying is singular high octane musical theatre.
Written and composed by Cassie Hamilton, who also stars, and directed by Jean Tong, this highly anticipated world premiere from Green Door Theatre arrives at The Old Fitz Theatre with a burst of energy.
Set inside a hyper-online ecosystem of trans influencer culture, identity performance and ideological call-outs, the play follows trio of trans friends: Corrin Verbeck, left-tube takedown queen, DJ Mouthfeel, a jaded transfemme DJ with a voice modulator that鈥檚 never addressed, and clout hungry would-be influencer Sasha.
Together, in a case of classic internet warfare, they sets their sights on Avis O鈥橦ara, aka @theDIYDoll: a glossy hyperfem transmedical influencer ruled by her followers/Dollmakers on how to become their perfect trans woman鈥攖he 鈥榳rong kind of trans鈥� that even JK Rowling might just get on board with.
The plan is to fake a friendship, gather the receipts, and promptly cancel her, until Corrin begins to catch feelings, of course.
Yes, it鈥檚 tropey, it鈥檚 enemies to lovers, and damn if it isn’t a compellingly subversive ride for it.
The ensemble operates and commits as a genuine collective, each performer a magnetic and distinct triple threat, even if their costumes might say more than the script affords them.
Blake Appelqvist brings tightly controlled swagger and a quietly fracturing softness to Corrin. By contrast Hamilton鈥檚 ditzy Avis is charismatic and contradictory, constructed and completely genuine at the same time.
She鈥檚 someone you鈥檙e not supposed to root for and absolutely will, while you also can鈥檛 help but laugh at and feel bad for, and then laugh at again.
Their dynamic anchors the show, shifting convincingly from antagonism to intimacy without ever losing bite.
Teo Vergara injects chaotic energy as the clout-chasing hanger-on, constantly recalibrating her position inside the group, and landing beats with sharp timing that repeatedly resets the room when the show threatens to spill over its own intensity.
Rosie Rai聽brings a grounded emotional core to Mouthfeel, becoming one of the show鈥檚 most intriguing formal presences.
Tong’s direction holds it together with a deceptively light touch, grounding the chaos without smoothing it out.
The music is the driving engine, propulsive, playful and covering enormous ground without feeling repetitive, moving from a song triggered by Grindr notifications to a cyber warfare banger, then pivots into the disarmingly sincere Falling in Love With Someone and so on.
Serving C*nt, a darkly playful techno number about bottom surgery also stands out, landing as joke and statement, capturing the show鈥檚 bite and tongue-in-cheek edge.
Structurally, it rides a hyperpop aesthetic that suits its subject matter perfectly: saturated, overstimulated, emotionally spiky. Songs hit with urgency, while Dan Ham鈥檚 choreography snaps between precision and jarring fragmentation. In the intimacy of Ruby Jenkins鈥� graffiti laden set, the production feels almost invasive in the best way, like being inside a live feed you can鈥檛 mute, while Em-Jay Dwyer‘s sound design, all FaceTime calls and notification sounds, echoes a world that feels completely lived in.
The dialogue, steeped in terminally online references, moves at a relentless pace, often to its own detriment. Emotional detail and even jokes get swallowed in the rush, with music sometimes overpowering.
The overload does feel intentional in a world of constant competing noise, but it does mean clarity slips, while the hilarious slew of quips keeps things alive and specific, if not at risk of being outdated.
But these are the growing pains of a show still finding the ceiling of what it can and should do.
At its best, the show captures the crushing anxiety of being online and queer: the way identity becomes both armour and performance, and how quickly ideological certainty can dissolve when real people enter the frame.
It keeps circling the idea of the right kind of trans only to dismantle it in real time, leaving something looser and far more recognisable: the freedom to be contradictory, performative, vulnerable, annoying and sincere all at once, and still be held.
And crucially it’s joyful, not in a neat resolved way but in the way queer spaces actually are, loud and messy, full of feeling and empathetic.
Tumblr-coded, transportive, and possibly a future cult classic for queer teens, A Transgender Woman On The Internet, Crying is a surprisingly comforting laugh-out-loud banger of a love letter to trans joy, community and the validation that was right beside you the whole time.
A Transgender Woman On The Internet, Crying is playing till 11 April at
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