The Adelaide Fringe has never been shy about late-night mischief, but Confessions Club Vol. III pushes past cheeky into something more theatrical. It’s sexy, yes, but it’s also surprisingly crafted. Beneath the kink and glitter sits a show about ownership of desire.

The production returns to the Fringe after two sold-out seasons. The show debuted in 2024 and quickly found a loyal following, and by 2025, it had picked up a Weekly Award. Now, the third instalment lands at Nexus Arts Theatre with a bigger cast and a sharper identity.

Co-producers Darcy Mae and Miss Foxy frame the night as a cabaret confessional with the set reinforcing the theme. Vintage Playboy magazines sit beside a chaise longue. Red pasties decorate mannequin torsos. Lamps cast a soft glow across a dressing partition. The aesthetic is boudoir meets theatre club. It feels intimate from the moment the audience walks in.

Darcy Mae hosts the evening with confidence. Her musical theatre training shows: her vocals are strong and controlled. A jazzy reimagining of I Kissed a Girl becomes a teasing centrepiece. She lingers on the consonants like a serpent tempting Eve. She belts Big Spender with a wink. The audience interaction is whip smart. She knows exactly when to tease and when to move on.

Miss Foxy delivers one of the night’s most playful acts. She arrives in a dressing gown. Three costumes in hand: air hostess, maid, and police officer. The crowd votes for their favourite. Stockings slide on slowly. A towel whip reveals perfectly styled hair. Then she disappears backstage for a lightning-fast change. The routine is both parody and seduction.

Gigi von Ginger slows the tempo with smoky jazz vocals. She reads from a fluffy book titled Men Who Pine. Inside are photographs of her crushes. It feels playful and oddly tender.

Mira Moon shifts the mood again. After another failed date, she retreats to a mirror for solace. The act plays like a quiet meditation on loneliness.

Physicality becomes the language of power in Ethereal Jade’s act. She appears strong, but her confession reveals a desire to submit. Petite Miam, towering in dominatrix heels, attaches a chain to Jade’s collar. She leads her down the aisle like a dog. Petite Miam returns later with a crack of chains against the stage. “No monsieur,” she warns, “that is not how you spell consent.”

Amy Valentine offers comic relief. She’s a triple threat: stand-up comedy, singing, and the “best rack in Adelaide.” Her celebrity crush monologue about Justin Bieber lands huge laughs.

The night’s best costume might belong to Duke Draper in a nun’s habit meets female anatomy lesson, as she confesses she can only feel pleasure when she imagines God is a woman.

Fiva Scarlett then performs a webcam routine with an overseas lover. Just as the toys appear, there’s a knock at the door. Chaos follows. Somehow the moment morphs into a Lady and the Tramp spaghetti duet. It shouldn’t work, yet it does.

Dance brings spectacle to the stage: Velvet Dolls deliver fan and belly dancing with main character energy. Winchester Angel performs on a massage table. Long nails glide across latex gloves before she slowly removes them. She looks like Jessica Rabbit reborn in ink.

Then comes the finale: Perth performer Mya Attention. She performs self-shibari on a single leg, requiring her to crawl offstage in triumph. It is strange, mesmerising, and impossible to ignore.

What makes Confessions Club work is precision: every reveal hits the beat of the music. Costumes and lighting feel carefully considered. The structure holds the chaos together. Even the wildest acts feel choreographed.

The show also argues for burlesque as an art form. It isn’t simply about removing clothes, it’s about storytelling through bodies. Each act exposes something emotional alongside skin.

In its third year, Confessions Club is working towards bigger and bigger Os: ovations. It’s a show that has audiences standing at attention. The title promises confession. What it delivers is liberation.