The Pole Shebang Review — One Woman, One Pole, One Hell of a Question

The unexpected journey of a gender-rebellious neurodivergent pole teacher into the glitzy and glamorous world of competitive pole dance.

Claryss Kuan reviews The Pole Shebang, Andrea James Lui's one-woman show of dance, comedy, autobiography and confession, staged in The Living Room at Erskineville Town Hall for Sydney Fringe 2026. This performance isn't trying to be a definitive history of pole dancing, nor a manifesto on gender politics in the industry. It is one woman's story — funny, physical, occasionally vulnerable, and unapologetically personal — and it was a privilege to witness and enjoy.

Reviewed by Claryss Kuan.

Pole dancer. Neurodivergent. Asian. Queer and gender-rebellious. Wait, is this f**king play about us?

I've convinced a good friend from Melbourne to join me for The Pole Shebang, a one-woman show that is part dance, part comedy, part autobiographical theatre, and part confession. It follows Andrea James Lui's journey through the world of pole — from instructor and performer to competitor — framed around a coveted invitation to compete in the Miss Pole Dancer World Championships.

Both my friend and I have done our fair share of pole, so when Lui comes flying out of the curtain, spinning and kicking around a metal pole to the gasps of the audience, we're amazed but not startled. It is immediately apparent that Lui is an exceptional dancer — the range of tricks within those few minutes and the speed with which she executes them are testament to the years of experience Lui has spent mastering her craft.

She breaks off a phenomenal first dance (to rock music too, which already speaks to the uniqueness of her performance) to a sheepish acknowledgment of the audience.

“Just a tiny warm-up,” she says, and I'm instantly green with envy.

After modesty comes audience interaction, and I'm transported back to warm-ups in pole classes when Lui invites us to get up on our feet and start stretching. She even showcases an integral part of herself (a pole instructor of 10+ years) by teaching two volunteers a few pole tricks — with a light, fun tone that I believed would set the precedent for the rest of the show.

Boy, was I wrong. The class is cut short with a phone call, the fourth wall broken and reminding us that we're still in a theatre production, and from here, the premise of the show is laid out.

After revelling in the joy of competing at the most elite pole competition around, the anxiety sets in. Lui then delivers a compelling monologue about what it means to be a woman in the competitive pole dancing industry — especially in this day and age.

If there's a Miss Pole, there's a Mister Pole, and Lui ruminates on the longing to be a man in a woman-dominated field. In the Mister Pole Dancer World Championships, there are no mandatory eight-inch heels, no need to be seductive, not even the need to point your toes (an absolute sacrilege in pole dancing). Instead, a question starts coming up — why are women expected to conform to certain aesthetics in an industry that's supposed to celebrate femininity and individuality?

Lui leaves us with the question hanging in the air, and then delves even deeper into the “sexier” side of pole dancing. She strips down to a skimpy pole outfit, paints on her makeup, and slips on the eight-inch heels that have just served as a point of contention; how to become the femme fatale alter ego some of the audience may have been expecting.

Seeing the drastic change from her casual self to a glammed-up version is a visual representation of the two conflicting worlds Lui has to jump between when in the industry.

A third is then produced — the one where pole dancing is someone's livelihood. We are all brought into the strip club, where Lui recounts her experience dancing in one for a competition.

This is the scene probably the most familiar to the audience when the word “pole” is thrown about: fiery, raunchy, and the overt sexualisation of women's scantily-clad bodies turned into dollars thrown at the stage. Cue the heavy discourse of pole dancing stemming from erotic dancing/stripping, having to (un)dress for the (mainly) masculine view, and the objectification and fetishisation (especially when the dancer is not Caucasian) that comes with dancing on a metal pole.

These are issues both my friend and I were aware of (as well as anybody who's ever done a bit of pole). However, for the audience members that hadn't, they were now compelled to consider the dancer not as an object in somebody else's fantasy, but as a person negotiating her own physical and emotional boundaries.

A smooth navigation back to Lui's quirky and technically complicated grand finale performance for Miss Pole grounds the audience back to reality. However, the weight of these issues still lingers throughout the cheers for Lui's Pikachu-costumed tail whirling about.

Even if The Pole Shebang's narrative feels deliberately simple at times, it can be argued that the simplicity is there to emphasise the larger questions presented. This performance isn't trying to be a definitive history of pole dancing, nor a manifesto on gender politics in the industry. It is one woman's story: funny, physical, occasionally vulnerable, and unapologetically personal — and it was a privilege to witness and enjoy.

The Pole Shebang — a one-woman show written and performed by Andrea James Lui. The Living Room at Erskineville Town Hall (Emerging Artist Share House), 104 Erskineville Road, Erskineville NSW 2043 (Gadigal Country), 22–26 September 2026. Running time 1 hour. Part of Sydney Fringe 2026.

Creator & Performer: Andrea James Lui
Photography: Jealous by Nature, Lioness Photography, someFX, Jarrod Helmuth, and John Humphreys Photography

Reviewed by Claryss Kuan.

Content warnings: verbal audience interaction. Show rated M. Sydney Premiere.

Links: andreajameslui.com · @andreajameslui · @thepoleshebang