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Gerard Dunning, Terrigal, NSW 2260, Australia
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Gerard’s career spans theatre, television, film, and voice work, with performances on stage and screen complemented by an extensive international voiceover portfolio. Now evolving further as he turns his focus to writing for the stage.
The Old & The Restless tells the story of a group of retirement home residents who refuse to settle quietly into routine. Tired of bingo, bed checks, and the stern rule of Matron Biggs, they hatch a plan to escape.
What begins as idle chatter soon snowballs into a full-blown conspiracy, fuelled by clashing personalities, comic mishaps, and a growing sense of rebellion. As the group bickers, blunders, and stumbles through their preparations, they find strength in one another, and a reminder that mischief, friendship, and the desire for freedom don’t fade with age.
This one-act comedy blends slapstick with heart, delivering laughs and warmth in equal measure.
A sharp, one-act ensemble comedy with heart. The Old & The Restless thrives on strong character work, quick-fire banter, and physical humour, all set in a simple retirement home environment. It’s a playful piece that gives directors room to lean into slapstick, subtle pathos, or both, making it a versatile and crowd-pleasing addition to any season.
The Hedgehog: (Male, late-60s to 70s) • The Old Flame: (Female) • The Colleague: (Male or Female) • The School Friend: (Male) • The Character at Lectern: (Male or Female).
Meet The Hedgehog, a prickly, manic, and endlessly self-important man in his later years, scrambling to write his own eulogy after a terminal diagnosis. With a pen in hand and a whisky glass within reach, he conjures a heroic, chaotic, and outrageously exaggerated version of his life — loves conquered, battles fought, work victories immortalized. A bittersweet comedy, "The Hedgehog" is a kaleidoscope of memory, distortion, and bravado. By the end, the nickname that haunted, teased, and defined him lands with a mischievous flourish, revealing a man who, despite everything, has the last laugh.
At its heart, The Hedgehog is not simply a comedy about a man writing his final words; it is an exploration of what happens when the ego collides with mortality. The central figure spends his final days constructing a personal myth, a self-written script for posterity. Yet the more he writes, the more his past intrudes, and with it the distortions and defenses that shaped his life.
From a psychological perspective, this character is wrestling with cognitive dissonance. He has been diagnosed with a terminal illness — a fact he never directly acknowledges on stage — but rather than face the vulnerability and fear that diagnosis brings, he throws himself into performance. He clings to an inflated version of himself, constructing a grand finale that will, he believes, outshine his failings. This is a textbook case of narcissistic defense: when confronted with loss or mortality, the ego responds by amplifying its own importance, refusing to allow weakness or imperfection to surface.
The memory fragments — the old flame, the school friend, the colleague — are crucial here. They act as intrusions, surfacing unbidden like half-remembered dreams or critical inner voices. Each one begins as a stylised caricature, echoing the inflated way he wishes to see himself, only to slip and reveal harsher truths: the flame who recalls his drunkenness, the colleague who mutters about deadlines missed, the school friend who mocks his fragility. These fragments are not literal hauntings but projections of his own psyche — his superego and his critics made flesh. They are the reality he cannot fully repress.
The comedy arises from the tension between these two versions of reality: his flamboyant, self-aggrandising narrative and the fractured, contradictory recollections that leak in. He performs grandeur, yet the audience sees the cracks. The laughter is bittersweet: we recognise in him the human urge to make sense of our lives by editing, exaggerating, or erasing parts of the past.
What makes The Hedgehog poignant is the ambiguity of its ending. As he fades and his words are read at the lectern, the audience is left to wonder whether he achieved clarity or remained trapped in distortion. Was his final gesture an act of repentance, or simply another flourish of ego? The play does not resolve this; instead, it mirrors the unresolved nature of our own lives. Few of us achieve tidy narratives.
In psychological terms, The Hedgehog is a study of ego at the threshold of mortality — a man defending against despair with humour, bravado, and delusion. The fragments are his past breaking through denial, reminding us that self-image is never a solitary construction but shaped in the tension between how we see ourselves and how others see us.
And therein lies its power. To watch The Hedgehog is to laugh at his absurdity, but also to recognise our own small vanities, our own myths and distortions. It is a comedy, yes, but one with teeth, pricking us, reminding us that the stories we tell about ourselves may not be the ones others remember.
Chadwick “Chad” Langford: (Male, mid-40s) - the slick agent clinging to his image, his sidekick Lola DeVine: (Female, early 20s) - the sharp and sarcastic assistant, Maya Parker: (Female, late 20s) - the glowing mother-to-be chasing her dream home, and Evan Parker: (Male, mid 30s) - the practical partner more focused on foundations than fantasies.
Vanilla is a sharp, fast-moving comedy that peeks behind the polished façades of real estate. A charismatic agent’s rehearsed charm collides with a savvy, witty assistant and a cautious young couple, exposing the absurd theater behind open homes. With biting humor, clever social commentary, and high-energy dialogue, the play offers a compact, stage-ready experience that entertains while holding a mirror up to ambition, illusion, and the everyday performances we all play.
Perfect for adults old and young who enjoy sharp, fast-paced comedy, workplace satire, and witty social commentary on ambition, appearances, and the absurdities of everyday life.
Special thanks to Ron Baker, Rebecca Flint. Mary Middleton, Duncan Mitchell, Gavin Critchley, Stephanie Burton and Courtney-Jade Buckley for their support in this project.
Martin: (Male, 40-55) • The Stranger: (Gender/Age Ambiguous) • The Voice
In the stillness of a desolate bus stop, two strangers meet in a haunting conversation that blurs the lines between reality and introspection. Martin, a man haunted by regrets and unresolved choices, is confronted by The Stranger, a figure whose unsettling calm unravels hidden truths. As the dialogue unfolds, the layers of Martin’s life are peeled back, revealing a man caught at the crossroads of his own existence.
With each scene, tension mounts, and the conversation takes on an almost otherworldly quality, exploring themes of identity, self-reflection, and the weight of unspoken fears. Subtle moments of levity offer brief reprieves from the psychological intensity, only to plunge the audience back into the raw and confronting depths of the human condition.
Ending with a shocking twist that leaves the audience questioning everything they’ve witnessed, The Last Stop is a gripping exploration of the choices we make—or fail to make — and the shadows that linger in their wake.
Perfect for fans of intimate, thought-provoking theatre, this one-act play will resonate long after the final curtain falls.
Special thanks to Gavin Critchley, Debbi Clarke, Ron Baker and Rebecca Flint for their support in this project.
Adapted for Radio, Read and Produced by Gerard Dunning. Narrated by Rebecca Flint
The Last Stop emerges from my work counselling men grappling with mental health challenges. Over time, I've witnessed how many find themselves at a crossroads, where life feels devoid of meaning, and the allure of ending it all seems like the simplest escape. Contrary to popular belief, this descent isn't always marked by complexity or overt turmoil; often, it's a quiet, pervasive emptiness that erodes one's sense of purpose.
This play delves into that void — a stark exploration of the final destination many men reach when hope diminishes. It's a close-up examination of the psychological transition that occurs in those haunting moments between life and death.
Who is The Stranger? The script refers to The Stranger as "them". We don't know for sure. Maybe Martin's father, his Mother, or even a younger version of himself. The Stranger is a projection of Martin's inner emotions and self-image.
How do Scenes Transition? Scenes flow. However some might be punctuated with some street activity, a passing car, a dog barking, a person walking by. There is a stillness in the scene that complements The Stranger, but contrasts the growing emotions from Martin
Gerard Dunning’s “The Last Stop” is a gripping, intimate one‑act play that artfully blends existential tension with psychological depth. The desolate setting — a flickering, lonely bus stop — serves as a mirage through which two lives intersect, not by chance but by design.
In a tightly composed four‑scene structure (plus an optional epilogue), Dunning introduces Martin, a middle‑aged salesman weighed down by regret, and The Stranger, an enigmatic, probing presence who unsettles Martin’s sense of self. The play’s brilliance rests in its minimalism: two actors, one sparse set, and a tension that ebbs and pulses with every pause.
Language is precise and evocative. The Stranger’s calm menace — “quietly probing yet unsettling” — peels back Martin’s defences until he’s laid bare. This conversational unmasking feels almost surgical, exposing vulnerabilities we all recognise: fear of failure, the ache of unrealised dreams, and the loneliness of unspoken regrets.
Atmospheric tension: The soundscape — distant traffic hums, flickering light, the echo of silence — creates a powerful, cinematic mood.
Character dynamics: Martin’s frustration is visceral, while The Stranger’s inscrutable calm is deliciously unnerving.
Emotional reveal: The moment where Martin admits to doing “everything they wanted” — the payoff is cathartic, yet profoundly unsettling when followed by the Stranger’s verdict: “Stop waiting.”
The play does not shy away from tragedy, but rather embraces it as inevitability. It’s a challenge to the audience — did we see a stranger, or a reflection of ourselves?
“The Last Stop” is small in scale but vast in impact. Its stripped‑back staging makes it perfect for intimate theatres or festivals, while its universal themes—waiting, choice, regret—ensure it resonates beyond its runtime. Dunning’s dialogue is both sharp and poetic, his pacing taut. This play doesn’t just entertain, it confronts — and lingers.
Rating: 4 stars
Ideal for directors seeking a compact yet powerful piece that invites audiences inward, “The Last Stop” is a masterclass in psychological drama. Gerard Dunning has created a work that feels both personal and timeless—an encounter with the mirror we all carry.
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