There are theatre shows that you see, and then there are those wonderful experiences that you undergo. Experiences that recalibrate your understanding, leave you breathless with laughter, and fundamentally alter the way you perceive a part of your own body and history. “CHURCH OF THE CLITORI” is the touring sensation, currently gracing the stage at the Factory Theatre, after conquering the Adelaide Festival, Festival Off Avignon, and the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, this show is emphatically the best of the best. Highly Recommended.
Calling it a play, feels almost reductive, and definitely a sermon, a celebration, a history lesson, a sing-along, an audience participation show about fingering fingers, plus a profoundly moving act of communal reclamation. The good news, with clit worship, plus clit salvation “from lip to lip”, anchoring the divine inner feminine power, of the vulva archways. All wrapped up, in layers of sumptuous pink fabric, and delivered with the impeccable comedic timing, and unshakeable warmth of its two High Priestesses, Lillian Rodrigues Pang and Malika Reese. For anyone seeking a late-night show that transcends the usual flippant fare, step right into this congregation. Your baptism awaits, and believe me, you will emerge utterly reborn.
The journey begins with the very premise, as the gauntlet is thrown down, with a joyful, clitoral baptism. Who as the show’s invitation so rightly asks, could knowingly refuse such an offer? This is no empty headline, no piece of “clit-bait” designed merely to shock or titillate. From the moment you navigate the logistics of the evening, the experience of joining the “clitorati” is underway. A bit of “clit-chat” determines your entry-level knowledge, setting a tone of playful, open dialogue. Crucially and tellingly, there is no offer of a coloured or flavoured raincoat, at the door. This is not a performance that intends to protect you from the messiness and rawness of its subject. This is to be a raw, unfiltered education. This welcoming spirit, this immediate establishment of a safe and curious space, perfectly sets the stage for the main event and signals that this is an important night ahead.
As the lights go down and the service begins, we are met with a vision. Our labial ladies of clitoral communion, Rodrigues Pang and Reese, are a vision in pink. Their costumes float and swirl, plus they command the space with an aesthetic, that would look entirely at home on a red carpet, yet here they are, in a theatre, ready to preach the gospel of the Goddess. They have dressed up, and their sartorial choice, is the first of many brilliant conceptual hooks. Instantly communicates the sacredness of the space that they are creating. NOT a lecture in casual wear, this is a religious ceremony, and the deities are being honoured, female pleasure, knowledge, autonomy, and all deserve the most splendid of vestments.
What follows over the next hour is a masterclass in tonal balance, that would be the envy of any performer or academic. The show comprises a series of seamlessly integrated comedy segments with delightfully reworded pop songs and hymns, all given a clitoral edge (and you will never hear “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” the same way again after belting out “He’s Got the Whole Clit in His Hands”), fascinating anatomic drawings projected behind the altar, a detailed and often little-known history of the clitoris, and a deep dive into medical and social information, that is as enraging, as hilarious. A confident show, that offers a door to sexual liberation, via the very tool of our historical repression, yes organized religion. The parody is very sharp, yet never cheaply offensive, or overly sacrilegious for mere shock laughs. The underlying agenda, a very powerful “Wake-Up to HER-story” thrust, drives the content with purpose. If not for the very frank and celebratory sexual references, that push the show into MA15+ territory, much of the content would be positively PG, of course apart from the vulva costuming and diagrammatic illustrations, all human organs remain discreetly hidden. The power comes not from what is shown, but from what is said, and most importantly, understood.
This is a two-woman tour de force. Lillian Rodrigues Pang, as the High Priestess Labia Majora, is a charismatic whirlwind. Her delivery is a unique, spellbinding blend of the sacred and the profane. She can lead a call-and-response hymn with the fervour of a televangelist one moment, and then with a gleam in her eye, offer a Ted Talk deep dive into the hypocrisies of the patriarchy. Her stage presence is a firm and professional hand, guiding you through the chaos, always ensuring that you feel utterly safe in her palms, even as she delightfully messes with your preconceptions. Alongside her is the faithful Labia Minora, Malika Reese, whose energy provides the perfect, joyous counterpoint. Together, their chemistry is electric. They are a dynamic duo who have clearly toured this show into a state of polished, responsive perfection, yet they perform with the fresh spontaneity of a first-night revelation. May the clit be with you, the show is fun, informative and talks in and around their age, that yes, one never asks a woman for her number of years, where their experience radiates from them, is not as jadedness, but as authority. They have seen and experienced everything, and this deep well of lived knowledge, allows them to guide their audience with both mischief and immense tenderness.
Their message is one of radical, joyful inclusivity, anchored by a core tenet that the show articulates beautifully, this is all about a mindset, an allegory for the “Inner Goddess” accessible by all persons, regardless of the physical manifestation their actual genitals may take. The clitoris becomes the central metaphor for an entire philosophy. The acknowledgment of those with an “outie clit” (formerly known as a penis) is made with sincerity and a forthright reckoning with the difficult and destructive history of the penetrative agenda. A show not about putting anyone down, rather a delicious show about uplifting everyone, by finally centering a different source of power. All the messages of female empowerment, are delivered like essential vitamins, a crucial, consistent reiteration, so that every generation can be educated, and individually empowered to contribute to the collective emergence from our shared zombie patriarchy HIStory.
To deliver this “HERstory,” the piece employs an ingenious conceit, using the structure of Judeo-Christianity as its main parodied framework. The humour arises from the simplistic but devastatingly effective supplanting of the names of female genitalia into the familiar cadences of pop songs and hymns. The sheer joy of a room full of strangers singing “He’s Got the Whole Clit in his Hands” is a subversive act of union that must be experienced to be believed. The comedy builds and builds, with each new lyrical reveal, met with either helpless, seat-wetting laughter or a kind of rapt, communal euphoria. You might wonder how far the joke can stretch, just how many variations on inserting the word “clit” into pop culture can exist. The bit never gets old. It becomes a ritual, a linguistic spell that, through sheer joyful repetition, dismantles shame and replaces it with power.
Just when you think you are safely ensconced in the role of a passive, laughing observer, the Church calls its faithful to move from their seats, to the altar. The audience interaction is integral, not an afterthought. We tentatively join in the songs at first, our voices a shy murmur, but under the guiding hands of our Priestesses, the volume swells until we are a full-throated choir, bathed in the light of enlightenment and love. You are in safe hands here, since these ladies will not mess you around on the participation front. The most brilliant sequence involves a couple of willing (though perhaps slightly prompted) participants being brought on stage, only to be draped in massive, theatrical labial folds. The show’s genius is fully realized, as we witness just how far down the clitoral rabbit hole, we are all now willingly tumbling. Physical comedy of the highest order, underscored by a radical vulnerability. By the end, the invitation is extended for all to sit within the giant clit, a literal and figurative immersion into the show’s core. The fun greeting, “May the Clit be with you,” is no longer a pun, by the final blessing, now a sincere, spiritual belief.
The educational component is woven through the hilarity with a deft touch. The revelation of the clitoris’s full, wishbone-shaped internal structure is a recurring, delighted gasp in the audience. The show doesn’t just name the anatomy, since it provides a detailed history that had been systematically erased. A particularly enraging and hilariously presented section, involves a deep dive into sex toys, exposing how so many marketed towards women are disastrously, sometimes painfully, designed not for the singular, pleasure-focused purpose of the clitoris, but to replicate the mechanics of penetrative male pleasure. The nods of furious agreement and ripples of affirming applause from the audience during this segment, are a testament to the show’s powerful recovery of silenced truths. A Ted Talk, meeting a class in liberation, and you will leave knowing more about the bodies of half the population, than you ever learned in a classroom.
The production’s aesthetic, which one might lovingly call “homespun,” is not a weakness but a conscious, covenant-making strength. The felt set of dramatically upscaled sexual organs flanking the stage, the rapid-fire, slightly chaotic multimedia presentation, they all create an aesthetic that feels essential to the message. The show urges a retreat from the glossy, the capitalist, the mechanized. It encourages a suspicion of things that are too tidy and commodified, and so its own slight rawness, its beautiful roughness around the edges, becomes a badge of its authenticity. A rejection of the industrialised soul, a call to reassess and rethink how we have allowed our deepest, most sensual interpersonal connections to be colonised and commercialised. The High Priestess says that a church is made up not of stone and dogma, but of interactions between people. This duo aims to get us all to share more all about our bodies, their idiosyncrasies, and how we experience joy.
“CHURCH OF THE CLITORI” is a show that asks the most profound questions through the most accessible and hilarious of mediums. How do we treat our bodies and our pleasure? What would a society founded on matriarchal, flesh-based connection look like, in contrast to the cannibalistic modes of dealing with each other that seem our inclination when men are in power? A fanciful, fearless, and utterly unforgettable. A confident, a performance that offers a profound spiritual and sensual awakening, all delivered with the firm hand of two true professionals. As a reviewer, I came as a spectator and left as a fully initiated member of the Clitorati. I have pledged myself to a new clitoral faith. This is more than a recommendation, yes a prescription. Go with a gaggle of your female friends, perhaps kick off a “hens night”, just drag along each and every person that you know, provided so long as they have OR love a clitoris. Remember, just as with any intimate encounter with the spiritual, you will only get out what you put in. So open your mind, lend your voice, and prepare to be baptised. You will emerge reborn, drenched in pink, and filled with the holy light of a truly joyful sensation. Amen.
• Until 15th November 1971, Australians lived in the forever home of sexual information censorship with banned books and banned movies and heavily cut censored cinema movies and imported television shows. Before 1971, film censorship was tighter, often heavily restricting films containing nudity or violence. • Usually and typically, Alfred Hitchcock films AND James Bond films AND Carry On films, were censored cut. • Usually and typically, imported televisions shows were censored cut, including such as The Goodies, The Benny Hill Show, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, The Alfred Hitchcock Hour, The Twilight Zone. • Usually and typically, imported televisions shows were censored RC banned (Refused Classification), including such as The Goodies, Doctor Who, The Benny Hill Show, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, The Alfred Hitchcock Hour, The Twilight Zone.
• All sexual Instruction books were banned, by the Australian Government. However Medical Textbooks containing detailed sexual instructions were NOT banned, BUT bookstores could NOT display those Medical Textbooks, and just this one book “Ideal Marriage: Its Physiology and Technique” was hidden and locked away under the front-desk counter. However when you could not name the textbook, then it was not available to purchase.
• Title: Ideal Marriage: Its Physiology and Technique (Originally published 1926 as Het volkomen huwelijk).
• Author: Theodoor Hendrik van de Velde (12 February 1873 – 27 April 1937) was a Dutch Nederland doctor, gynaecologist and sexologist. First marriage on 19 September 1899 to Henriette Amalia ten Brink. Divorced his wife on 11 June 1913, in Amsterdam. Less than four months later, on 29 September 1913, Theodoor Hendrik van de Velde, married Martha Henrietta Hooglandt, in Amsterdam.
• By the 1930s, this medical book was recognized worldwide as a definitive, scientific yet accessible guide to human sexuality, contraception, and the “technique” of sexual intercourse. Book was praised for its detailed, progressive approach to sexual physiology, including anatomy, hygiene, and sexual positions. It broke the silence around the sexual act, and the book was widely known, although regarded as pornographic by the Catholic Church.
• The first printing in 1926 had an insert, “The sale of this book is strictly limited to members of the medical profession, Psychoanalysts, Scholars, and to such adults as may have a definite position in the field of Physiological, Psychological, or Social Research.” In 1931 book banned by the Catholic Church, when book placed into the “Index Librorum Prohibitorum.”
• Sydney Film Festival movies were also required to be physically cut by the Australian Film Censorship Board as originally controlled by the Commonwealth Customs Department and then later by the Commonwealth Attorney General. In Australia 2026, movies are still physically cut to match the required classification rating needed by the movie distributors, at the behest of AUSTRALIAN CLASSIFICATION.
• Australian Classification Board (ACB or CB) is an Australian government statutory body responsible for the classification and censorship of films, television programmes, video games and publications only when for their exhibition, sale or hire in Australia. The ACB is located in Sydney.
• Reminded of the May 2018 book, written by Laurie Mintz –
“Becoming Cliterate” with the cover sub-title of –
“Why Orgasm Equality Matters – And How to Get It”
Creators:
Malika Reese, Lillian Rodrigues-Pang.
Cast:
Malika Reese, Lillian Rodrigues-Pang.
https://www.churchoftheclitori.org/
Tickets $35.00 and Concession $30.00
Factory Floor, 25 April 2026 at 9.15pm
Factory Floor, 26 April 2026 at 8.15pm
Factory Theatre, Marrickville, NSW.
