Réquiem, presented at Meat Market as part of the Melbourne Fringe, was a work that seemed to exist somewhere between worlds. Conceived and directed by Lucy Eidelson, this haunting, meditative piece invited its audience into what she described as the “Thin Place,” a liminal space where birth and death coexisted. Through a blend of dance, physical theatre, live vocals, and original composition, it asked us not to watch but to witness.
The performance opened with a glowing, cocoon-like set — a structure that appeared to shift shape through light alone. The way the lighting sculpted this space was remarkable. At times, the surface appeared soft and organic, like skin; at others, it became rough and almost stone-like. This transformation gave the piece a living quality, as though the space itself breathed with the performers.
Eidelson and Allen Laverty moved within and around this installation with quiet intensity. Their movement was deeply physical yet at times understated, marked by an intergenerational contrast that made it feel strangely accessible. There were moments that resembled everyday gestures — reaching, folding, turning — before something otherworldly crept in. The choreography by Eidelson and Lily Harding balanced these opposites beautifully, making the ordinary seem sacred.
The three vocal performers — Heather Michaels, Clover Blue, and Anne Atcheson — were, without question, the heart of the work. Their a cappella harmonies filled the space with a kind of shimmering stillness. The sound was enchanting, drawing focus even when nothing else moved. Composer and vocal director Sam Harding created something that felt both ancient and intimate — a soundscape that connected grief, ritual, and release.
What stood out most in this piece was not narrative but sensation. There were fragments of story — perhaps a birth, a death, or a memory — but they never settled into linear meaning. Instead, the work became a meditation on presence, on what it meant to carry those who came before us. Voice, body, and light merged until they were indistinguishable, dissolving the borders between performer and environment, living and dead, human and memory.
There were a few moments of unexpected humour, and the audience responded with quiet laughter. Mostly, though, the room remained still. The silence felt reverent rather than uncertain — the kind that comes when people are truly absorbed. When the final light faded, the applause broke through like a release: warm, genuine, and a little relieved.
Réquiem was not an easy work to define, nor should it have been. It operated on feeling more than story, on imagery more than explanation. What lingered afterward was less about what happened and more about what was felt: curiosity, wonder, and the sense that, for a brief moment, the veil really did thin.
Réquiem played as part of Melbourne Fringe at Meat Market – Blackwood Box from 14–17 October 2025. For more information, visit melbournefringe.com.au
