There’s something funny about willingly walking into a shipping container for 'fun'. It’s very Melbourne. Like, yes, lock me inside a metal box in the middle of the city and tell me it’s art. I insist.
First up was 'Invisible'. We were told to step into what looked like a mini theatre, two long rows of seats facing a curtained stage. Headphones on. Then the lights cut to black. Not dim. Not moody. Gone.
The sound design is sharp enough to trick your brain into believing someone is standing right behind you. Heavy breathing, footsteps that feel too close, a narrator who starts off charming and shifts into something sharper and less human. The whole piece plays with the fantasy and terror of being unseen. If you could vanish, what would you let yourself get away with?
I liked the idea. I liked the question. But just as I felt myself dropping into the world, it ended. Seventeen minutes, apparently. I pulled the headphones off and thought, Wait, that’s it?
Walking out, I heard other people raving. Someone said it was “creepy enough to call their therapist”. So maybe it hits differently depending on your internal level of chaos. For me, it skimmed the surface without quite getting under the skin.
Feeling mildly underwhelmed, I went to 'Flight' with low expectations. But as soon as I stepped inside, something clicked. It’s a plane cabin. An actual one. Rows of seats, laminated safety instructions, the whole thing. I haven’t been on a plane in almost a year, so maybe I was already primed, but I felt a weird nostalgia. Travel! Escape! The fantasy of becoming a completely different person after landing somewhere else! Then the show starts and that fantasy dies fast.
Everything around you shifts and fractures. The safety demonstration flickers. The cabin goes dark. Suddenly you’re in a version of a flight where things don’t quite line up with reality. Or maybe they do. The binaural sound pulls you into parallel outcomes, like you’re flicking between universes on turbulence. Someone stands up. Someone whispers something you don’t want to hear. Something might be wrong with the plane. Or with you. Or both.
I don't have a fear of flying, and this still got my heart going. The world felt complete, convincing and claustrophobic. The container disappears and you’re in it. And that’s the difference. 'Invisible' tells you a concept. Flight makes you live it.
Both pieces ask who we are when control slips. One just lands harder.
Who will love this:
People who love sensory theatre, psychological play, or simply want to feel something intense without having to speak to another person.
Who may not:
Those who need time to warm up. Or who prefer horror with jump scares rather than creeping dread.
The verdict:
'Invisible' raises interesting questions but feels too quick to linger.
'Flight' is the one that stays with you, the kind that follows you home and pops up again right before you fall asleep.
And honestly, that’s the whole point.
