In 2014, Melbourne snagged the title of the world's sleepiest city, a title ostensibly celebrated by the sleep community and fiercely coveted ever since the city’s ranking plummeted. Enter Harriet Gillies and Marcus McKenzie for 8/8/8: Rest. Kicking off at 9pm sharp and wrapping up just before sunrise at 5am, this show is a mammoth eight hours long. As a theatre critic this one is a milestone for me, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling slightly apprehensive about the long haul.
8/8/8: Rest is the second instalment in the company’s triptych (which began in 2022) exploring the utopian ideal of eight hours each for work, rest, and play. Now, the band’s back together. Work is done. It's time to say goodbye to the grind and hello to 'rest’.
Upon entering, attendees queue to gather lanyards for what feels like an incredibly real conference – but it isn’t. As ‘Amy’ from Monash University, I’m welcomed to the Nocturnal Fatigue Emergency and Rest Exigency: National Crisis Epidemic. Black Eyed Peas ‘I Gotta Feeling’ blares through the speakers. Those in attendance are the purportedly the crème de la crème of sleep doctors and affiliates from around the world. Naturally, the event is sponsored by the fictional company DeRucci.
Held in the winding carpeted halls of Arts Centre Melbourne as part of Rising, the room screams classic conference: fold-out bar, tablecloths, and an agenda with titles like “Why Did We Ever Wake Up”, phrases like “a clean sleep is a sexy sleep”, and corporate jargon like “PSR” (Positive Sleep Reinforcement, of course).
Our first speaker, ‘author’ Jenny Odell, sleepily delivers five tips for resisting the attention economy. She acknowledges her privilege in being able to bird-watch – arguably the pinnacle of doing nothing – while cycling through more than twenty images and videos of birds to lull the audience into calm. More likely, she just really likes birds.
The sleep conference is interrupted by an awkward, conference-style team-building activity and an entertainment segment featuring stand-up by Sean Miller, an 'Australian TV personality' with the kind of dry and depressing humour you'd expect from a corporate gig.
Eventually, each table is ushered to explore the next segment of the evening – a boardroom meeting – before guests are given majestic robes and taken into the sprawling downstairs theatre for some R and R. Here, the central idea is quickly discarded for the surreal. It’s 12am when the microphone is seized by someone with enough energy to power a Starbucks, frenetically running around and delivering sleep-themed monologues. Admittedly, this feels like filler, and not the restful kind.
It’s a relief when the full room is guided in meditation by a calming walking box – yes, a walking cardboard box. At this hour, everything and nothing makes sense. The witching hour features performers with painted faces and terrifying masks, slowly circling the room and gliding against the walls. Around 4am, guests are presented with a choice: rest, or join McKenzie in what he describes to me later as a “nightmare rave sabbath”.
McKenzie moves among the bleary-eyed guests on the dance floor; it’s a surreal scene where those with remaining energy dance under falling black balloons while others find spots among discarded robes to rest.
The operation is undeniably impressive, with a lot of thought, care, and effort put into the minutiae. However, the execution leans more towards a satire of corporate culture than a critique of the commodification of rest. The impact is a front-loaded thematic punch that gradually dissipates, leaving the latter segments feeling somewhat disconnected from its initial premise.
Still in this show, novelty goes a long way. It’s a marathon, but one that offers a uniquely connective and often hilarious experience, even if it occasionally stretches the limits of endurance. For those brave enough to attend the last show, I recommend a power nap beforehand.