Feast, the latest experimental-as-hell piece from up-and-coming Melbourne theatre collective Pony Cam, is the type of experience that’s incredibly difficult to accurately sum up in words. And when you do, the person you’re chatting to is highly likely to ask if you’re okay (genuinely, this has happened three times).
Fresh from an encore season of their five-star show Burnout Paradise, Pony Cam presents Feast as one of the most hyped offerings of this year’s Melbourne Fringe Festival. The immersive theatre piece is described as “fine dining with a twist” and “unforgivable transgressions performed with the utmost care” – and we’d certainly agree with parts of those statements.
We’re told to arrive at the Substation with our own bottle of red wine, not that we get to drink it (at least not in its original form). We must cloak all our belongings, before being seated at a gigantic banquet table for the multi-course meal of our lives. What follows is a wildly indulgent menu of theatrical overconsumption – we’ll leave it to you to decide whether that’s a good thing.
Pony Cam’s members (Claire Bird, Ava Campbell, William Strom, Dominic Weintraub and Hugo Williams) say they’re all about “subverting well-known forms” and that’s certainly the case here. We’re alternately fought over, fed, flirted with and fawned at, although the focus of it all often feels fuzzy.
Shocking and amusing moments abound, with serious notes more sparsely seen. The sketch of a biting class commentary peeks out between the tricks, however we’re left a little peckish for more meat. Although, every outlandish course served is vegan, so perhaps that’s part of the point?
Credit is definitely due in many places: naughty guests are punished with washing the dishes, a wax-sealed paper towel envelope containing a single Savoy tickles our fancy, and the concept of serving a family fight with the main course resonates deeply.
Nonetheless, between these sharp plays the group gorge themselves on theatrical tactics that at times muddle the message. More concerningly, there are moments at which more care could have been taken with audience safety: real knives flying during fake combat; my plus-one moving a lit candle out of performer’s unwatching way; a wine-to-dinner ratio that was heavy on the intoxication.
Again though, perhaps this is all part of Pony Cam delighting in our discomfort. Extensive content warnings, though helpful, could have been clearer about some of the ‘bolder’ elements of this ambitiously staged, wildly experimental production.
In the end, we didn’t leave hungry and we were never bored. Why else does one venture out for performance art on a Monday night, if not to be dragged by their chair towards the punishment table within the first ten minutes?
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