Reviews: Melbourne Fringe Festival 2024

As my eyes and ears are near-hypnotised by an engrossing combination of projections and soundscapes, Ayres’ voice melts through the headphones relaying the harrowing experience of finding himself in the grasps of a severe mystery illness, just months after starting to take testosterone as part of his gender-affirming care.

 As an elemental reverie of a show that shimmers between forms, Conduit Bodies left tears dancing in my eyes and those of my plus-one. Its vast and ethereal beauty reminded me of the enslaved Caliban’s most remarkable speech in Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

 If this were a real trial, there’s no way this crowd of jurors would find Reynolds guilty of anything – aside from being the “comedian with the most beautiful cervix” (and no, we’re not giving the context of that one away). This laugh-out-loud, surprisingly vulnerable and empowering solo show cements Reynolds as one to watch.

Despite leaping between a wealth of characters – including Corinthian’s mum, co-workers and those on the front line as rising waters lap at the edges of doomed communities – the show’s never confusing and constantly engaging, even if some of the blows rightly punching up feel a little too blunt. That’s forgivable in a blazing work of timely import that’s evidently a call to arms (as the inaugural recipient of the Melbourne Fringe Climate Crisis Commission) and a warning of the human cost of ignorance on the matter. It’s a ferocious indictment on the slow-motion car crash that will most likely consume our planet.

As Drake’s ‘Hotline Bling’ echoes through Fortyfivedownstairs, audiences are drawn into the world of Nicci Wilks, poised for her performance in Bad Boy as part of Melbourne Fringe. Had I been oblivious to Patricia Cornelius’s hallmark style – characterised by incisive examinations of contemporary masculinity, misogyny, and domestic violence – the song’s implications might have eluded me. Or perhaps not, given that domestic violence saturates our headlines. Yet, within the 60-minute runtime, this weighty topic feels both rushed and stretched. 

Trust me, you don’t need seriously shifty prophets to tell you this is destined to be one of this year’s mightiest Melbourne Fringe highlights. The real devil’s work is the run only lasting as many nights as Shakespeare had witches. Pray to Hecate you’re reading this while you can still conjure tickets or sacrifice whatever scalp needs be to see it extended.