In his opening monologue, Klaus let his voice project through the theatre. With each word powerfully enunciated, he immediately captivated the audience. Thus beginning to unravel the trials of Lucifer and his determination to become God. The show was dark, blasphemous, a little macabre, and inappropriately humorous.

Klaus displayed a real talent for simultaneously fascinating and manipulating his audience, without them being too conscious of the latter. He portrayed a version of Lucifer that was blunt, crude, and subtly cunning – a form that would entertain but quickly transgress into one of enormous rage, ego, and desire-mongering. In doing so, he caused the spectators to reaffirm their original notions of a malicious and almost deranged devil.

His stage held only a few props: a signage board, a pillow, a stool, and red heels. Klaus utilised them all effectively and in a way that heightened the emotion of the scenes. The story jumped backwards through time to show each of Lucifer’s (failed) attempts to denounce God in the eyes of his followers, and tempt them into his evil regime. It was interesting to hear Lucifer’s personal interpretation of well-known biblical tales and how he portrayed the additional religious figures. It made the viewers think about what they had been conditioned to understand about the stories in the bible as Klaus emphasised that most of them were dependent on context.

Although the narrative was relatively straightforward, there was an assumption that it would be told in chronological – rather than non-linear – order . This made the development of events slightly confusing as frequently one scene, set in modern times, would be interrupted with a memory of past events. Similarly, some scenes appeared to be unnecessary, unrelated to the the story, or a little too odd. Mostly, however, the way each scene was designed did contribute to the plot in its own way.

Down Down Lucifer gives a very unique perspective into Lucifer’s perception of his portrayal in past and modern culture, and how he views himself. It is disarming, intelligent, sacrilegious, thoroughly entertaining, and well executed.

Directed by Michael Abercromby, Lucidity is captivating, innovative, and thought-provoking. The cast (Andreas Lohmeyer, Charlotte Hazzard, Felicity McKay, and Shaynee Brayshaw) were sublime and highly skilled. Together and as individuals, they crafted scenes that were deeply engaging and compelling, delivering powerful and emotional lines throughout the performance. Even in the small details – for instance, the way they demonstrated the passing of time or the transition into Alex’s dreams – their work was obviously meticulously practiced, and all were highly effective in the development of the plot.

Although it was merely set on a stage, bare except for a bed, the actors’ movements, physical actions, and body language amplified the emotion within each scene. This was especially evident in interactions between characters, in one of Alex’s controlled dreams, and in their own individual performances. Both the script and the plot line were cohesive and intelligent.

Although the other characters did criticise Alex’s failures, they would almost always subsequently illuminate his virtues. Lucidity leaves the audience asking themselves: was Alex, known for his selfishness and disregard for others, a likeable protagonist or, in actuality, the antagonist of the story? Or was he simply a victim of his own creation?

Quite possibly one of the most interesting concepts of this year’s Fringe, Lucidity is a show that is heartbreaking, and extremely memorable.

The production was set to a video backdrop that resembled the graphics of the first Harry Potter PlayStation game, yet this enhanced the comedic nature of the scene and grounded the plot. The show was filled with dorky, satirical humour, quick improvisation, pop culture references that carefully “avoided copyright laws”, and multiple characters with their own specific voices and personalities. Even with the occasional wardrobe malfunction, and the frequent (deliberate) breaks in the character, Sound & Fury gave a fun, entertaining, and silly performance. However, some of the jokes were crass, overplayed, or fell a little flat. There’s a way to be funny without being offensive, or tasteless, and every so often, Sound & Fury blatantly did not achieve this. Although the reasoning as to why Frogart Snark was portrayed by an audience member was explained, the hero may have been better represented by one of the actors so the plot line could have been a little more cohesive. That said, it was unlikely cohesiveness was a priority.

The cast interacted exceptionally with one another and with the audience. By doing so, they achieved something rare: they allowed the audience to engage in the performance and become a part of it, rather than remaining as passive spectators. Overall, the organised chaos and spontaneity filled the show with excitement.

According to director, Claire Glenn, when presented with the topic of immunisations, the actors voiced their support. Thus began the exploration of how the pro and anti vaccination debate is both an ethical and scientific dilemma. This posed the question, ‘what if there were no vaccines?’ Everybody Dies demonstrates this issue with a country in prohibition run by a political dictator and one doctor’s quest to reveal the known medical benefits of vaccination.

The performance utilises physical theatre, melodrama, and satire. It has numerous pop culture references, with allusions to cult-classics and social media, as well as a mockery of contemporary society’s trends. The actors adeptly maintain the flow of the plot line, whilst continually incorporating humorous elements. Information, news, and the dictator’s regime, are shared to the public through the aptly named ‘Murdoch machine’ – a mouthpiece for the leader’s biased opinions. This seems like a clever dig at what the media chooses to write and share with the general public.

It is unclear for the majority of the play as to why vaccination has been banned, and when an explanation is given, it seems implausible with shallow reasoning. Some of the story lacks cohesion with a few unnecessary scenes. In these moments, the humour occasionally falls flat, indulging in cliché jokes. The humour is targeted toward adolescents, yet still managed to be genuinely funny to myself, and the other adults in the audience. I was impressed by the way in which the young actors portrayed their characters, from their voices, to their personality quirks and movements. Their characters gave the story life, passion, humour, and realism.

The wonderfully childish humour worked well against the serious theme and the audience interaction heightened the experience. The performers clearly enjoyed their time on stage and were very enthusiastic, making the show lively and energetic. While not aimed at an adult demographic, this performance should be highly anticipated by younger audiences looking learn something, and never stop laughing.

The show was thrilling, fascinating, terrifying, and very impressive. The tone shifted from scary, to playful, to weird, to strangely erotic. Although it could’ve been overwhelming, it enabled the audience to engage instinctively with what they saw – to feel in a primal way, then to stop and analyse.

The clash between instinct and intellect was accentuated by the struggle of a manipulator influencing other performers’ behaviour. When the manipulator falls victim to his own delusions, rationality is fleeting and chaos ensues. These transitions between reason and absurdity effectively explored notions of human behaviour.

In spite of personal understanding, as a general observation, this theme of instinct versus the human conscience wasn’t overtly clear and the narrative’s disconnectedness could have lead to audience confusion. However, this appeared to be the show’s means of captivating viewers rather than discouraging them – allowing the audience to create subjective meaning and draw personal, intimate conclusions for themselves.

The elements of physical theatre ranged from aerial rope, artistic circus, contemporary dance, Chinese pole, and hand acrobatics. The performers moved freely and cleverly around the space; their animalistic routines were raw and exuded a faint aggressive energy, while their humanised routines showed grace, control, and poise. The original music featured the groups’ vocals, which varied from background instrumental sound to rap, disco, and opera, but mostly, a bizarre electronic synth that provided an extra dimension and captured the scene and dance perfectly.

Weird and wonderful; the show excelled. Although its narrative was slightly ambiguous, the show captivated effortlessly.

Directed and designed by burlesque dancer Sarina del Fuego, Noir Revue is an amalgamation of cabaret, dance, and film. Every aspect perfectly featured the 20s jazz era and classic burlesque.  However, the dramatic element, for which film noir is known, was underwhelming.

Set in a small theatre, the show gave the impression of being in a 20s jazz club, where the audience were regular patrons watching the house jazz band and dancers. The accuracy and detail of the costumes, as well as the emotion exuded by the cast, proved to heighten the atmosphere, yet the lighting was slightly off for the appropriate moodiness.

The live stage band, the Shantones, best captured the jazz era. Lead by singer and keyboardist Michael Wheatley, most of the songs were originals. They enhanced the tone and emotion of each dancer’s routine, whether it was uninhibitedly upbeat or subtly erotic. Wheatley’s voice was sublime, holding the audience’s attention and enthusiasm, even when the band was merely dedicated to being the accompanying soundtrack. At times, the music seemed a little excessive and bordered on distracting from the main components of the show: dance and film. However, it became the standout component due to its intensity and vigour.

The performance’s emphasis on film noir was sadly lacking. Displayed through film footage, the audio was only half audible over the music and the visuals lacked cohesion. The development of the film’s plot line was unclear and its connection to the show vague, even open to interpretation. It seemed as if the dancers just happened to be performing simultaneously alongside the film footage as two separate components, instead of interacting harmoniously with one another. It was not until the end that the association became evident. Perhaps it would have been better conveyed without the background noise or if the narrator and elements of the film’s storyline were more prominently showcased on the physical stage, such as if the dancers also doubled as story characters. This would’ve allowed the correlation to be more easily understood and enabled the underlying theme to be stronger.

The five female dancers had their own unique way of being femme fatales, with their individual burlesque interpretations. The pole-dancer was enthralling in her graceful strength while the other four dancers gave performances that were neither vulgar, nor obscene. Instead they were coy, sensual, and tasteful – fully embodying polished burlesque. Their use of props and subtle interactions with the audience intensified the demure seduction and strengthened the viewers’ understanding of the true art of burlesque.

Noir Revue was a night of sensuality and drama but essentially lacked a clear plotline and missed out on classic film noir elements. Ultimately, the most redeeming feature of the show was the performers who were polished, talented, and emotive – all coalescing into an enjoyable show.