Blink and you will miss this different and yet simple adaptation of the well-known Elizabethan tragedy. From the collective minds of local young doctors, directed by Dr Clare Hampson, A Window In Mime is born.

Sitting behind the enormous glass windows of the rooftop bar at the Corner Hotel is the ideal setting for this distinctive and funny show in which performance art meets public transport. The bar is clouded in thrilling anticipation. Each train that passes in meticulously scrutinized by the crowd, uncertain of what to expect.

At 8:40pm the atmosphere is transformed into something from an early silent film as a lone mime takes the small stage holding large title cards. Music commences and the cards present Hamlet in summary. From the beginning, the music is essential, contributing to the atmosphere and giving the audience vital emotional cues. Hilarity ensues at once and grows in volume as the train begins its brief journey past the window. A cast of 42 Marcel Marceau lookalikes occupy each window of the Glen Waverly, creating a flipbook of images in the 18 seconds it takes for the train to pass. Each mime assumes a silent, still pose choreographed to match those on either side. White cardboard illustrations, held by each mime, puts into picture Hamlet’s tragedy. This and their red hats are all that is really visible in the short time that we have to observe them.

A Window In Mime gets us on side with humour, but is not necessarily a relaxed show to watch. However, in reality all you need to see is that they are mimes and they are doing ‘something’. Highly recommended and very Melbourne, this production will have you lost for words.

Fleur Kilpatrick cannot sleep. In her creation Insomnia Cat Came To Stay the audience is invited into the manic and tragic mind of the insomniac, a captivating 50-minute montage of uninterrupted life in which the days bleed into one another.

Staged as a one-woman show, in the back room seating an estimated 20 people, the Loop provides an intimate setting that is very appropriate for the context of the show. Kilpatrick delivers her monologue from ‘bed’, an expanse of white sheet that fills the tiny stage, symbolic of her helplessness. The text segues from the whimsical, to the philosophical, to the informative, reflecting her unhinged state of mind. Kilpatrick makes use of her sweet singing voice when speaking becomes an inadequate from of expression.

Thomas Russell’s beautiful animations are projected onto Kilpatrick’s body, in the fluid nature of the monsters that taunt an insomniac. In this case, it would seem, in the form of a large ginger cat. The scattered imagery unfolds like that of a dream. The music becomes more and more chaotic and the illustrations grow dark, culminating in an overwhelming distortion of jagged shapes.

The audience is able to picture themselves in her position and leave feeling as though they have experienced the desperation and loneliness of sleep deprivation. Kilpatrick’s performance never wavered, not even when problems with the soundtrack presented themselves on opening night.

Recommended for anyone who has been or loved an insomniac (or wept on public transport). Moving and funny this play will stay with you.