REVIEWED BY AZMY

EDITED BY CHARLOTTE FRASER

Content warning: this review discusses abuse, assault, violence, death, cannibalism and manslaughter. It also seriously spoils the show!

We need connection with others to survive. The thing is, when you get rid of the structures around you, the only thing that’s left is a bag of meat. You are a bag of meat. And there are just a couple universal needs: sustenance and warmth.

The Flesh begins with two bodies curled on the floor: Him (played by Isaac Leslie) and Her (played by Marguerite Robertson). They’re on the ground, still as rocks, as the audience files in. The doors close. The lights shift. Slowly, so, so slowly, the two bodies learn how to pull themselves around. They approach one another and tumble like kittens, almost fighting but with no real malice: they’re just animals learning what it means to be around another person.

There is a distinct phenomenological philosophy underpinning the show – that is to say, you experience the world primarily through your body, and other people experience you primarily through your body. All the stuff that you’re concerned with most of the time – your inner monologue, your thoughts, feelings, concerns – it’s all invisible; irrelevant.

It also seems to me that directors and creators Finn Stanley and Jade Breen were inspired by aspects of clowning and the neutral mask in their devising of the show: it feels as if we follow these characters from the moment they first become aware of themselves. We watch them as they come into contact with the world around them for the first time and then we watch them end.

The bodies of Him and Her convulse across the stage, wriggling towards each other, rising to their knees to hold one another.

There’s been a third person watching them this whole time, hidden from (my) view by the band. It’s Breen, the co-director and co-creator of the show. They wear an eerie shadowy mask across the bottom half of their face. They place a plate of jelly in the centre of the stage, which brings out new facets of Him and Her. The pair experiment with it, unsure what to make of the substance. They hold it, feel its coldness, put their faces in it, eat it – it’s the only thing they’ve ever eaten. It’s delicious. They fight over it. They tumble over each other. The violence escalates until they’ve finally learned how to stand.

Then, standing far apart from each other, they speak their first words. Grunting at first, then forming into something more comprehensible. “Crying,” he says. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” she says.

“Not.”

“You hurt me.”

This forms another question raised by The Flesh: are we destined to hurt each other? Is being with another person always going to cause suffering?

Breen walks on again, this time to put two dark sticks onto the stage. Him and Her encounter these objects and try again to figure out what to make of them. She violently shakes it, trying to get something to happen, whilst his approach eventually leads Him to separate the stick into two parts: a wand and a tube. It’s a bubble blower.

Watching them experience bubbles for the first time has got to be one of my favourite moments of theatre that I’ve ever seen. There was so much joy on stage that it made me emotional – it was beautiful. I got to feel what it was like to be a kid and experience that kind of beauty for the first time.

The two tumble to the floor, seeing each other in a new light. She asks “what you? Brother?”

“No, no. Not ‘brother’.”

And then he realises: “I am Boy.” She does not have a similar realisation. She doesn’t seem to want to think about these sorts of things, not for herself – he asks her if she’s “mother,” and she knows that she isn’t that, but never actually manages to find a label for herself. Perhaps she feels that she is an Other, that she will always be an Other, that trying to name herself is pointless.

The final new object is a rope. The pair tangle themselves between it, and he speaks: “give.”

When she says he’s “had enough,” he brings out a new terminology:

“Take,” and “I take,” and “I take you.”

They dance. Tumbling over each other, repeating and refining movements to the point of exhaustion. He’s pushing her, pulling her leg forward when that’s not how she wants to move, yet she keeps following through with the movements.

Suddenly, they both stop, and sit on the ground far apart from each other. I think it was around two minutes that they sat there. Totally silent. Totally still. Totally–

“I don’t know you,” he says.

“So?”

“I think we’re stuck—”

She’s waltzing without him, dancing a duet on her own. “So?”

“I know I’m stuck.”

She doesn’t pay him mind.

They notice again the third person with them, Breen, and they take a hand each. Her’s fits well with Breen, but Him? He can’t make it fit. He’s getting frustrated.

She realises what the two of them must do. They take the rope and kill the only other person they’ve ever known.

After this, he leaves. She’s lost on what to do without him, and maddened by the sound of the band, kills them too, one by one. This was probably my favourite moment in the show, watching as each instrument’s texture fell out of the ambient soundtrack that’s been underscoring the whole thing. The bassist, Evan Shields, folds in half. Tivona Dang on keys. Alice Walker on violin. Jack Durrow on guitar. Daniel Harrison (percussion and keys) drums solo as she approaches, becoming more and more intense, until finally, he stops playing too.

She’s all alone.

But it seems like she’s been alone the whole time anyway.

It’s quiet when Him finally returns. In a way, he’s trying to make amends, but it’s clear that the two will never truly understand one another. “We are something hungry,” he says; it feels like he’s pleading. “I want to be like you. Not crying flesh and blood…”

She tries to show him.

She hugs him.

Takes a bite out of him.

He drops to the ground. Now she really is alone.

She drags him off stage, and the show is over.

I highly recommend seeing this piece if it ever gets restaged. Every single member of the team has clearly put a lot of care and effort into creating such a heart-wrenching and powerful show that encapsulates how it feels to be Othered and trying to maintain your sense of self whilst in an abusive relationship. It’s done something that I personally haven’t seen yet in a theatre production and prioritises emotion above everything. It truly excels as a piece of theatre.

The only critique I have for this show is that I would have loved to see a moment that actually felt like love between Him and Her. To me, it felt like the two of them were constantly pushing and pulling at each other.

I understand that the point of the show is that they fundamentally don’t connect, however the moment where Him leaves would be made more powerful if there was a moment where they exhibited a deeper sense of mutual love or care for one another – even if it came from a place of selfishness.

There’s a reason people stay in toxic relationships. There was love at some point, or at least something clear to be gained, even if just for a moment. This would be interesting to explore, and from the incredible show I just saw, I believe that Sunny Theatre Co definitely are equipped for it.

The Flesh was co-directed and co-created by Finn Stanley and Jade Breen and affiliated with the youth led theatre collective Sunny Theatre Co. Stanley and Breen have worked incredibly hard to make such a cohesive, challenging and compelling show, and from what I could tell it seemed that they fostered quite an open and creative environment where Robertson and Leslie were able to shine and experiment.

Robertson and Leslie were absolutely mesmerizing and blew me away with how deeply they embodied and committed to their characters.

The band, led by Durrow and Harrison, absolutely nailed the vibe of this story. I’m a sucker for music that is revealed to be diegetic (or maybe just in Her mind?) and every member of the band did an awesome job responding to their place in the narrative. I’m a big fan of the way Shields folded in half, and the loop pedal that kept playing a clicking sound after everyone was dead was awesome, intentional or not.

Rithi Vasudevan did an amazing job choreographing some incredibly mesmerising and emotionally moving dance sequences. Wajanoah Mascot Donahoe’s fight choreography was something incredible to watch and had me on the edge of my seat.

The design by Jazmine Gatrell was stripped back and compelling – there wasn’t a single element that hadn’t been thought through. The lighting, operated and assistant designed by Ella DeCorrado and Riley Pentony supplemented the show perfectly, never detracting from what was on stage.

Finally, I want to give props to Phoebe Fielden, the equity and safety officer. The Flesh is a show with some challenging themes, and it seems to me that the team were able to work together smoothly whilst navigating the source material.

I want to add that I was incredibly blown away by the range and skill of all the first year shows I saw as part of the MUSE festival. It’s unbelievable to me that so many incredible shows were put on by students who have only just completed one semester of university (and many of whom are super busy doing winter subjects at the moment, too!).

Due to the festival’s packed schedule, I wasn’t able to watch everything that I wanted to. It would be great if the festival could run over a couple weeks to give everyone a better chance at supporting the work on offer, though I understand that this would be logistically difficult. However, there is clearly a demand for festivals like this, as almost every show I went to was a full house. There was so much love and passion and creativity poured into everything that I saw.

Thank you to Finn Stanley for inviting me to review this show. Can’t wait to see more from everyone involved!

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The Flesh ran from the 7th to 9th of July as a part of the VCA’s MUSE Festival.

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AZMY is a creative studying a Bachelor of Arts at UniMelb. This year, they are making theatre with The Werkz Ensemble and Cipta Theatre company!

CHARLOTTE FRASER (she/her) is a writer, performer and editor based in Melbourne. She holds a BA in English and Theatre Studies and is currently completing her Masters degree at the University of Melbourne. Charlotte is also the 2026 Dialog Editor.

The Dialog is supported by Union House Theatre