From the moment you arrived in the theatre, it was obvious that something different was occurring. The crowd hovered in the foyer, and despite the five-minute bell being called, no one was allowed to enter and take their seats. Instead, one by one, we found ourselves being ushered through a backstage door, each person blindly following the one in front. As we entered, the corridor was dark. Only the shrill sound of laughter (both elated and murderous in nature) split the air. What eventually lay before us was a fantastical theatre space: two elevated stages sat at opposite ends of the room; a chalk outline of a body on the floor in the centre; the audience required to stand and follow the action whilst characters walked every which way around you. The experience of “Halcyon” was heavily dependent upon where you stood and how willing you were to explore the performance. The more inquisitive you were, the more you were rewarded. 

The characters of the story were caricatures—personified tropes of stock mystery figures. There was the haunted Detective, the Starlet with a mysterious past, her obsessed Ingénue, a threatening Mobster, an observant Director, and the alarming but alluring Maître d’. Each dancer embodied their personas flawlessly. Lilly King, in particular, was a fabulous Maître d’. With her weathered showgirl-like appearance, she occupied a space that was both sensual and grotesque. Her movements captivating enough that they reeled you in but also horrifying in a way that made you aware of where she stood at all times. King played a figure long forgotten; a character from the past trying to reclaim her prevalence in the present.