Freya Silas Finch’s one-hour solo show leaves me feeling acutely aware of my own gender — like a bandaid I want to tear away yet can’t quite remove despite persistent efforts to pry it off.
At the start of A Slow Burlesque Finch addresses the audience: “You’ll be walking down the street five years later, see a man with a moustache, and suddenly it will all make sense.” This is an indication that, for many, the show’s deeper meanings may remain elusive. A Slow Burlesque is layered, absurd, and intensely physical. A show which reimagines ideas from both theatre and queer culture to build a multifaceted experience.
Rather than aiming for full comprehension the show’s purpose seems to lie in engaging the audience. In the intimate Basement Theater seating wraps closely around the carpeted stage creating opportunities for direct interaction. Sitting in the front row I’m a prime target; Finch hands me the microphone at one point and invites others to assist with costume changes, like unzipping their attire or holding a sheer red glove. These moments draw the audience into Finch’s world blurring the line between performer and observer.
At a surface level this show is about the performance of gender. As Finch becomes the dramatic washed up diva or the Hollywood leading man they play with gender stereotypes and use exaggeration (the too short dress, and the fake muscled body) to emphasise that gender too is just a performance. The constant flow of clothes coming off, and on, and off (body parts too) another nod to gender as a costume and in the show name itself — a burlesque.
At its core queer performance thrives on exaggeration, and Finch dives into this with full indulgence and sincerity. Their performance engages every part of the body; limbs propel them across the stage, as they stand, crawl, and jump, exploring the full range of human movement. Their voice follows suit, shifting through accents, tones, singing, booming, and whispering — leaving no element unused in embodying gender. Finch’s heavy, loud, awkward breaths punctuate the performance with each breath drawing laughter from the audience, who believes the sequence is finished, only for Finch to push it further extending the moment until it evolves from comedic to absurdly funny once more.
There’s a layer within A Slow Burlesque that resonates most deeply with those in the queer community. The performance speaks to the experience of existing outside the binaries of heteronormativity and gender. Finch’s nuanced choices — like oversized shoes that evoke childhood dress-up and the red gloves and socks slipping off almost unnoticed, perhaps hinting at self-harm — add depth to this exploration.
More than just a performance, A Slow Burlesque allows the audience to feel seen. Repeatedly, Finch asks, “Whose pain is harder, mine or yours?” I would say that pain, in all forms, simply seeks acknowledgment; it doesn’t measure itself, but longs to be recognized.
A Slow Burlesque played at the Basement Theatre the 3rd to the 19th of October 2024
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