Grief is the Thing with Feathers is a genre-defying stage adaptation of Max Porter’s acclaimed novel, presented by Belvoir Street Theatre, and co-produced with Andrew Henry Presents.
Following the sudden death of their mother, two sons and their widowed father are visited by an ancient creature called Crow. This creature leads the family through the rocky, sometimes surreal terrain of grief. This work, directed by the legendary Simon Phillips, is a monumental achievement in storytelling. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.
Toby Schmitz is an Australian great. There is no other way to say it. Meticulous preparation meets instinctual freedom. He plays both the grieving father and Crow, shifting between them with surgical precision.
In this role, Schmitz is at the height of his powers. Because he’s so aware of the parameters of the work, in that the script has laid such a beautiful foundation for play, he is immersed in the world of the performance. Yet, as all great actors are, he is also completely present with the audience. It’s a joy to bear witness to his work, and it is work I will not soon forget.
And Philip Lynch and Fraser Morrison? Powerhouses. They are the next generation of Aussie talent, without a doubt. It would be an intimidating task for anyone to share the stage with an actor like Toby Schmitz, but these two absolutely rise to the occasion. They breathe a beautiful life into the work. Together, they bring the lightness, mischief, and the unfiltered honesty of childhood to the stage.
An unexpected hero is composer and performer, Freya Shack-Arnott, who remains on stage for the entire performance. Her live score goes beyond underscoring; it is emotional architecture.
The cello pulses through the show like a second heartbeat. At times it makes the stage feel immense, almost mythic in proportion, and in other moments, so intimate it is as if you are looking into the eyes and heart of the performer on stage. It is breathtaking.
But this production isn’t just musical in the literal sense. The text itself has its own kind of lyricism, and the entire team leans into that symphony with all their might. The whole show has this sort of incredible, magical quality to it. This magic lives in the performances, in Jon Weber’s beautiful illustrations and Daniel Herten’s sound design.
I’m not usually a fan of having actors mic’d during live theatre. I generally prefer when you can feel the rawness of a voice. But in this case, the mics are used so intentionally that they don’t create distance, don’t feel like a crutch; instead, they enhance what is possible.
Intentionality is key here. It is what ensures this beast of a show can continue ploughing ahead. Nick Schlieper’s stage design at first glance seems relatively sparse. A large projection wrapped around the back of the space, some boxes, an armchair, a desk, and scattered papers.
But as the story unfolds, it becomes clear just how intentional everything is. I don’t want to give anything away, but I will say that some of the practical effects pulled off in this production are nothing short of otherworldly. The show makes the absolute most out of every element it has, nothing wasted, everything alive with purpose.
This production hit me like a wave. Actually, like a whole ocean. There were moments I felt like I could come up for air, to breathe, to belly laugh, then I’d be completely submerged again, drowning in feelings I didn’t even realise I was holding onto. It was beautiful. Brutal. Healing.
Grief, and the process of grieving, is both completely universal and deeply individual. What I really appreciate about this production is that it doesn’t try to generalise or offer an answer. It just lays out one family’s experience with care and truthfulness. And hopefully you’ll see yourself in the work.
I’m sure that every person in the theatre saw themselves, because by the end of it, there was not a dry eye in the house. For me, it was recognition and a kind of healing. I hope it does the same for others, too; that it sees them, or holds them, even in some small way.
Belvoir is the beating heart of Sydney’s theatre scene. I have yet to leave one of their shows without being moved, rattled, or inspired. Grief is the Thing with Feathers is no exception. It is theatre at its most essential; healing and human.
My only criticism, and it is a significant one, is that the diversity of our world isn’t wholly reflected on stage or in the creative team. When you’re telling a story as universal as grief, one that transcends race, class, gender, and language, I can’t imagine that the work would have been anything but enriched by more varied world views and experiences.
Still, this is masterful work. As a struggling (broke) artist, I know the feeling of spending your hard-earned money on a ticket and walking out of the theatre not particularly moved or changed by what you’ve just seen. But trust me, this is not that kind of experience.
I wish I could go up to everyone and urge them to see Grief is the Thing with Feathers, because I promise, it will heal you. It will free you, it will make you deeply uncomfortable, which is everything theatre is meant to be.
Grief is the Thing with Feathers runs to 29 August at the Upstairs Theatre, Belvoir St Theatre, Surry Hills NSW 2010.
Tickets: https://my.belvoir.com.au/overview/13839
Website: https://belvoir.com.au/productions/grief-is-the-thing-with-feathers/
Socials: https://www.instagram.com/belvoirst/
Photo credits: Brett Boardman
