Fifty real apologies are sealed inside fifty envelopes that are distributed to the audience. These span from 1990 all the way into the future, each one factual and collected from documented expressions of remorse by public figures, private correspondence, and personal moments by the shows three creators, Dan Koop, Jamie Lewis and David Williams. One by one, in numerical order, audience members step up to a microphone and read them aloud.
Some are weighty and political - a Prime Minister’s apology to the Stolen Generation or BP’s statement following an oil spill. Others tap into pop culture’s hall of infamy - like Kanye West and Taylor Swift. Then, there are the apologies from the creators themselves, adding a deeper intimate layer to the mix.
There are no actors in Sincere Apologies. No one introduces the show or welcomes the audience. Even at the end, when we clap, it’s not for performers on stage, but for each other, and the three tech staff quietly stationed in the corner. The audience is the cast, and in that shared vulnerability something almost communal forms. Strangers stumble over words, laugh nervously, or surprisingly choke up. You start to listen differently, not as a spectator, but as part of a temporary community bound by confession.
As the reading unfolds, you find yourself unexpectedly drawn in, paying attention not only to the words themselves, but to the way they are spoken. Stripped of power, fame, and PR polish, these words take on new meanings. When random people speak them, they can come across as absurd, hollow, or even heartbreaking and genuine. The performance asks: what happens when we remove status from an apology? Can tone, delivery, and intent make any acknowledgment register as authentic - or insincere?
A carefully crafted score heightens the work, as subtle sound effects and rhythmic pulses heighten particular instances, building a hypnotic rhythm that pulls the audience into this collective act of reckoning.
By the end, this experience is strangely moving. There’s humour and absurdity, yes, but there is a weight to hearing the people in the room attempt to make things right. It’s exhausting and cathartic, and a reminder that “sorry” is both universal and endlessly complicated.
SHOW DETAILS
Venue: Trades Hall, Cnr Lygon & Victoria Sts, Carlton
Season: until 19 October | Wed - Sat 6pm & 7:30pm, Sun 5pm & 6:30pm
Duration: 55 minutes
Tickets: $25 Full | $18.75 Wednesday Hump Day
Bookings: Melbourne Fringe Festival
Image credit: Lucy Parakhina
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