Before we enter, we are met by The Concierge (Katia Molino), who tells us that the experience will run for 35 minutes and 33 seconds precisely, and that under no circumstances are we to speak once inside. Like the people on the phone, we are left to contend with our thoughts on our own. Walking into the venue, 48 tables are spread out, each lit by a desk lamp shining onto a rotary telephone and a switchboard. We are instructed, in silence, to take the cable and plug it into whichever socket on the switchboard we choose, then pick up the phone and listen to what is being said.
The first conversation I plug into is from a 60-year-old woman in Victoria who is desperately seeking employment. She is waiting to learn about a job she's applied for, hence being unable to sleep. She wants to secure a retirement fund and move to Queensland, the “place where old Victorians go to die” she laughs. It's quite a sobering monologue to listen to straight off the bat, and I was a little worried this might be 35 minutes and 33 seconds of sadness porn. But no, my fears are quickly alleviated when, shortly after, I hear a young, drunk(?) man announce, “I'm very horny, I want diiiiick!”
Despite being surrounded by 40-odd other people, I feel alone in my own world as I eavesdrop on conversations that belong to no one. I find myself captivated the voices coming through the phone, laughing at some, feeling unsettled by others, and occasionally recognising something of myself in the thoughts of a stranger (and not necessarily the horny guy!). There is no one to turn to and share the moment with. I'm left to sit with whatever each voice stirs up in me, while the people around me are having an entirely different experience. It creates an unusual sense of intimacy and isolation at the same time, as though we are all together, but completely on our own, just like the callers.
There are times when the space comes together and is consumed by the lighting and sound design. Fausto Brusamolino's lighting design has lamps flashing on and off like they belong in a ghost story, briefly pulling our attention away from our individual calls and reminding us that we are all sharing the same environment. The effect is eerie and theatrical, transforming our surroundings while we remain isolated at our tables. Similarly, Scott's sound design brings new life to the recordings, with the sounds mentioned by the callers - such as rainfall and bird's singing - spilling around us, building an invisible connection between us, the room and the caller.
The production is skilfully put together, and the way a one-sided exchange can draw you in is fascinating. The only real question I had was around the role of the Concierge. Molino has an enigmatic presence, and watching her play cards or drink tea at the front of the room is mesmerising, but a little more clarity around the Concierge’s purpose would be helpful. Why does she suddenly leave the room? And why is she later racing through the space with a torch, searching for something? There is clearly a purpose behind these moments, but I found myself wishing we had a bit more to grab onto here.
The Nightline is an intimate experience, giving us the rare opportunity to sit in silence and listen to the thoughts of complete strangers without ever meeting them. It finds something compelling in the quiet hours of the night, when everything in our heads can feel louder and loneliness and disconnection feel more pronounced. Five years after its interrupted debut, it’s good to finally have the chance to spend 35 minutes and 33 seconds listening in.
SHOW DETAILS
Venue: Malthouse Theatre, 113 Sturt St, Southbank
Season: until 29 Aug | Mon - Sat 6pm, 7pm & 8pm, Thurs - Fri 9pm
Duration: 40 mins
Tickets: $35 - $45
Bookings: Malthouse Theatre
Images credit: Simon Fazio
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