Einstein On The Beach

A voice in the foyer noted that last time the production toured – a 'druggier' period in history – the real party was to be had in the bar amidst the free-for-all leave-when-you-please approach of four and a half hours of opera composed by a then-cab-driving Philip Glass. The excited low conversation continued inside above the opening drone of Knee Play 1. Soon the cast march out, one by one, backs hunched, then upright, like robotic suspender-clad lemmings, and the voices hush.

In Train clouds converge on the floor of the stage, danced on by figures while above, a child holds a cube of light and throws small planes into the white abyss. The locomotive curiously pokes its nose out of the wings, withdraws.

Amongst the repetition, the subtle variation, the piece by piece by painstaking piece assembly of the set, one can move from entranced to overwhelmed instantly – an abrupt shift in the emphasis of the melody, the previously unobserved arrival of a large stick of light ensuring a perplexing visual and melodic cacophony. Small errors in the systems these repetitions establish mean that promises – a resolve hinted at melodically, a fixed image on the stage – are constantly broken in glorious slow motion.

Robert Wilson's sets are changed by silhouettes, Urs Schöenebaum's lighting still amazing even during these transitions from the regimented monolithic greys of the courtroom to the angelic futurism lights and science during Spaceship.

Lucinda Child's choreography has the cast with busy, ticking fingers and works best with Glass' unique compositions in the stunning Dance 1. Nothing happens quickly and as a result each act is given the opportunity to be epic through merit of duration alone, but the artistry on all fronts means this 'epic' is earned and not expected.

Arts Centre, State Theatre to Sunday 4 August.