We queue up to give the names of our dead. Carving a still, quiet space for communal grief, Ontroerend Goed’s Funeral is a hushed ceremony which shifts from drawn-out stately ritual to sweeping collective catharsis. The performers are not so much actors as facilitators, as together, in a room wrapped in black gauze, we are given time to mourn.
Numb bums abound as we sit on pew-like logs watching a slow, ritualistic listing of the objects, experiences and memories that make up a life. The grave pace lends this Belgian production far more to intellectual analysis than emotional impact; I feel nothing for a long while, and then I feel it all at once.
It hits as we pay our respects with confetti, each taking a handful and curling into the centre of the space. We throw it into the air and the pieces flutter down in slow motion. Watching other people pass through the centre feels intensely private, the light offering an angelic glow. I spy smiles, tears and a couple’s quick kiss; no words need be exchanged to know that their confetti was thrown for the same person.
The easy flow of the second half contrasts with the slow, clunky opening, where time seemed to stretch interminably. Once settled, the team orchestrate us expertly. The quieter the show becomes, the less need there is for speech or instruction. We all seem to know where to go and what to do, instinct taking over in our communal remembrance.
Unattached to a specific death or religion, these dreamlike burial rites offer art as a vehicle for loss and memory; a nod to the beauty in all that we miss. As we gather around a pyre, sniffles of recognition increase as the names we gave at the start are read out, and I close my eyes, hoping the person I included will have enjoyed being a part of the show. As the lights go down, the glimpse into the grief carried by the strangers around us shuffles everyone a little closer together, our bodies sprinkling confetti in the dark.
At Zoo Southside, Edinburgh, until 27 August
