Philly Fringe 2025: Applied Mechanics presents Severin Blake’s Labyrinth of the Other

Like walking the labyrinth, we needed to find our way to the complex center where myth and identity reside, so when we entered, Blake invited us to sit on cushions on the floor, though there were chairs set up for the rest of us. Blake, in purple pants and a floor-length burgundy overdress (costume design by the performer), shared his pronouns: he/them/we. He did a small dance around the people on the cushions, singing quietly, then picked up a purple sack, from which he drew items, memories, that he gave to volunteers in the audience.

“What do we need to remember to forget?” he asked. “What do we need to forget to remember?” On the surface, the questions seem like a contradiction, but remembering, and letting go, are keys to escaping trauma.

We joined the dancing in our own small way: volunteers each offered a movement and Severin led us in our own seated dance made from our contributions as he reminded us to live in our bodies. Blake’s dancing was constrained by the performance space. But in the background, video played of him in the same costume dancing freely around the city, from the Federal Detention Center to Washington Square Park, while he described his obsession with the whiteness on the movie screens, with never being Black enough.

A return to earth

Finally at the center of the imaginary labyrinth, Blake told the story that challenged us to ask who is the monster here? As in Jessica Fudim’s Venomous (which was advertised as a double bill on Saturday), Poseidon sets the story in motion, this time sending a white bull that impregnates the wife of King Minos. Minos commissions Daedalus to create a labyrinth to imprison the bull-headed monster. He feeds it human sacrifices, tribute from Athens, which is where Theseus comes in, the “hero” with a plan to seduce Minos’ daughter, Ariadne, who will give him the golden thread that allows him to escape. He slays the Minotaur and runs off with the daughter, dumping her on the deserted island of Naxos, where the gods take her up to live among the stars.

As the Minotaur, Blake recasts the story, wearing a less-than-intimidating set of white horns. He chats with Daedalus and invites Theseus to sit for a chat as well. Bulls don’t actually eat people, after all, and his Minotaur is a bit fey, a bit camp, bringing a moment of lightness to the heavy truths he weaves into the story. In rural Iowa, a small child suffers at the hand of a mother who hears voices and has rages and an abusive father. The child grows up feeling different, hearing voices of his own. There’s Severin, and there’s Henry, his drag king persona, and finding in himself and his new place (Philadelphia!) the realization he is trans.

As Ariadne, Blake, hunches over with his skirts pulled over his head and is cajoled to return to earth while stars and planets cover the wall and ceiling. Nobody dies in this version. Nobody is the monster. The Minotaur will be okay. Blake too.