Category: ff2015

[2015092] Scotch and Soda

[2015092] Scotch and Soda

Company 2 & The Crusty Suitcase Band @ Garden of Unearthly Delights – Aurora Spiegeltent

10:15pm, Sat 28 Feb 2015

So… earlier in the week there’d been this little photoshoot, during which I met a lot of the (totes lovely) team behind Scotch and Soda, including the fantastic Chelsea McGuffin and Mozes (who I totally fawned over because Acrobat was one of the pivotal performances of my Fringe-going life), and after expressing surprise at the number of shows that I’d seen, they’d asked whether I was actually going to see Scotch and Soda. “Do you still have tickets for Saturday night?” I had asked, and – hearing an affirmative – I decided that this would be the Big Fringe show for my Significant Other. Chelsea smiled sweetly, and said “Great! We’ll reserve a couple of seats up front for you!”

So, after arriving maybe twenty minutes before the nominal start time of the show to find a stationary queue that zig-zagged around the front of the Aurora, I thought I’d check with the front-of-house team (as Chelsea had suggested) regarding our seats. “Nope!” said the main guy, “I don’t know anything about that. Go to the back of the line; they’re all good seats.” That made me chuckle to myself as I walked down the queue – still, that’s part of the Fringe experience too.

Even so, we wound up with aisle seats about three rows from the front on the far left of house… and I was pretty chuffed with that. But as we craned our necks, watching the Scotch and Soda team warm up the audience as others filled the room, Chelsea bounced past and caught my eye – “Oh – hi! We saved you seats over here!” She guided us over the stage – for a split second we were onstage in a Spiegeltent! – and took us to two seats, front row right-centre… and I was super chuffed.

From the moment the Ben Walsh-led Crusty Suitcase Band start playing, something is always happening in Scotch and Soda. The thin narrative – focused around the chase of The Bush Stranger (Mozes), of that much I’m sure – is barely necessary, because the driving score provided by the Crustys propels the show along its course of acrobatics and balancing acts and tumbling.

Some tricks – McGuffin’s bottle walking and Mozes’ roller skating, for example – are reprised from earlier works (Company 2’s Cantina and Acrobat, respectively). But there’s a freshness to the presentation here, with the visual aesthetic having an earthiness to it that made me feel like it’s an everyman performance… but not everyone can balance three-high on a rickety table. Or ride a bike around the tight stage at speed whilst performing stunts. Or swing from the trapeze, flashing genitals amidst other tricks.

For a change in pace, the company erect a tent on stage for a little shadowplay, there’s a tensely acrobatic card game, and a curiously twee sequence featuring some budgies… but for the most part, it’s non-stop action with springboards and more balancing and dancing… all powered by the jazzy blues of the Band.

Maybe it was because of the privilege and position that I had in the Spiegeltent, but I absolutely loved Scotch and Soda. It felt more holistic, more complete, than Cantina (though, admittedly, that was much earlier in that project’s gestation), and the grittiness of the visual production speaks to me more than the glitter and sheen of something like La Clique. For me, this was the best big-production Fringe show I’d seen in years.

[2015091] Dr. Professor Neal Portenza’s Catchy Show Title

[2015091] Dr. Professor Neal Portenza’s Catchy Show Title

Dr. Professor Neal Portenza @ Tuxedo Cat – Mayall Room

8:30pm, Sat 28 Feb 2015

It’s best to say that I was perplexed during my prior Portenza encounter, but – on the occasions that I’d seen him (and Josh Ladgrove, his “normal” personae) at various TuxCat events) – I’d since developed a real affection for the character… and I figured that his bizarre clowning and audience interaction would be another good bit of Fringe exposure for my Significant Other.

Of course, I’d failed to take into account that this was Clipsal Weekend… and, as such, the general rabble of people in the city this Saturday night was heavily skewed in the “pissed bogan” demographic, and some even managed to find TuxCat (though, thankfully, they had a “no race shirts” policy in place). And four fucking morons wound up in the audience for this performance.

But that wasn’t evident at first. We’d entered the Mayall Room to be greeted by Maria, Neal’s grandmother, whose high-pitched voice and heavy accent left many wondering whether she was actually speaking english as she queried the audience. Many quizzical looks were passed around; just by the door, a group of men started talking amongst themselves: “Is this guy alright? I think he’s fucking mental.”

Neal whips off the headscarf that signifies Maria, and engages in a bit of Neal-ish banter with the audience: he’s silly, he’s abrupt, and he’s pointed. The chatter by the door continues; I look around and see four heavy-set men, all double-fisting their drinks, in conversation.

Josh drops out of character and asks if everything’s OK; the men try to come up with a witty riposte, but their words are heavy and slurred. Josh points out that this is a weird comedy show, and maybe that’s not going to be their sort of thing? They’re sullen in response. One final check, and Neal is back.

But the men keep talking, and it’s obvious that the murmurs are annoying the audience – and Josh. He offers them their money back if they want to leave; three of the men sink back into their seat, but one – who proudly announces himself as Osama – starts backchatting.

And things go south very quickly.

It becomes a sad battle of the sodden witless versus the match-fit razor-sharp wit; Osama is hopelessly outclassed, but too drunk to realise the battle he’s losing, so it’s not long before there’s threats of violence. Nathan the tech pipes up to try and diffuse the situation. Claims and counter-claims, chest-beating machismo, and an awful tension builds in the room before a tenuous cease-fire is reluctantly agreed to.

There was more of the show – Stavros turns up and goads Osama and Friends, there’s a rubber chicken singalong, and – for the finale – selected members of the audience were invited to thwack plungers on Neal’s chest before the audience played a game of glow-stick coits.

But, to be honest, the air never cleared from the altercation in the middle of the show; the laughs were there, but they were tempered, measured.

Ladgrove apologised profusely during the show, and even offered everyone (apart from Osama and his three meathead buddies) free tickets to see Portenza again. I laughed it off – as uncomfortable as the show was because of their presence, it was still part of the Fringe experience for me – by my Signifiant Other was furious at their mangling of the show. “You should take him up on seeing it again,” she said to me; I’d already resolved to do just that.

8:30pm, Sat 14 Mar 2015

Josh caught me at the door as I flashed my ticket – “You didn’t have to pay again,” he said, but I just laughed him off. That’s not how my Fringe-going works: if you’re putting on a show and asking for money, you’ll get money.

The audience this evening was almost the polar opposite of the first show: there were (at least) four kids in the audience, which took Neal by surprise (Josh dropped character to check if their parents were okay with the likely profanity and adult themes). Sure, the fourteen year old girl in the front row was brave, as was the seventeen year old boy (who wound up helping Neal and family onstage a bit), but the nine and twelve year old that sat with their parents were in for a weird, abstract ride.

Much of the material from that first show was still here – Stavros the doof-doof loving Greek and Maria still showed up, but so did Vanessa, the ultra-patriotic young girl singing for her country. We got to singalong again with the rubber chickens, play glow-stick coits (after I nearly broke Josh’s ribs trying to attach the first plunger), and there was some leaf-blower weirdness. Nathan the tech came in for some stick, and I even got explicitly called out as the Festival Freak, which was nice.

It’s not really amazing that the show was much more enjoyable without a bunch of drunk fuckwits trampling over the enjoyment of others; but it was pretty amazing just how much more fun it was. With an audience that spanned many decades, everyone laughed themselves silly at this weird, abstract, physical performance… and I was convinced that Dr. Professor Neal Portenza is a clown of the very highest order.

[2015090] Felicity Ward – The Iceberg

[2015090] Felicity Ward – The Iceberg

Felicity Ward @ Garden of Unearthly Delights – Studio 7

7:15pm, Sat 28 Feb 2015

I’d seen Felicity Ward perform solo shows at the Fringe three times now, and have loved (and appreciated) the work she’s been doing in mental health awareness over the past few years. Given the fortuitous overlap between their visits to Adelaide, I thought she’d be totally appropriate for my Significant Other’s introduction to big-ticket Fringe standup comedy.

But I’d forgotten how different Ward’s shows can be.

Studio 7 was packed to the rafters, and Ward was greeted with raucous applause and hooting; Ward quickly explains that The Iceberg is so named because she’d been mulling over ideas of perception, and the analogy of the iceberg being mostly underwater seemed too good to miss. And so she delves into meaty topics like misogyny, the leering at and putting down of women, racism, and politics with her usual cutting language.

Since Ward had moved to London, she surmised, she’d been afforded the opportunity to look at life in England and – more importantly – Australian culture a little more objectively, and she draws a lot of laughs from pointed observations (our cricket-watching is subject to some fun barbs). But Ward weaves a lot of compassion into the show: her mental health advocacy continues here, and her encouragement to get the audience to think about the rest of the iceberg – not just the bit that we can see and complain about – gives a lot of depth to the content.

Despite (or maybe because of) persistent niggles with the sound desk, The Iceberg proved to be an incredibly well-constructed piece of standup. Not only was the content substantive, positive, and bloody funny, but Ward’s delivery is polished to a tee, and the ending has not one, but two big reveals… but let’s not veer into spoiler territory. Needless to say, that’s the best closing five minutes to a comedy show I’ve seen in years.

[2015089] Only You Can Save Us

[2015089] Only You Can Save Us

Sekrit Projekt @ Tuxedo Cat – Cusack Theatre

6:00pm, Sat 28 Feb 2015

The Significant Other and I had just been hobnobbing with the Festival arts community – drinking bubbles, eating pork belly, chatting with Bill Viola (how good were his videos?) – and arrived at TuxCat in good cheer. With a few minutes up our sleeve before the show, we grabbed some beers – big mistake.

Why’s that a big mistake? Because in the warmth and humidity of the Cusack Theatre, even sitting in the front row, additional carb loading made me sleepy. Again.

But I don’t think snooziness affected my perception of Only You Can Save Us as much as it did Azimut… because Sekrit Project’s show appeared to have one trick that it milked ad infinitum.

Just a glance at the brief programme gave a good idea of what to expect: with characters listed as Captain Hero, John Villaine, Doc Science, The Girl, and Sarge, you’d expect that it was going to be chock-full of stereotypes.

And so it was: this simple tale of good-versus-evil felt like someone had taken every populist sci-fi universe, chucked it in a blender, and created a tongue-in-cheek lo-fi homage to classic B-grade sci-fi movies. Nothing is taken seriously – hey, there’s even a (well done!) dance break in the middle of the show – and everything is completely overplayed: Captain Hero’s heroic poses are ludicrously done, and John Villaine’s evil monologues put Bond villains to shame. The odd action scene (torch lightsabres! balloon enemies!) underline the lo-fi aesthetic.

But despite all the goofy content and exuberant performances, I found myself drifting off more than once. I blame the carbs, I really do. But what I saw was most certainly enthusiastic Fringe theatre, and there was certainly some fun to be had prodding populist sci-fi tropes.

[2015088] Pants Down Circus ROCK!

[2015088] Pants Down Circus ROCK!

Pants Down Circus @ Garden of Unearthly Delights – The Factory

3:30pm, Sat 28 Feb 2015

Knowing that my Significant Other was in town for a limited time – and having declared that she wanted to experience a bit of my Festivalian activities – I was left in a bit of a quandary: do I take her to the shows that I know (or suspect) are going to be sure-fire hits? Or do we experience the unknown together? For circusy things, I thought it best to stick with the former; I naturally wanted her to see the always-amazing A Simple Space, but other events conspired against us. Second choice – and helpfully supported by a matinée – was Pants Down Circus’ ROCK!.

The show felt almost exactly the same as last year’s rendition, but that’s taking nothing away from the spectacle – and humour – in the show: the unlikely juggling and leaf-blower tricks, the callback tennis-racquet guitar antics to the opening notes of Walk This Way, the astonishing hoop and balancing acts, and the non-stop positivity emanating from the Pants Down Circus crew remained intact.

And all that makes ROCK! a sure-fire winner… both for a punter who has seen the show before (like me), and for someone experiencing the show for the first time (my delightful Significant Other).

[2015087] Boris & Sergey Origins

[2015087] Boris & Sergey Origins

Flabbergast Theatre @ Gluttony – La Petite Grande

2:15pm, Sat 28 Feb 2015

I loved my first Boris & Sergey experience, and was keen to show their anarchic puppetty madness to my Significant Other… but I was super-keen to see how their antics could be translated into a show suitable for children… especially given some of their adults-only hijinks (the extended audience face-fucking scene would be particularly inappropriate in a kids’ show, methinks).

And, to be quite frank: the translation from filthy-mouthed late-night cabaret into the realm of children has been done incredibly well.

The awesome chase scene remains largely intact, and stupidly good fun; Boris’ Withering Heights interpretation is still there. And, given that a large amount – if not all – of the material was also present in their Vaudevillian Adventure, I was genuinely surprised how easily it was cleaned up to become kid-friendly… and still remain incredibly funny. So much of the humour is found in the expressive movements of the leathery puppets; there’s a lot more physicality to their comedy than I’d previously given them credit for. That’s not to say that Boris & Sergey’s banter was squeaky-clean – there were still a few nods to the adults in the audience that led to confused looks on children’s faces.

And, best of all, the puppeteers that control Boris & Sergey – who unashamedly operate their creations in plain sight – genuinely look like they’re having fun together… sure, maybe a few of them looked a little worse for wear, but they appeared to crack each other up on occasions (possibly because of the kid-ification of some of their regular dialogue).

In short, Boris & Sergey Origins proved to be an uncompromised Boris & Sergey experience: an excellent, strange, imaginative, and funny puppet show for all ages. However, the overlap of material between their two shows means that you could get away with only seeing one of them.

[2015086] Tomás Ford: Electric Cabaret

[2015086] Tomás Ford: Electric Cabaret

Tomás Ford, Captain Of Industry @ Tuxedo Cat – Mayall Room

11:00pm, Fri 27 Feb 2015

So – we’re already a little drunk, and I’ve deliberately elected to show my Significant Other the weird stylings of Tomás Ford precisely because he’s the polar opposite of super-polished, high-budget Festival shows… and it’s also her first foray into Fringe, and the most wonderful of Fringe venues: the Tuxedo Cat.

Seriously, I couldn’t have planned this any better.

With a healthy crowd of around two dozen, Tomás Ford adopts the not-too-far-from-the-truth personae of a guy who thinks he’s putting on a massive cabaret event, only to have everything possible go wrong: the crowd doesn’t turn up, those who do turn up turn against the songs, the staging fails, his computers melt down, and he heads towards a nervous breakdown.

And the narrative is – mostly – delivered in song. Ford’s trademark pre-recorded electro goodness is crooned and growled over, and – as is his wont – he roams the audience, singing and screaming in the audience’s faces… there’s a tangible sense of danger when he’s prowling off the stage. Most of his songs are originals – Love Cancer is demonstrative of his style – but there’s a few appropriate covers thrown in, too.

With the exception of the narrative, it’s a very similar performance to Tomás Ford’s show in 2013; he still goads everyone into getting up and dancing, and builds the show into a wonderfully euphoric, feel-good conclusion. It’s Tomás Ford doing what Tomás Ford does best… and I love it.

[2015085] Azimut

[2015085] Azimut

Compagnie 111 @ Festival Theatre

7:30pm, Thu 26 Feb 2015

I’ll be honest, here: there’s not a lot about Azimut in this post.

Even though I’ve written a few posts where I don’t remember anything about the show, I’m particularly ashamed (in a humorously self-deprecating kind of way) about this one: Azimut was very much a flagship performance of the 2015 Festival, and I was really looking forward to it…

…But you know what I was looking forward to more? A reunion with my Sydney-based Significant Other, who was flying down for the weekend. After some frantic last-minute cleaning, I met her at the airport, we got all dressed up (seriously – she looked gorgeous, and my suit was probably my best clothing purchase ever), and then we went to the Festival Opening Night VIP event in the Festival Centre’s Banquet Room.

And I liberally partook of the bubbly on offer (I’m already a massive fan of Croser, but free Croser? Heaven). And we hobnobbed and chatted and ruined many photos and had fun and caught up with Helen and Sara and Keith and listened to speeches and drank some more and stole some nibbles…

Look, it was a bit of a blur. But then it was time to head in to see Azimut. I’d managed to score us some awesome seats, and the crowd was buzzing, and the lights dropped, and I was excited for the first Festival show of the season, and…

…I dozed through most of the performance. There. That’s the shameful bit.

Here’s what I remember: I remember a dark and almost hazy ambience. I remember eastern-tinged music. I remember people walking on the roof of the performance space. I remember – with my Significant Other’s help – a grid-like scaffolding rising from the stage floor to the roof, up and down which skittered performers in patterns, waves, meticulous movements. I remember a refinement to the presentation that oozed class. I remember wondering, in between periods of darkness probably caused by my eyes shutting, what the hell was going on… wondering whether there was a narrative or not.

But, most of all, I remember the look of wonder on my Significant Other’s face at the end of the performance.

As we exited the Theatre, I had professed my doziness to her; she’d squeezed my hand and given me a kiss, her eyes sparkling. We wandered back to the opening-night party – more free bubbly! – and schmoozed with Geoff and Sorayya and Jane, and watched the launch of Blinc from the windows of Lyrics.

And that’s my story about Azimut. Love, people, bubbles.

[2015084] Set List

[2015084] Set List

A whole mess of comedians @ Rhino Room – Upstairs

I was having a brief “Happy Fringe!” chat with SA Comedy superhero Craig Egan prior to my first show of the year, and he’d asked me what I was looking forward to; when I’d finished my list, he looked at me and – in a manner that indicated that he was not fucking around – said “Mate – Set List. It’s insane.”

He explained the premise to me: comics get onstage with no planned material. TV screens display bizarre topics – or just groups of words – to the audience and the comic at the same time. The comic tries to make jokes based on the topics; when they fail, another topic is thrown onscreen. Repeat. It’s an incredibly risky proposition, I reckon, but it would surely sort the truly funny comedians from the average… right?

10:45pm, Thu 26 Feb 2015

My first Set List experience featured Mickey D as host, and he was his usual polished self, geeing the audience up and giving the comics due admiration for their efforts. And the night started strong with Gordon Southern ripping through a heap of topics, rarely failing to garner laughs. The middle trio of comics were a bit patchier, however: Tom Ballard, Dave Campbell, and Evan Desmarais all managed some good material, but struggled with some of the topics thrown up onscreen.

The final comic for the evening, Greg Fleet, absolutely smashed it, though: his current show is essentially improv, and maybe that practise has put him in good stead with Set List.

I suppose the thing that struck me most about the topics that were flung at the comics was the fact that most of them bordered on nonsense; just globs of words, really. But I suppose that prevents comics with a massive backlog of material from dropping into their standard routines… still, this Set List performance was interesting enough to warrant a further look…

10:45pm, Wed 4 Mar 2015

I was thankful for a late start, as my previous show ran long and I had a panicky run through a busy East End to make it to the Rhino Room… because there was no way that I was missing this Set List, based on the list of comics on the Rhino chalkboard. Sam Simmons? Oh hell yes, I wanted to see what that man could do… and Craig Egan had really bigged up Wil Anderson. I had expressed my “lack of connection” to Wil’s comedy, but Egan had immediately dismissed me: Anderson’s incredible at Set List, Egan had insisted.

Again, Mickey D hosted with aplomb, and again Gordon Southern provided a great start. James McCann provided some solid laughs as well, but I distinctly remember looking at the topics on the screen and wondering whether they were even more abstract than before…

Lawrence Mooney made the concept of Set List look easy, stretching the flimsiest of phrases into abstract comedy. Scary abstract comedy. Violent, scary, abstract comedy… the best kind. And when Sam Simmons took the mike… well, it was exactly as bizarre as I had hoped. I’m pretty sure that the “topics” were little more than random consonants separated by vowels to create things that looked like words at this point, but Simmons’ trademark faux rage worked a treat.

Wil Anderson, though, was utterly disappointing… I tried and tried to appreciate what he brought to the stage that night, but… nope. It just didn’t work for me, and – judging by the drop-off in laughs from the rest of the audience – I don’t think it worked for them, either. Maybe Anderson just had a bad night.

Still, I walked out of that second Set List happy that I’d experienced it… but not really interested in seeing any more. It feels like competitive performance practice for comics… and whilst that can be amusing to see – and impressive to watch a great comic summon laughs from nowhere – I think I’d much rather see a meticulously crafted set.

[2015083] The Awkward Years

[2015083] The Awkward Years

isthisyours? @ Royal Croquet Club – The Rastelli

9:45pm, Thu 26 Feb 2015

I love flicking through the ‘Guide and finding a show that’s so sure of itself that it screams “Yeah, that’s right – twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! I know what I’m about, and I only need twenty minutes to lay it on you.” Apparently, I love anthropomorphising a précis into a slightly aggressive, yet utterly confident, spruiker.

Anyway…

With nametags securely applied (in exchange for our ticket stub), we entered The Rastelli to encounter our hostess, Ellen Steele, who transports us via the schoolyard to a teenage party… the base age of which, weirdly, seems to get older as the performance progresses.

While a clock on the wall counts down the twenty minutes of the show, Steele tweaks our memories with the application of teen-era peer pressure and shaming: we play pass-the-parcel, we answer “have you ever” questions (apparently, I hung onto my virginity the longest out of the capacity audience), and we’re encouraged to goad other couples into snogging.

Steele scoots through a handful of characters – an irritable mum, an unstoppable party girl, an awkwardly shy and flirty girl (yes, yes – I was Ellen’s crush for the evening!) – as she falls in love, falls out of love, drinks too much, helps a drunk friend out, and even demonstrates a bit of machismo… before leaving us in a happy hangover of reminiscence.

I originally thought that The Awkward Years may have been too young for me… but Steele has presented a timeless collection of teenage reminders. And as much as I loved this perfectly-weighted performance, I have no inclination to further return to that stage of my life… it’s scary.

[2015082] Fake it ’til you Make it by Bryony Kimmings and Tim Grayburn

[2015082] Fake it ’til you Make it by Bryony Kimmings and Tim Grayburn

Bryony Kimmings & Tim Grayburn @ Royal Croquet Club – The Black Box

8:00pm, Thu 26 Feb 2015

Here’s another show that had a heap of Fringe-going buzz around it… but the buzz was somewhat tempered. Rather than the usual “You must see this!” kind of rave, Fake it ’til you Make it got more guarded “Oh, it’s amazing…” statements that trailed off as the recommender re-comtemplated the show.

And that’s fair enough, really… because not everyone would be thrilled to go and see a show that focusses on clinical depression.

But Bryony Kimmings kicks off Fake it ’til you Make it by declaring that it’s “a love story”. And that’s certainly true: at the top of the show, there’s a lot of delightful vignettes between Kimmings and her (real-life) partner, Tim Grayburn: we’re told of their burgeoning love, the extraordinary and everyday blisses, and we watch them dance together, and it’s super sweet. But all the while, Tim is hiding in plain sight. His face – his eyes – are obscured from the audience by clouds, paper bags, masks… sometimes comically so.

The performance takes a bit of a dark turn when Kimmings recounts the discovery of pills in Grayburn’s possession; despite being in a relationship with him for several months, she had no idea that he had been taking the pills… anti-depressants, as it turned out.

Thereafter rolls a discussion of the stigma associated with clinical depression in men: the perceived inability to talk about it, the societal dismissal of depression as an issue (the phrase “suck it up” rightfully comes in for a battering), and the compounding effect of masculine stereotypes. This discussion mixes media, as befits Kimmings’ performance-art roots: they erect a little tent onstage and use it to present lovemaking shadow puppetry; they play recorded snippets of their common exploration of Grayburn’s depression (which were occasionally a very tough listen). The moments documenting Tim’s withdrawal from anti-depressants? Harrowing.

But the narrative leads to the realisation that, as a couple, they could help both Tim and others – sufferers of clinical depression, and the people that love them – by creating a performance… this performance. Grayburn – who works in advertising, and is certainly not a self-proclaimed performer – agrees… but only if he can hide his face. Hence, the masks… and a beautiful denouement.

(Without wanting to belittle Tim’s plight) I battle with depression as well; it’s very much a cyclical thing with me, but I’m “lucky” in that the dark patches seem to be getting shorter, and the intervals between them getting longer. But that’s taken a fair bit of work on my (and my counsellor’s) part… and – as open as I can be – there’s still a tinge of shame associated with talking about that.

And that’s what was so heartwarming about Fake it ’til you Make it for me: it created a compassionate, safe space where it was possible to recognise and talk about depression, love, and emotional support from a male perspective. It was fearless in what it showed the audience about the performers (especially Tim, the non-performer), and the closing moments? So very, very, tear-wellingly beautiful and touching and wonderful.

[2015081] White Rabbit Red Rabbit

[2015081] White Rabbit Red Rabbit

Nassim Soleimanpour [writer] & Dave Bloustien [performer] @ Royal Croquet Club – The Rastelli

6:15pm, Thu 26 Feb 2015

Playwright Nassim Soleimanpour wrote White Rabbit Red Rabbit as a means of virtually travelling outside his native Iran; as a conscientious objector, he was unable to leave the country until recently (and now resides in Germany). Written in 2010, it’s an overtly political piece of theatre which grounds itself in wordy absurdity; it touches on cultural isolation, suicide, and the “choice” of inaction. And, more importantly, it challenges the audience to continue their contemplation after the event.

But whilst the writing is strong (and, despite the light opening, progressively dark), the twist in White Rabbit Red Rabbit is in the presentation: there is no director, no set (just two glasses of water), and a different actor (who has never seen the script before) for each performance. This evening our performer was Dave Bloustien, and – after being handed his script in a sealed envelope, opening it, and reading his stage directions aloud with a nervous chuckle – he measured his performance well: there were few stumbles over the words or timing of the script, and the coolness (with maybe just the faintest hint of apprehension) with which he dealt with the “poison” parts of the script was perfect.

And, once again, I wound up being called onstage – this time as a witness.

Sure, one could make the statement that White Rabbit Red Rabbit is more a play reading, rather than a performance; but it’s the power of the words, and the opportunity to see someone perform the script cold, that makes it such compelling viewing. In fact, just about the only disappointment I could associate with White Rabbit Red Rabbit was that, despite my intentions, I didn’t get to see another performance… I reckon the one with Renato Musolino would have been amazing.

[2015080] Karl Redgen: Rapid Fire

[2015080] Karl Redgen: Rapid Fire

Karl Redgen @ Austral Hotel – Red Room

11:00pm, Wed 25 Feb 2015

The précis made me curious; the opening was… strange: over the audio of a scene from Full Metal Jacket, Karl Redgen mimes… something. I’m not sure exactly what he’s trying to do – what he’s trying to evoke – and so I’m a little thankful when he begins his monologue.

But only a little thankful. Redgen has built a comedy show around stories of travel through South-East Asia – Vietnam, Thailand, Laos – and one would hope that there’s some crazy antics to be found in that lot. It’s just that these stories don’t ever really amount to much, and certainly not a punchline. They’re just the sort of tales that you expect from young men travelling through SE Asia (drinking stories, vomit, poo, elephant rides): they may have seemed interesting at the time, but they just did not work when relayed to a disconnected third-party. The occasional theatrical asides added nothing but confusion.

But – worst of all – Redgen had no crowd control. He had two paying punters on the night, and he asked anyone downstairs at the Austral to come up for free. But the resultant group of pissheads (who actually looked too young to be drinking) just talked amongst themselves and made weak-arse comments all through the show… and Redgen let them, nervously appreciating their presence.

And you know what? Fuck that.

I don’t mind performers drumming up an audience by any means necessary – that’s fine, and the donation-at-the-end-of-the-show thing seems to be all the rage this year (and is something I believe there should be more of – it perpetuates the idea that the person on the stage is attempting something worth money, something that seems to be forgotten in the current world of Comp Culture). But inviting people in, and then not keeping them in check like any comedian should to any punter? Poor form.

I was fuming after this show – at the performer, at the pissheads, at myself. And, y’know, that’s not good.

[2015079] Mush and Me by Karla Crome

[2015079] Mush and Me by Karla Crome

Lip Sink Theatre @ Holden Street Theatres – The Arch

9:30pm, Wed 25 Feb 2015

Star-crossed lovers are a dime-a-dozen in the theatre; they are easy characters around which to generate a plot with romance and conflict, offering a lot for audiences to sink their teeth into. So it was with Mush and Me, a tale of a relationship that was never meant to be.

Gabby (Daniella Isaacs) and Mush (Jaz Deol) meet while working in a call centre. They’re both a little apprehensive when they share their vastly different backgrounds – she’s Jewish, he’s Muslim – but they’re soon dating and smitten. Conflict arises, however, when it is revealed that Gabby’s father is dying… and, during bedside vigils and gatherings of family, Mush would not be welcome.

Thereafter come debates about god and humanism, friends and lovers and family; some are thoughtful, some playful, some tear-stained, some aggressive. A well-paced and considerate script doesn’t place blame on one “side” or the other, preferring to let the emotions stand alone; Isaacs and Deol are utterly convincing in their roles.

Whilst it’s hardly a new idea, Mush and Me provided a quality bit of theatre, with a solid script backed up by excellent performances and effective direction. One can only hope that it gets a bigger audience than the handful that turned up for the session this evening.

[2015078] Cut by Duncan Graham

[2015078] Cut by Duncan Graham

Hannah Norris @ Holden Street Theatres – The Manse

7:30pm, Wed 25 Feb 2015

Anyone who’s been in The Manse knows what a tiny, intimate space it is… and with early viewings of Cut generating a huge amount of buzz – the kind of breathless buzz that precedes awards and commendations – these were certainly hot tickets. In fact, when I eventually slotted Cut into The Schedule, there were only a trio of performances that weren’t listed as sold-out.

Each member of the tiny audience is individually greeted by Hannah Norris, already in character as an airline stewardess, at the door; we’re carefully seated in the venue with their backs to opposite walls, nine on each side: it’s uncomfortable facing other people about three metres away. Once the entrance is shut, Norris explains that we cannot leave via that door: if anyone feels claustrophobic, or requires assistance, they were to use the safe-word: “Cut.”

There’s a slightly nervous titter in the audience, and I feel a hint of claustrophobia… and then, with an unnerving wall of noise, the lights plunge to an inky black. There’s a collective gasp in the audience, and you sense smiles wavering.

A small, faint light appears, and Norris is on the opposite side of the room… there’d been no sound as she’d moved past, no whisper of her passing, so it’s a little bit of a surprise. Her monologue begins: it’s early in the morning. She’s applying makeup, preparing for her next flight out. She think’s she’s being stalked.

But a blunt shift in lighting seems to change her perspective: we switch from a cool, professional persona to one that is wracked with fear. And we spend most of the performance flitting between these two states, never quite sure which one – if not either, if not both – is “real”.

And it’s an utterly terrifying performance, with the staging and the claustrophobia and the lack of surety all weighing heavily on my mind. Hannah Norris is utterly superb, completely selling these unsettling characters and completely filling the space. But of equal import is Elizabeth Gadsby’s design and Sam Hopkins’ custom lighting system; they, along with Russell Goldsmith’s unnerving soundscapes, seem to heighten the tension.

Cut was the best kind of installation theatre, tricking most of my senses into accepting its world. It’s one of those shows that I felt happy not being able to recommend it to people (due to its sold-out status), because it’s tough to rave about something so… dark and bleak and brutal. But I raved about it anyway.