[2015015] Dr Brown & Sam Simmons – Ceremony
Philip Burgers & Sam Simmons @ Garden of Unearthly Delights – The Factory
11:15pm, Fri 13 Feb 2015
As I ambled towards The Factory at the top of the Garden, a mere 20 minutes before the allotted starting time of Ceremony, I saw Dr Brown scurrying towards the venue. He saw me, quickly waved hello, then disappeared back into his thoughts, a look of comical worry and deep thought blended upon his face.
This did not phase me at all. If anything, it caused my optimism to inflate.
Chris Taylor parks himself behind me in the queue. We chat up a storm – he was in town filming Plonk (with old acquaintance Josh Tyler) – and (eventually) we wound up sitting in the front row, musing what type of show it would be: Sam Simmons surreality, or Dr Brown WTF-ness.
What was that? Front row at a Brown (or Simmons, for that matter) show? We’ll come back to that.
The starting time comes and goes; The Factory is full and humming with nervous expectation, but it’s apparent that most of the audience was there because of Simmons. Finally, the lights dimmed, the intro music swelled… then Simmons stormed in (to exultant cheers), protesting “we’re not ready!” to the tech, before climbing to the tech desk to kill the lights and music himself.
More waiting. Taylor and I discussed whether Simmons’ bluster was part of the show or not.
Finally, our two heroes entered. Brown looked like a clownish shaman (with a bulbous lampshade on his head), and Simmons looked like… well, Simmons. With a bad wig. Simmons.
The two men began chanting together. The chant develops a physicality, eventually morphing into a chase as they ran laps around the stage; a latecomer enters The Factory and is dragged, confused, into the chase. He escaped by running up the stairs at the end of a lap; in doing so, he tripped and fell with a thud, and at that point I knew exactly what kind of show this is going to be.
Dangerous. And full of excitement. And potential lawsuits. And fun.
As Simmons lifted an eyebrow in recognition, my neighbour was dragged into the chase game; when it subsided, they stand him on a chair and present him with a medal. The chair buckles as he alights, broken… and I subconsciously started counting the number of potential OH&S hazards we’d encountered.
They disappear for several minutes, returning with fresh beers – they’d just wandered to the bar.
Name tags were handed out – everyone was David, except for a solitary “Cregg”. And (slowly) the Ceremony seemed to develop a central premise: the death and celebration of Cregg. Peanut butter & jelly sandwiches were brought out for Cregg’s wake, and a food fight quickly developed, catching much of the audience in the crossfire… my arms were sticky with jam as Brown & Simmons eschewed the battle with each other in favour of pegging sandwiches directly into the crowd. They dragged up another volunteer, June, and get her to make more sandwiches (cue another food fight, with Simmons surprising Taylor with a baguette to the face) before an almost lewd sandwich tasting incident involving Simmons, Brown, and poor June.
I’m dragged up onstage and sent out to get a Fanta. As soon as I left the venue, Simmons pulled me aside and told me to wait at least 30 seconds – “it’ll be funnier”. I talked to the tech (who provided me a Fanta), waited a while, and heard uproarious laughter within the venue – and wondered whether I was going to find a sandwich inside my bag when I got home (I did not). I ran back in with the Fanta to applause, but couldn’t help think that maybe I’d missed the joke… or was about to bear the brunt of it.
Brown teased Simmons with the Fanta in a deeply erotic manner; it’s Brown doing what he does best, conjuring pornographic thoughts in the audience from the slightest movements. An open mouth with trembling lips, chin lifting, eyes widening. It’s practiced and polished and supremely effective.
There were more hijinks as Simmons’ persistent cough worsens and he “dies” – Taylor was dragged up to help resuscitate him, beating him soundly in the chest in lieu of CPR (“that fucking hurt,” Simmons later complained). Taylor was then sent outside for some reason, and returned with another glass of wine, which Brown dispatched over his shoulder. Brown then expertly controlled the lighting cues to dive into Simmons’ pants with a Fanta-laden sponge as the lights hit black.
So they were my memories from a show which was clearly an embryonic exploration into what the combined imaginations of these two comic geniuses could conjure. I’ve never seen Philip Burgers do a bad show as Dr Brown, and his clowning skills are beyond compare; and whilst Simmons can run hot or cold for me (not least because of his audiences), some of his more dubious exercises in surreality seemed to be obviated in favour of Brown’s more grounded insanity.
And, despite the danger posed to the audience, it worked… it really did. Sure, there were times when it was hard to determine whether the show was just ninety minutes of don’t-give-a-fuck-edness or improvised genius, but it was pretty much exactly what I’d hoped for. And, hopefully, the Simmons fans in the audience may have had their eyes opened to the genius that is Dr Brown.
(15) Dr Brown & Sam Simmons – Ceremony: Exactly what you'd expect from these 2. Which is to say: Madness. & food fights! #ff2015 #ADLfringe
— Pete Muller (@festivalfreakAU) February 13, 2015