Category: 2011 – Adelaide Fringe Festival

Dead Cat Bounce – Caged Heat

Dead Cat Bounce @ Gluttony (Excess Theatre)

8:15pm, Sun 20 Feb 2011

After my first exposure to Dead Cat Bounce (at the Gluttony Showcase gig earlier in the week), I vowed not to miss their show this year. The stars aligned, a timeslot opened up, and there we were – sharing the Excess Theatre with maybe sixty other punters.

The rock-star sensibilities that I’d spotted earlier? They’re still there, contrasting the clever comedic interludes between songs really well; there’s some predictable theatrics (delusions of “serious” versus “comedy” band) and some expected drummer-bashing, but it’s all polished material and competently delivered.

But the real glory of Dead Cat Bounce is in their songs… and, whilst they’re a musically unsurprising guitar/bass/synth/drums outfit, lyrically they’re a hell of a lot of fun. From the boy-band-esque Overenthusiastic Contraceptive Lady (with its African choir breakdown), through the gorgeously imaginative synth-driven Christians In Love, to the wonderful storytelling rhythms of Switzerland, and the profanity-filled rap of Firemen (“we’ve got four motherfuckin’ firemen in the truck, but we ain’t got no motherfuckin’ hose”), there’s a lot of laughter to be had.

But by the time we got to their The Day We Fired The Drummer bit (complete with hang-dog over-acting), bleeding into the “buy our CD” encore, the band have lost a bit of their impact… it’s all got a little too samey. I suffered from the hot mixing, too, sparking my tinnitus and making some of the lyrics tricky to distinguish – which, as you might imagine, took the edge off the show somewhat for me.

That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the show – I love the Dead Cats’ stage manner and execution and polish (the little vocal punctuations in the middle of songs are comedic genius). It’s just that I’d have been happy with a shorter set and more sedate sound levels… christ that makes me sound old.

Cloud Girls Smudge

Jennifer Carnovale and Madeleine Culp @ Austral Hotel – The Bunka

6:30pm, Sun 20 Feb 2011

Unsure about the logistics of dragging myself in from my previous show, I had refrained from pre-purchasing a ticket for the Cloud Girls; hence, when my Fringe Buddy and I arrived with scant seconds to spare before the nominated start time, only to be greeted by a solidly closed Bunka door, I silently admonished myself: if there’s no walk-in punters, and I haven’t bought a ticket in advance, how can the performer possibly know that there’s an audience that wants to see their show?

After a minute or so of apprehensive waiting outside, another (slightly older) couple wanders towards us: “you here for the Cloud Girls?” they ask, and we get to chatting. The door opens, a man apologetically takes our money, and the four of us enter. Despite much goading, the other couple don’t join us up front, opting instead to sit one row back.

So – there’s a grand total of four people in the front two rows of The Bunka, which would comfortably hold fifty or sixty. It’s… a bit awkward, to say the least. But opener Shane Matheson gets some hearty early laughs, with a bit of gruff iPod DJing accompanying some genuinely funny material. Definitely someone to keep an eye on in the future.

And then the Sydney-based Cloud Girls amble onto the stage… and, from the get-go, they’re hilarious. Their awkward introductions reveal some perfect comedic timing, and their show is presented in a very sketch-oriented manner – they quickly flit between pieces, never allowing the laughs to subside, and there’s rarely a flat spot in the performance. The chemistry between the two Sydneysiders is intoxicating; there’s a real sense of understanding between them that manages – despite their impeccable timing – to appear haphazard, like the show is teetering on the edge of disaster… it’s very dynamic, very exciting. Mads projects a curious fragility, wide-eyed and innocent, where Jen comes across cooler, more calculating.

As for their material… the bit with Jen sitting in the audience, firing “dickhead” questions at Mads? Absolutely brilliant – and made all the more surreal by the small audience, with Mads scanning the ocean of empty seats for questions whilst Jen strained in her seat, arm waving in the air. The whale songs? Mads’ mental miming at the end of the show? Magnificent. The poetry? The unexpected puns? Perfect.

Look, I absolutely loved Cloud Girls Smudge – the Girls are sharp and funny and have a gloriously madcap delivery that manages to feel both polished and dangerous. And they’re lovely people, too – I kept bumping into them at the TuxCat (where they performed a chunk of their season after some kerfuffle with the Austral) and the Worldsend, and they were always up for a chat. But it’d be hard for me to separate the absolute joy of their performance from the slightly surreal environment in which I saw it – four people in a big room (and, as we later discovered, the other couple was Mads’ parents!) Having said that, I can’t wait to see the Cloud Girls again – and they absolutely deserve a much bigger audience.

Spectroscope

Megan Dennis & Rapid Eye Movement @ Adelaide Royal Coach

5:30pm, Sun 20 Feb 2011

It’s a glorious day to be alive (or, at least, a glorious day to be awake) and strolling across the parklands to the Adelaide Royal Coach – a little motel complex that I’ve often wandered past without ever contemplating what was contained therein. But the sun warmed my hangover-aching bones, I bump into Rod for a bit of a chat, and I’m feeling alright.

Better than alright, actually. I’m keenly anticipating Spectroscope – as even the most casual reader of this blog may have recognised, I love to see people perform Clever Things with light and shadow. The précis is delicious – described as “a ballet of light”, this solo devised piece is a study into authenticity; the technology of ‘self’: the screen that is created to both display and disguise – and I’m imagining all sorts of things, all sorts of possibilities… it’s very exciting.

But the first thing that I notice when navigating through the halls of the Royal Coach is the water damage – there’s splotches of wet carpet and matting everywhere. And, in the queue for the performance, the cross-group chatter seemed to indicate that this was very much a family-and-friends crowd, with lots of “how do you know Megan / The Girls” discussion. The doors opened, and we’re led into a darkened room, and instructed not to walk across the aisle as we made our way to our seats.

Of course, as soon as the front row on the far side filled up, the aisle was promptly walked across, evoking tuts and hisses from family members. The aisle was to be protected because of the collection of activated glow-sticks tied to a fishing line and laid along the floor; at the front of the space is a two-metre-high screen. Doors closed, there’s a moment of pitch-blackness before eyes adjust to the low light; and then, to inoffensive ambient tones (apparently the work of Sigur Rós), the performance began.

Of course, due to the fact that I was sitting in the second row, I couldn’t see anything for the first couple of minutes of the performance; awkward craning (and potentially creepy breathing into my obstructor’s ear) only allowed me glimpses of the initial action. From behind the screen, some strands of colourful light – more glow-sticks – shine through; they dance in time to the low-key backing music, all-too-slowly climbing the height of the screen. Well, “dance” may be a bit misleading; “jiggle” would be far more accurate, with the strands acting like jerky marionettes. There’s a certain beauty to the light and spasmodic movement – for a few minutes, at least – but the glow-sticks amble along their vertical ascent of the screen, and I’m almost dozing off by the time they reach the top. Luckily my eyes are open for the most visually striking part of the performance, as a bright white light blasts the scrim, and wafting leaves of red cellophane drift serenely down, dancing around Megan Dennis’ shadow (which is pretty much the only time the performer is visible throughout).

But after the autumnal beauty of the cellophane, it was back to more glow-stick action, broken up by some awkward torch-powered shadow puppetry. Colourful rings and shapes wander around behind the scrim, sometimes drifting too far from the screen, hazing their visibility; the fishing-line glow-sticks on the floor are pulled forwards, in what I can only imagine was supposed to mimic a marching stream of light. But that part of the performance was only visible to those sitting on the aisle; poor planning restricts the ability of the audience to appreciate the ideas on offer.

And that is Spectroscope‘s biggest problem: there’s obviously some interesting and creative ideas here, but they’re let down by execution. And, as an audience member, I don’t think the show looks half as good as the Rapid Eye Movement crew think it does. In that regard, Spectroscope reminded me of Fin – ideas and passion are present, but there’s no polish. And unfortunately, the part of the performance that (perversely) provided the most pleasure was the pregnant pause at the end of the show – the audience sat quietly in the pitch-black room for a good ten-to-fifteen seconds before the girl managing sound and lights started softly clapping, her small hands sounding feeble, almost pleading.

I left as efficiently as I could, eyes down; I quickly headed back into the city, wondering what the family-and-friends crowd thought of it, and giggled to myself. And, thinking back on Spectroscope after five months, that’s my fondest memory of the performance – not the “ballet of light”, not the uncomfortable silence, but the ruminations on reactions. And that, in a way, made the whole experience worthwhile.

Adventure Hour!: A 29-and-a-half minute Time Bending, Old-Fashioned Adventure With Intrepid Explorers Professor Gorski and Miss Ellaneous

Mr Gorski and Miss Ellaneous @ Gluttony (The Bally)

4:00pm, Sun 20 Feb 2011

There’s always a bit of danger when going to a show targeted at children – sometimes the writing just isn’t engaging enough for the adult mind. And when it’s a circus show, there’s the secondary danger that the spectacle being presented is also going to miss the mark.

Unfortunately, Adventure Hour! suffers from both these maladies.

There’s no doubting that the Adventure Hour!‘s cast – Mr Gorski, a colonial English explorer, and Miss Ellaneous, a… erm… wonderfully costumed lass – exude buckets of enthusiasm and character, and they certainly work the children sitting on the mats in the middle of the Bally. There’s lots of smiles and eye contact and wide expressive gestures… but when it comes to the circus content, it’s a whole other story.

Miss Ellaneous performs some hoop tricks but, perhaps impeded by the nature of her dress, there were a few slips and staggers. Likewise, some of their combined juggling antics went awry, but thankfully no children were struck as a result of the spills. There was, however, some pretty clever hat tricks, along with a bit of plate-spinning (which is certainly a unique feature in the current crop of circus acts).

But, at eighteen bucks for half-an-hour of performance, there just didn’t seem to be enough content… and a few too many spills in the content that was there. And, given that the Bally suffers mightily from the afternoon sun and the audience were left sweltering, it was almost mercifully short. As I mentioned before, the pair are blessed with a great sense of theatre and engagement with the kids… it’s just that this kid felt like he was well outside the target audience.

Low Level Panic [FringeTIX]

Half A Star Theatre @ Arcade Lane – Regent Two

2:00pm, Sun 20 Feb 2011

I read the précis in the Guide – that sounds interesting, I think. I notice it’s got a Sunday matinee early in the Fringe – easy peasy, I think. Ticket booked. Various promotional material is seen and acquired.

But it’s only as I’m walking to the venue, very tired and dreary on an otherwise sunny day, that I actually look at the posters adorning the walls as I approach Arcade Lane. And, as I read “Clare McIntyre’s Low Level Panic“, something about the playwright’s name triggers a memory… hang on, I reckon I’ve seen this before.

Out comes my phone, and off to this blog I go. A simple search reveals that yes, I have seen a production of Low Level Panic before (in 2006) and, as I read my previous musings, the memories of the show came flooding back (and that, after all, is the purpose of this blog). And they weren’t really kind.

I try to banish the recollections from my mind; I try to walk into every show hoping that it’s going to be Life-Changing. So the handful of us Sunday arvo punters enter the old Regent Two cinema and take in the set; it’s an elaborate, if messy, recreation of a spacious bathroom. Jo lolls about in the bath while Mary flicks through the pages of a porn magazine in disgust, musing awkwardly about the objectification of women; and so the feminist tone of the piece is set. The girls fuss about, preparing for a party; Kate Englefield’s Mary looks absolutely stunning in her dress (ooh look at me, focussing on the appearance – miss the point, much?), though it’s utterly understandable why her character wasn’t so into it.

But I’ve seen this play before. The rape scene that acts as the trigger for Mary’s angst somehow doesn’t seem as shocking now; Jo’s masturbation fantasies (accompanied by some video projection) don’t seem as scandalous. And the final act, the post-party reflection, sputters along to the anticlimactic conclusion.

Alicia Case’s Celia is primarily used as a comic foil to the weightier musings of the other two, and – somewhat disconcertingly, given the focus of Low Level Panic – seems to have the “ideal” life… even if she is left wanting for a bath. Case, however, felt the least assured of the three actresses, with wavering voice control and a perfunctory presence.

But the biggest problem with this production is the venue – Regent Two seems much more echoey than Regent One, and dialogue rattles around the broken walls and becomes hard to discern. Maybe a larger crowd might have deadened the space a bit more – even then, Maryann Boettcher’s lines from the bathtub would still have struggled to make it to the crowd (though her performance was, by far, the most accomplished).

So, once again, I’ve seen a production of Low Level Panic that has left me feeling unfulfilled. I’m in do doubt, now, that it’s the script that is lacking – the awkward dialogue and unfamiliar situations that the characters are faced with don’t really resonate with me at all. Yes, there’s that pivotal moment in the middle of the play, but the return to banality just makes it feel… well, less significant than it actually is.

Or maybe that’s the point – that these horrific moments are followed by an uncomfortable expectation of normality.

Macbeth

Body in Space @ Arcade Lane – Regent One

11:59pm, Sat 19 Feb 2011

I must have mentioned this a dozen times on this blog so far: I love me some Shakespeare. And, though, I occasionally flitter through favourites, I’ve always had a massive soft-spot for Macbeth – all the grief and angst and human failings just rub me the right way.

So when I saw there was a midnight Macbeth in the broken and rustic Arcade Lane space… well, I was there. I checked with Jack of The Neo to ensure that I wouldn’t offend if I left their gig a touch early, and I booked my ticket. Subsequently, a friend-of-the-family recommended this production to me – “it’s very much you. The performers all have bare feet.”

Arriving in plenty of time – I didn’t want to risk another starting-time kerfuffle – and into the Regent One space. It looks like they’ve installed a square “stage” of floating floorboards there; the six cast members sat in a semi-circle, intensely focussed; together they emit a sparse tune. A drumbeat here, a hum there. The only female member of the cast waits until we’re all seated, then breaks into a mournful wail: it’s wonderfully atmospheric, and when the actors playing the witches spin onto the “stage” from their positions in the semi-circle, their simple robes announce their entrance into the scene with a flourish.

It’s a remarkably sparse production – there’s absolutely no offstage assistance to the players. No lighting tweaks for mood, no music that’s not produced by the players themselves. The actors leave their positions, enter the scene, complete their part, then return to their seats; the scenery and the space exists in the audience’s mind, and they use their multi-use robes to full effect. And the little things – like Lady Macbeth’s invocation of the spirits – are accented with little vocal effects from the group.

Douglas Brooks is a suitably troubled Macbeth, displaying both the noble strength required of the characters initial efforts along with the broken conscience befitting the later parts of the play. Laura Irish is a delightful Lady Macbeth, smiling Nazi and poison tongue and shattered mind; the grey-haired Roger Sanders (most notable as Duncan) trod a fine line between ham and genius. Luke Walton’s simmering Macduff was mesmerising, and Daniel Allan’s Banquo…

Look – let’s just get one thing perfectly clear, here. I loved this production, this midnight Macbeth experience. Not only was it a great version of a great play, but it provided some of the greatest theatrical moments in recent memory. The plotting of Duncan’s downfall leads to vicious and snarling whispers between Macbeth and his wife, beautifully spaced and utterly compelling and you could have heard a pin drop; and the scene where the Ghost of Banquo approaches Macbeth at the feast was simply magnificent – Daniel’s Banquo ever-so-slowly inched forward with an intoxicating mixture of slight smile and ominous shaking head and immense menace, brutalising Macbeth without making contact… absolutely harrowing. But the highlight is undoubtedly the classic “Out, damned spot!” scene with Lady Macbeth: despite the music outside in Arcade Lane thumping away at 2am on a Sunday, everything outside of the stage slipped away – it was the most amazing sense of theatrical tunnel vision I’ve experienced. I could only see the players, I could only hear Laura’s frantic whispers, and see the madness in her face, her eyes… stunning.

And that’s the great thing about this production: it absolutely commanded your attention at all times. Sure, you may know Macbeth pretty well, but the way this Kiwi troupe told the tale you simply could not look away. Absolutely brilliant, and easily – even at this early stage – one of the highlights of the year.

The Neo

The Neo @ Crown & Sceptre Hotel

10:45pm, Sat 19 Feb 2011

Ever since my first experience with The Neo in 2004, I’ve been a massive fan; I’ve seen them perform several times since, and every time (no matter how hungover they appeared) they managed to pull out all the stops and put on a great show.

But, arriving right on projected starting time this evening, I looked onstage and briefly thought I was way too early; I didn’t recognise anyone up there. It looked like a bunch of smart-casual, middle-aged men doing the sound check. But then a bearded Tim appeared, followed closely by Jack and Liam; Tim announces that they are, indeed, The Neo, and – despite the best efforts of cyclonic weather up North – they were here to play a bunch of original songs.

Now – the crowd sitting quietly in the Crown & Sceptre’s back room didn’t seem to recognise The Neo; I get the feeling that most of them were Neo-n00bs. So I imagine the promise of all-original songs may have been a bit daunting to them… but that didn’t seem to matter, because within a couple of songs the crowd was up and jumping around.

The band is still tighter than a duck’s chuff, freely swapping guitars as various people covered Robbie Hoad’s missing bass. Tim is still an amazing vocalist, freely ducking from soaring notes to staccato rap, and blasting the harmonica sweetly; Jack is still the consummate crowd-man, hopping through the bouncing mass while playing guitar. The horns are used sparingly, but effectively, and they’re not afraid of extended renditions of their songs, allowing plenty of opportunity for an initially gentle tune to verge into funk and chunk and back again.

The highlight was, undoubtedly, Bus Blues – all tight funk and rap in the verse, with a big hornsy chorus that never fails to bring a smile to the face. Unfortunately, I had to leave with a couple of songs still to play – but it was bloody brilliant to see the guys play again. I love The Neo :)

Fin [FringeTIX]

Mere Mortals Theatre @ The Tuxedo Cat – Green Room

8:30pm, Sat 19 Feb 2011

The stage is a city of tin cans, large and small – spectacular and shiny and impersonal. The titular Fin arrives, a tin-can head upon a water-filled latex glove body, and proceeds to wander the city, engaging its many inhabitants and… well, it gets a bit sad.

But for all the concentration on the performers’ faces, some of the puppetry… well, it isn’t convincing.

The syringe mosquito is a classic example: the performer is completely focussed as the creature flits around, but the creature itself? Anonymous, inert. A mere object in the hand of its master, incapable of imparting any kind of expression. The barely-controlled jiggling of the tampon mice, the accidental tipping of items from the stage, and the eventual trashing of the city were other aspects that seemed cold, passionless, and even pointless.

Fin is the only exception to this rule; his two bolt eyes on his tin-can head are remarkably expressive, coupled with the clacking of his mouth, and the way the performers walk his latex-glove body around is sometimes really neat. He really is the star of the show, and when his doppelgänger arrives there’s some quite emotive moments; they manage to conjure a certain sensuality out of the sex scene, there’s an element of terror (and dampness, for the front row) to the chomping and slicing murder of the doppelgänger, and Fin’s eventual death (via a dye injection into his rubbery body from one of the syringe mosquitos) is really quite poignant.

But these moments are all-too-few, and very far between. There’s clearly some wonderful ideas present in Fin – Gina Moss and Sabrina D’Angelo have found some clever uses for everyday items, and created some creatures out of them. It just feels like they didn’t refine the ideas enough: some elements, like the condom snake, had so much promise, with their curious noise and visual texture all providing heaps of inspiration… but then the snake dies without fanfare, and the whole experience just feels underdeveloped.

As a result, too much of the performance just felt like two girls pissfarting around in their own world, oblivious to the audience that had – perhaps – expected a puppet show with coherent narrative and expression. Which is a shame, because – as I mentioned earlier – there are some really interesting ideas in there. I just felt like I was watching a living workshop for the show, and not the show itself.

Dust

Emiline Forster @ Iris Cinema

7:30pm, Sat 19 Feb 2011

There’s little more than a handful of people at the Iris for this one-off screening of Dust, once you remove director / performer Emiline Forster from the crowd; she gives a short little introduction to the film, explaining that it was a video interpretation of an existing piece of dance (which won the Best Dance award at the 2010 Melbourne Fringe, no less!).

There’s a strong opening – clad in a white cleanroom suit and full gas mask, Forster performs a piece that is reminiscent of footage of assembly-line robots; it’s a convincing and identifiable introduction to the commercial industrial message of the piece. Unfortunately, it’s followed by the biggest let-down of the film – a segment that includes fast-moving, tongue-in-cheek characterisations of bureaucrats and executives, revelling in their profits. These little skits and dances, with their distinctly amateurish presentation, really coloured my view for a large amount of the remaining film.

And that’s a shame, because the slow-yet-desperate nature of the remaining dance – lots of deliberate, anxious reaches and sweeps – is really quite lovely. Music excerpts throughout are great – a pleasing mix of industrial, light metal, and ominous ambient pieces accompany the dance segments of the film, and the sound design in general is excellent. The direction of the movie, too, is great: there’s wonderful framing of the subjects, and the constant shift of focus – whether intentional or not – creates a delicious texture to the movie, which already revels in noisy low-light compression.

It’s just that little “skit” segment that lets the whole piece down… because it stands out like a sore thumb compared to the quality of the rest of the work. But, based on the rest of the movie, Forster clearly has the eye of both a director and choreographer, as well as being a great dancer.

Pitch [FringeTIX]

TOS’T @ Gluttony (The Bally)

5:30pm, Sat 19 Feb 2011

TOS’T is a young company borne of the National Institute of Circus Arts and, on the strength of this performance, one that we’ll be hearing from a lot more in the future. Because these youngsters, whilst lacking the polish and sheen of the more established circus shows in town at the moment, bring forth a freshness and enthusiasm and – yes – even something new to the table.

The four members of TOS’T – Tom (red), Ollie (yellow), Steph (purple) and Ty (green) – begin the performance with a tumbling and balance act that makes them look like a very acrobatic Wiggles contingent; all very competently performed, and certainly entertaining to the children present, but yet to win me over. The first segment, featuring Ty tumbling his way through a jungle chase, failed to impress – but it paved the way for the rest of the show, because it introduced the idea of narrative within the sets of tricks.

Another balance set with all four performers saw a fantastic three-high human structure that almost touched the roof of The Bally; a bit of juggling, including a great bit with the meteors, also impressed… as did the series of hat tricks. But it was the noir-themed risley segment – Ollie on his back, juggling and flipping Steph with his feet – that was absolutely amazed; I can’t recall having seen anything like it, certainly in recent years. The fact that Steph had a heavy tumble, and came straight back to attempt an even sterner challenge, was gobsmacking – and worthy of many more plaudits than my words can convey.

Despite – and maybe because of – the odd spill, I really, really liked TOS’T – after a slowish start, their enthusiasm completely won me over. Ollie is an incredible frontman, with an elastic face tailor-made for mugging to the crowd, milking applause. And with a selection of music that was partly sourced from anime and videogames, I’m even more endeared. Throw in some decent-to-stunning circus and clowning skills and you’ve got a great show.

Ali McGregor – Something Old, Something New

Ali McGregor (with Matthew Carey, Alana Dawes, and Barnabas Smith) @ The Spiegeltent

3:30pm, Sat 19 Feb 2011

Ali McGregor’s always been good to me; she’s always brought immensely enjoyable shows to the Fringe, and – to be honest – I felt like I needed that surety of a great musical act.

And, once again, she did not disappoint.

With Matthew Carey on piano, the gorgeous Alana Dawes on bass, and Barnabas Smith on drums, Ali soared through a set of jazz and blues influenced songs, both old and new. And whilst songs like La Isla Bonita were merely slightly jazzified and performed relatively straight, other songs – like Oops!… I Did It Again, with its falsetto dropping straight to a gravelly growl, and the operatic snatch in I Was Made for Lovin’ You – really showcased Ali’s amazing range.

I’d be lying if I said that everything worked, though – Tainted Love would have benefitted from some sparser instrumentation, and a chance to breath. But if that’s the price I have to pay for the brilliant lounge-cabaret mash-up of Fly Me To The Moon with a double-time I Will Survive, then that’s just fine by me.

Now – I’m no jazz fiend or opera junkie, but I love Ali’s voice… and stage presence. Constantly joking with the crowd, her demeanour is nothing short of charming – and that’s another reason I’ll keep coming back to Ali’s shows. Gorgeous sounds from a gorgeous woman – what’s not to love?

You’re Not Like The Other Girls Chrissy [FringeTIX]

Caroline Horton @ Holden Street Theatres – The Arch

1:00pm, Sat 19 Feb 2011

A young French woman, Christiane, bumbles in from the back of The Arch, carrying a set of suitcases. She struggles onto the stage, dropping them in front of a pale French flag; there’s a blast of français over the loudspeaker that establishes the location: Gare du Nord, one of the large Parisian railway stations. Christiane is waiting for a train to take her to England, to be re-united with her fiancée; it is 1945.

Christiane initially addresses the small crowd (of around a dozen) in French; I pick up enough words to get the gist, but there’s a lot of muttering behind me as friends translate for other friends. Eventually, Christiane queries “oh – you speek Eengleesh?”, and things become much easier to follow – albeit with a delicious French accent.

Christiane tells a simple tale, with a curious beginning: to prevent her deteriorating eyes from becoming worse, she is sent from her familial home in the Parisian suburbs to live in England for awhile, where – due to a feeble grip on the language – she could not spend all her time simply reading. There, at a tennis club (with a gorgeous recollection of the game – *pof*), she meets her beau-to-be, Cyril; she later returns to France, invites him to visit, and he requests her hand in marriage of her father.

Soon after Cyril returns to England, war breaks out; suddenly, their communications become sporadic, and at one point Cyril even releases Christiane from their engagement… only to recant the release in numerous later letters. When the Germans seize Paris, Christiane flees the city, and she tells of her attempts to help the Red Cross, in order to get access to rare telegram privileges; she eventually returns to Paris, battles with bureaucrats in order to get permission to go to England to marry Cyril, leading us chronologically to the opening moment of the performance. As she boards the train to England, the lights drop and we’re shown a collection of photos and home movies of Christiane and Cyril’s marriage, their children, and… their grandchildren.

Including a very familiar granddaughter pushing Christiane around Paris in a wheelchair.

And it’s only then that I realise what a personal performance this is for Caroline Horton, who only lost her grandmother Christiane earlier this year. I really should read the show notes more carefully.

Caroline is a terrific performer; she owns the stage without being domineering, and her accent and mannerisms reminded me of my French neighbour – perfect. Whilst it’s a relatively simple production, the physical performance is textured by some clever props that appear from her suitcases – pop-up cityscapes and radios – and some glorious little personal touches: as she mimes a rowing expedition, Caroline’s (actually, they were Christiane’s) bracelets clink together softly as her arms move back and forth.

You’re Not Like The Other Girls Chrissy is a beautiful, funny, and – at times – touching piece of theatre, performed by a wonderful actress with great engagement of the audience. I can only hope that the “crowd” this afternoon is not indicative of the rest of Caroline’s run, because it really does deserve a wider audience.

Santoni Cabaretoni [FringeTIX]

Dr Brown, Stuart Bowden, Vachel Spirason, Telia Nevile, Granny Flaps @ The Tuxedo Cat – Red Room

11:30pm, Fri 18 Feb 2011

Five bucks late at night almost guarantees a full Red Room, with its comfy pews; people were standing in the aisle, in the doorway, trying to get a peek at what madness was going to spill forth from Dr Brown’s cabaret variety show. “Variety show,” of course, is code for “artists performing snippets of their shows in hope that you’ll come along to see the whole thing.” Which is sweet when it works, and potentially jarring when it doesn’t.

Dr Brown, though, appears to need no introduction; many a whisper is heard in TuxCat’s halls professing love for the bushy-bearded fellow. I’d bumped into him earlier in the evening, and he recognised me from last year; “are you coming tonight?” he had asked. “Yes,” I’d replied, “but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drag me on stage.” He grinned.

No problems there, though – there was precious little audience interaction (at least, none that was significantly embarrassing). As the host, Dr Brown was first onstage in an elegant blue kimono – performing some invisible puppetry. The physical nature of Brown’s performance is superb, creating a very real sense of the two marionettes he was “controlling” – and his repeated movements as he commanded them to engage in nefarious sexual acts (accompanied by trembling phantom anticipation in his own face) was just divine.

Stuart Bowden, one of The Lounge Room Confabulators, performed a very Confabulator-y story; this was followed by a fantastic reverse-strip tease by Vachel Spirason… appearing wearing nothing but a red g-string, he tossed clothes out into the crowd and then started a strip-dance… summoning the clothes back from the crowd in order, he ended the dance fully clothed. Absolutely brilliant.

Dr Brown returned wearing nothing but a Starbucks apron, and again his refined performance skills were sublime as he took orders from the audience, ever-so-subtly wagging his finger with disappointment at some of the requests. The skit ends when he bends over, flashing his scrotum to the crowd, before introducing Telia Nevile – who performed the initially twee (but ultimately terrifying) poem The Darkness Within. This woman has the most amazing voice – she utterly won me over.

More Dr Brown silliness as he appeared wearing a kabuki mask, his beard spilling around the sides; “it’s me,” he surprised. And then Granny Flaps was the last guest of the evening, and started a little flat before getting the crowd involved with a singalong. Dr Brown, clad in bunny ears, wrapped the show up.

This edition of Santoni Cabaretoni was a bloody hoot, I must say. Whilst there were no real Shortlist-changing surprises in there, it provided a solid hour of freakshow entertainment; for five dollars, how could you go wrong? This, along with Marcel Lucont’s chat show, could be the perfect wrap-up of any day’s Fringing.

Marcel Lucont Etc. – A Chat Show [FringeTIX]

Marcel Lucont (aka Alexis Dubus), with Mark Trenwith & Abigoliah Schaumaun @ The Tuxedo Cat – Blue Room

10:00pm, Fri 18 Feb 2011

OK – so, yet again, I don’t read the Guide properly… I get as far as “Marcel Lucont”, and I scribbled a big star on the page and tapped all the relevant times into my spreadsheet, completely ignoring the “Chat Show” part of the show title.

And it’s an important part of the title, because Marcel Lucont Etc. is – indeed – a chat show, with two guests each night (and, hopefully, a cabaret snippet to round out the evening).

Marcel Lucont is his usual haughty self, mocking the crowd in general for their lack of verbal engagement, reading a snippet of his poetry, and pulling out the same old Marcel Lucont jokes before introducing Mark Trenwith.

Trenwith, as the very first of Lucont’s guests for the year, looked completely out of place in the interviewee’s chair. Lucont’s questions – targeting the most embarrassing thing you’ve put in your mouth, or the most bizarre sexual experience, that sort of thing – didn’t really to offer Trenwith much to work with, though once he admitted to being a bit of a pornophobe the conversation (and mockery) loosened up a bit and everyone seemed a little more at ease. A few plugs for Mark’s shows – Ghost Sharks! and Mr Snot-Bottom’s Stinky Silly Show – allowed additional humour, with mention made of the recent local shark attacks (“any publicity is good publicity,” quipped Lucont) along with accusations of potential paedophilia. Fun stuff indeed, and rounded off with a stare-off between Lucont and Trenwith – Mark lasted a mere 25 seconds.

Abigoliah Schaumaun seemed much more at home sitting across from Lucont, stealing his wine and drinking from the bottle, performing back stretches in her real-life Bikram instructor guise (as also portrayed in her show, Fabulous Abs). Completely unfazed by Lucont’s questions, even managing to cause his normally aloof demeanour to break a little with the mention of a little menstrual blood episode, she was an absolute delight – and hopefully convinced a few people to check out her show. Her attempt in the stare-off also lasted 25 seconds.

Finally, Miss Tinkle and Mr Plonk from Circus Trick Tease performed a snippet of balance and strength work – which was absolutely bloody amazing within the confined space of the Blue Room, with Plonk unable to lift Tinkle to maximum extension due to the roof. Brilliant stuff, and a wonderful end to the show.

This format is utterly perfect for the Marcel Lucont character – his thirty-minute show was absolutely magnificent, but the stretch to a full hour of solo material felt a little bit forced. Here, though, the quick-witted Dubus can play with the character, mixing the mannerisms which make Lucont such a delicious proposition with the personalities of his guests – and that makes for addictive viewing.

It’s pretty easy to tell that this will be one of the go-to shows of the Fringe; the type of show where I’d be happy to see a gap in that 10pm timeslot, in order to sneak in another glimpse of Marcel’s interviewing (and staring) action. And, given the near-capacity crowd tonight (thirty-ish – nearly all of them Marcel Lucont virgins), it’s going to be a pretty hot ticket – Saturday night’s show was sold out. And I would’ve given an arm and a leg to see Sunday night’s show (with Dave Callan and Stevl Shefn & Fatima).

Guest lineups are published here.

Adolf [FringeTIX]

Pip Utton @ Royalty Theatre

8:00pm, Fri 18 Feb 2011

Hiding away from the Parade side of the city, I thought it advantageous to catch the opening performance of Adolf; “that’s not like you,” said Guy Masterson when I saw him out the front of the Royalty, “picking up Preview tickets.”

Hey – whatever makes it fit :)

It’s certainly a provocative entrance to the Royalty – tall, long, red drapes with the unmistakable black-on-white swastika in the centre, in amongst the plush velour of the stage surrounds. As the house lights drop, the central swastika remains brightly lit and lingers a moment, before fading and allowing Pip Utton to take to the stage in darkness. The highlight almost feels like a dare; a challenge.

Set inside the Führer’s bunker just prior to his suicide, the staging is simple; the drapes, a desk, a chair. Utton initially sits at the desk, thumping it, enraged; it’s an image immediately familiar to anyone who has seen any of the Downfall meme videos on YouTube. And the first “act” of Adolf is very episodic; a chunk of internal monologue, as Hitler muses on his manipulations and abuse of power, followed by a scene where he speaks to his confidantes, his minions, his followers. Rinse, repeat.

The public-facing rhetoric is wonderfully done – these pieces always begin with really uplifting sentiments, ideas that you feel comfortable getting behind… before drifting into the xenophobic rantings which left me shuddering. But it’s the contrast between the internal and external monologues which impresses the most, with overt contradictions a-plenty – to his followers, Hitler assures that he has never broached any international agreement; internally, he muses “promises are for publication, not fulfilment”. The will of the people is also used as an assurance, and laughed off as a ploy.

The direction during this first act is magnificent, with Utton’s pacing and rage tempered and released with great timing. In his final hours, there’s some spectacular lighting where a low spotlight catches Hitler sitting at the desk and frames the shadow perfectly within the bounds of one of the swastika drapes, and there’s a fantastic echoing effect when Utton stands at the front of the stage, creating the impression that he’s delivering his dialogue to a teeming stadium of supporters. And Utton himself is utterly brilliant in his odd role. It’s all rather lovely…

…until the Fourth Wall breaks.

The second (much shorter) “act” is essentially a spoken word piece, where Utton drops out of character and freely ambles the stage, cracking jokes and conversing with the audience, whilst idly chatting about world affairs. This chat is really interesting in that it very much mirrors Hitler’s approach to his speeches; start with the reasonable and enthusiastic ideas, then drop in the hatred, the bigotry. Talk about the wonders of modern life, then toss in some anti-immigration, anti-terrorist bile. And, whilst there’s a feeling that this is all very clever, and very tongue-in-cheek, it also feels somewhat misdirected and confused; worse still, it makes me feel like I’m being lectured to. I’m being talked down to.

And – even more galling – that I’m not being credited with the intelligence to ascertain this information from the first “act” myself.

And I really, really don’t like that in my theatre.

There’s something deeply ironic about having an Englishman – and unfettered English accent – play Hitler; that decision, coupled with the excellent production of the performance, makes Adolf thoroughly worth viewing. But the rambling second act really put me off, and actually had me leaving the performance a little bit angry… having said that, I’ve since talked to people who had exactly the opposite reaction to me (hated the first act, loved the second), and those who were moved to tears by the second act. Looks like it’s just me with the problem, then.