Category: ff2013

[2013022] Like a Fishbone

Early Worx in theatre and art @ Higher Ground East – Main Theatre

7:30pm, Sun 17 Feb 2013

I was really disappointed when I heard of Higher Ground’s Light Square closure last year; notwithstanding the generally amiable vibe of the place, it was also home to Guy Masterson’s Centre for International Theatre project – and the generally high-quality drama that it tended to present. So I was a bit surprised to see the Higher Ground name reappear in the Fringe Guide… but all the more delighted to wander in for the first time. Rough hewn walls, artwork hanging, makeshift bar… it felt right.

I spot Jane for the first time this season and have a nice little chat; upstairs to the Main Theatre, we perch on bar stools at the back of a decent-sized crowd. Amy Victoria Brooks is waiting onstage when we arrive, hidden beneath a dark shroud at the edge of the space; centre-stage is a prominent model of a small village on a table. The house lights (almost imperceptibly, given the ambience) drop, and Shannon Mackowski primly bustles in; startled by the presence of the figure in the shroud, the play is off to a nervously tense start.

Mackowski plays The Architect, charged with creating a memorial in remembrance of a school shooting in a small village (which, given the Sandy Hook tragedy occurred after Fringe submissions closed, demonstrates the unfortunately evergreen relevance of Anthony Weigh’s play). Brooks plays The Mother of one of the the slain children – and she, in her physically frail and partially blind state, has come to The Architect to plead for the memorial to be scrapped. The two women appear to be polar opposites – one earthy and maternal, the other polished and cold; emotive versus rational. The reasoned pleas and explanations give way to more passionate accusations and spirited defences as the time for formal presentation of the model of the memorial draws close; The Architect’s Intern (Rebecca Calandro) provides some (almost unwanted) light relief as feelings escalate, before a surprisingly violent turn of events – and a cold, fractured denouement.

Both Mackowski and Brooks really deliver the goods with their roles; Shannon’s character is utterly focussed and dedicated to her work, her irritation with the presence of The Mother evident with every punctuative “yes?” – less a question, more a dismissal. The Mother is a portrait of the struggling faithful; frail and emotionally battered, Brooks lets the religious devotion of her character appear desperate and broken… and that’s very much in keeping with the undertones of the piece, which seem to contemplate the role of religion in the spiritual destruction of the town. The direction of the play is… well, curious: with the model of the memorial dominating the centre of the stage, there’s three very well defined spaces which seem to reflect the leaning of the play’s wavering sentiment at any given point in time: left for the rational, right for the emotive, front-and-centre for the combative.

I really enjoyed Like a Fishbone, but it’s not beyond criticism. As Jane points out, The Architect and The Mother are both pretty highly strung from the moment we first meet them… and when the physical struggle between them occurs, it seems to spring from nowhere. The initial tension between the two women doesn’t really get the opportunity to appear to escalate, so the attack seems sudden and unnecessary – yes, there’s the urgency of The Architect to get to her presentation, but it still feels unbelievable.

Worse, though, was the noise bleed in the venue. With word-of-mouth spreading about Little Miss Mexico, the pop-up bar’s patrons raucous noise tumbled through the walls to provide an unwanted distraction. Despite the ratcheted tension of Like a Fishbone, it’s a play that would benefit from the silences between the lines – and they simply weren’t available during this performance.

But hey – that’s the Fringe for you. And, despite the obstacles, this proved to be quality Fringe theatre – a heady production given weight by two substantial performances.

[2013021] Sullivan and Bok

Claire Sullivan and Lauren Bok @ Austral Hotel – Red Room

6:00pm, Sun 17 Feb 2013

I’m the first to admit that, sometimes, my processes aren’t perfect… and this was demonstrated when I looked at my collection of tickets for the day and discovered that the show that my scheduling spreadsheet assured me was at 6:15pm was actually an hour later. Thus, that show was dropped, and a hole in my schedule needed to be filled; I checked the timeline and found another shortlisted show – one I’d originally slated for later in the Fringe – and made my way to the Austral.

I grabbed a ticket at the door, and was directed to the upstairs bar to await the readiness of the show; I grabbed a beer and collapsed on the lounge, happy for the opportunity to make some notes. After a few minutes I see a blonde woman walking towards me with a nervous smile: “Hi,” she said, “are you here to see a show?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Are you here to see my show?”

“If you are either a ‘Sullivan’ or a ‘Bok’, then yes.”

And that’s how I met Lauren Bok, who went on to explain that I was the only ticket-holder for the evening’s performance – “we’re happy to give you a freebie for another night,” she suggested, “or we can do the show anyway.”

I trot out my usual lines – my schedule is ever-so-busy, I’d really prefer to see the show now if at all possible, but I understand if it’s too uncomfortable for you to perform to an audience of one. Bok assures me they’re happy to perform to an audience of any size, and as we start amiably chatting (after being joined by Claire Sullivan) a man wanders into the bar… and his face looks familiar. It takes a few seconds for me to recognise Lachlan, who used to live in my building – Adelaide! – and who had also just purchased a ticket for the show.

So with two paying customers – and friend Hayley Brennan, another comedian – forming an audience, we all bundled into the Red Room full of good humour and cheer. Lachlan and I spaced ourselves out comfortably in the second row – the front row is just too close to the stage of the Red Room – whilst Sullivan and Bok conferred in whispers at the back of the room. Suddenly they configure themselves in a bizarre horse-riding configuration that has Sullivan riding Bok to the stage as they both bluster their way through the “to be or not to be” soliloquy from Hamlet, before disintegrating into a game of Marco Polo – a decidedly odd start to proceedings.

Claire eventually takes a seat at the back of the room, leaving Lauren solo onstage to perform some (comparatively!) conventional standup – and it’s pretty good stuff, as she presents the origins of her surname before moving onto quirky tales from her retail work. A cigar-box ukelele makes an appearance for a great short song, before Sullivan’s reappearance is preceded by a curious video of the techie’s cats – or so we are told.

Sullivan’s solo piece was… well, fucking bizarre. “I love Adelaide,” she begins – before emphasising “Antelaide.” Thereafter followed a spiral into a philosophical discussion questioning whether ants had thoughts, before she encouraged us to all wear party hats to mimic unicorns, and concluded her set by creating a chair tunnel and crawling underneath us.

There’s no denying the fact that the combination of Bok and Sullivan is a marriage of the straight-(wo)man and the utterly bizarre – they admit as much in their précis. And on the basis of the material (and style! and class!) they showed a tiny audience tonight, they could very well be the next Cloud Girls… and that means they’ll most definitely hold a place on my “must see” list.

[2013020] Low Hanging Fruit

Nat Jane Productions @ The Soul Box

4:30pm, Sun 17 Feb 2013

There’s a small (but enthusiastic) crowd gathered for this performance of Low Hanging Fruit; it also marked my first visit to The Soul Box, which provides performers with a wide, shallow stage. The set is simple: a row of desks and three chairs, along with perfunctory props to create the feel of an office environment.

This is a branch of the Gibbons & Lipshutt recruitment agency, and we’re initially introduced to the green Jason, who awkwardly bumbles through his management of jobseeker Ruby via the office operations manual. Slick Seth soon enters, sweeps Ruby into his care with a cool indifference, and – after promising her the world and dismissing her from the office – proceeds to berate Jason, comparing his junior’s lack-of-achievement to his own checklist of wins… Seth, it seems, can do it all, whether it be in the workplace or bedding women, and he’s clearly the top dog in the office.

When the more sedate (but work-focussed) Hannah enters the office, and it is revealed that one of the three workers will be retrenched at the end of the week, the potential for a backstabbing triangle develops; Seth naturally feels that he has nothing to worry about, with his natural charm and paternal influence on the Gibbons & Lipshutt directors. Hannah, who needs the position to sponsor her visa, is in a more delicate predicament, and Jason’s dweebishness naturally marks him as the odd one out. But Seth “loses” his mobile phone with all his work contacts, preventing him from closing any deals; when Jason finds the phone, and uses the information therein to increase his KPIs, the tables are decisively turned.

And that last element is really troubling to me; normally, I’m all in favour of the underdog, but Low Hanging Fruit seems to be espousing the idea that Jason’s theft of Seth’s phone & wallet in order to climb up the corporate ladder was fine; that cheating is a legitimate way to the top. And maybe that’s the point of the play… but it’s a bloody unpalatable point.

But that’s not the only problem with the play: whilst Stephen Coutts is wonderfully slimy as Seth, he doesn’t receive much support – and Amy Gubana is criminally underused as Ruby. The dialogue is rarely convincing, the comic moments raise groans rather than chuckles, and the songs – yes, there’s the occasional musical sojourn – feel cheesy, and are infrequent enough to genuinely bemuse when they appear.

It’s a shame, really – despite the interesting motivational triangle that is set up by the play, nothing really seems to work, and I end up leaving the performance thinking that I never want to encounter any of these unlikeable characters again. And, combined with the lacklustre presentation, it’s hard to take anything positive out of the experience.

[2013019] The Art of Letting Go

Rachel Collis @ The Promethean

2:00pm, Sun 17 Feb 2013

It’s a ridiculously hot day, and the trek out to visit Dad in hospital (a couple of bus trips with some awkward waits) has been draining – it’s that energy-sapping type of heat. So when I enter the Promethean (after a quick wander through the soulless Depot venue), I make a bee-line for the bar – it’s mojito time. The guys behind the bar are only too happy to go old-school with a twist on the beverage – hand-crushed mint and ice, with a contemporary twist of ginger ale to top up the drink. It’s an absolute delight, dry and refreshing, and I nurse it as I take my place in the small and scattered crowd.

Rachel Collis – who I’d inadvertently met the previous day when she’d been flyering in the Market – is delectably clad in reds and blacks, and she plays piano and sings tales of her life without further accompaniment. Not that any is needed: her voice is gorgeous, with clean notes covering a wide range, and she tends to favour the left side of the piano – which is just fine by me, with rumbling bass notes often providing a perfect backdrop for near-gutteral growls (or contrasting high wails).

The melodies and structures of her self-penned songs are pleasing, but the lyrical content caused me a few moments of consternation – mainly because Collis managed to ensnare me in a siren-like manner early on, and then proceeded to sing about how completely and utterly happy she was being married. And that is… well, a little unfair, really. And whilst the sentiments in her more contemplative songs are honest and heartfelt and quite lovely (Ever After and Pour Me a Glass of Wine spring to mind), the lyrical frameworks around her “edgier” songs feel a little shakier: I’m not completely convinced she’s confident singing about being unable to see her own pubes, or Pablo the Brazilian Waxer, and the Facebook Friend song feels forced.

Maybe that’s because of Collis’ upbringing – some of us have wrangled words and flitted with filth openly for years, whereas I’m guessing things may have been a little more refined in young Rachel’s formative home. But the occasional dubious lyrical structure isn’t enough to detract from the rest of the performance – and when Collis hunches over and really attacks those bass notes, it’s a thing of beauty… even if I’m still miffed about the whole being-married bait-and-switch ;)

[2013018] Naked Unicorn Vomit

Nicole Henriksen @ Gluttony – The Runt

11:30pm, Sat 16 Feb 2013

A lot of things can attract me to a show. Sometimes it’s a known name, sometimes it’s a well-written (or just plain quirky) précis. And sometimes it’s a great show title.

I mean, Naked Unicorn Vomit. It’s perfect.

But I’ve no idea what to expect from the show itself – apart from “comedy”, that is. I’ve no idea who Nicole Henriksen is, I’ve no idea why she would plan such a short run of gigs. And I’ve got absolutely no idea why anyone would choose to use The Runt as a venue. It’s a horrid little space – a shipping container, 24 seats, a bench, and a sense of claustrophobia like no other venue.

And when Nicole Henriksen bursts into the venue, it’s pretty clear that she’s giving it everything she’s got – she’s bubbly and enthusiastic, with her high energy levels almost too much for the tiny venue. Her character sketch comedy is a little up-and-down, with an uncomfortable audience not really granting a lot of leeway to technical issues (as videos and songs occasionally go awry), but it’s the kind of stuff that leaves me smiling.

The opening character, Nicole Henriksensen, delivers some stand-up that falls a little flat, but the appearance of UK pop songstress Big Yellow Button (“Hit the button… the Big Yellow Button!”) really opened things up – her minimalist Why’d You Break Up With Me (or somesuch) was brilliant, with some really clever callback structures. Ex-talk-show host (and hopeless showbiz addict) NK was next, a gigglingly confused mess of a character, before things wrapped up with MC Misogynist and his eponymous songs like I Fucked Your Mum.

I quite enjoyed Naked Unicorn Vomit. Whilst the material overall was a bit patchy, the highs were most definitely quality material – and Henriksen is still young, with plenty of time to hone her craft. When I talked to her after the show (and many times in the days thereafter), she was adamant that this short run of shows was a great experience, and massively beneficial; I’ll certainly be keeping my eye out for her in the future.