Category: ff2013

[2013082] In Defence of Hipsters

[2013082] In Defence of Hipsters

Cobi Smith @ La Bohème

10:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

Me and hipsters, we’re not alike. I’m out of the normal hipster age-bracket, for one, and I’ve always associated hipsters with fixies… and fixies can fuck right off. There, I’ve said it. My hat is in the fixie political ring.

But, paranoid pessimist that I am, I’m always a little concerned that I’ve got things wrong… that maybe, in this case, my – distrust? snideness? – towards hipsters is undeserved. So, upon seeing the title of this show, I figured “why not – let’s educate myself.”

La Bohème had a really weird… well, unexpected vibe when I arrived. I’m used to the Friends-and-Family mood that permeates some shows, but this felt much more like a party where everyone knew each other – and, awkwardly enough, where I knew no-one. So when Cobi Smith – cute as a button and bubbly and with a huge generous smile – takes to the stage and announces that, at the strike of midnight, it will be her thirtieth birthday, it kinda made sense.

But I still felt like I was a stranger at someone else’s party.

Smith lamented her impending milestone – oh, you kids! – and mused on how this was the age at which she was expected to settle down… and then leapt into enthusiastic detail as to her upcoming work and travel plans (her personal and professional accomplishments are ridiculously enviable, having travelled the world and worked as a journalist, researcher, and translator). But she went on to describe the self-actualisation that occurred when she discovered that she was, by her own classification, a hipster.

Not a lot of evidence was given to back up her discovery; she left that to her friends, who essentially performed birthday speeches. Emily Steel spoke of Cobi’s love of crochet; Simon Pampena recounted tales of recyclables and bamboo toothbrushes. More friends spoke of her love of obscure music (yes, obscure even in Canberra), of drunken handbag shopping, of lazy board games, of Scrabble tile badges. Then a clutch of friends were dragged up onstage to improvise a scene from Smith’s life; it was a rabble, descending into a gaggle of laughter, but most of the crowd thought it was hilarious.

And that encapsulates the show as a whole, really. I could never shake the feeling that I had walked in on someone else’s party, like a friend of a friend of a friend of someone I didn’t know that well. And whilst Cobi comes across as incredibly likeable, I had no real connection to her: whilst others in the crowd could cackle about sideways references to That Time At That Party, it’s meaningless to me. I’m sure it was a great birthday bash for her, though.

[2013081] Laurie Anderson & Kronos Quartet

[2013081] Laurie Anderson & Kronos Quartet

Laurie Anderson & Kronos Quartet @ Festival Theatre

8:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

So… Kronos Quartet. Ever since a sample from Black Angels was used on Faith No More’s stunning Angel Dust, I’ve been giving Kronos more and more attention when we’ve crossed paths… and yet, the only work of theirs that I own is Howl, USA (Ginsberg’s Howl set to music). So when their name was mentioned at the Festival Launch, I was sold: it was time to give them their due, and tickets to both their shows were quickly snaffled.

As for Laurie Anderson… well, it’s fair to say that I knew of her, rather than about her… but, having dragged myself out of bed to see Anderson perform Duets on Ice on Friday morning (and having chatted with some long-time aficionados in the crowd at that event), I felt like I had a better handle on this multimedia performance artist’s work. And, quite frankly, the very idea of this collaboration had me quite excited.

But if there’s one thing that Landfall – this piece written by Anderson for Kronos – is not, it’s “exciting”. For the most part, it’s quiet: long sustained notes sitting down the low end of the frequency range, over which Anderson would contribute through voice (spoken, either natural or digitally distorted to a disturbing depth), iPad-triggered samples, or occasional electric violin. There’s precious few flourishes in the composition, with only rare moments for the Quartet to shine.

Behind the performers, a screen spanned the Festival Theatre stage; soft colours washed across it, but a few pieces featured Anderson’s text punctuating the screen, seemingly triggered by the Quartet’s instruments (or the product of impeccable timing). Like the music, however, the imagery isn’t impactful: it’s thoughtful, contemplative, almost meditative.

It’s ironic that, during a work inspired by the loss of Anderson’s possessions, my mind kept wandering away from the performance to my own possessions – I spent parts of the performance imagining where to work furniture in my home, or trying to figure out where my lost box of CDs was, or plotting the assault on my List of outstanding video games that needed my attention post-March. Only occasionally – usually triggered by Anderson’s percussion, or a harshly bowed cello or viola note – did I get dragged back into the moment, back to the reason I was sitting there in the first place.

Maybe that was just sleep deprivation having its wicked way with my attention span; maybe that was a genuine lack of connection. Whilst the fact that my eyelids grew heavy throughout the performance indicates the former, a sense of engagement usually helps overcome such issues… and that leaves me thinking that Landfall just didn’t work for me. And that’s a massive shame, because I was so looking forward to the performance…

[2013080] KnickKnack

[2013080] KnickKnack

Etched Dance Productions @ Adelaide College of the Arts – XSpace

6:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

Now, I love me some weirdness. I love it when productions get their abstraction hats on. It’s only rarely that I dislike someone’s genuine attempt to think outside the box.

But I’m still not quite sure how to take KnickKnack… because it’s walking a very fine line.

First impressions are pretty lousy: it seems the Etched Dance crew are trying to evoke the Mad Hatter with a curious chap introducing the notion of Tony… who is he? What is he? Does he even really exist? While this narrator prowls the floor, stumbling with his attempt at a lofty accent, two heads can be seen peeking through the curtains at the back of the stage… this is either unprofessional as fuck, I thought, or quite odd.

The heads belonged to two female performers, who subsequently burst onto the stage with exaggerated movements accompanied by non-stop non sequiturs. Their “dance” – and KnickKnack is, ostensibly, a dance performance – is bold and brash, with oodles of movement that could best be described as “colourful”.

And then Tony appears. He does exist, and he’s a banana. And he’s a morbid bugger: we’re all going to die sometime, he mopes, but he offers no insight or hope… Tony is, quite clearly, the counterpoint to the exuberance of Red and White (the female characters, who I think were supposed to be dolls).

And that’s KnickKnack in a nutshell. Effervescence on one hand, morbidity on the other, with the whole lot doused in a colourfully eccentric sauce. Nope, I’m still not sure about how to take KnickKnack. But I’m pretty sure that’s a Good Thing.

[2013079] Agnes of God

[2013079] Agnes of God

Blue Fruit Theatre Company @ Holden Street Theatres – The Arch

4:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

Itsoseng runs late, so it’s a mad dash to the tram stop, followed by a brisk walk to Holden Street. It’s also a bit of a sticky day, so I’m not entirely comfortable when settling into my front-row seat in The Arch.

Personal discomforts are forgotten when Agnes of God kicks off, however. A local adaptation of the Broadway play, it is a multilayered story centred on the “immaculate conception” of the titular Sister Agnes, a Novice nun whose steadfast belief in the beauty of the Almighty’s Creation is corralled by the abuse she suffered as a child. Simplistic and naïve, Agnes is convinced that the baby she carries was conceived by God alone; Dr Martha Livingstone, a psychiatrist concerned for Agnes’ wellbeing, sceptically prods for a more plausible reason for her pregnancy. Agnes’ Mother Superior, Miriam, tries to deflect any claims of impropriety, and defends the integrity of the Novice in her care, whilst constantly balancing her belief in miracles and the almost irrefutable proof that Agnes’ baby is not what she so desperately wants it to be.

The play flits scenes between scenes of the three women: Martha prying Agnes for the truth, Miriam challenging Martha’s lack of faith, and Agnes assuring Miriam of her righteousness. A large amount of the script is delivered through flashbacks (triggered by a character stepping into a spotlight), and it is loaded with threads of connections between the three women – the psychiatrist’s sister, Agnes’ mother, and Mother Superior’s sister all being named Maria was one overt example – and the use of metaphor is also less-than-subtle.

Michaela Burger’s role as Agnes is epitomised by two things: her angelic singing, imbuing Agnes with a sense of purity, is contrasted by her bone-cutting screams, which typically occur when Martha’s questioning starts insinuating that all is not as it seems. But whilst the first scream comes as a shock, their regularity makes the performance feel almost one-paced and predictable… one can almost plot a sawtooth graph of tension.

That’s not to say that Agnes of God is not good; it’s a meaty theatrical piece, with all three performers handling their roles well. But the predictability of the delivery detracts from the subject matter at hand, and unfortunately stops this production from reaching greater heights.

[2013078] Itsoseng

[2013078] Itsoseng

Omphile Molusi @ Space Theatre

2:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

As I’ve written many times before, matinées are like gold-dust at Festival time; this afternoon performance of Itsoseng was doubly attractive, given the short Q&A session with writer/performer Omphile Molusi beforehand. And despite the autobiographical nature of the performance, Molusi presents himself very differently to his character portrayal – quietly spoken and contemplative, he was always ready to delve into detail about his upbringing and career… but when he was asked the inspiration for Itsoseng – his now deceased friend that lives on in the play as Dolly – he became very, very guarded. I don’t know whether it was still an (understandably) emotional maelstrom, or whether he was protecting the patrons who would see the play later that day, but the clamming shut was very obvious.

We leave the Space after the Q&A session and return less than an hour later to find the stage dusted with sand and littered with trash, several pathways evident through the debris. We start late due to two older patrons who thought it’d be a great idea to nip outside to the bar for a drink just as the first-call buzzer was sounding; the germ of grumpiness that formed as a result was almost immediately dispelled when I discovered that there would be an Auslan interpreter during the performance (I love me some Auslan action).

Molusi enters the stage, and there’s hints of frustration in his actions; he is Mawilla, a young South African man returning to his home township of Itsoseng, only to find it in ruin and despair; the passing of the apartheid era has not had a positive impact on the community. He’s back to see his family, and the woman he adores; but societal changes have not been kind to any of his familiars, and his beloved Dolly’s path through life – a desperate, ruinous path – is more tragic than most.

Itsoseng‘s rhythms are odd: Molusi focusses on minutia, delicately painting vivid pictures through his dialogue, before skipping comparatively quickly over the human interactions that provide the backbone of the performance. And it is a lovely, touching tale… Mawilla’s love for Dolly is tangible, and the frustration he feels as a result of his inability to help her is raw. But the script is punctuated by almost orthogonal fractures where Molusi openly criticises the slow-moving and corrupt nature of South African politics; pertinent points, yes, but not at the expense of character development.

But the core story is still solid, and Molusi’s performance is headstrong and proud… though his accent threw me more than once, and I could’ve sworn Dolly was named Doo-lee. And I’m pretty certain he dropped into one of the other native languages of South Africa at several points… but I was too busy trying to discern the dialogue for myself to look at how the Auslan interpreter was coping. But the feeling of fragmentation and distraction within the script is hard to shake; I can’t help but think that cutting ten minutes of repeated political grandstanding would make this a much stronger piece.

[2013077] The Breakfast Club – Stand Up for the Early Risers

[2013077] The Breakfast Club – Stand Up for the Early Risers

Mickey D, Lindsay Webb, Hard Core Damo, Mark Trenwith, Scott Mangnoson, Stuart Goldsmith @ Nexus Cabaret

11:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

Look – it’s fair to say that mistakes were made. After last night’s Giovanni Experiment, the night bounced along at a rapid rate of knots until… well, morning came. And then I found myself, ticket in hand, trudging timidly towards the Nexus, head throbbing with the success of previous proclivities.

At least Mickey D and Boo were there to greet people at the door, ready to prop the adults up with coffee… which was very much appreciated. After a quick chat with Mickey D (always good for a natter), I navigated my way through the sea of bubbling kids (and less-than-bubbly parents) and took my seat to nurse my headache as far back in the Nexus as I could.

When I think of Mickey D, the first thing that springs to mind is his ice material – sharp and loud and profane as fuck – so it was a real surprise when he took to the stage and quickly won the younger audience over with a perfectly-pitched set of jokes that took the piss out of their parents. Sure, there was a lot of juvenile toilet humour in there… but this was the perfect audience for it. Who knew that the ultimate secret – that Mums fart too – would be so crowd-pleasing?

And as pleasantly surprised as I was regarding the host, the first guest comedian had me initially bemused – Lindsay Webb. Again, I think Webb is a fantastic comedian, with a motor-mouth and instantaneous comebacks, but to see him perform a G-rated five minutes whilst clearly suffering from a big night was a treat… even more so when he was momentarily speechless due to a relentless junior heckler.

Ah yes, Darcy – the unintentional extra cast member. Darcy had been discovered by Mickey D early on, and he was determined to play a role in the rest of proceedings. Whilst his exuberance – and innocence – was certainly charming as he peppered the performers with ADD-ish non sequiturial heckles, it made me wonder whether his inclinations now will evolve into last night’s boorish behaviour.

Anyway – Darcy heckled Webb, and his response to Webb’s comeback left Lindsay stunned with a mystified grin on his face. In an attempt to wrest back control of the situation, Webb asked Darcy what he wanted to be when he grows up: “a ninja.”

Glorious.

Webb made way for one of Hard Core Damo’s characters, Skitzy the Fisherman, who was accompanied by Pebbles the Dog Shark (Damo’s diminutive dog with a fin tied to his back). I can’t remember much of Damo’s material, because the screams of delight from the children as they laughed at Pebbles licking her own arse onstage drowned out the PA system.

Mr Snot-bottom – Mark Trenwith’s successful character – made an appearance, but the kids were still a little hyper after Pebbles’ antics to really concentrate on his work. A shame, really, because I think Snot-bottom is a great little crowd-pleaser in small doses. Scott Mangnoson’s magic was perhaps a little too subtle for the youngsters to latch on to (though a treat for this adult to ruminate on), and Stuart Goldsmith – who I’d not seen before – didn’t really seem to cater to the younger audience at all.

Mickey D rounded out his emcee duties by letting the kids in on a secret – “your parents are all going to buy you ice-cream after this show!” – before trying to win the adults back – “remember, KFC is bad for you: nuggets are deep-fried chicks.” And, in the end, The Breakfast Club managed to do the same thing that Huggers does: deliver a family-friendly comedy variety show. But an 11am start? Like I said at the top, mistakes were made.

[2013076] The Giovanni Experiment

[2013076] The Giovanni Experiment

Hew Parham @ La Bohème

10:00pm, Fri 1 Mar 2013

La Bohème is chockers for this opening night of The Giovanni Experiment, and there’s a bubbly sense of supportive excitement in the air; I get the feeling that a fair chunk of the crowd is family and friends, though I also spot a few media passes proudly worn. Luck sees us sharing a cocktail table in front of the bar stools on the side of the stage; friendly company at the table, and some clearly lubricated friends-of-the-show behind us.

Giovanni is an Italian waiter working in his mother’s floundering restaurant; in fact, he tells us, it’s their last night of business. People like us (he half-sneers, half-welcomes) don’t feel the need for traditional Italian cooking anymore… though the dishes he reels off sound comically tragic. And nor do we appreciate quality waiters… leading him to passionately describe his three years of training, which seemed to fixate on moustache grooming and the correct treatment of female patrons.

His moustache, it must be said, is splendid in its slickness, and his treatment of audience members also demonstrated a search for perfection, tainted by his exuberance. Giovanni is quite the stereotype, from his appearance down to the Italian-infused gibberish he rattles at a million-miles-an-hour (usually to his off-stage mother). When he’s not addressing the audience, he’s whisking up an increasingly messy meal, or slicking his hair back with olive oil, or setting a table in perfect sync with his backing music.

Hew Parham has already proven that he’s a great character comedian with his charming clown, Schmoo; Giovanni (who, at times, is extremely reminiscent of some of Schmoo’s antics) doesn’t falter in the slightest, with a strongly defined character that facilitates a lot of comic tomfoolery. The Giovanni Experiment was a comprehensive demonstration on how to do character comedy right…

…which is why it was all the more disheartening that one of the women sitting behind us was such a fucking shit-head. Early on in the performance, Giovanni had spent some time attending to the every need (especially in the vino department) of a gentleman in the front row (who happened to be sporting a media-badge – an amusing case of reviewer sycophancy, maybe?). Unfortunately, that seemed to set an expectation with the aforementioned woman that audience interjections were okay… and she was happy to oblige. I struggled to understand why she thought yelling out “show us your tits!” was so hilarious, let alone warranted… and when she not only received, but also made phone calls – “yeah, nah, I’m at a show… a show!” – it’s fair to say that there was more than a bit of unpleasantness in the air.

Hearing her argue with Hew and his director (Craig Behenna) after the show was even more demoralising; she was clearly known to them (a “friend” indeed), but for some reason she couldn’t seem to make them understand that her behaviour was helping the show out. I wonder why.

[2013075] Charles Barrington in one character or less

[2013075] Charles Barrington in one character or less

Charles Barrington @ The Tuxedo Cat – Alley Cat

8:30pm, Fri 1 Mar 2013

This Friday was, in retrospect, an exercise in too-tight scheduling: and, after Sylvie ran long, I wound up running from Festival Theatre up to TuxCat, ducking into the Alley Cat around ten minutes late. There was little more than a handful of other people in the room; Charles Barrington spotted me as I tried to slink in, and his dry admonishment encouraged the audience to turn and watch me enter the room.

“I apologise, Charles Barrington,” I offered as I slid into my seat.

He smiled: “Charles Barrington accepts your apology.”

It’s fair to say that not much has changed with Charles Barrington since I first met him. All the character traits are still there: the pompous sense of superiority, hidden behind ugly stubble and a suave seventies veneer, is still strangely endearing. Some of the material was familiar, too; his much-built-up bee joke was sadistically milked for laughs after an almost-too-long pause.

The other seven people in the audience – all in one social group – could have been the worst audience imaginable; they were more than happy to engage (or attempt to engage) in conversation with Charles Barrington, and provided an outspoken running commentary throughout. They could have been the worst audience… but, in the context of this performance, it totally worked. After Barrington expressed surprise that he failed to get an uproarious reaction from his bartender joke – “that joke was gold, my friends” – the immediate retort was “so – when does it start?” And when a joke died, Charles Barrington would address the group, and attempt to explain the joke… “no, we got it” they’d say, which had Barrington pausing momentarily before exploding “My name is Charles Barrington, goodnight!” and feigning his exit from the stage.

That happened about five times. And it kept getting more and more laughs.

On another night, I could imagine that this performance would be deemed the bombiest show that ever bombed… but there didn’t seem to be any animosity from the audience. And, even if they were laughing at the performer in Andy Rodgers (as opposed to his creation), Charles Barrington was more than happy to chuckle along… and that made it a comically surreal exercise in self-deprecation.

[2013074] 6000 Miles Away

[2013074] 6000 Miles Away

Sylvie Guillem @ Festival Theatre

7:00pm, Fri 1 Mar 2013

Prior to the 2013 Festival kick-off, a friend had asked me for recommendations; I had immediately raved about Sylvie, and pointed her to my previous encounter with Guillem. My friend read my post, and returned unconvinced: “You say she’s an amazing dancer, but that her solos were boring?” Surprised by the comment, I re-read my recollections, and the memories came flooding back: yes, indeed, Sylvie’s solos in Sacred Monsters had felt… well, slow. A supreme demonstration of bodily control, to be sure, but…

From my near-optimal position, the Festival Theatre stage was a yawning chasm, and the opening piece of 6000 Miles Away (and the only piece to not feature Guillem) feels quite empty as a result. 27’52” sees dancers Václav Kuneš and Nataša Novotná cover the space with distinctly balletic movements and structures, with stark lighting creating curious cohorts in shadows. But the precision of their performance lacks a human element; it’s dry to watch, and even the use of shadow (and an occasional bared breast) doesn’t really entice me.

Sylvie Guillem performed alongside Massimo Murru in Rearray, a far more attractive piece that again exudes the precision of ballet. But, in comparison to 27’52”, it’s a much more approachable affair; there’s a bit more fragility on show, and I was actually engaged by their interactions.

But the highlight of the program was Guillem’s solo piece, Bye. Performed amidst a series of screens carrying various projections, the timing required to carry out the movements was just amazing: Guillem would fly across the space to fling an arm behind one of the screens, only for a different arm to be projected in her absence. And whilst the technological aspect of the piece was certainly impressive, it took nothing away from Sylvie’s performance; once again, her sense of control was nigh-on unbelievable… and the definition of her lower legs was amazing.

And yet, despite the strong finish in Bye, I don’t mind admitting that I left Festival Theatre feeling a little disappointed. Make no mistake, there was a technical mastery of the human machine (by all the dancers) that was almost beyond compare… but the lack of an emotional connection to the work left me flat. Once again, I can trot out my familiar “I don’t know anything about dance” line, but all I can say is this: Skeleton had me leaping to my feet in delight. 6000 Miles Away didn’t.

[2013073] Stuperstition

[2013073] Stuperstition

Stuart Lightbody @ Holden Street Theatres – The Studio

5:00pm, Fri 1 Mar 2013

I feel like I’ve seen a lot more magic performers in the last couple of years, and whilst I’ve not got to the stage where I can recognise how we – the audience – are being fooled, I’ve become… well, a little blasé about the usual tricks. Weary, even.

So why did I find myself at yet another magic show, then? Because I was on the hunt for something different, something new… something vital. And, after a slightly stiff opening, Stuart Lightbody warmed the small and sceptical crowd with smooth banter and a likeable personality; he trotted out a few well-worn tricks and I sighed a little inside. Oh dear, I thought: more of the same.

But then he demonstrated how the tricks were done.

Hmmm, I thought as I sat up straighter, that is indeed different.

And that’s Lightbody’s hook: he mixes his subversive magic with overt explanations, and attacks the unscientific and paranormal with a rational mind. He cracks jokes about astrology before cold-reading an astonished audience member, using just her zodiac designation; he talks about the law of large numbers whilst tearing homeopathy apart and overdosing on sleeping pills; and there’s a fantastically funny piece where he makes balls of tissue disappear from in front of the increasingly incredulous audience member parked onstage. Those in the crowd were treated to a demonstration of just how easy it is to distract a mark as Lightbody casually tossed the tissue behind him, a colourfully stark demonstration within the inky blackness of The Studio.

But then there’s the flat-out unexplainable: the swallowed needles, threaded onto a piece of cotton – surely an exercise in sleight-of-hand. Card visualisations from afar – surely marked cards? Or reflections? More cold readings of people’s faces – and I’m completely lost. I have no idea how he’s performing some of his psychological tricks, and his assurances that there’s a rational explanation for this witchcraft fail to convince.

Most of all, however, Lightbody carries the show with a refreshingly approachable personality: well-spoken in a charming accent that’s more British than South African, his affable nature is immediately endearing. That he feigns to show you how his tricks are performed is a potent hook, and his purported skepticism is just icing on the cake; but he’s also a bloody good magician, and these ingredients all combine to create a compelling performance.

[2013072] Huggers – The Family Friendly Comedy and Cabaret Show

[2013072] Huggers – The Family Friendly Comedy and Cabaret Show

Nik Coppin, Nick the Bubble, Sullivan and Bok, Benny B @ Austral Hotel – The Bunka

3:15pm, Fri 1 Mar 2013

I was really wary of booking anything too early on the day after a Barrio Preview Night… whilst there was not as much damage done to one’s liver (or brain, or relationships) as at the 2013 drink-fest Preview, it was certainly a struggle to drag myself to a mid-afternoon Huggers session – the hangover, it was a-thumpin’. Lemon, lime, and bitters was the best I could manage.

Another show in Nik Coppin’s ensemble stable, Huggers is the family-friendly version of his Shaggers compendium (which is always a suitably crude way to round off a day); this Friday arvo, however, the crowd was sparse, with a quiet collection of four families (a total of eight or nine kids) in attendance… which left my Event Buddy and I feeling a teensy bit out of place.

Nik’s affable manner eventually warms the (initially) frost crowd, and his bribery techniques – throwing sweeties into the crowd to encourage some sugar-loading from the kids – was accompanied by his usual Anglophilic anti-Aussie cricketing jibes. Nick the Bubble (from Nick Brothers Family Show Hooray) was the first guest of the afternoon, and proved a gentle start with some kid-friendly magic… more cups and balls, culminating with a coconut reveal that caused some wide-eyed astonishment from the younger audience members.

It’s fair to say that Sullivan and Bok were absolutely brilliant with the kids, firing them up with a bit of Marco Polo (milking it for all the pantomimic goodness they could get!). Bok played the straight-person like the best teacher ever, and Sullivan’s surreal insanity seemed to mesh with the children’s imagination… the audience was positively bubbling at the end of their performance.

Benny B from Snarp! wrapped up proceedings: “why is the man in a pink leotard?” queried a girl in the audience of her mother, but no answer was forthcoming. But Benny B backed up his ludicrous appearance with some great juggling (especially the cigar box juggling) and some truly terrible puns that split the adults and kids in exactly the right way.

So while this episode of Huggers didn’t quite match the glorious variety of last year’s effort, it certainly provided more than a few grins… and a chance to ease away the hangover.

[2013071] Doku Rai

[2013071] Doku Rai

Black Lung Theatre @ Queen’s Theatre

8:30pm, Thu 28 Feb 2013

I was utterly thrilled to see Black Lung lauded in the launch for the 2013 Festival; their presence in the 2007 Fringe was massive, with both awards and audience plaudits richly deserved. More of the same with a Festival budget? Oh, yes please, I thought to myself.

After seeing The Smile Off Your Face earlier in the day, and having just been amazed by Skeleton, I was positively giddy walking into Queen’s Theatre; a drink from the bar, ten minutes exalting the previous performance’s virtues to some friends, and I felt on top of the world. The promise of a Black Lung head-fuck almost felt like too much goodness for one day.

Wandering into the performance space, I suffered an odd flashback to 2000’s Ur/Faust – there was smoke a-plenty, with a large temporary seating area that was springy underfoot. Comfy cushions were offset by a lack of backrests, but we’re buffeted by a band (Galaxy) rocking away at the back of the set (which is a murky collection of drapes and plantlife and canoes and not-much-light).

The house fills, the band stops playing, and there’s an awkward moment as they clear offstage and make room for the first act. It’s delivered in a mix of English and (presumably) a language native to East Timor (Tetun? it sure didn’t sound like Portuguese), with surtitles occasionally visible through the smoke, projected onto various pieces of the set. The inconsistent nature of the surtitles (and the muffled sound from the performers themselves) made following Doku Rai a bit of a chore; the eye would have to peer through the haze to try and locate translations somewhere new (and on several occasions I searched in vain for the text, only to realise that my lugs had mislead me, and that the muted speech had been English the whole time).

But it’s an engaging tale… in the beginning. One young man is bullied and harangued by his older brother; in desperation, he seeks to have his sibling murdered. After witnessing the violent death, the younger brother is then startled to see his elder return from the dead… only to be killed again, and again, and again, with the subsequent slayings becoming almost farcical – a joke unto themselves. The fact that the younger brother insists on the deaths being recorded on video creates a dark sense of bemusement; this carries over into some of the other characters’ interactions with the dead man walking.

The unexpected stage presence of a live rooster caused one of my neighbours (who, it turned out, is ornithophobic) to noticeably tense… which is a far stronger emotional response than the work ever caused me. Because at the end of the performance, I was left befuddled: was there a point to all of this? If so, did the production fail to make it, or did I just miss it? Whilst I could appreciate the production values of the piece – some of the staging, including the gorgeously constructed bath scene, was hauntingly dream-like – they felt largely inconsequential; the story of Doku Rai could have survived just as well without the complex and ever-evolving set, the elaborate-without-a-need lighting, and even the live band.

The closing moments of the performance – when the entire cast gather onstage to sing whilst video footage of the work’s East Timor development was played – suggests that there was a lot of effort behind the production. It certainly seems to treat the native culture with a great deal of respect, and delves deeply into native mythology… but the end result somehow feels shallow.

There was precious little detail of Doku Rai‘s content on hand at the 2013 Festival launch event, and – in retrospect – the cynic in me should have picked up on that; the whole thing reeks of a production where a bunch of money has been committed to the project without any real expectations of outcomes. Sadly, it really felt as if this mega-co-production was given enough rope to hang itself.

[2013070] Skeleton

[2013070] Skeleton

Larissa McGowan (and company) @ AC Arts Main Theatre

7:00pm, Thu 28 Feb 2013

At the launch event for the 2014 Adelaide Festival (which, at the time I type this, was just over two weeks ago), I bumped into a new friend from this year’s Festival; she mentioned that she’d been reading this blog every day (thanks!), but asked why I hadn’t kept writing.

The answer (which I never got around to telling her at the time) is, quite simply, “Skeleton.” This show.

Because there’s no way I can possibly convey what I felt during and after this show; there’s no way I can describe how it affected me. My word-writing skills, they ain’t that good… and yet, I want to try. I really want to impress upon the reader how totally fucking amazing this performance was: how gobsmacked it left me, how much I wanted to rave about it to anyone who would listen, and… well…

…see? I feel utterly incapable of writing about its impact on me. But what I can write about is what I expected… and what I saw.

Anyone who has engaged in conversation with me about the Australian Dance Theatre over the last couple of years has instantly regretted it; my (increasingly irrational) disappointment in their output manifests itself as a boorish outspokenness. But one positive constant throughout recent ADT performances has been the presence of Larissa McGowan; far from the ever-so-slight stereotypical dancer, her Amazonian physique exudes strength – whilst her movements still revel in grace and finesse. So when Skeleton was announced as her first independent work, I was anxious to see what she would conjure up outside of the technological constraints of the ADT.

So I was initially a little nonplussed when the piece opened with a series of person-sized screens (like mobile office partitions) steadily crossing the performance space, constant velocity their only virtue. But then the screens started leaving behind dancers: clad in simple grey garb, they’d sneak onstage under the cover of the screens, hold a pose or commit to a small movement, before disappearing from the stage behind another screen.

The effect is… well, magical. The understated nature of the movements – both human and mechanical – assures me that this is no ADT-style technological tour de farce.

And then Objects start appearing, their pure-white presence a stark contrast to the inky blackness of the space and the grey-and-tan of the performers. A shoe appears from behind a screen; a skateboard rolls into the dancers’ interactions. A bike becomes a focal point. The threatening presence of baseball bat matches the unsettling soundtrack of samples from movies; the audio verges on the discordant throughout, with the end result being an edgy undercurrent of violence.

Whilst the movements of the dancers spans the range from ballet to pop’n’lock, Skeleton also has a couple “gimmicks”. The aforementioned screens frame the performance, and even when they’re static – most notably during the kicking sequence – their presence still defines the space, providing a contrast to the engagement of the dancers. But the most startling gimmicks are the Objects: their pure white appearance gives the impression that they are made of plaster… an impression that is validated when they eventually shatter.

And those moments – those shattering moments – are real technical standouts. Whether it’s a skateboard snapping in two, or a t-shirt on a dancer in motion, every breakage seems perfectly timed. I honestly have no idea how some of those moments were controlled; in particular, after tensions simmered within a protracted atmosphere of violence, the dancers stop mid-move, and turn in unison to look at a bicyle at the back of the stage… they hold the pose for a perfectly weighted beat, and the bike snaps in two. Retrospectively, it seems like a bizarre series of events, but it triggered something in my mind that has been haunting me ever since.

But even without the gimmicks, Skeleton was still utterly compelling. The physicality of McGowan’s troupe brings a real sense of power to the stage, engaging me on a visceral level; the fact that the soundtrack of the performance was unnervingly discordant, and that the gimmicks were so stunningly effective, was super-delicious icing on an already glorious cake.

As with the Ennio Morricone event last year, at the end of the performance I was suddenly up on my feet, clapping and wooting as loudly as I could. It’s only the second time ever that I’ve (intentionally) given any performance a standing ovation, but – once again – I found it absolutely inconceivable that I could not be on my feet. Skeleton was a contemporary dance masterpiece that engaged me more than any other performance in the last half-a-decade… and, what’s more, it encouraged me to believe that there is a viable intersection between dance and technology.

[2013069] The Smile Off Your Face

[2013069] The Smile Off Your Face

Ontroerend Goed @ State Theatre Company Rehearsal Room

2:00pm, Thu 28 Feb 2013

At the Festival Launch last October, I was delighted to see that Ontroerend Goed were bringing a trio of their immersive performance art pieces to the Adelaide Festival; they were the first three tickets I actually bought. And so it was that I was in the first group of people for the first performance of The Smile Off Your Face; poor timing (and a sleepy haze) saw me running stupidly early, the first to arrive at the little waiting area just inside the Playhouse. A lovely chat with the Festival staff, some friendly words with the other five patrons who turned up (none of whom had taken part in this performance before), and before I knew it I was descending the steps on my way to the STC Rehearsal Room with another punter… the first two people to participate in the 2013 revision of The Smile Off Your Face.

After an amiable chat as we sat across from each other in the low light of the “waiting area” prior to the Smile experience, I offered the woman who had come down with me the first spot; I’ve already experienced this performance, I told her, and I playfully ignored her curious queries as to the nature of the piece. And, as I watched one of the Ontroerend Goed crew quietly bring in a wheelchair and gently introduce themselves to my fellow audience member, the memories came flooding back: The wheelchair. The blindfold.

The binding of the hands.

Oh shit – the binding of the hands. “There’s going to be some light bondage” – that’s what had been whispered in my ear five years ago, and I started remembering the mild sense of (eventually) swallowed panic that had accompanied the initial engagement… and all the other memories that had been rattling around my skull (which were more feelings and broad features, rather than minute details) disappeared in a rush of apprehension.

But I was soon in the wheelchair myself. Comfortable… familiar. The blindfold… yep, I’m good. The binding of the hands again… my heart flutters a little, and I take a deep breath as my wheelchair is pushed, swung around corners…

…and then I hear a looped snippet of PJ Harvey’s Catherine (from one of my favourite albums ever), and I’m instantly at ease.

Just like last time.

So much of the experience is familiar: I’m still lured into a world defined by my lesser-used senses. I drink in the ambient noises that accompany Polly Jean, hearing the woman that preceded me in the temporal distance; I’m left alone just long enough for me to start wondering whether (maybe) I’d been forgotten. The nose-rubbing with (what turned out to be) the “bearded” bloke; taking the left side on the bed again (some habits die hard), with a sensuous female voice whispering in my ear. The tactile double entendre of the carrot and red-lace of Saint Nick… and then the denouement.

The “bearded” man greeted me again, and showed me the Polaroid taken earlier, just after I’d been pushed up against a wall; the photo showed a genuinely happy version of Me, grinning whilst craning to hear sounds. But then he looked at me, just prior to the finale; “I like your smile,” he said.

“I’ve done this before,” I pre-empted. “I know this is the part that fucks me up.”

He faintly nodded and smiled in acknowledgement, and that caused me to grin, too. He seized the opportunity – “hold that smile,” he insisted, before the tears started rolling down his cheeks as my wheelchair was pulled away, his arm outstretched towards me.

And, once again, I was left emotionally mangled by the experience. Once again, I walked away from the venue elated and shattered and spent, grinning and aching and silently delighted that I got to go through That Experience… again.

But, as I walked up the stairs of the Festival Centre, I suddenly remembered that I’d done this before. I’d written about this before. Out came the phone as I stood mid-flight and compared notes… and I was genuinely surprised to see how much I have changed… and how much Smile has stayed the same. The similarities and changes in my reactions.

By seeing The Smile Off Your Face a second time, not only was I subjected to a wonderful piece of performance art, but I was also shown my own growth… and that, in itself, makes for a pretty amazing – and deeply personal – experience.

[2013068] Ex-German

[2013068] Ex-German

Paco Erhard @ Gluttony – The Pig Pen

10:45pm, Wed 27 Feb 2013

After last year’s curious 5-Step Guide to Being German, I figured Paco Erhard was worth another shot; I figured that if he got rid of the flat spots in that show, he’d wind up with a pretty well-balanced hour of comedy.

What I didn’t realise is that 5-Step Guide was a show that Erhard had already spent a lot of time polishing… and this show – by his own admission – was new. Fresh. Unpolished.

Unfinished.

Erhard opens up by explaining the central premise of the show – he’s getting older, he’s falling in love, and he’s starting to find kids cute (in a ticking-paternal-clock kind of way). But there’s little real connection between these feelings and the short jokes & experiential stories that he tells; but he always returns to that core, falling back by imagining whether the previous tale was something he’d want to teach his (future) son.

…and it’s always his son – never any mention of a potential daughter. And I found something about that to be quite grating.

Erhard also espouses liberal values, but the words never really seem to be convincing – especially when he veers into religion. There’s some international-comic observances of Australia, and some swipes at Julia Gillard that seemed to go nowhere; it was almost as if he backed off before his comments could possibly cause offence… or, for that matter, humour. And some of his decisions seemed really odd – he seemed to tiptoe around any kind of profanity, then – apropos of nothing – drops a c-bomb in the middle of an innocuous line… one of the two women in the audience was taken aback and gasped in surprise.

It must be difficult for a comic to perform in front of a quiet crowd of a dozen, but I’ve been to many shows where performers have connected to the crowd in a personal way, leading to a fantastic experience for those in attendance. Erhard failed to do that this evening; there was no attempt to engage with the audience at all as he trotted through his disparate set… it almost felt like a scattergun approach to comedy. And without that engagement, this performance just felt incredibly uninspired.