Category: ff2013

[2013067] Sam Simmons – Shitty Trivia

Sam Simmons @ The Garden of Unearthly Delights – Romantiek

8:45pm, Wed 27 Feb 2013

My Sam Simmons experiences have been occasionally rocky over the years… but I’ve gradually learnt to avoid his shows early in their season, allowing him to settle the act a little – to maximise the chance of a Good Show. That’s the only thing that stops me from inking Simmons in on opening night every year.

But… I still find myself a little wary going into one of his shows, wondering whether it’s going to be a polished gem or a Melbourne Testing Ground. And the fact that Simmons has become ridiculously popular over the years doesn’t help: the audiences that are attracted to him aren’t the crowds I usually like to share an audience space with. But this evening’s crowd were in a good-natured and bubbly mood, and – flying solo – I managed to snaffle a seat in the front row, right in front of Simmons’ lectern.

Simmons receives a rapturous welcome, and… well, it’s a Sam Simmons show. He’s loud and abrupt, surreal and non sequiturial. There didn’t seem to be as many “pre-recorded thoughts” as in other shows, however, and this is the first time I can remember Simmons asking an audience member onstage – dozens of people immediately offered their help, and all (but one) would’ve been relieved when they saw what happened to the “lucky” Jesse. He spent most of the show sitting onstage, facing the audience, wearing the ceremonial Meat Hat and looking at Simmons’ back, with no real involvement in the majority of the material.

I still love Simmons’ sense of surrealism and attitude onstage… there’s a little aloofness towards his doting crowd, but he’s not afraid to knock himself down a peg or two – his worryingly small “Little Fuck Captain” t-shirt is testament to that. And, whilst the show had a central thread of Simmons’ Shitty Trivia (a series of cards with jokey questions – the audience would try to answer them, but Sam’s required responses were either ridiculously abstract or obscenely poor puns), there were still the callback non sequiturs – Mysterious Shoe was a cracker. Simmons also launched into a couple of his longer rants, with the highlight targeting the pop obsession with food: food-based TV programmes copped a little flack, but the bulk of his ire was reserved for people who quit their jobs to become full-time foodies.

But, to cut a long story short: was Shitty Trivia an instance of Good Sam Simmons or Bad Sam Simmons?

Most definitely the former… unless you foolishly volunteered to “help” Simmons out onstage.

[2013066] Frank Woodley & Simon Yates – Inside

Frank Woodley & Simon Yates @ The Garden of Unearthly Delights – Romantiek

7:30pm, Wed 27 Feb 2013

I was initially torn when I read the précis for Inside – whilst I will happily fling money at the Acrobat crew (with whom Simon Yates has worked in the past), I was wary of the association of Frank Woodley – the only time I’ve seen him in the past proved so disappointing that I’ve dared not waste another hour on his work. But the initial buzz around this show was positive, and a good friend assured me that I’d find something of interest in the performance; a quick dash in from my previous show saw me at the end of a long, snaking queue outside the Romantiek, leading to a seat well back in the crowd.

First impressions of the set were oppressive; there’s no overt humour to be found there, with a grim and spartan prison cell enclosed defined by an open-fronted wire-mesh cage. Woodley and Yates – Viktor and Vissilli – are likewise visually grim characters, sporting identical shaven heads, facial hair, and drab uniforms; their accents are heavily Russian. Together, the pair perform a series of short skits that are only loosely connected via the repetitive interactions with their off-stage Warden; and, while the skits have their comic moments (often derived from intricate wordplay), the overarching narrative relies on a constant threat of torture being used to separate the two comrades.

And while that tends to create quite a bleak atmosphere, it somehow doesn’t manage to feel out of place. Nor do the brighter, more positive moments: the pair’s periodical exposure to daylight (which shows off superb lighting and sound design) also fits within the overall story without feeling tacked on, as do Yates’ occasional acrobatics (using the cage as a kicking-off point).

Despite the camaraderie shared by the prisoners, they also descend into the kind of faux violence typified by the British new wave humorists (think The Young Ones or Bottom) that Woodley so deftly dealt with in his duets with Lano. But there were also some flaws on the night – the reappearing hand, the bird getting stuck as it “flew” into their cell – but it was hard to tell whether these were the kinds of “mistakes” that occur every night.

It’s only now that I look back on the ticket price – $48. That’s probably the most expensive Fringe ticket I bought this year and, though I can see a significant investment in the set and production values of the show, it’s pretty hard to justify that expense. For as much as I enjoyed the bleak comedy, the wonderful accents, and the great design elements, I’m not sure I enjoyed it that much.

[2013065] Cracked

Caroline Melia @ Suzie Wong’s Room

6:00pm, Wed 27 Feb 2013

It’s my first visit to Suzie Wong’s Room since the Simple Minds & Devo show last December; a great night capped off by a very uncomfortable drink due to the altercation between my companions. No chance of that this evening, however; when I arrive, there’s just one other (non-staff) person in the place: Arnie Pie.

Arnie is a lovely chap to talk to, and – after discovering that he was here to support his friend Caroline Melia – I asked him about his Fringe assault; he seemed very open and honest and forthcoming, and we swap stories and recommendations. Eventually we’re escorted downstairs into the small performance space, and it’s set up like an seventies-ish kitchen: table in the centre of the room surrounded on three sides by chairs, with a bar in the corner; to the side of the bar sat the tech for the show, looking slightly sheepish.

Arnie and I magnanimously bicker over the optimal seats, and – just before the lights “drop” – we’re joined at the table by two more people. Caroline Melia then gently introduces herself, and set the scene: she’s English, she’s backpacking around the world, she’s found the (gorgeous) city of Christchurch. She’s happily sharing a (dubious) flat with another girl, she’s found a job at an Irish bar, she’s saving up money before moving onto her next adventure, and… an earthquake hit.

What followed that introduction (which included a charmingly lo-fi recreation of the earthquake (and its aftershocks) by a massive bass speaker and the tech wobbling furniture and knocking props over with a broom handle while flicking the lights) had less to do with the earthquake, and more to do with Melia’s interactions with other people in the subsequent days and weeks… and months. And with many buildings becoming unliveable post-quake, the affordability of backpacking had an impact on the backpacking community; as a result, the search for stable (both physical and psychological) lodgings also form a tentpole of Cracked.

There’s a wonderfully gritty tension set up following the quake, with her bar being one of the few spaces for people to congregate, but much of the narrative focusses on Melia’s search for solace in drink. And men, whom she somewhat bitterly abstracted away as bottles of booze – Rum, Corona, Margherita – but those references could inadvertently serve as double-duty for her own alcohol abuse. And this revealed a bit of a letdown with Melia’s storytelling: there doesn’t feel like a cohesive approach to telling her tales… she just jumps from story to story, in the same way she moves from share-house to share-house, or man to man.

The earthquake itself… well, its impact is never really felt (except via the bass speaker rumbles), and only ever obliquely referenced: it forms a very loose framework for the rest of Melia’s stories. And, whilst Melia is conversational in her presentation, she spends a lot of time hiding behind the bar checking her script notes… and the end of the show, marked by the passing around of holiday snaps, was a confusing denouement – was this a happy ending?

In the end, I get the impression that Melia was trying to suggest that the aftermath of the earthquake had a direct and adverse affect on her personal relationships… but I just couldn’t buy that. It felt far more likely that she was choosing to hang around some shitty people – though what influence her experience had on those choices is another story, and one not really explored. Which is a shame, really: Cracked offered so much potential, but only delivered glimpses of satisfying theatre.

[2013064] The Effervescent Shaggy Doo Beats

Charles Crompton @ La Bohème

10:30pm, Tue 26 Feb 2013

Shaggy Doo Beats is another in the long list of events that I’ve Shortlisted – but never actually seen – for as long as I can recall seeing the name; the idea of beat poetry in a cabaret setting has great appeal to me, but I’ve always chickened out of seeing him… the short runs, the out-of-the-way-venues, and a touch of trepidation all contributed to my avoidance.

But I’ve tried to make a concerted effort to see repeat neglected Shortlisters this year, and so I dragged myself to La Bohème to find a… well, reserved crowd. Not packed to the gills, just a comfortable size… and quiet.

I must admit to being a little taken aback – but delighted – to see The Jazzcateers (Chris Soole as Musical Director and saxophone, Rob Eyers on drums, and Ben Fuller on double bass) open up the show (and provide musical backing); it’s the second time I’d seen Soole this Fringe (after The New Cabal), and The Jazzcateers pumped out some deep grooves and unexpected swing (and was that a bit of Bronski Beat that they covered?).

A video screen started playing clips of Charles Crompton interviewing various luminaries (including Raymond J. Bartholomeuz) around various Artist Bars of bygone Festivals and Fringes (was that the Red Square of 1996?); and when the band kicked in a rendition of the Scooby Doo Theme, Crompton alighted the stage in a silver space-suit with exaggerated flares (replete with yellow & brown trim), and Shaggy Doo Beats B.O.P. (Bachelor of Poetry) had arrived: a raconteur, a beat poet, a man of questionable fashion sense. That hat, whilst undoubtedly iconic, is a shocker.

With The Jazzcateers providing a platform for his performance, Shaggy Doo Beats’ poetry can veer between well-contructed, comfortable, comedic poems, to stream-of-consciousness so-weird-it’s-funny jumbles; the shorter pieces are fantastic, punchy enough to make their point and escape, with the longer poems occasionally outstaying their welcome. But Crompton is clearly a clever wordsmith, and his works (orated from a book) are accented by the musical backing; together, they form a very satisfying pairing.

For all the exaggerated oddballness of the Shaggy Doo Beats character, The Effervescent Shaggy Doo Beats delivered a surprisingly cool torrent of beat-inspired poetry. That it had an equally cool swing-jazz backing was a massive bonus; this was a bloody fun (and crazy cool) performance that reminded me that sometimes I should see more of those oddball shows that occasionally scare me away.

[2013063] Limbo

Strut & Fret @ The Garden of Unearthly Delights – Paradiso

8:45pm, Tue 26 Feb 2013

Strut & Fret’s reputation for producing shows that become poster-children for the Fringe is beyond compare: Cantina is the most recent example, but the Strut & Fret involvement in The Garden has also seen shows such as La Clique (and its more recent incarnation La Soirée) all became populist must-see spectacles.

But there’s a level of predictability that comes with these events – they’re all meticulously constructed, to be sure, but they become somewhat formulaic in their content – and so I wind up carrying preconceived notions into the shows that carry that flagship billing. Expectations are set: the show would likely have a loose visual aesthetic, possibly a complementary aural theme, and some polished feats of flexibility and strength portrayed with slightly adult overtones.

So… that’s what I expected from Limbo. And, truth be told, I was unsure whether I’d even bother going – that’s how convinced I was that there would be little new on display.

But when some relatively Fringe-savvy friends started reporting that Limbo was most certainly different (in a good way) to the aforementioned shows, I wavered; there were still some tickets available for Cheap Tuesday (this being the first time I can remember targeting the cheap seats!), so I quickly snaffled a pair. My usual Fringe Buddy was unable to attend, so the offer went out to my Twitter followers: a ticket for the price of a beer and a chat (what a bargain, eh? If only you followed me on Twitter! ;)

Jane took me up on the offer and, as we chatted in the beer queue (thus fulfilling the payment requirements), one of her friends kindly planted himself in the Limbo queue for us. By the time we had obtained our beverages and located him, the snaking line had just started filing into Paradiso; her friend was at the far end of the top of the u-turn in the queue (which then straightened out for the rest of the waiting patrons). To save walking the pointless ten metres up and back on the u-turn, the people in front of us were just waiting for the rest of the u-turn to move to the opposite side of the “u”, hence allowing them to close the loop and shorten the queue somewhat; however, the people behind us started getting incredibly irate, and the yelling began: “if you don’t fucking move, we’re cutting in fucking front of you.”

Which I thought was a little… well, harsh. Unnecessary, even.

The “waiting” group started pointing out the efficiency of their intention with… well, a sense of gloating superiority; this did little to reduce the tension, and the bickering and aggro continued until we were inside the Spiegeltent – not really a chill start to proceedings. Once inside, though, one of the Paradiso staff recognised Jane and ushered us away from the teeming masses; did we mind sitting across the aisle from one another if we were down the front? We barely even looked at each other for confirmation – “hell no!” – and so I found myself front-and-centre on an aisle (sitting next to another of Jane’s acquaintances), with Jane herself on the aisle one row back (and yet, due to a quirk of seating geometry I still haven’t quite figured out yet, level with me).

Anyway: awesome seats. I was very pleased; I was being given every opportunity to experience Limbo at its best.

And the show opened more-or-less as expected: Sxip Shirey led an eclectic musical troupe (including a tuba and trumpet) through a smokey number that matched the dreamlike dry-ice atmosphere, before Jonathan Nosan performed some feats of physical flexibility that, upon reflection, were pretty bloody amazing… but, at the time, I was somewhat blasé: after all, I’d seen some pretty good routines earlier in the evening, and these tricks didn’t feel that much more impressive.

They were, of course, but I needed distance and hindsight to be able to see it.

Some fire breathing and aerial routines followed, but – aside from the tuba player producing a brilliant dub-step musical number – I felt like I was being pleasantly entertained, rather than enthralled. Happy, but not delighted. I remember checking the time at about halfway through the show.

And then it all happened.

Three men swayed out over the crowd on metal poles, my proximity such that I could see the beads of sweat on the performers as they slid past… as well as the strain on the poles; I was gasping as much at the engineering as the spectacle. Elevated pole balancing a metre from me, muscles straining, then the implausibility of Mikael Bres hopping one-handed from pole to pole. Then the magic component: an impalement, again only metres away, as Nosan descends to purgatory (through the loose narrative of the show). And the closing act, a time-tested-and-true disappearing girl routine, that still has me scratching my head.

And it was all there. Right there in front of me.

For all my indifference regarding the first half of the show, the second half of Limbo was totally worth the price of admission. It felt new, fresh, innovative… and, what’s more, it was a quality spectacle that almost – almost – equalled the superb Smoke and Mirrors as my favourite big-budget variety show. Sure, it wasn’t worth a standing ovation (as much as one woman vainly tried to encourage), but it was certainly a bloody wonderful experience from my – admittedly superb – position in the crowd.

[2013062] Morgan & West: Clockwork Miracles

Morgan & West @ The Garden of Unearthly Delights – Le Cascadeur

7:15pm, Tue 26 Feb 2013

I had been really careful about scheduling Morgan & West in this Fringe; after not seeing them last year, I felt like I had to honour my friend Sam’s suggestion this time around. The Clockwork Miracles précis didn’t exactly attract me, but… I was there out of duty. I owed Sam.

But then, about halfway through the show, another act’s name popped into my head… and I realised that Morgan & West weren’t actually who Sam had suggested at all. And that was a double bummer, because I really wasn’t enjoying the show at that point… which meant that, on top of not actually satisfying the debt I felt, I was wasting a perfectly good prime timeslot.

Worse still, I’d first bumped into the self-anointed Time Travelling Magicians as I had scurried through The Garden towards their show; they had attempted to spruik me and, as I flashed my ticket when they expressed cool disbelief at my enthusiastic assurance that I was actually about to see their show, I actually felt like they cold-shouldered me. How odd, I had thought: I’m not even in the venue yet, and the performers have got me off-side.

And whilst their Victorian presentation and schtick is certainly unique, the language and mannerisms become tiresome after awhile; worse, there were few tricks that I hadn’t seen elsewhere in the previous fortnight. Card tricks and sleight-of-hand routines failed to excite, though the interest picked up when the audience was involved: the tricks were (again) familiar, but the panache of the two English gentleman (and, in particular, the handling of their audience marks) provided something worth smiling about.

In the end, though, I was left with the impression that Clockwork Miracles was better suited to a parlour presentation than the wide open spaces of Le Cascadeur… maybe in a tighter space I wouldn’t have felt as detached from the performance. Then again, maybe I just needed a more positive impression of the chaps going into the show…

[2013061] Another Point of View

AfterDark Theatre @ The Birdcage

6:00pm, Tue 26 Feb 2013

A curiously lyrical précis for a circus piece attracts me to Another Point of View, and initially I had flashbacks to the first show I saw at The Birdcage this year: after the house lights drop, the stage lighting is… well, low. Dim. But there’s (just) enough light to make out a trunk at the back of the stage, from which limbs appear in a strange dance.

Eventually two women (Jacinta Rohan and Vicky Aisha Blackthorn) extract themselves from the trunk – an impressive bit of contortion, now that I think about it – and start awkwardly wandering around the stage. They’re clearly friends (or sisters), but they communicate only through looks and small gestures; and despite the implied familiarity of the two, there’s also a tension present.

The circus elements of the performance are contemplative and refined; there’s a lot of balance and stretching routines that border on the impossible, but maintain a sense of elegance. And while the aerial hoop routine is decent, the hula hooping is flat-out amazing – one of the best of its kind that I’ve seen in years.

In between the (relatively infrequent) circusy bits, there’s a few narrative bits that, whilst almost dainty, somehow extend the idea of intimate friendship between the two; most involve the performers watching old “talkies” on the telly or engaging in some more menial balancing. But there’s also a really clever piece where they both eat breakfast cereal with spoons held by their feet whilst laying on their stomachs… go on, try it. It’s silly to look at, messy thereafter, but a gigglingly fun thing to witness.

There’s some really wonderful bits in Another Point of View – the women are clearly very talented, and some of the humour-imbued narrative interludes were quite clever… and that’s before I consider the sapphic overtones of the piece. But the torporeal pacing sadly left me feeling like it was an exercise in style over substance; as beautiful as the generated mood was, the audience was left to wallow in it for far too long before being presented another piece of… well, interest. What’s there was good… it’s just that there were too many points where I was given time to realise that I was not being engaged.

[2013060] I Am My Own Wife

Charles Mayer @ Bakehouse Theatre – Studio

9:00pm, Mon 25 Feb 2013

I’ve previously remarked that my father is German by birth, having emigrated out here in the early 50s to find work; while his parents were still alive, he’d regularly return to the country to visit them, on several occasions taking the rest of his Australian family. On one occasion, I got to visit the country, too; as a seven-year-old, it was a pretty big adventure, visiting my Oma and Opa for (what turned out to be) the only time. The only time I’d ever see my Opa… wow. That just came out all stream-of-consciousness-y, and now I’m a little bit sad.

But that’s all beside the point. What I was trying to establish is this: in my German grandparents’ flat, in a little town an hour outside Munich, they had a very homely dining room. That’s where the telly was, where my brother and I would watch The Muppets in a foreign language (whilst marvelling that Kermit sounded the same); and that’s where all their beautiful antique-looking furniture was – stained woods and ornate bevels and curves.

And that’s what the set for I Am My Own Wife looked like… but without the telly, of course.

The play is a solo performance; Charles Mayer, dressed all in black with a flat androgynous presentation (and, most noticeably, a long black skirt), initially adopts the voice of playwright Doug Wright (who won a Pulitzer for the play). Wright’s chance discovery of a museum of everyday antiquities – most significantly, a gramophone record collection – led him to meet their curator, Charlotte von Mahlsdorf. Mahlsdorf, born male in 1928, began living as a woman after the fall of the Third Reich in East Germany; her museum and underground bars became secret havens for the closeted homosexuals on the other side of the Berlin Wall. Amazed by her life, Wright interviewed her at length, many times; the interviews became the core of his script.

Mayer spends much of the play as the transgender Charlotte, imbuing her with a sense of refined nobility; he typically swaps between characters with a minor physical flourish, and the interview scenes which bounce between Wright and Mahlsdorf are a delight: Mayer slowly circles a chair as the playwright, sliding onto the chair to become Charlotte. And Mayer’s physical mannerisms of Charlotte were sublime: there’s so much elegance when she handles the small models of furniture (a brilliant bit of direction).

Charlotte’s story covers her conflicted youth, with some incredibly dark moments with an abusive father; after self-identifying her gender, and discovering the joys of collecting her precious gramophone records, she recounts the establishment of her museum… and then came the secret clubs, the perilous encounters with the SS and Stasi, and the morally dubious late-life decisions. That the script also leaves room for a hint of darkness and suspicion in Charlotte’s character is a surprise, and adds a great deal of weight to proceedings; Wright’s investigations of Charlotte’s Stasi files calls into question her coy expressions of innocence.

When I first jotted down some thoughts about this performance, I couldn’t help but reflect that – a decade ago – multi-character solo performances were common-as-muck in the Fringe; the two that linger with me are The Entire Contents of the Refrigerator and Virtual Solitaire (both in 2000). But, as much as I enjoyed both of those pieces, neither comes close to providing the coherency between characters that I Am My Own Wife Provides; but that’s not really a fair comparison to all concerned. Wife‘s narrative is far stronger, and there are only a handful of characters that get any significant stage-time; Charlotte dominates, of course, but Doug and his friend also appear often… other characters only have comparatively fleeting lines, and the purported count of forty-three distinct voices seems a little hard to believe.

But none of that takes anything away from the strength of Mayer’s performance, nor of Craig Behenna’s direction: both were near faultless, and the compassion that was imbued in this improbable storyline is absolutely compelling. I Am My Own Wife was absolutely wonderful theatre, professionally delivered.

[2013059] Raton Laveur

Fairly Lucid Productions @ Bakehouse Theatre – Main Stage

7:30pm, Mon 25 Feb 2013

Walking into the Main Stage at the Bakehouse, the light crowd saw a lounge room. Just an ordinary, urban lounge room; nothing unremarkable, nothing untoward. We sat down; the house lights dropped. In the darkness, we hear a quiet rustling… and then a desperate whimpering. The house lights come up, and the ordinary scene has gone; in the centre of the room is a rolled up carpet. Standing over it is a man holding a baseball bat and hyperventilating – the source of the whimpering. And there’s blood… lots of blood. The carpet, clearly rolled around a lump of something, is caked in the stuff, and the man is liberally covered in red stains.

It’s a bloodbath.

It’s also an incredibly effective opening.

The man – Phil – has become obsessed with the nest of raccoons that lives behind the crêperie in which he works; his fiancé, Lily, is the cooler head in this situation, and gently pries him for information. The lump in the rolled carpet is the Raccoon King, we are told; but Phil is clearly paranoid and delusional – and constantly gasping for breath – and, as they contemplate the cleanup of the blood and the carcass (including a fantastic bit of desperate back-and-forth banter about how to cut through bone), it soon becomes evident that Phil and Lily don’t have the most stable of relationships.

Curiously, the somewhat predictable Big Twist is revealed about a third of the way through the play; the remainder of the play is a gore-tinted exploration of the co-dependency of the couple’s relationship. This is neatly contrasted to the bizarre Raccoon King thread, and reveals a depth to the script that really satisfies. But the script also delivers a whole lot of What-The-Fuck moments, too, and they continue to delight throughout.

Wendy Bos is incredibly good as the cool-under-pressure Lily, and I’m staggered as to how Ben Noble could hyperventilate (or at least sound like he was hyperventilating) for so long; his mania is writ large on his face. The two actors are good enough to flatten out the few lumps in the script (the fact that Phil and Lily are together at all becomes more and more implausible as the play progresses), and their comic timing is superb.

And it’s worth pointing out that Raton Laveur is, indeed, a comedy… just a very, very, black comedy. Not only that, but it’s also very, very, entertaining; another one of those productions that makes me utterly thankful that the Fringe exists. And that opening… just superb.

[2013058] A Circus Affair

Circosis @ Bakehouse Theatre – Main Stage

6:00pm, Mon 25 Feb 2013

I don’t always set myself challenging goals when scheduling my Fringe events; I’ll often try to string shows in the same vicinity together, which sometimes means that an event which may have been on the fringe of the Shortlist will get slotted in ahead of more fancied names, if the opportunity to create a nice run presents itself.

So it was with A Circus Affair – whilst it most certainly made the Shortlist on the basis of its ‘Guide entry, it probably wasn’t the most compelling pending circus event… and the Main Stage at the Bakehouse was a curious venue. But I could conjure a flurry of Bakehouse shows later in the evening… so why not, I thought?

But, as big-shoed clown Mr Kiko ambled into view – after a solitary red balloon had whimsically dawdled its way across the stage – I was starting to doubt my choice; it all felt a little bit slow, a little bit too twee. He then engaged in a little giant ball balancing, before the narrative of the show kicks the show into a higher gear: Mr Kiko wants to be on a stage, and upon meeting Sarita (another aspiring performer) at auditions, falls in love.

Their courtship ran parallel to their successful domination in the circus, and is punctuated by a series of circus tricks. From balances to hoops, juggling to old-fashioned clowning, it’s mostly well-performed – sure, there were a couple of mishaps during the hoop routine, and a few spills in the juggling… but at least they didn’t mess up when working with knives! And the theatrical elements are really well done, too; the birth of their children was quite cleverly done, taking into account both the adults and children in the audience.

But the show could, at times, feel like an odd mix, really: whilst the mute performers (a few squeals from Sarita aside) and the bright red/black costume and theming help foster a vaudevillian feel, there’s video intervals which mix in modernity. And the use of the video is a little perplexing: on the one hand, it’s an easy way to insert narrative into the performance; but on the other, it’s frequently used to show more circus tricks by the duo… and that comes off feeling a little self-congratulatory. And then there’s a segment that seems to be showing something that verges on sexual harassment… yet another awkward nod to the present.

But you know what? Those schizophrenic fractures don’t stop A Circus Affair from being a really enjoyable performance. It’s bold and colourful, quaint and inviting, but most of all it’s charming. It’s certainly nowhere near as spectacular as the Big Name Circus Acts (though I would contend that the lighting in this show was superior), but I don’t think it’s trying to be, really; just warm and wholesome fun.

[2013057] Tony Roberts – Card Magic

Tony Roberts @ Gluttony – The Bally

10:30pm, Sun 24 Feb 2013

On the less-popular nights – i.e. not Friday or Saturday nights – I’m always curious as to how many tickets have been sold for an event; if I’ve got time, I’ll engage the door staff in a chat and enquire about the number of pre-sales. This evening, with Gluttony feeling like a ghost town, the chap doing front-of-house for The Bally was coy: “not many,” he answered when posed the question. Then, as he opened up for the performance, he admitted “it’s just you, actually.”

I’m gutted by that news, because the last time I saw Tony Roberts perform there was a tiny crowd, too. Except this evening it wasn’t a crowd at all… it was just me. So I chat with Roberts, and offer him the opportunity to bail on the performance in favour of a chat at the bar, but he’s adamant: “if even one person wants a show,” he insisted, “I’ll put a show on.”

His usual show involves him performing his tricks on a table onstage, which has a camera hovering overhead and the resulting image projected onto a screen; instead of setting that up, his tech finds a bar stool and I sit right at the table with him. Roberts proceeds to casually slip through half-a-dozen card tricks – shuffles, throws, and even a three-card Monte – whilst amiably chatting about the show, his presentation, and engaging in genuine conversation with me… and I absolutely loved it. I was sitting no more than two feet from his hands and – even though I knew that most of his tricks were a result of misdirection and prepped decks, try as I might I couldn’t see how he was performing his trickery.

After about fifteen minutes another pair of people wandered in; Tony found them seats at the table too, and the tricks and jokes continued. They were a little more reserved, and so the good-natured back-and-forth across the table subsided a bit… but after another ten minutes, a final couple arrived. She was very quiet, sitting on the end of the table, but he identified himself (or rather verified Roberts’ evaluation of him) as a confident card player, cocky in his stance and overt in his observation. When he did so, I sensed a glint in Tony’s eye, and the next trick was an absolute blinder, splitting the deck into four straight flushes almost obnoxiously. The “confident” guy’s jaw dropped, and Roberts joked his way home with one last incredible trick.

I’m so glad that I got to see this show like this; being able to essentially sit right on top of someone while they constantly fool you was a real treat. And Tony Roberts is a really, really likeable guy; and, whilst card tricks lack the spectacle of juggling and acrobats and feats of physical strength, there’s something to be said for such a confident, well-performed show.

[2013056] Fright or Flight

3 is a Crowd @ The Birdcage

9:15pm, Sun 24 Feb 2013

It’s my first visit to Arcade Lane this year, and there’s something a little less buzzy about the space – it’s almost as if all the Kool Kids have bailed on the ‘Lane in favour of Little Miss Mexico. As a result, the bar is verging on empty, and there’s only pockets of people waiting to see Fright or Flight… and most of them seemed familiar.

After a kerfuffle at the door – if you can’t take glass into the venue, then why serve the drink in a glass in the first place? – we wind up sitting a few rows from the front; not ideal, but the raking of the seats in the old Regent Cinema 3 doesn’t punish latecomers. And, after watching the audience in front of me point and gesture and whisper excitedly to each other, I figured out why they were tweaking my memory: about half the audience were circus performers, coming to see the show in support of their own.

The house lights drop, and the stage lighting comes up… a little. It remains very dim throughout, which adds a dream-like quality to the actions of Rockie Stone, Bianca Mackail and Olivia Porter (the Brisbane & Melbourne artists who comprise 3 is a Crowd); just as well, really, given the avian nature of their movements. After a curious start, which saw the women blindfolded and timidly wandering the stage whilst trying to whack the others with rolled up newspapers, there’s chicken-ish strutting and emu-ish stalking; but amidst the bird motif, there’s some great circus and acrobatic tricks, too.

A bottle-walking routine was almost hold-your-breath tense, with acute concentration of the performers exaggerated by the low light as bottles were whipped from underfoot within milliseconds of pressure being released; the presence of a blindfold during the suspended hoop routine added another element of danger. There was also a positively amazing juggling act, with balls (eggs!) zipping through the air in an incredulous manner… again, the low light levels created an air of magic there, but the use of knees and feet in that routine worked wonders.

And, despite the absence of dialogue between the women, there’s a genuine sense of humorous needling that pervaded the work – whether it be a cocked head in response to another’s trick, or just a stare in reply to a physical challenge. Another little surprise was the fact that I got to see how the other acrobats in the audience reacted: with every circus-y show, there always seems to be a bit of audience stand-offishness, where there’s a distinct reluctance to start applauding each trick until the show is comfortably settled. But I figured that the other performers would clap when they would want to be clapped – and, whilst they were still a little quiet early on, it was most interesting to see which tricks got them nudging each other and cheering.

All up, Fright or Flight was a quirky and entertaining bit of circus; a unique motif, and plenty of atmosphere, created a really creative and enjoyable event.

[2013055] The Unstoppable, Unsung Story of Shaky M

Rowena Hutson @ The Tuxedo Cat – Yellow Room

7:15pm, Sun 24 Feb 2013

There’s not a massive crowd in for this performance – maybe only a baker’s dozen or so – and, as is my wont, I encourage people to sit as far forward as possible. The plump and colourful cushions that adorn the seats of the first couple of rows seem to put people off, though; it’s almost as if they were deemed to be markers of that dreaded Audience Participation that everyone loves to avoid just slightly more than they love to watch.

As it turns out, there’s precious little audience interaction in The Unstoppable, Unsung Story of Shaky M (but the cushions did indeed play a part). Rowena Hutson’s eponymous character comes onstage with a broad grin, an oversized “M” t-shirt, and a noticeably shaking leg; she remains mute throughout, communicating only through a giant notebook pre-populated with story beats. She engages in some physical material that would best be described as clowning – there’s humour and spectacle to be found in her physicality – but there’s also some more elaborate set-pieces, too; after wordlessly encouraging the audience to throw their cushions onstage, she (slowly, due to the shaking leg) fashioned a crash pad into which her “friend” flew on her wheelchair (to the strains of Danger Zone). The wheelchair then proceeded to wander off the front of the stage, and I “caught” it with my foot… Shaky M was grateful :)

Hutson’s character appears grinningly happy most of the time; it’s as if she’s genuinely revelling in her world (a world which seemed to feature a recurring Back to the Future motif). In fact, the only time a smile leaves her face are when she flickers with determination during a tricky task (the shaking leg being a demonstrable impediment), or when she eats Smarties… and that had me thinking that the Smarties were pills – unwanted medication. And that started me thinking that Shaky M was a disabled kid; but there’s elements of her actions – a sneaky sense of humour, a raw intelligence – that belied the expectations that are associated with “disabled”.

It’s only upon reading the programme after-the-fact that I learn that The Unstoppable, Unsung Story of Shaky M is Hutson’s response to her mother’s battle with Parkinson’s Disease; this explains the shaking, for sure, but it also makes the constant Back to the Future references make sense, too (via Michael J. Fox‘s common affliction).

But it also raised a bit of a pointed question within me: for the majority of the performance, I’d looked at Shaky M’s quivering limb and pigeonholed her as “disabled”: I’d scooted around the fringes of the symptoms, contemplating whether they were the result of retardation or “just” a form of palsy, but my final conclusion left her in that pigeonhole. And so I’m left to wonder whether it’s funny – or, more likely, just sad – that I managed to conflate Parkinson’s Disease (or any other malady or state) with “being disabled”… and I’m left to try and sort out what I do about that. In my own head, like.

So: The Unstoppable, Unsung Story of Shaky M. A curious, thought-provoking, clowning experience that lingers with you in the most accusatory way. Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d ever write.

[2013054] Privatising Parts

Heleyni Pratley @ The Tuxedo Cat – Green Room

6:00pm, Sun 24 Feb 2013

Privatising Parts had one of the most obtuse précis in this year’s Fringe Guide, I reckon; it gave away nothing about the performance itself, save its Kiwi origins. But those quirky fifty words were enough to attract to the show, and…

Look – I love me some oddball entertainment. Lost Highway is one of my favourite Lynch movies. I love the work of Dr Brown and Steve Sheehan. And even the more… quirky Festival pieces that take the road-less-travelled have pleased me no end.

But it’s been a long, long, long time since I’ve seen something as totally fucking weird as Privatising Parts. In fact, the only thing I can think of that managed to combine a similarly focussed sense of purpose with brain-in-a-blender visuals was The Secret Death of Salvador Dali… and that’s reaching back over a decade.

I mean, seriously – what the fuck was going on here?

The best I could figure out at the time was that it was a one-woman political manifesto that, as a result of having her love for Helen Clark go unrequited (and then betrayed), proposes that the social and emotional constructs surrounding love and marriage are effectively dystopian; the only way to lessen their impact, it was proposed, was to open their roles up to privatisation.

Yep – the privatisation of love… and our bodies.

What started out as a somewhat straightforward lecture presentation by Heleyni Pratley soon expanded into a multimedia presentation encompassing incredulous flip-charts and the enactment of philosophies with dolls, recorded and projected using close-up cameras. And when Pratley starts proposing that our genitals be amputated and replaced with parts to be provided by the private sector…

Like I said – what the fuck.

It’s only after-the-fact that I learnt that Privatising Parts was based on the book of the same name by Richard Meros… and that Pratley herself was playing the role of Meros. And all that should have been obvious to me, on the basis of the précis and the content of the show itself, but… I missed it. And, with that knowledge since acquired, it actually makes me want to see the show again.

Even though I had little-to-no idea what was going on the first time I saw it. That it was little more than disparate images and concepts assaulting me.

But here’s the thing: I absolutely love the fact that shows like Privatising Parts exist, and I love the face that the Fringe provides an opportunity for them to have an audience. And, just because I’m not smart or well-educated or up-to-date with Kiwi pop politics or whatever, that doesn’t mean that I don’t mind being battered by a whole heap of WTF. I just hope that Pratley got bigger crowds than the unresponsive half-dozen that turned up on this evening.

[2013053] Moorish!

The Moor Rose @ Holden Street Theatres – The Box

3:00pm, Sun 24 Feb 2013

I was scooting through the Fringe Guide mid-January, highlighting the shows that would become The Shortlist, when I came across the listing for Moorish!; I saw the word “cello”, and it was heavily asterisked straight away… but then I noticed that the containing phrase was actually “bouzouki and cello”, and I went over that asterisk again. And a third time, just to impress upon myself the combination of cello and curiosity.

It was another sweltering day as I dragged my creaking and hungover bones out to Holden Street; I was surprised (and, given my many years of Fringe-going, a little ashamed) to learn that “The Box” venue was actually the bar area; I was even more surprised to discover that the average age of the audience already assembled was at least a decade older than me (and I’m no spring chicken). And that tempered my excitement a little… until Stuart Rose and David Rose (no relation, if I recall correctly) took to the stage corner and started playing.

Their opening songs surprised me (again – it was a very surprising performance) with their uptempo rhythms. With Stuart on guitar and vocals, and David on cello and bass, the music had real folk & blues flavours about it; but Stuart’s breathy (and slightly husky) vocals gave the songs an almost ethereal feel, and when he breaks out the bouzouki, the quirky notes are truly compelling.

And when Anne Harrington joined the two Roses on percussion (principally cajon), the trio (who looked comfortable throughout) produced a full, well-rounded sound; but they weren’t afraid to pare the sound back during their second set, where the brighter, more upbeat songs were supplanted by more sentimental, almost melancholic, tracks. Having said that, the second set opener – Break It Down – was flat-out amazing; the high cello notes gave me shivers of unbridled joy.

I went out to Holden Street that afternoon expecting little more than some close-up cello action; what I encountered was a wealth of great songs and superb musicianship… and goosebumps. And that makes it a pretty bloody good show, in my books.