Category: ff2013

[2013037] One for the Ugly Girls

ONFG @ The Tuxedo Cat

3:00pm, Thu 21 Feb 2013

Tickets for this performance were booked nice’n’early in the Season; not only is playwright Tahli Corin an old friend, but matinées are – as any Festival Freak knows – like gold dust. And this matinée, despite having extra seats inserted into the customised venue, was completely sold out… but canny crowd management saw us sitting smack-dab in the centre of the front row with a perfect view of an artist’s studio… or, at the very least, a spacious lounge room.

The artist in question, Alistair, is well-respected, with works hanging in the National Gallery; but the death of his wife (and muse) has left him creatively barren. In attempting to kick-start his abilities, he has ordered the life model who most matched his wife’s image from an online register; when “Jade” turns up, coarse and somehow shifty, he distances himself from her – “Jade”‘s physical appearance differed from the online identity that Alistair purchased.

Despite Alistair’s initial misgivings, however, the creative spark within him is activated; “Jade” peppers him with plaudits for his work, and probing questions about his feelings for his deceased wife. Initially hackling at “Jade”‘s questions, Alistair soon finds his footing in their relationship, and they begin to verbally spar in an invigorating manner.

But suddenly another woman arrives – and Alistair instantly recognises her as the Jade he ordered off the website, pretty and polished. As he banishes the first “Jade” from the house, the audience becomes privy to the relationship between the two women: the first “Jade” is actually the Real Jade’s sister, Claire, who took advantage of her sister’s booking to meet one of the artists she admires. The women spar, venomously attacking each other’s approaches – Jade’s vapid beauty opening doors, versus Claire’s pragmatic take-what-you-can-get approach – before Claire leaves.

When Claire later returns, anxious to claim some of Alistair’s sketches that she’d squirelled away, it becomes clear that Jade has seduced Alistair, ingratiating herself to him; Claire appeals to the memory of his wife before the trio fracture one last time before the play’s end. And that left me to applaud three conflicted characters, none of whom were particularly palatable.

Jade is the easiest character to reconcile – she’s clearly a manipulative bitch, and Hannah Norris plays her wonderfully, a holistic goddess with a soothing breathy placation of Alistair. When alone with Claire, however, the pretences are dropped and the knives come out; it’s a brilliant piece of (essentially) multi-character acting. Syd Brisbane’s Alistair – the only character to leave most of his clothes on – initially evokes pity via his wife, with his obsession keeping him at arm’s length; but the speed of Alistair’s acceptance of the Real Jade – essentially discarding the burgeoning bond with Claire – makes him appear to be… well, shallow. Unlikeable.

And that leaves Claire, played by Lori Bell. Now, I’ve never really got on with Bell’s comedy in the past – her Granny Flaps character is a little too coarse for my apparently delicate ears – but I was pleasantly surprised with how well she can act. She’s also much more buxom than I’d imagined – and most definitely ginger – and she makes Claire the most likeable character of the trio, despite her inclinations toward subterfuge and theft; her closing soliloquy (from which the play takes its name) is a truly wonderful, impassioned piece of work.

Whilst the staging would have certainly benefitted from a full black-out between scenes, the space is used well; but I was left struggling to pull all the threads of One for the Ugly Girls together. Maybe that’s because all the characters rubbed me the wrong way, leaving me with no clear Hero to support; maybe that’s because the denouement didn’t really provide any clear direction. But there’s no doubting the strength in performance and production of the ONFG crew; maybe I just wanted a neat little bow on the show that afternoon.

[2013036] Rhino Room Late Show

A grand total of thirty-two comedians @ Rhino Room – Upstairs

In the last couple of years, I’ve started referring to the number of shows I’ve seen as “uniques”; that is, I only really count the title of a show once. That makes sense in a theatrical setting, where two performances are likely to only differ in minor ways, but in comedy line-up performances – like the ever-popular Rhino Room Late Show – night-to-night gigs vary wildly in content and quality; but I’m all in favour of simple rules, and I’m currently in a position where I’m writing about these performances long after the Festival Season has finished, so I’ll attempt to post some highlights from all Late Shows I attended under this one post.

11:00pm, Wed 20 Feb 2013

Mickey D hosted this Late Show and was bloody brilliant throughout. I never really got on with his comedy early on in my Fringe career, but in recent years I’ve found his localised laughs to be really enjoyable; maybe it’s a consequence of ageing, but even material that I found questionable in the past – like his ice jokes – make me guffaw like a happy loon now. First act of the night was Nick Capper, a Sydney comedian whose dry delivery and wonderfully quirky jokes launched him to the top of The Schedule. Alice Fraser and her banjo were next, with her Best Stalker in the Land song eliciting some laughter, and she was followed by the incomparably fast Lindsay Webb, who never fails to steamroll with coarse delight.

The girls from Titty Bar Ha Ha opened the second set, and failed to entice me with their mixture of crassness and song. But they were followed by Justine Rogers whose gorgeous looks contrasted mightily with her twisted filthy mind. Another break, before returning with Xavier Toby delivering a solid five minutes, followed by Alex Wasiel. Wasiel’s set – chock full of jokes from her legal background – fell flat on the crowd, but I thought her material was awesome – with a fresh and quirky delivery to-boot. Finally, Steve Hughes performed at least thirty minutes, and he continues to impress with his implicitly political material. He’s still an incredibly compelling character, and – despite whispers that this set wasn’t a patch on his jet-lagged efforts of the previous evening – I felt incredibly lucky to have caught him.

This Late Show had a profound affect on The Schedule – Nick Capper’s show was elevated to must-see status, the three girls of Aggressively Helpful (Fraser, Rogers, and Wasiel) all impressed enough to warrant that show getting a look-in, and Webb’s short stint (and Hughes’ much longer spot) left me happily satisfied with their work. In all, it was a cracking evening.

11:00pm, Thu 21 Feb 2013

The following night also saw me squeezing into a far more enthusiastic Rhino Room to see Jimmy McGhie take up hosting duties; he, like Mickey D the previous night, was incredibly good value, and one of the more friendly and good-natured hosts I’ve seen, dealing with an occasionally unruly crowd with ease whilst smoothly drifting into his own (quality!) material. First up this evening was Dan Willis – nope, he still hasn’t won me back yet, and has yet to indicate that he ever will. Dave Bloustien’s set was good fun, and Kevin Kropinyeri – whose (short-running) solo show had been on The Shortlist – impressed mightily as he discussed the dancing abilities of aboriginal women.

My Fringe buddy all but drop-kicked Imaan as he scooted up to the stage; he’s getting funnier every time I see him, and has an incredible stage presence. The Golden Phung’s pair of sketches didn’t really work in the room that evening, and when Nellie White appeared I feared that she would suffer a similar fate – her seemingly unsure, almost stuttery delivery worked like a charm in a small room with a small crowd, but surely it wouldn’t work in a room as boisterously packed as this? Wrong wrong wrong – she absolutely slayed the room, which was really pleasing to see.

The third set began with Joel Bryant storming the stage and positively leaping into super-high-energy political rants – and he was amazing, getting the boozy crowd laughing early and continuing the bluster until tears were streaming down many faces. Bryant delivered one of the most impressive spots I’ve ever seen at the Rhino Room (and cemented himself a spot on The Schedule), before Gordon Southern took us out with his usual evergreen energetic quips and soundboard-laden gags.

On the face of it, this Late Show pales in comparison to the previous evening’s lineup; Willis’ name alone guarantees that unwanted distinction. But Bryant’s incredible efforts, along with White’s surprising work and my first experience of Kropinyeri, probably gave this evening the edge.

11:00pm, Thu 14 Mar 2013

After a long absence, I returned to the Rhino Room for my final Late Show of the Fringe, lured by the promise of Jacques Barrett hosting. I’d have to rate Barrett as my favourite comedian at the moment – a perfect balance of cynicism, cutting observation, and self-denigration – and he quickly gets the audience onside by naming most of the front two rows – in particular the cheerful T-Bone. David Smiedt was first up, delivering some familiar jokes (I’d seen him at Darkness and Light the previous evening) that lost nothing in the repetition – especially the anti-camel-toe device material. David Quirk, on the other hand, didn’t fare as well with repeated jokes – and I haven’t seen him for a couple of years! And by the time Smart Casual took to the stage, the front rows were boozy enough that the heckles were coming thick and fast, interrupting their attempts to get into their songs… which they handled with great humour: “this is our first and final song,” Roger David eventually blurted out.

Harmon Leon opened the second set, and I’m not sure the room knew quite what to make of him; I still think he’s wackily wonderful, though. Tim FitzHigham’s style may have been the same, but his material was all-new, and good value, too… but then out came one of the Puppetry of the Penis boys. And this was the first time I’d ever seen any of the penis puppetry brigade, and his energetic routine left me feeling… well, inadequate. Dunno how that would stretch into an hour-long show, though.

Tommy Dassalo did enough at the start of the third set to guarantee himself a spot in The Schedule on the closing weekend, Pat Burtscher managed to confound and astound the audience with his seemingly rambling performance, and Carl Donnelly had some great stories and an affable style that may see me seeking out his work in later years.

In all, I spent nearly nine hours in Rhino Room Late Shows this year, and I’d have to say that – after summarising them all in one place like this – it feels like it was time well spent. Lots of new experiences, lots of new comics to chase down…

[2013035] Insomnia Cat Came To Stay

Quiet Little Fox @ The Tuxedo Cat – Blue Room

9:45pm, Wed 20 Feb 2013

There’s a white sheet stretched across the front of the Blue Room’s stage; wrapped within it, seemingly cocooned, was Joanne Sutton. With just her head and arms exposed, she embarked on a monologue that leaves no doubt that she is suffering through the alternating effects of weariness and mania that typically accompany insomnia.

Her insomnia appeared as an unwelcome guest in her home, portrayed in animations that swept across the crisp whiteness of her vertical bed; Sutton’s trapped eyes alternated between wide and weary – crazed and clock-watching – and the edges of her voice did the same. Her cyclical quest for sleep drew me in, creating a rhythm that was almost predictable – but the return to the desperate realisation of the ticking of the clock was always jarring, usually in a creatively delicious way.

There’s no doubting the technical excellence of Insomnia Cat: it’s an incredibly polished production, with the swirlingly hypnotic imagery sweeping across the white sheets within which Joanne Sutton was trapped convincing me that a lot of thoughtful design had led us to this moment. And Sutton herself delivered her monologue with an intensity that demanded my attention; and, whenever the raucous backing music occasionally fired up, she belted through her songs with all the gusto of a rock veteran, her voice gritty and powerful.

But…

…there was something about Insomnia Cat that didn’t gel with me. Maybe it’s because my own experiences with insomnia led me down a very different emotional path to the ones that were being portrayed here; but that really shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Surely I should be able to put my own experiences aside and focus on what was being presented to me, right?

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. I couldn’t help but think that I was being held back from wallowing deep within Insomnia Cat‘s spell; the problem is, I was – am – completely unable to articulate why. And that’s galling for me, because I can see the quality of the work – images and sounds burned into my mind, coupled with words from the wonderful notes from writer Fleur Kilpatrick and director Danny Delahunty – but there’s something within me that stopped me from revelling in it.

(When talking to Kilpatrick over the next couple of days, I was still unable to verbalise where the Cat and I diverged in our paths… but Fleur was ultra-sweet in prompting me for the cause.)

[2013034] Abdicating Adulthood

Nikki Britton @ The Tuxedo Cat – Cat Bowl

8:30pm, Wed 20 Feb 2013

Nikki Britton’s feeling a little bit… well, wrong: all her friends are doing the traditional “growing up” thing, what with their marriages and children and buying houses and whatnot. And I’m with her in spirit… although (at least) a decade older, I’ve been subject to similar expectations from friends and family – to be fair, though, I think I’ve pushed through the age barrier to the point where the expectations have disappeared and have been replaced by pity.

But Nikki is determined to eschew the expectations of others, and chase her own dreams; and, in front of a crowd of maybe twenty-or-so (mostly women), she proceeded to let us know about some of her dreams – and the realities that get in the way. The core of the show was based around her work (helping sick kids by playing Captain Starlight for the Starlight Foundation), and this was very cleverly used to control the pacing of her performance – the giddy highs and sober lows of her material all came from tales of working with children. But there’s also her dream-fulfilling sojourn to France, oddball stories of friends’ weddings, and weird dating stories (the repressed religious beau was brilliantly portrayed).

Though the performance started a bit flat, Britton’s boundless enthusiasm is infectious, and her humour – whilst rarely breaking new ground – is just plain good-natured and fun… and by the time the handful of males (including, surprisingly, myself) in the audience had been assembled to crowd-surf (well… carry, in an attempt to fly) Britton from the stage to end the show, she’s won me over. Abdicating Adulthood was a joyous little sherbet of a show, effervescent and positive and… well, nice.

[2013033] Anthropoetry

Ben Mellor & Dan Steele @ Gluttony – The Piglet

6:45pm, Wed 20 Feb 2013

Anthropoetry was already on my Shortlist from my first pass through the Fringe Guide; meeting Ben Mellor whilst he was spruiking one evening had him enthusiastically explaining that the show was “beat poetry, with live music” – and those five words, for some reason, tickled my fancy so much that it was swiftly promoted up the list to be Scheduled ASAP.

And so it was that I was sitting down the front of a sparse crowd when Mellor and his musical director & accompaniment, Dan Steele, took to the stage. And that was a little confronting; whilst Mellor was unassumingly attired, Steele took to the stage wearing nowt but a black body-stocking onto which a skeletal image had been printed… and whilst he carefully protected his own modesty, there was always the threat of presenting more than was necessary.

The body stocking was of practical importance, however: once the initial greetings had been made, Mellor elaborated that Anthropoetry was a collection of pieces loosely based around the human anatomy; Steele would occasionally stand up for Mellor to point out the appropriate parts concerning the next poem on his skeleton. But it soon becomes clear that the anatomical connection between poems is tenuous, at best; as they launch into Head State, the progressive inclinations of Mellor’s poems is made clear.

And that was just fine by me.

Whilst Steele remained cheerfully mute as he played guitar and created sampled loops to add rich textures, Mellor’s poems fizz with political intent; religion comes in for a serve, there’s political history in Beat’n’Trachea, with an anti-consumerism message buried inside Peak Love. But the words aren’t preachy – they’re exciting and invigorating, and the insertion of humorous pieces (like the gloriously puerile Naming of Parts, or the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Facelook) keep the show belting along. Mellor’s delivery is absolutely engaging, too, and his occasional forays into crowd interaction (venturing out for examples of anthropometry, the study of measuring the human body) were really well handled.

I love words, I really do… and I loved Anthropoetry. Mellor’s writing is cutting (without losing sight of compassion) and angry (without being blinded by rage); Steele’s accompaniment was beautifully refined, and suited the poems perfectly. But, even though it was a poetry gig, and it was early on a Wednesday evening, and it was the occasionally unfashionable Gluttony, I was still heartbreakingly disappointed that a sub-dozen crowd turned out for this performance… because it was an absolute cracker. One of those shows that I wound up mentioning to everyone I talked to throughout their season… because, let’s face it, there can never be too much progressive poetry in your life.

[2013032] Nick Fischer’s I’ve come to clean the pool: The tale of how one man against all odds was able to get fired from most of the jobs he has ever worked

Nick Fischer @ Gluttony – The Pig Pen

5:45pm, Wed 20 Feb 2013

A little bit more about me: post-University, I’ve only held two real jobs, and they’ve both involved working with largely the same core group of people; I’ve also managed to be fired once in that time amidst a curious series of events. I realise that the idea of being fired typically fills people full of dread, but my firing came from out of nowhere and ended up being one of the most liberating times of my life.

So the incredibly verbose title to Nick Fischer’s show had me primed for forty-five minutes of mirth: I was expecting a plethora of sacking stories with humorous tweaks, with maybe some pool-cleaning thrown in. But when Fischer appeared, he was young – way too young, I thought, to have any significant tales from the trenches. And my heart sank a little as he opened with a series of soft jokes about living at home with his Mum…

…but then came the career “highlights”, beginning with his dismissal of Uni and then progressing from math tutoring to bartending at exclusive clubs. He doesn’t skimp the social impact of his various roles, either, as he moves out of home, starts living the highlife, before discovering that his lifestyle far exceeded his pay-packet and that some house-mates… well, weren’t.

Fischer’s style is friendly, without veering into “conversational”, and there’s few stumbles in his delivery despite his constant references to his notebook. And that notebook actually became a distinct point of interest as he describes how its contents caused more workplace friction in another (or was it his most recent? or even current?) job; and associated with that story comes all the insecurities that drive the rest of the show.

Whilst it wasn’t a laugh-a-minute performance, there were enough chortles in I’ve come to clean the pool to justify the performance; and, better still, there were some quirky laughs and turns of phrase that marked Nick Fischer as a performer to watch in the future. Chatting with him several times after the show reinforced the perception of a genuine and likeable guy; here’s hoping he returns for another Fringe, with possibly a few more sackings under his belt.

[2013031] NED: Ideas you’ll never have

Dylan Cole @ Gluttony – Pig Tales

10:50pm, Tue 19 Feb 2013

Like most people who abjectly fail to achieve anything with their own lives, I love me some TED talks: there’s some utterly inspirational stuff in there, and – despite constantly telling myself that I really should absorb their wisdom in a timely manner – I’ve been collecting my daily Talk for safekeeping for years now… in fact, I’ve got over fifteen hundred Talks saved, ready to inspire me. Yet another Massive List of Things To Do :}

Because of the reference to TED, I really wanted to see this purported parody – so much so that I bailed on an opening-night Insomnia Cat because of the (self-inflicted) tight scheduling between the shows, and I couldn’t get a good feel of the Cat‘s running time (as it turns out, I could have just squeezed both shows in this evening, but hindsight is a lovely thing, isn’t it?). Insomnia Cat didn’t miss out – I saw that the following evening – but it meant that the day felt a little short. Poor planning!

NED presents three speakers (all played by Dylan Cole, differentiated by mannerisms and the smallest of “costume” changes), each of whom have fifteen minutes to present their knowledge; Dr John Hatzenberger opened proceedings with The Science of Possibility which – whilst funny to me – seemed to be a bit distant from the rest of the dozen-or-so audience. But the true genius of that segment wasn’t realised until the other two gave it context; Hatzenberger name-drops his employer (the University of Oxcamprincetonyale), and introduces the character of young Sally (whilst building up, then destroying her hopes and dreams).

Joel Ham – who appeared to be suffering from an almost Monk-ish OCD – then introduced the theme of Choice in his presentation Being successful, happy and generally alright through achieving your goals, aspirations and being true to yourself. Ham was hysterical with his oddball pronunciations and Coke product placements, and his theory of Three Choices – that, at any given time, people always have the option to choose between Love, Hope, or More Choices – was a blinder.

Finally, Professor Jeffery De Hollander presented a very highbrow approach to Art in his talk Creating the Creation of Creativity. In comparing Sally’s doodles with da Vinci and Dali, he generates laughs of the most deliciously absurd kind, whilst calling back to more research from Oxcamprincetonyale and Choices; De Hollander even ends on the wonderful note that the best way to overcome the fear of the blank page is to do something (a sober message that felt a little out-of-place with the rest of the show’s humorous content, but one that I should remember).

NED was a really fun piss-take of the academic wankery that can invade TED Talks, but it seems to have a fondness for the source material as well; this wasn’t a cold-hearted butchering of the spirit of TED. I loved the constant callbacks: the university, the inexplicable wizard references, and especially the evolution of Sally, whose dream to be a bird / cat / helicopter was constantly being twisted. Whilst it took a while to get going, NED definitely delivered some decent giggles.

[2013030] Jon Bennett – My Dad’s Deaths

Jon Bennett @ The Tuxedo Cat – Blue Room

8:30pm, Tue 19 Feb 2013

Way back in 2010 – on the 11th of March, to be exact – I did a bit of a softcore ArtWalk… I mean, it only took in a lazy seven exhibits, but it was the tail end of the Fringe (and the day when some of the Visual Arts judges were venue-hopping in an attempt to do their judging). Anyhoo, I wound up in Urban Cow to check out an photography exhibit called Pretending Things Are A Cock, which apparently already had a bit of Internet notoriety… most of which was lost on me, I have to admit, but I had to give the exhibitor – Jon Bennett – props for providing a perfectly descriptive title for his collection of photos.

So when I saw a Pretending Things Are A Cock comedy show in The Garden this year, I was pretty dismissive – just how much could a man milk that one (admittedly amusing, in a puerile way) idea? But when I saw the précis for Jon Bennett’s other show, I contemplated the emotional turmoil of my own fathers’ current health jaunts – and promptly bought a ticket.

Bennett leaps into his set, quickly painting a vivid picture of his Dad’s character (in particular, the fabulous way in which he plainly announces his feelings: “I’m angry,” Bennett flatly intoned in demonstration, and it was hilarious). The relationship between them is also quickly established: the long list of parental disappointments (including video footage of the first time Jon’s father ever saw him perform his comedy), and the sole source of parental pride (buying a house). And then, with the emotional foundations established, Bennett starts listing a subset of the occurrences when his Dad has nearly (or, indeed, technically) died.

And there’s a flood of them. Falling off ladders, fires, fainting on packed trains, choking on soda bubbles… Bennett somehow paints his father as a loveable blunderer with little regard for his own wellbeing, and manages to deliver each tale with equal parts tempered rage, incredulity, love, and humour. In between these recollections of his Dad’s deaths, Jon tries to honour his father’s wish for him to become a writer by indulging in poetry (When I First Had Sex I Tried To Put My Balls In is, almost by necessity, a letdown after the glorious title, but the “Happy Birthday” poem is wall-to-wall gold), throwing in a few non-sequiters (the baby-sized dildo reference was a cracker), and trotted out some home-town Facebook status updates for good measure.

Above all, though, My Dad’s Deaths is a really well crafted set of jokes and stories. Bennett’s sense of storytelling is impeccable: he’s not afraid to use suspense, and the balance of sober- to jokey-material is nigh-on perfect. It’s fair to say that, even if Jon’s Dad doesn’t think much of his son’s work as a comedian, he has every reason to be proud of his efforts as a raconteur.

[2013029] Remnants Found In You

Remnant Dance @ Nexus Cabaret

7:00pm, Tue 19 Feb 2013

Fringe contemporary dance from Western Australia on a Tuesday night may seem like a pretty iffy proposition to some, but the pre-sales list for Remnants Found In You was pleasingly long, and there’d obviously been more-than-a-few walk-ins as well: Nexus Cabaret was positively humming when I arrived, with the bulk of the floor seating already occupied. I wound up snaffling one of the cocktail tables along the wall; a great vantage point, to be sure, but offering somewhat restricted views of the back of the stage (as I later discovered).

The first of three pieces, O-Sea, was a curious construction featuring six dancers who drift on- and off-stage throughout, making it feel like a multi-chapter composition. Some movements were almost balletic in nature before descending into chaotic combative grapples, but the choreography was cramped by the left-hand side of the stage. That didn’t prevent some great lines appearing from nowhere, but the movements only felt like they co-existed with the music (a largely fractured, piano-based score), rather than working with it. The piece evolves to a relatively upbeat ending, though.

Shade: less, despite the mournful (and slightly ominous) cello-based opening, was a much more enjoyable piece. With the ensemble reduced to three, I initially thought it was merely going to be a collection of solo pieces with short transitions… but it became a much more involved piece, with plenty of interaction and deft, angular movements. Unfortunately, some of the performance was pushed to the back of the stage, obscured from my sight; what I did see was really enjoyable, though.

The final piece, Spring, somehow managed to conjure up the image of a quartet of beautiful sisters frolicking in the garden of an Elizabethan English manor – though I’ve no idea why. Again, the dancers were constantly dropping off- and on-stage, but the constant change-ups failed to hold my interest… though the conclusion to the piece was genuinely exciting.

The production values of Remnants Found In You are pretty high: from the great costumes, to the presence of a string quartet in Spring, to the gorgeous programme and thoughtful questionnaire. But there was something that just didn’t feel right about much of the dance itself; it’s almost as if the choreography in the bookending pieces constricted the dancers so much that they appeared to be performing in someone else’s bodies… and, unfortunately, the quality of the second piece didn’t manage to lift my overall opinion of the event.

[2013028] Arnie Pie – Because I Felt Like It

Arnold Luichareonkit @ Austral Hotel – Red Room

11:00pm, Mon 18 Feb 2013

When trawling through my Shortlist, the great thing about an 11pm Monday night show is that I’m almost certain to be able to fit it in. The shitty thing about an 11pm Monday night show is that very few other people will make the effort.

So it was that my Fringe Buddy and I rolled up at the Red Room right on starting time to find Arnold Luichareonkit – who adopts the name of a Simpsons character onstage – hovering outside the door, slightly dejected. His face brightened immediately upon seeing us – and, once we’d determined that we were the only two attendees for the session, we did the usual are-you-okay-performing-to-a-small-crowd check. “No problems,” he assured us, “I like intimate shows.”

It was thus a very friendly and casual start to the show as we planted ourselves optimally for both ourselves and Arnie (front row in the Red Room is just too close), and he thanked us individually for being his audient…s. With such a gentle and simple start, Arnie had us immediately onside, and he had me completely won over when we discovered a mutual hatred of Newcastle.

From there, he delves into the rich goldmine of ethnic material that is his father. Using racial stereotypes as both support and contrast, his constant use of accents really showed off Pie’s training as an actor; more character voices came out as he took us on travel tales throughout the US and Europe, performing comedy at clubs all over the world. His comedy is solid, though the threat of political incorrectness hinted by his précis was never really delivered.

Of course, there was a bit of good-natured back’n’forth between the pair of us and Arnie, as he occasionally offered us the choice of material to explore next (as well as asking for feedback in a cheerful manner). And, when another couple rolled up about halfway through the show, they walked in during one of out short discussions – “oh… it’s an interactive show” said one of them as they sat down the back of the room. Sadly, they took their observation to heart, and proceeded to intermittently interject barely discernible quips from the dark throughout the rest of the show, which made the rest of the performance both tricky for Arnie to manage in an agreeable manner, and way less enjoyable for us.

And that’s a shame, because I was having a ball when Arnie was smoothly cruising through his material; he’s not only pretty damn funny, but he’s also cool as a cucumber on stage without distancing himself from the audience… at least, he was when there were only two audients. As a foursome, the gig was distinctly less awesome – though it’s pretty hard to blame Arnie Pie for that.

[2013027] Nellie White in The One Handed Show: An Introduction To Pornography

Nellie White @ The Tuxedo Cat – Cat Bowl

9:45pm, Mon 18 Feb 2013

There’s no mucking around with The One Handed Show – mere seconds after introducing herself, Nellie White is describing her first encounter with pornography in lurid detail. Then, with just the briefest of pauses, she describes the worst time to discover that you’re not a lesbian (in the midst of a threesome), and follows that up with an overview of the various types of vaginas typically found in porn movies – including “the one that looks like it’s going to suction onto your face.”

I read that paragraph back objectively, and – apart from the obvious (and deserved) self-criticism over its structure – I have to admit: this sounds pretty puerile. Lowbrow. Cheap and lazy fodder for humour.

But Nellie White totally makes it work. In front of a small crowd – double-digits may have only been threatened, not breached – her stage manner appeared quite bizarre; it’s like she’s ultra-self-conscious, and unsure as to how a joke is going to pan out… but then she pulls out a joke (such as her description of whippets – “like a greyhound played by Tom Hanks at the end of Philadelphia”) that is absolute gold, and in stark contrast to the perceived lack-of-confidence and that accompanied it.

Sure, some of her threads felt a little slight: the short story where she meets a significant pornography producer in the UK seemingly goes nowhere, and I would’ve loved to hear more about her visits to the OFLC and her hunt for historically significant pornography within the secret rooms of the British Museum. But I’m more than happy to trade those flat spots for the result of her audience query this evening: upon receiving mystified looks from some females in the front row when they admitted to not knowing what bukkake was, Nellie was momentarily taken aback when one of them admitted she was only sixteen years old. “Oh,” said Nellie guardedly, “that probably means that most of this show is illegal.”

Now, I was wary that much of the delight I felt about this show may have been due to the contrast between this quiet and shy (almost a shrinking violet, really) woman onstage, and the utter filth (but historically accurate filth!) that came out of her mouth. But, having seen her perform a short set at Rhino Room a few nights later, I became convinced that Nellie’s sense of timing is impeccable – and when she offhandedly suggests that “no-one should be forced to suck a dick until they vomit… except for that unhelpful guy at the bank,” you can’t help but love her work.

[2013026] … him

Theatre Beating @ The Tuxedo Cat

8:30pm, Mon 18 Feb 2013

… him certainly benefited from word-of-mouth early on, but sadly had a pretty short run; as a result, this performance was sold out. And, quite possibly, over-sold.

Which is a bit of a bugger, really, since the performance space for … him doesn’t lend itself to Packed House Audience Comfort on days like today, which cracked forty degrees. Found upstairs at TuxCat, the space was a small – though thankfully tall – room that had been lined with newspaper; I didn’t think to check the roof, but it wouldn’t surprise me if that had been covered, too. Most significantly, the walls and small windows of the room had been literally papered over… and that had the effect of creating little air pockets. Hot air pockets, trapping the heat in the space.

It was like a sauna in there as the crowd packed in, sitting on boxes and crates along three sides of the room. Everywhere, people were busy fanning themselves; those that didn’t just sat and grumbled, discomfort evident on their faces. Ben – who was teching the show from possibly the hottest spot in the room – apologised in advance for the heat, and tried to keep the crowd in high spirits; that didn’t really seem to work for the woman next to me, who started complaining cattily to her friend about the conditions. “Why can’t they at least have a fan?” she whined.

And then Ben closed the door – the sole entrance to the room – and dropped the lights. Yes, it was oppressively hot, and we soon realised just how significant the meagre airflow through that doorway had been. The next five seconds were clearly the last straw for my neighbour: she stormed across the room and flung the door open (revealing a startled TuxCatter, who waited a moment before softly shutting the door again) and harrumphed back to her seat, loudly proclaiming “it’s stupid that it should be closed.” She looked directly at me, presumably for validation, or possibly because a scowl had crossed my face; “errr… it’s not your show,” I whispered, “so maybe you should leave stuff alone.”

But my quiet half-snarl was cut short by a rustle directly across the room from us; from within (what appeared to be) a pile of newspapers came a hand, a knee, arms, legs, and eventually Barnie Duncan hauled himself out of his newspapery tomb. And the first thing that crossed my mind was “fuck me – it must have been fucking hot in there.”

And the second – admittedly self-righteous – thing that crossed my mind was “that woman better not complain about the heat again.”

From the feel of the room alone, it appears that Barnie is playing a recluse; there’s something about his short, sharp movements, too, that generates the impression that he’s perhaps nursing an obsessive/compulsive disorder of some kind. Suddenly, there’s a squeak – the mail-slot on the door opens up, and Barnie rushes over to it; after a few moments, a folded newspaper is injected into the room, and he pounces on it as the mail-slot squeaks shut.

Barnie starts snipping articles out of the newspaper and reading them aloud; they’re dry pieces, but he injects emotion into the readings, imbuing them with comical overtones. It’s clear that this newspaper delivery is his only connection to the outside world, the lens through which he views the machinations of billions of other people; within the context of this black-and-white environment, the reported stories are ludicrous, but he attempts to create a consistent world view with them. It’s cynical, yes, but there’s a measure of poignancy (and laughter) to be found, too.

More laughs come as he tackles the cryptic crosswords that are scattered upon the walls, with bizarre tangents leading him to feasible answers (although that’s how I thought cryptic crosswords worked, anyway). There’s an element of tenderness as he fashions a pair of newspaper wings with the aid of sticky-tape spanning the width of the room: he appears almost angelic, and there’s a hint of desperation there, of the desire to escape… and the OCD terror I felt (as the mail-slot opened and a torrent of newspapers flooded in) gave me a pretty good idea of what he wanted to escape from.

It should come as no surprise that, despite the oppressive conditions, I found a lot to love in … him. The obsessive elements of Barnie’s character were scarily familiar to me, but the compassion with which the character was treated was genuinely heartwarming. That’s not to say that the piece is straightforward, hell no – it’s cryptic and obtuse and I’m pretty sure all my analysis is absolute bullshit, but I loved it nonetheless.

[2013025] Love in the Key of Britpop

Emily Andersen @ The Tuxedo Cat – Red Room

7:15pm, Mon 18 Feb 2013

So… music, then. Despite a very early (I was nine at the time) OCD-inspired collection of mid-life ELO, I regard my musically formative years as the early-to-mid eighties; late new-wave and early English synth-pop is the stuff that really resonates with me. And, whilst I was still at Uni during the first wave of Britpop, most of the big names (most notably Blur, Oasis, and Pulp) passed me by… though I did get into early Suede, and I loved Elastica‘s body of work.

Despite that, Emily Andersen’s précis immediately draws me in – maybe it’s the promise of poetry, or the appeal to those heady memories of Uni. Regardless, after a little misdirection I found myself scrambling upstairs to the Red Room for my first TuxCat show of the year, arriving just as Emily had taken to the stage.

Emily makes it quite clear that she’s an Anglophile – and, amidst gorgeous lyrical compositions that paint her dancing her life away in Melbourne nightspots that feature her beloved Britpop music, she meets Him. Swept off her feet by His accent, and excited by their common musical lingua franca, they fall in love… and, eventually, they decide to return to England: Emily’s dream. But there, after their marriage, the relationship strains show; a return to Melbourne only provides temporary respite before the inevitable – painful – disintegration.

But threaded throughout Emily’s performance (which is interrupted only by a few – ultra-necessary, in this weather – gulps of water) are the most endearing references to the Britpop that she adores; whether it’s the constant comparisons of her own relationship to that of Damon & Justine, or just the odd familiar (and sometimes head-scratchingly not-so-familiar) line or name dropped into the monologue, there’s always a warmth associated with it – the references never seem to be cheesy, they’re always there out of a genuine love of the material.

As for the monologue itself… well, it’s wonderfully paced, with a beautiful rhythm to the delivery; but it’s only the occasional rhyme that reminded me that this was, indeed, a piece of poetry (though the rhythmical delivery should have given that away). And Andersen certainly appears to be a lovely, warm character (both onstage and off), and she managed to completely suck me into her Anglophilic world (which, she estimated, is “only” 95% autobiographical).

I absolutely adored Love in the Key of Britpop – despite not having the same affinity for the musical genre as Emily, she almost manages to convince me that the nineties were a better decade than my beloved eighties. But the utterly charming thing about this performance is that the Britpop references are merely accents to a wonderfully emotive love story… and that ability to deliver on multiple levels is what really made it shine.

[2013024] Danny Stinson’s ‘Confessions Of A Psych Nurse’

Danny Stinson @ Gluttony – The Pig Pen

10:45pm, Sun 17 Feb 2013

I may have known a psych nurse or two in my time. They may have mentioned tales to me – whilst protecting their patient’s privacy, I hasten to add – about weird and wacky events that may have befallen them in their day-to-day jobs; (ideas of) patients and process and bureaucracy and stuff that just sounded unbelievable.

No stories like that were in this show. No tales even halfway as interesting were in this show.

In fact, Stinson only uses his job as a psych nurse to link together tales of interactions with other nurses – usually, how he tried to pick them up (or the exploits thereafter). There’s tales from nursing school, there’s tales discussing the (glorious, apparently) disparity in gender numbers in nursing… but there’s also digressions into unemployment and more generic comedy topics.

Stinson delivers some good laughs – but I was constantly thinking back to the stories I’d heard from other people, and hoping that he’d drag experiences like that into his act. And, whilst he did venture into some interesting areas, there seemed to be too many tales that had a fair chunk of backstory, but were truncated by a limp punchline and no followup… even when the followup joke was almost blindingly obvious.

I wound up leaving Gluttony unsatisfied; I didn’t find enough of the material I was expecting (and, let’s be honest, that’s completely my fault for going in with such expectations), but I also felt that so much potential was frittered away by not following through with the joke (or by using loose metaphors and not tightening them up). I’m sure Stinson would be able to cobble together a decent ten minutes for a lineup show, but “unsatisfied” is not the best way to be leaving a gig.

[2013023] 3

Matt Tarrant, Shahin Zareei, Vinh Giang @ Gluttony – Pig Tales

9:35pm, Sun 17 Feb 2013

Either there were a lot more magic shows in the Fringe Guide this year, or something in my brain had changed and caused me to put way more magic on The Shortlist. 3 was the first cab off the rank in that regard – and early whispers had audiences singing its praises.

Taking its name from the three performers who bring their unique skillsets to the stage, 3 gets off to an overwrought and clunky start as they solemnly take to the stage. The tricks of mentalist Matt Tarrant are the first on display, as he guesses objects from the audience’s pockets with duct tape over his eyes. Of course, the fun with magic shows is in trying to figure out how the trick is done, and I suspect that Tarrant’s “mentalism” is guided by Zareei’s dialogue with him, but it’s still a neat trick. More impressive, however, was his ability to guess cards in a deck that were randomly selected by multiple audience members – I, of course, had picked the ace of spades, which (along with all the other cards) was dutifully divined by Tarrant.

Shahin Zareei performed some old-school sleight-of-hand magic, hiding an audience member’s ring within a walnut (which was then enclosed in an egg, inside a lemon), as well as other common tricks; but despite his billing as Australian Magician of the Year, his performance was a bit lacklustre, especially during the ropes trick – a slip all but gave the trick away. But his rough performance was more than compensated by Vinh Giang’s efforts: introducing himself as a “Psychological Illusionist”, the way he guided thoughts using subliminals was head-scratchingly impressive (with letters and animals and numbers and words all being successfully implanted). This sort of trickery fascinates me no end, and Giang’s likeable stage presence is the icing on the cake of his segment.

Overall, though, 3 was let down by Zareei’s stumbling set, and a few problems with pacing – there were too many instances early on when I was waiting for the next trick to kick in, rather than dwell in the afterglow of the last trick. A somewhat mute audience didn’t help much either… but that takes nothing away from Vinh Giang, whose set was by far the highlight of the show.