Category: 2013 – Adelaide Fringe Festival

[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.

[2013052] Marcel Lucont’s Cabaret Fantastique

Marcel Lucont, Barry Morgan, Trixie & Monkey, Sammy J @ The Garden of Unearthly Delights – Le Cascadeur

11:30pm, Sat 23 Feb 2013

Alexis Dubus’ absolutely wonderful misanthropic Frenchman acts as the front-man for yet another late-night line-up show, and thankfully makes it a less risky proposition by publishing the evening’s guest performers well in advance; thus, I was able to kill two birds with one stone by fronting up this evening… to fling some of my money at Alexis, and to evaluate two acts for future Schedule inclusion/exclusion.

Marcel Lucont, resplendent in his glorious white evening suit, was his usual dismissive, acerbic, and charming self: I’ve heard some of his banter upwards of five times now, but it’s evergreen comedy that still conjures up hearty laughs. His first guest, however, was Barry Morgan… whose shows always seem to make my Shortlist, but never actually get any love. And, after tonight, any guilt associated with those avoidances evaporated; I didn’t find any of his 70s retro schtick to be amusing in the slightest, and the audience interaction pieces (trying to get two random people to operate an arcane and aged card-operated organ) were like pulling teeth. I’m sure thousands would love the Barry Morgan experience, as he always seems to be getting decent audiences… but I’ll not be in any of them in the future. Not my cup of tea at all.

Lucont’s second act was the mysterious Trixie and Monkey, a cabaret act apparently doing a very short run as part of the Bus Stop project. The gypsy-esque Trixie portrayed herself as a fortune teller, and dragged someone from the audience for a “sexual prediction”, which resulted in the audience member having both Trixie and her hairy (bear-y?) chimpish offsider, Monkey, wrapping clamping their thighs around his face and/or wodging their faces into his genitals. Sure, I might have giggled once or twice, but I actually got a little angry at doing so; upon reflection, this felt like a smutty little act that relied on shock value and little else.

Finally, though, came Sammy J… and bloody hell he’s good value. Even though his spot was comparatively brief (oh how I wish I could’ve reallocated the minutes of this show!), he demonstrated his lingual dexterity with two fantastically funny songs – You Held My Hand and Keep It Clean. But that raises a bit of an issue I have with Sammy J: in a line-up show, or a twenty-minute spot, he’s an amazing presence… but whenever I see his full-length shows, they always wind up being a bit too much Sammy J.

But, truth be told, if this show had been just Sammy J and Marcel Lucont, I would’ve been perfectly happy; that it also resulted in the Shortlist being shortened was a bonus.

[2013051] Alan Sharp: Careful What You Wish For

Alan Sharp @ Gluttony – The Piglet

10:30pm, Sat 23 Feb 2013

Alan Sharp’s précis claims that he “spent the first half of his adult life as a model citizen and part of the corporate machine. Then, ten years ago, something happened which changed his life.” And, even though I knew nothing about Sharp, I felt compelled to find out what changed his life… if only for selfish reasons. Because, Festival Season excepted, I wouldn’t mind a life changing event to occur to me.

My first encounter with Sharp was as I scurried into Gluttony to see his show; the long-haired, mopey hobbit of a man was spruiking at the bottlenecked entrance, and when I assured him that I was indeed seeing his show, his eyes lit up briefly in happiness; then I mentioned that I was a pre-sale, and the sparkle died down a little. Regardless, there was a reasonable crowd in to see him that evening – The Piglet was maybe half full, which I’d have thought was reasonable for a relatively unknown UK comic.

When he takes to the stage, his manner is somewhat at odds with his presentation: with the black jeans and metal t-shirt and long hair, you’d expect someone a bit gruff… a bit harsh. But he comes across as quite gentle, and even at his most irritable there’s a sense of empathy in his observations; even with the darkest story, he manages to find the sweetness and light.

And that fits in well with his material, which spends a large amount of time dwelling on Sharp’s relatively conventional Scottish / English / Welsh upbringing, before moving on to his relatively conventional adult life. And it’s here that he hooks me: his path somewhat mirrored my own (though with much more success, I hasten to add) as he almost fell into a technical job – right place, right time – and progressed easily in his career. The expected life-changing twist isn’t really delivered with any real punch, however, and so the majority of the performance felt like more of an autobiographical recount of Sharp’s life so far, peppered with an occasional witticism that he’d encountered on the journey .

As a comedian, Alan Sharp lacks the high-octane rapid-fire laughs that others may provide; but as a raconteur, he’s a delight, with a friendly and open delivery. I found Careful What You Wish For to be a surprisingly uplifting and positive performance, and it kept me mightily entertained for its duration.

[2013050] Zephyr Quartet CD Launch – A Rain From The Shadows

Zephyr Quartet @ The Wheatsheaf Hotel

8:00pm, Sat 23 Feb 2013

One of two performances at The Wheatsheaf to celebrate the launch of their just-released CD, A Rain From The Shadows, I’d based the day’s scheduling around this show very early on; after encountering Zephyr Quartet at a Festival Angel Christmas party last year (oooh, fancy!), I was committed to seeing them more often.

After this show, however, I’m seriously contemplating becoming a full-on professional groupie.

But first, the journey: I’d only given myself a scant twenty-five minutes to walk from Holden Street to The Wheaty, on the basis that there was that neato footbridge shortcut behind the brewery; I’d queried Google Maps prior to booking the tickets, but it had suggested that the bridge wasn’t accessible to pedestrians anymore. Pffft, I had scoffed at Google, I know better than you.

It turns out that Google was right (who’d have thunk it?): the bridge has apparently been closed for years now; no real biggie, I thought, it’s only a couple of hundred metres down to Port Road. But that made the twenty-five minute changeover a little – well, a lot – tight, and as a result I’d scurried in the hot and muggy evening, arriving at the Wheaty at 7:59pm (minute-perfect!) and ready to unleash a flood of sweat. I stopped off at the bar for a (cunningly cross-promoted) Zephyr beer, then head in: I bump into the Quartet’s lovely manager, Jennifer, at the door – we’d been tweeting a little bit leading up to this evening, and when I told her that this was my fiftieth show she insisted that I receive a copy of the new CD gratis. That’s not my style, of course, and I still wound up feeling a bit guilty when I received A Rain From The Shadows and Cult Classics at a five-dollar discount – I owe someone a drink or two, I think.

In a split set (with a much needed drinks break in the middle), Zephyr played every track on the new CD, occasionally joined by the poets whose work either inspired (or was inspired by) the music; the CD also contains the text from the poetic siblings to the music. And despite the hot and sticky conditions out the back of The Wheaty, the capacity crowd was deeply appreciative (not even grumbling when the fans were shut off for the performance of the unnerving and delicate Air). Sure, there was the odd airplane flying overhead, but hey – that’s part of The Wheaty’s charm.

Extraneous noises aside, Zephyr (who also introduced new violist Jason Thomas) sounded amazing; the heavy air was alive with wonderful textures and gorgeous, brooding melodies. And, best of all, I somehow found myself in a perfect position to watch Hilary Kleinig play her cello… and that, given my undying adoration for the instrument, just made a milestone fiftieth show just so much sweeter.

I loved this performance so much: stunning music, a beautiful and attentive and friendly crowd (jovial seat guarding and shoe chats!), some great beers, on a balmy evening. Sometimes everything comes together, and it just feels perfect.

[2013049] Life in Miniature

Anything Is Valid Dance Theatre @ Holden Street Theatres – The Caravan

7:00pm, Sat 23 Feb 2013

“Set and performed inside a caravan to an intimate audience of 5 people at a time” promises the précis, and I’m hooked; I love the idea of ultra-intimate performances (of which I attended many this Festival season). That Life In Miniature was also listed as a dance piece had me booking tickets as early as I could schedule; but I must admit, knowing the caravan had been sitting in the Holden Street carpark during this week of sticky weather, that I was full of trepidation when heading out for my allotted timeslot – that tin-can was going to be hot.

I elect to wait in the bar, where a small group of people are also waiting – three women and one man, all happily chatting whilst one of the women tended to an infant. One of the Holden Street crew recognised me and approached – they’re the other people in your group, she indicated; are you OK if they bring the baby in with them? It was hardly a fair question – what was I going to do, say no? – and it only made me more anxious.

We ventured out into the sunlight, and are greeted at the door of the caravan by half of AIVDT, Quindell Orton; one of the women asks whether there’s a fan inside. There’s a knowing smile in response – we’re doing our best, we are assured. And then we’re ushered into the caravan, and… well, it’s a caravan. Nothing fancy: the table and bedding area is typical of all the caravans I’ve had the opportunity to stay in. The three women (and child) sat in a row at the front of the van, with myself and the other guy sitting along the side of the van behind the table; there’s friendly banter between our usher and the group as she seats us (and points out the fan which struggles away throughout), before closing the door.

But suddenly Serena Chalker’s face appears from behind the bedding partition; our usher falls silent, and takes a seat at the table. The new person joins her, and soon they’re engaged in a mute game of angular mimicry of limbs on the tabletop. There’s something alluring about the rapid flurry of arms as they follow each other, something mysterious about the eyes that challenge each other whilst encapsulating smiles… but then the two women stand up and start moving around the very confined space.

They play hide and seek either side of the bedroom partition; they perform the washing-up in a most physically elegant (yet angular) way. They never speak a word, but hint at volumes: are they sisters or besties? Friends or foe? Their faces and actions shift the mood of their interactions between tension and joy; they (literally) climb the walls, they stretch and pose.

It’s a really intoxicating – and quirky – performance, with a curious moment of respite in the middle when they pass the biscuit tin around with a nod and a smile. And, at the end of the performance (when the caravan door was flung open, and we discovered in horror that the outside temperature wasn’t really all that much cooler than inside the caravan), my head was buzzing with a series of questions for the performers – I wanted to know who their characters were, because I felt like I’d just encountered them whilst we were all on weird tween family holidays in a Renmark caravan park. And that sense of nostalgia (for something that I’d never experienced) was, most definitely, a Good – if curious – Thing.

[2013048] Miss Conlin Confesses

Carla Conlin @ The Promethean

5:00pm, Sat 23 Feb 2013

Another visit to The Promethean on a hot and sticky day could only mean one thing: more mojitos, the presentation of which proved to be a talking point amongst the group of women with whom I wound up sitting. The Prom was pretty chockers, with a really upbeat buzz amongst the audience, and I got the distinct impression that a lot of people present (for this, the first show in Miss Conlin’s short run) were friends, family, or returning fans.

When Carla Conlin takes to the stage, she explains her predicament: by day, she teaches English to boisterous high school students in her prim-and-proper schoolteacher attire; but by night, she transforms herself into a burlesque enchantress, with all the glitter and heels and accentuated curves that the art-form permits. She’s really struggling with these contrasting aspects of her life: not only are the dress-codes at risk of crossing over (with demonstrably amusing results), but the late nights and early mornings are simply incompatible.

As she explores the perils of her double-life (ably assisted by Matthew Carey on piano and her “stage kitten” helping out as needed), there’s plenty of great, humour-laced songs (her dyslexia-induced spelling error demonstration, in particular, was brilliant, with Respect and W.O.M.A.N. getting hilariously mangled), but there’s also an abundance of costume changes (behind – sadly – her onstage folding screen). And Conlin’s costumes are spectacular – gorgeous dresses, insane sparkly heels, and slinky full-length gloves. And bugger me if she doesn’t know how to accentuate every curve; it really was a feast for my eyes.

And whilst there may have been the odd flat note on key changes, and the teaching / burlesque linkage may have become pretty tenuous towards the end, by the time Conlin belted through A Hard Day’s Night to close the show – and then followed up with a Too Darn Hot encore – I was convinced: Miss Conlin (and her curvey curves) could confess pretty much anything to me. This was an immensely enjoyable piece of cabaret, with tongue planted firmly in cheek, and curves clearly on display.

[2013047] The Dead Ones

Margie Fischer @ Migration Museum

2:00pm, Sat 23 Feb 2013

I seem to be mentioning my parents more and more on this blog, and the fact of the matter is that they’re old (hell, I am old). They’re both in their eighties, Mum has Alzheimer’s, and Dad appears to be using his lifelong hoarding habits to collect different forms of lymphoma (though, thankfully, he’s only managed two so far). Which is to say that, as much as I’d love for it not to be so, there’s a little bit of my mind that is steeling itself for their deaths.

Which made Margie Fischer’s autobiographical account of the period following her mother’s death – leaving her the last living member of her family – a little bit… well, challenging, emotionally.

Margie reads from notes and journal entries she made in the aftermath of her mother’s death, making The Dead Ones feel like a lecture (or, more literally, a book reading). The text is raw as her cleanup process causes her to encounter objects in the house, sparking memories and their associated tales – the escape of her Jewish parents from Nazi-occupied Austria. Her father’s work in China prior to their eventual migration to Australia. The death of her younger brother. But, in equal measure, some of the less morbid moments of family life are also revisited – dinners shared, habits mocked.

Whilst the mood of the piece never descended into abject misery, Fischer’s attempts to lighten things with an occasional wry comical reflection didn’t always work; and whilst the collection of photos projected throughout the readings never really dipped into overt sentimentality, the closing sequence – the lighting of a series of candles at an almost glacial pace – clearly did make a lunging attempt to clutch at the heart-strings. Fischer’s readings, however, almost introduced a distance from the words themselves; far from becoming absorbed in the readings, she appears to keep them at an emotional arm’s-length – perhaps necessarily so. There’s also a very noticeable repetition of memories, as different objects triggered recollections that led to the same destination.

The Dead Ones seemed to focus on the material things that are left behind by lost loved ones, and considered what those things mean in life, death, and memory. And as Fischer cleared out the cupboards of her past, a somewhat raw nerve was struck within me – because sometime (hopefully not-too-) soon, I’m going to have to face the same process – sorting through the articles that meant so much to my family, and trying to reconcile what they still mean to me. And, with my Dad having hoarded all manner of junk for well over forty years now, that’s going to be a long and painful job.

[2013046] Jack Gow in Tragicomic

Jack Gow @ Gluttony – The Runt

11:30pm, Fri 22 Feb 2013

I’d chatted to Jack Gow a few times prior to this show: he and Nick Fischer are friends from the Sydney comedy scene, and were working as a mutually-supportive team as they tackled the Adelaide Fringe. Having a friendly chat with one in the Fringe Club soon led to a discussion involving both, and a combination of Gow’s use of language and his somewhat shy demeanour – and, it must be said, a late and conflict-friendly timeslot – saw me at Gluttony on a pulsing Friday night.

I arrived early and – as is my wont when seeing shows solo – I hung around the venue waiting for the doors to open. I’m soon chatting with Fischer – he’d just performed his last show earlier that evening, and he appeared to be equal parts exhausted and delighted. Gow stopped by – there was barely enough time for me to say break-a-leg (what is the correct good-luck term for comedians?), but plenty of time to notice that he was really nervous… it was only after he left that Fischer told me that (a) it was Gow’s opening night, and (2) his Mum was going to be in the audience.

The Runt is about half-full when Gow bounds in and exuberantly starts the show; he’s several notches livelier onstage than off. With only the barest recognition of the audience, he opened with a tale of how his girlfriend of five years dumped him… for one of his friends. Who suffered from erectile dysfunction. The level of self-flagellation that followed was indicative of the rest of Gow’s material: he always seems to be beating himself up for events that befall him.

Of course, sometimes he utterly deserves the grief that he suffers: his attempts to consume mountains of hash that he’d inadvertently bought whilst in China (an exchange rate mental malfunction) had utterly bizarre results (and, I have to admit, I was genuinely shocked at many facets of that story coming from one so young… but that’s just my age talking). But Gow makes a point of always trying to find a silver lining in his stories; even his time spent in a Sydney Uni residential college, surrounded by sport nuts who treated him with contemptuous suspicion, had a wonderfully satisfying conclusion.

But that pattern was forgotten for the closing piece: a story of friends gone awry which continues to get more bleak, more depressing. The sudden end of Gow’s show, when he announces it, left me confused: there’s most certainly no silver lining there, and I’m left wondering whether Gow is either insanely brave – or hopelessly misguided – in closing the show like that. On the strength of the rest of his material, I’ve settled on the former; at the very least, he deserves another viewing to help me decide.